Roy was now the possessor of a cork leg; and with the help of a stick he
was nearly as active as ever. His spirits were as high, and his purposes
as plentiful as before his illness; and his grandmother and aunt
marvelled that he could take his deformity so lightly. Yet there were
times unknown to any, when Roy's brave little heart sank with the
consciousness of it; and often in bed at night his pillow would be wet
with tears.
"Oh, God," he would often pray, "you wouldn't let me die, do help me to
do something worth living for. I feel my leg will keep away all the
opportunities now, but please give me something big to do for you
still."
"Hulloo, Rob, come on," was Roy's exclamation as he caught sight of his
friend. "Just look at Nibble and Dibble, we're teaching them to draw a
cart. It makes you die of laughing to look at them. There they go, and
Dibble turns head over heels in his excitement!"
Roy's happy laugh rang out, but though Dudley joined him, Rob's face was
grave and set.
"Please, can I speak to you on business, Master Roy?"
"Goody! What a long face!" exclaimed Dudley, pulling down his own in
imitation of Rob's, and thereby causing a fresh peal of laughter from
Roy.
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