Six years later there were windows in the White House from which one
could obtain a fine view of the village and the surrounding country. The
sailors had begun to make the House a resting-place on their way down
the stream. The mistress was well and merry, and her great joy was a
beautiful little daughter who led her blind father about.
The country-folk, who had fled in terror from the miserable man, now
came up to him in friendship, when they saw him blind and taking a walk
led by his little daughter. The former stillness departed. The servants
filled the once empty halls of the White House.
Old Stanislas had on that terrible day buried his master’s eyes in the
garden. One day he wondered what had become of them, and whether he
could find them. So he dug for them. All of a sudden the eyes glared on
him with a bright light. Hardly had the glance fallen on his face when
he stumbled and, falling to the ground, died.
That was the first time the evil eyes had done him hurt, and it was the
last time their power was exerted. They had done him no hurt while his
master kept them, because, as he loved his servant, his heart had
destroyed their power. Now they were in the earth they had acquired
power for fresh evil, and killed the honest old man!
His blind master sorrowed long for him, and over his grave he placed a
fine cross, near which the sailors often offered up a prayer when they
landed at the White House.
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