"Sister, come here and talk to me. I am so tired of being alone."
His sister Mary at once closed her book, and took a chair beside Harry's
couch. Poor little Harry was not like other boys. He could not play and
run about as they did, for he was a cripple. All the long weary days
he had to lie on a couch which was placed under the shady trees during
the warm summer season. He had learned to love the flowers and trees,
and the bright blue sky overhead, and his sister often told him pretty
stories about them. She was just thinking of telling him one now, when
he said gently: