"THIS first verse makes me think of another of my miracles," Grandma
said, with a very tender smile on her face.
"Grandma," said Marion, with almost a shade of reproach in her voice,
"did you truly have miracles done for you?"
"I thought so, child, and I don't know but I thought pretty near right.
They were the dear Lord's loving kindnesses and tender mercies to a
naughty child; and those are miracles enough for reasonable people.
I'll tell you the story, and see what you think about it.
"It was the afternoon before the Fourth, and everybody in our house
was very busy. There was to be a great celebration the next day, the
largest which had ever been in that part of the world. The speaker was
to stop at our house, and several of the leading men were coming to
take supper with him, and in the evening there was to be fireworks,
great wonderful fire balls, such as we don't see now-days, and fine
doings of all sorts.
"By the middle of the afternoon, mother began to look very tired. I can
seem to see her face now, as she stood looking at the sideboard with
its rows of shining dishes. 'That drawer ought to be cleared out,' said
she, 'and fixed for the changes of knives, and forks, and spoons, but
I don't know who can do it; everybody's hands are full and it is full
of all sorts of things.' She wasn't speaking to anybody in particular,
just talking low, to herself. I was only a little girl eight years
old, and not supposed to notice all that was going on. But I heard it,
and decided then and there, that as soon as my mother went out I would
set to work at that drawer myself. And I did. It was a hard drawer to
clear out; one of those places where in a hurried time things get put
that don't belong, and you don't exactly know where they _do_ belong.
I worked away at it faithfully, until my back ached with stooping, and
every nerve in my body seemed to be on the jump. Over in the corner sat
my grandfather, talking with an old friend of his. They did not notice
me, but I heard snatches of their talk, about the grand doings which
were to be on the next day, and it seemed to me I could hardly wait. My
work was almost done, and I was busy with the thought of how pleased
mother would be, when I took up a long delicate glass bottle filled
with some liquid. The glass was so thin I tried to look through it; as
I held it up against the light, my hands must have been trembling with
weariness and eagerness, for somehow, I never could understand how,
that bottle slipped from me and shivered to bits on the hard floor!
The liquid spilled over my hands and spattered on my face and eyes,
and in an instant they began to burn as though they were in a flame of
fire! To make matters worse, I clapped both hands, all wet as they
were, right on my eyes. This made the pain more dreadful than ever.
It all happened in a moment of time: the scream, and mother running,
and grandfather springing up, and me tumbling over against mother, and
hearing her say with a groan: 'Oh Ruthie, Ruthie! she has put out her
eyes!'
"Then for a few blessed minutes I was free from pain; I fainted dead
away for the first time in my life! The faint didn't last long; the
pain in my eyes was too great. Oh! it was a dreadful time. Father went
hurrying after the doctor, and mother tried cold water, and milk, and
bran-water, and everything else she could think of, to relieve my
suffering."
"But, Grandma, what was it? What had you done?" interrupted Marion, her
face pale with sympathy.
"There was some dreadful liquid in the bottle, dear, that had burned
grandma's eyes, and her skin, wherever it touched, and the doctor was
afraid my eyes were put out. Mother said afterwards that she knew he
thought so, by the look on his face, and by his refusing to answer her
questions.
"He put something on, at last, which relieved the pain a little, then
my eyes were bandaged, and I was put to bed. My dear mother, when she
stooped down to kiss me after everything was done, did not forget to
whisper that I was a dear little girl to try to help mother, and that
the drawer looked beautiful.
"I sat up to the supper table that very night, but with bandaged eyes
that ached a good deal, and every one at the table wore a sober face; I
could tell, by the sound of their voices. I don't know whether father
just _happened_ to read those verses at family worship, that night, or
whether the trouble made him think of them. However it was, he read
the story of the blind man who was cured; and who, when the people
questioned and _questioned_ him, could give only this answer: 'One
thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see.'
"Father's voice trembled over the word 'blind,' and mother cried; I
could feel her tears dropping on my hand. But I did not shed a tear;
my heart was full of a great thought. Jesus had cured that blind man
with a touch, and my Bible verse the Sunday before, had been 'Jesus
Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.' Why couldn't he cure
people in just the same way now? Why didn't he? Perhaps he did, only
I had never heard of it. Father's prayer made the thought all the
stronger. He asked the Lord to bless their little girl, and, if it was
possible, to take away the fear which was gnawing at their hearts. He
didn't think I would understand. Mother did not know she had screamed
out that I had put out my eyes. But I heard her. I knew all about it. I
remembered the time when the dog slipped his chain and came and saved
me; I thought God sent him; and God could in some way cure me now.
Every waking minute that night I prayed to him to cure me. The first
thing I did in the morning was to pray the same prayer. I will not deny
that I thought about the beautiful fire balls, and all the wonders of
the evening, and I asked God, since he could do it just as well, to
cure me _quick_, so I could see all the lovely things.
"Well, children," Grandma dropped her knitting, and, leaning forward,
folded her soft white hands over her knee in an impressive way she had,
and looked her attentive little audience squarely in the face, "I don't
know how it was; I don't pretend to explain it, never have, but when
the doctor came that morning, and said he must take off the bandages
to bathe my eyes, and warned me that the light would hurt very much,
and I must try to be brave, and told my mother that when he saw my
eyes, he could give her an idea of how many months I would have to wear
the bandage, and when everything was ready, and mother had me in her
arms, and father sat the other side, and held my hand, and the doctor
unpinned the bandage, I looked straight at father with two eyes that
did not even wink, and said: 'Father, they don't hurt a bit; _not a
single bit_.'
"Why, we had almost as much of a time then as he had had the night
before! That doctor couldn't seem to believe it; he was determined my
eyes should burn, and sure that I could not see father's face. But I
saw everything as plain as I do this minute. And my eyes did not hurt
at all. I continued to _see_ all day; and at night saw the fire balls,
and laughed and made merry with the rest. The happiest girl, I do
believe, that ever sat down to a Fourth of July feast. I believed that
the dear Lord had touched my eyes and cured them."
"But, Grandma," said skeptical Ralph, "do you _really_ think it was so?
Don't you suppose the stuff in the bottle was weaker than they thought,
and the doctor's medicine, and the night's sleep, cured your eyes?"
"I don't know," said Grandma, taking up her knitting again; "all I
know, is this: the stuff burned so that I thought for a minute the
whole of me was on fire; and when I came out of my faint, and tried to
look up at mother, I couldn't see a thing! And they all believed that
if my eyesight was not quite gone, it would be months and _months_
before I could see again; and never, so well as before. And I know
that in the morning when the bandage was taken off, I could see a
good deal better than I can now, and my eyes never ached a bit from
it afterwards. It is a little piece of the old story. Grandma can't
explain it, couldn't then; 'One thing I knew; that whereas I was blind,
now I see.'"