"
"And do you never go out?"
"Sometimes on Sundays father carries me downstairs, and when we can
afford it he hires a cab to take me to the Park. But, you see, we can't
always afford it," with a wise shake of the head.
"Poor child!"
"Why do you say 'poor child' in that voice? I'm not a poor child. I got
broken--yes--and was badly mended, dad says, but I'm not a 'poor child.'
Poor childs have no dolls, and no funny insides like me."
The doctor smiled. "What sort of inside is that?"
"Well, you see, I have no outside little friends, and so my friends live
inside me. I make new ones now and then, when the old ones get dull, but
I like the old ones best myself."
At that moment a step sounded on the stairs; the child's face lit up
with a look which made her beautiful.
"That's father!" she exclaimed, and starting up, hastened as fast as her
crutch would permit to the door.
Waldron stooped to kiss tenderly the sweet, welcoming face held up to
his, then he grasped Dr. Norman's hand.
"So, doctor, you are true," he said with feeling. "You do not promise
and forget."
"I am the slower to promise," returned Dr. Norman. "I have just been
making acquaintance with your little maid."
"My little Sophy!"
"Yes, father?"
Waldron passed a caressing hand over the child's head.
"We two want to talk, dear, so you must go into your own little room."
"Yes, father; but I will bid goodbye to this doctor first," she said,
with a quaint air, offering Dr.
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