At the time of the opening of this story, there were in the rear of the
New York Institution for the Blind, two small but pleasant parks, full
of trees and winding walks, where the birds sang, and blind boys and
girls ran and played. The little gate between the two parks was usually
left open during school hours, and one bright June morning, while the
sun was drinking up the dews from the leaves and the flowers, I chanced
to be walking there, and I heard the little gate opening and shutting,
opening and shutting; rattle went the chain, then bang went the gate,
until suddenly, as I was passing it, a little voice saluted me, so
sweet and musical and up so high, that for the moment I almost fancied
one of the birds had stopped his song to speak with me.
"I know you. I knows ven you come. Sometimes you tell stories to ze
girls, and I hear you ven I bees dis side."