BILLY’S mother was soon well enough to be taken to Mrs. Hanlon’s
pleasant home, and, surrounded by the comforts that kind woman knew
so well how to give, she improved rapidly in health and spirits. The
happiness of being once more with her blind boy did more than anything
else to restore her lost health, for, although but a short time had
elapsed since she awoke to consciousness after her severe illness and
learned that she was separated from her boy, the anxiety and grief of
her loss had delayed her recovery.
Her eyes now followed his every movement and change of expression, and
again and again Billy had to repeat the story of his experiences. Sam
continued to come every day to visit his friend, and the gay spirits
and energy he brought with him helped the sick woman on the road to
health. He often brought news of the Fire-Dog, too, and of Boxer, who
had established himself at the engine-house. He told them also about
the pigeons, the sparrows, the lively chickadees, and the other winter
inhabitants of the park, and Billy’s mother was just as interested in
them all as Billy himself was.
She could tell beautiful stories, too, of the time when she was a
little girl and lived on a big farm. Sam never wearied of hearing about
the calves and sheep and the clumsy oxen, who are so intelligent,
although their minds work so slowly. Billy’s mother, too, knew how to
draw pictures of all the animals she told them about; and although
Billy couldn’t see them, Sam could, and it made Billy very happy to
know that his mother could do something to give pleasure to the little
friend who had done so much for him.
“If I only could _see_, I think I could draw things,” Billy said one
day, “because I know just how they ought to go.”
“Do you think you could draw Jack?” asked Sam.
“I think I could,” replied Billy, “because my hands know how he looks.”
“Take a pencil and see how good a picture you can make,” said his
mother.
So Billy made a picture of the Fire-Dog, as he thought he looked,
and, considering that he was blind and had never been taught to use a
pencil, he did very well.
“It looks just like Jack, all but the spots,” said Sam, “but of course
you couldn’t make them because you couldn’t see them. I’ll paint them
in for you.”
After this, Billy began to make pictures of the things he could pass
his hands over, and it helped many an hour to pass pleasantly.
Soon came a time when the oculist whom Mr. Ledwell had consulted
about Billy’s eyes decided that the boy’s health was now sufficiently
established to make it safe to operate. So Billy was put to sleep and
the operation performed, but for many days afterwards he had to be kept
in a dark room. Without his mother to sit by him and take care of him,
this would have been a trying time for Billy; but with her by his side
he was perfectly contented to wait patiently for the time to come when
he should be like the seeing children.
All this time Sam was not allowed to see the blind boy, and the time
seemed very long to him. He had many boy playmates, but not one of them
was so dear to him as the little blind boy to whom he had so patiently
loaned his eyes. He was persuaded at last to try his new dog-cart, for
by this time the snow had disappeared, and his black pony with the
star on his forehead had been brought in from the country. There was a
new russet harness, too, that became the pony beautifully, and Sam was
allowed to drive alone in the park behind the big carriage, for the
pony was gentle and Sam a good driver.
At last came a day when Sam was told he could visit Billy, and he was
in a state of great excitement. “Do you suppose Billy can see yet?” he
asked his grandmamma.
“You must find out and tell me about it when you come back,” replied
Grandmamma; and Sam thought she looked just as she always did when she
had a pleasant surprise for him.
So off Sam started, and he hurried along at such a pace that Mary had
to almost run to keep up with him. As they approached the house, there
stood Billy at the parlor window, looking out from among the plants. As
Sam approached, he noticed that the blind boy did not stand still with
the patient look on his face and his eyes looking straight ahead in the
old way. His eyes followed Sam’s movements with an eager expression,
as those look who are not quite sure they recognize a friend. As Sam
ran up the steps, however, the blind boy’s face grew brighter, as if he
were now sure Sam was the one he thought he was.
“Billy can see! Billy can see!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I am sure he
can, Mary! Didn’t you see him look right at me and kind of smile?” and
he burst into the house and into the parlor.
As Sam entered, Billy was standing in the middle of the room quite
pale from excitement, but he didn’t say a word. He only looked at Sam
very earnestly, at his bright eyes and rosy cheeks and his sturdy
figure. He always before seemed so glad to see Sam and greeted him so
affectionately that Sam didn’t know what to think of the change in
Billy’s manner, which was shy, as if a strange boy had come to see him.
