back. Her legs did not seem to belong to her; she had lost all control of them.
The child was terror-stricken. The feeling of utter helplessness which came over her when the body refused to obey was something so dreadful she remembered it long, long afterwards—aye, all her life.
Naturally, she began to cry. She was in great trouble, and there was no grown person at hand to help or comfort her. But she had not been alone such a very long while when the door opened and Back-Kaisa appeared.
"Isn't Selma coming down to dinner? The big folk" Back-Kaisa stopped short.
The little girl never thought about its being the cross nursemaid who stood in the doorway. In her desperate plight she only saw a grown person who could help her—and put out her arms to her.
"Come and take me, Back-Kaisa!" she cried. "Come and take me!"
When the nurse came up to the bedside the little girl threw her arms about her neck and clung to her as no child had ever done before. A little tremor went through Back-Kaisa, and her voice was not real steady when she asked:
"What's the matter with Selma? Is her sick?"
"I can't walk, Back-Kaisa," wailed the child.
Then a pair of strong arms lifted her up as easily as if she were just a tiny kitten, and all at once the stern, serious-minded woman knew how to talk to a little child.
