“Grandfather won’t come--mercy, I guess he won’t! You ought to have heard him storm!--and he won’t let me come. Grandmother would, but he won’t let her either. He says if Dr. Dudley has a mind to step in some day when he’s down to Overlook, and he thinks there’s the least bit of use in his coming, he may; but--but--he says--he says”--then she hurried on, the words tumbling from her lips in almost unintelligible fashion--“he says he won’t pay out another cent just to be told that Rosalind can’t walk, for he knows it already. I don’t think that is a bit polite thing to say; but he did pay a doctor fifty dollars once just for his telling him so, and he wouldn’t let me come at all unless I promised I’d say exactly what he told me to. And I’ve said it!” Oscarlucy snapped out the last words with a spirit worthy of her grandfather, and it was with difficulty that Polly kept her smile under cover. When Dr. Dudley called at the Wheatley home Polly at his request accompanied him. The Doctor heard all that the grandparents had to tell before seeing the little one herself. Polly had prepared him for the child’s extraordinary beauty, yet he drew a quick breath when he looked upon the frail, angelic little creature. Was there sufficient endurance in that wisp of a frame to outlast the treatment he had in mind? “I think you are going to cure me,” said the mite, smiling up into his kindly face. He did not respond in words, only gave her one of his rare smiles that had been the comforting life-buoy for many another little one. He reached out and took the wee wrist in his strong hand. He held it so long that Polly began to fear. She watched his face which she knew so well, but it told her nothing. She followed her father’s brief directions swiftly and with skill. She had learned much since that night when she had first taken charge of Paradise Ward. The grandmother, a white-haired, still beautiful woman, watched the little group with eager interest. She was beginning to believe that this calm, self-contained man possessed something which she had seen in none of the other physicians, and she followed his every movement with tense nerves and a quickened heart. When at last the examination was over, and they had returned to the living-room, she quietly awaited the Doctor’s verdict, quivering lest it should be what she had heard so many times before. “Are you willing to let your little girl come to the Children’s House of Joy for two years?” Dr. Dudley asked. “You think there is help for her, then?” the grandfather asked. “I am sure of it. If we can have her for two years, there is almost no doubt of absolute success.” “Why didn’t some of those other fellers say that?” queried Mr. Wheatley. “They told me there was no use in doing anything except to keep her comfortable.” “It makes no difference to me what others have said,” replied the Doctor. “I know what I know, and I think two years in bed will work wonders.” “Oh, in bed! And if she can’t go?”