“You can see now, can’t you, Billy?” asked Sam.
“Yes,” replied Billy.
“Aren’t you glad you can see?” asked Sam; for he was disappointed to
find that Billy did not express more joy at seeing him, when he himself
was so glad for Billy. “Didn’t you know me when you saw me?”
“I thought perhaps it was you, but I wasn’t sure,” replied Billy.
[Illustration]
“I should think you’d be as glad as anything, now that you can see,”
said Sam.
Billy’s mother, who had seen the meeting between the two children,
thought it time to explain matters to Sam.
“You see, Sam,” she said, “everything is so new to Billy that he must
become accustomed to seeing.”
“He always used to know me just as soon as I came,” replied Sam, “and
now he acts as if he didn’t know me at all.”
“He knew you by your step and your voice,” replied Billy’s mother, “but
he didn’t know how you really looked before. His mind made a picture of
you, but it was so different from the real _you_ that he must get used
to the new one.”
Sam understood now why Billy had looked at him as if he did not know
him. “Of course he didn’t know me, because he had never _seen_ me
before,” he said. “I wonder what sort of a looking fellow he thought I
was. What color did you think my eyes were, Billy?”
“I don’t know what seeing people call it,” replied Billy.
“You see, he will have to learn the names of the colors and a great
many other things, too,” explained Billy’s mother.
“I should think he would know them,” said Sam. “Anne is only four years
old, and she has known them ever so long.”
“Your little sister can see, you know,” said Billy’s mother.
“I suppose it makes a difference,” said Sam. “He’ll soon learn, though,
won’t he?”
A new world was opened to Billy, and there were a great many things
besides the names of colors for him to learn. Everything about him
seemed so wonderful! The beauty about us, which those who are gifted
with sight take as a matter of course, filled this newly awakened soul
with wonder and admiration. The blue sky and the trees, whose buds were
now bursting into their new life, the birds, and the blossoming plants
in the parlor window, were a source of constant delight to him. His
greatest pleasure was in drawing the objects that most pleased him.
These were so well done that Mr. Ledwell gave him a box of paints, and
the boy was so happy in this new work it was hard to get him to leave
it long enough to take the exercise he so much needed.
“I want to see Billy as sturdy as Sam,” Mr. Ledwell said to his mother.
“He must go to school and play with other boys, or we shall have a
girl-boy, which we don’t want. There is nothing that makes a boy so
independent as roughing it with other boys.”
“I am afraid they will ridicule him for being different from them,”
said Billy’s mother. “You know he has been kept from other children on
account of his blindness.”
“I know it, and that is why he needs the companionship of other boys,”
said Mr. Ledwell.
“But boys are so rough, and sometimes they are unkind to sensitive boys
like Billy.”
“Boys are not unkind as a general thing; they are only thoughtless.
Billy will become over-sensitive if you keep him tied to your
apron-strings. He will have to meet all kinds of people, you know.”
So one morning Billy was sent to school with Sam, who called for him.
As Billy’s mother, standing at the open door, watched the two boys
start off together, the contrast between them was very marked, and she
felt that Mr. Ledwell’s advice was of the very best. Billy, with the
blue glasses that he was obliged to wear when out of doors, his blond
hair falling in curly rings about his delicate face, which was radiant
with smiles because he was at last going to a “seeing school” like
other boys, did indeed have the air of a boy who has not mingled with
other boys.
Sam trudged along on the outside of the sidewalk, his strong, sturdy
figure in striking contrast to Billy’s slender one. Billy’s mother
watched them so long as they were in sight. Then she slowly entered the
house, saying to herself,—
“Poor boy, what a hard time he will have before he gets to be like
other boys!”
Meanwhile, the two boys went on, Sam feeling very important to be
entrusted with the care of Billy, and chatting all the way about his
school-life. His grandmother had sent Mary with him, fearing the two
boys would be careless in crossing the streets, but Sam’s dignity was
hurt at this precaution.
“I am not a baby, Mary, to have a nurse tagging around after me,” he
said, as soon as he was out of sight of his grandmother’s window, “so
you can just go back again.”
This Mary did not dare do, as she had directions to keep with the
boys; so after a serious conversation between her and her independent
charge, they compromised matters in this way: Mary was to be allowed
to follow at a respectful distance on the opposite sidewalk, provided
she would not attempt to speak to Sam or make any sign to show that she
had any connection with him. In this way Mary could keep an eye on her
two charges and be on hand if her services were required. Sam threw
occasional side glances in Mary’s direction to see if she were keeping
the contract faithfully.
