"
V.
WHAT CAN I DO?
HE was a poor cripple--with fingers twisted out of all useful shape,
and lower limbs paralyzed so that he had to drag them after him
wearily when he moved through the short distances that limited his
sphere of locomotion--a poor, unhappy, murmuring, and, at times,
ill-natured cripple, eating the bread which a mother's hard labor
procured for him. For hours every fair day, during spring, summer,
and autumn, he might be seen in front of the little house where he
lived leaning upon the gate, or sitting on an old bench looking with
a sober face at the romping village children, or dreamily regarding
the passengers who moved with such strong limbs up and down the
street. How often, bitter envy stung the poor cripple's heart! How
often, as the thoughtless village children taunted him cruelly with
his misfortune, would he fling harsh maledictions after them. Many
pitied the poor cripple; many looked upon him with feelings of
disgust and repulsion; but few, if any, sought to do him good.
Not far from where the cripple lived was a man who had been
bedridden for years, and who was likely to remain so to the end of
his days.
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