"Yes, dear, I think you are," she said; "but I should like you to have all the pleasant and bright and lovely things in the world, my Pink." "Well, I have the best of them," said Pink Chirk, smiling brightly,--"home and love, and friends and flowers.

And as for the rest, why, dear Hilda, what _is_ the use in thinking about things one has not ?" After this, which was part of Pink's little code of philosophy, she fell a-musing happily, while Hilda walked beside her in a kind of silent rage, almost hating herself for the fulness of vigor, the superabundant health and buoyancy, which she felt in every limb.

She looked sidelong at the transparent cheek, the wasted frame, the unearthly radiance of the blue eyes.

This girl was just her own age, and had never walked! It could not, it _must_ not, be so always.

Thoughts thronged into her mind of the great New York physicians and the wonders they had wrought.