The two boys proceeded on their way for some time, Sam using great
caution in piloting his friend across the streets, for Billy was afraid
of being run over by the teams and carriages which were so constantly
coming. The city sights were so new to the poor child, it was hard for
him to calculate how long it would take for the teams he saw coming
their way to reach them. This gave him a timid, undecided air, and Sam
would often say when Billy stopped, fearing to cross, “Come along,
Billy, there’s plenty of time to get over.” At this Billy would gain
courage and start, but he always reached the other side before Sam did.
“Whatever you do, Billy, don’t ever stop half-way across and run back
again,” Sam said, when Billy had been particularly nervous. “If you do,
you’ll be sure to be run over, because the drivers don’t know what you
are going to do. It would be better to stand still and let them turn
out for you. They won’t run over you if you stand still.” And Billy,
who thought Sam knew all about such things, promised to take his advice.
At the next corner they met a group of older boys on their way to
school. They were in the mood to find amusement in anything that came
their way, and as soon as they caught sight of the two little boys, one
of their number called out, “Hullo, Blue Glasses!”
The color came into Billy’s cheeks, and Sam looked very defiant.
“Trying to be a girl? Look at his nice curls! Ain’t they sweet?” said
another.
“What’s your name, Sissy?” called the largest of the group, a boy
several years older than the two little boys. At the same time he took
hold of Billy and made him stop. “What’s your name, I say!”
The slight and sensitive Billy, tightly held by the larger and stronger
boy, was about to reply meekly, when Sam called out, “Don’t you tell
him your name! It’s none of his business what your name is!”
“Oh, it isn’t, is it! He shall tell me his name and you shall tell me
yours, too, and tell it first;” and letting Billy go, he seized Sam by
the collar. “Come, out with it! Now what is it?”
“It’s none of your business,” replied Sam, stoutly, struggling to free
himself from the strong grasp of the boy.
“Come, let the little fellow alone,” said one of his companions.
“He’s got to answer my question first. Come, youngster, what’s your
name?” and he gave him a shake as he spoke.
“You let me alone!” cried Sam, who was working himself into a very
excited state, and trying his best to free himself. “You just wait
until I get hold of you!”
Billy had been standing helplessly by, wanting to assist Sam, but not
knowing how to do it. At last, when he saw his best friend struggling
in the grasp of the big boy, he suddenly became desperate, and,
throwing down his luncheon basket, flew at the big boy and began
hammering at his back with his weak fists.
All this had taken place in a much shorter time than it takes to relate
it, and Mary, from the other side of the street, had seen what was
going on, but she feared that Sam would resent her interference, so she
watched to see that matters did not go too far. When Billy made his
sudden attack, she quickly crossed over and released Sam from the big
boy’s grasp.
“It’s a fine business for a big fellow like you to be after picking a
quarrel with two little fellows! Why don’t you take one of your own
size?”
The boy did really seem to be ashamed of himself, particularly as his
friends did not uphold him, and he joined them in rather a shamefaced
manner. Sam, however, was not satisfied with the settlement of the
quarrel, and made a rush after him, but Mary caught him in time and
held him fast.
“I’ll tell you what _your_ name is,” he shouted, while he struggled to
free himself from Mary’s tight grasp. “It’s a mean old bully! And you
just wait till the next time I get a chance, that’s all!”
“It’s a shame for little boys to be fighting like the beasts that don’t
know any better,” said Mary. “What would your grandmamma say if she
came to hear of it? She would think it was just awful!”
“I don’t know about that,” said Sam, shrewdly.
Mary did not cross to the other side of the street again, but kept with
her charges, and, until the schoolhouse was reached, improved the time
in lecturing the two boys on the sin of fighting. Billy listened very
meekly, and even Sam received the lecture in silence; but when Mary
left them at the door, he said very seriously,—
“Mary, I sha’n’t _begin_ a fight, but if a fellow hits me he’s got to
look out!”
When Mary on her return related the story to Sam’s grandmamma and
grandpapa, and told how valiantly Billy had gone to the rescue of his
friend, Sam’s grandpapa only smiled with his eyes and said, “He’ll do!”