The next morning Virginia wrote Mrs. Henderson about the case of Charles Augustus. She wrote also to Joe Curtis, but in her letter she did not refer to her meeting with his mother and lame brother or to her visit to his home. Afterwards she went out and sat in the hammock. Swinging gently, she gazed with serious eyes at the landscape; but her thoughts gave but little heed to the beautiful scenery which lay before her. With motherly interest, Aunt Kate watched her niece through the kitchen window. Wise in the habits and customs of young women, she noted unfavorable portents. "Lands sakes," she called to Helen, "Virginia is moping away in the hammock trying to make herself homesick. Hurry out and cheer the poor child up. Don't let her get lonesome and unhappy." Helen obediently entered upon her kindly mission. Seating herself by her cousin, she put an arm about her and gave her cheery greeting, "Hello cuticomes. Of whom are you dreaming?" "I am thinking of Charles Augustus." "He is a darling kid. I could eat him for candy." The cannibalistic Helen smiled anything but fiercely at the thought of her tender prey. "He is so sweet, Helen. That makes it sadder." "Makes what sad?" "His lameness. It is dreadful. Think of it, Helen, never to be able to run and play in comfort." Shadows of unhappiness clouded the usual cheerfulness of Helen's face. "It is terrible," she sighed. "All through his life," the melancholy Virginia went on, "that crutch must be with him. Even when he proposes to a girl it will be beside him at her feet." "He could leave it in the hall with his hat." Helen's optimism attempted to thrust aside the enshrouding gloom. "No." Virginia was determined that no ray of light should brighten the dark picture she was painting. "When Charles Augustus proposes, unless the crutch is near, he can't get from his knees." Helen conceded the point by a helpless nod. "It won't be a bit romantic. It will be pathetic," she whispered. "Not if the girl loves him truly. Not if he is the answer to the call of her heart." "He would be the Knight of her thoughts then,--the Prince of her dreams," interjected Helen, the sentimental. "With a crutch. He will rest on it even at his wedding." "When they go away on their wedding trip, the rice and old shoes will beat against it," groaned Helen. "It will be at his bedside when he dies." Virginia's eyes filled with tears. "Were he a soldier it would be a badge of honor--a mark of patriotic suffering; but poor Charles Augustus was always that way and must always remain so unless some one will pay for an operation." Virginia buried her tear-drowned eyes in her handkerchief. The sympathetic Helen succumbed to the prevailing sorrow of the occasion and wept also.