Doctor Grant says that your leg will never
heal as it is, but he is sure you will get well and strong again if--if
you will make up your mind to do without it."
"Does that mean he is going to cut it off?"
"Yes."
Dead silence, broken only by the flapping of the window-curtains in the
breeze. Roy was not looking at his aunt now, but his eyes were fixed on
the distant hills through the open window. A blackbird now hovering on
some jasmine outside, suddenly lifted up his voice and burst into an
exultant song. A faint smile flickered about Roy's lips.
"Do legs _never_ grow again like teeth?"
The pathos of tone saved Miss Bertram from smiling at the comicality of
the question.
"I'm afraid not, dear. Not until we reach heaven."
Then there was silence again, broken at last by Roy's saying in a very
quiet tone,--
"I want to see Dudley."
Miss Bertram rose from her seat, but first she stooped to kiss him.
"You are quite a little hero," she said; "I will send David to you. My
poor little Jonathan!"
A hot tear splashed on Roy's forehead; he put up his hand and stroked
his aunt's face.
"Never mind, Aunt Judy, David made a better king than Jonathan would
have I expect.
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