"That you will never be able to walk or run or jump or play--that your
life will be quite different from most people's lives; but it may be a
very happy life for all that. Do not be afraid."

"I am not afraid," said the boy; but he turned very pale, and his lips
began to quiver, though he did not actually cry--he was too old for
that, and, perhaps, too proud.

Though not wholly comprehending, he began dimly to guess what his
godmother meant. He had never seen any real live boys, but he had seen
pictures of them running and jumping; which he had admired and tried
hard to imitate but always failed. Now he began to understand why he
failed, and that he always should fail--that, in fact, he was not like
other little boys; and it was of no use his wishing to do as they did,
and play as they played, even if he had had them to play with. His was a
separate life, in which he must find out new work and new pleasures for
himself.

The sense of THE INEVITABLE, as grown-up people call it--that we cannot
have things as we want them to be, but as they are, and that we must
learn to bear them and make the best of them--this lesson, which
everybody has to learn soon or late--came, alas! sadly soon, to the poor
boy. He fought against it for a while, and then, quite overcome, turned
and sobbed bitterly in his godmother's arms.

She comforted him--I do not know how, except that love always comforts;
and then she whispered to him, in her sweet, strong, cheerful voice:
"Never mind!"