a darkened room, languid and weak, his eyes bandaged, his face paler
than ever, but still cheerful and patient. It was five days since the
operation had been performed, but Willie had not yet seen the light,
nor was it certain that he would ever do so, though the doctor hoped
and believed that all had gone well. They had given the boy chloroform
at the time, and then bound his eyes before he had recovered his
senses. But on this day the bandage was to be taken off for the first,
and then they should know. His mother sat beside him holding his thin,
worn hand in hers.
"Willie," she said, "the doctor is to be here presently, and he will
take the bandage from your eyes."
"And will I see then, mother?"
"If God pleases, dear. But, Willie, if he does not see fit to give you
back your sight, could you bear it, and try to think that it is his
will, and he knows best?"
Willie drew a long, heavy breath, and was silent a moment, grasping his
mother's fingers till the pressure almost pained her; then he said,
low, and with a quiver in his voice, "I would try, mother; but it would
be 'most too hard after all. If it could be just for a little while,
just so I could see your dear face for a few moments, then I would try
to say, 'Thy will be done.'"
"However it is, we must say that, my boy; but, please the Lord, we
shall yet praise him for his great goodness in giving you back your
poor, dear eyes."
As she spoke, the door opened, and her husband put his head in.
"Here's the doctor, Mary," he said, with a voice that shook, in spite
of his efforts to keep it steady; and then he came in, followed by the
doctor and Mrs. Granby.
The latter, by the doctor's orders, opened the window so as to let in
a little softened light, and after a few cheerful words the doctor
unfastened the bandage, and uncovered the long sightless eyes. Willie
was resting in his mother's arms with his head back against her
shoulder, and she knew that he had turned it so that her face might be
the first object his eyes rested on.
It was done; and, with a little glad cry, the boy threw up his arms
about his mother's neck.
"What is it, Willie?" asked his father, scarcely daring to trust his
voice to speak.
"I saw it! I saw it!" said the boy.
"Saw what, sonny?" asked his father, wishing to be sure that the child
could really distinguish objects.
"I saw mother's face, her dear, dear face; and I see you, too, father.
Oh, God is so good! I will be such a good boy all my life. Oh, will I
never have to fret to see mother's face again?"
"Ahem!" said the doctor, turning to a table and beginning to measure
some drops into a glass, while Mrs. Granby stood crying for joy at the
other end of the room. "If you're not to, you must keep more quiet than
this, my boy; it will not do for you to grow excited. Here, take this."
"Who's that?" asked Willie, as the strange face met his gaze.
"Ho, ho!" said the doctor. "Are you going to lose your ears now you
have found your eyes? I thought you knew all our voices, my fine
fellow."
"Oh, yes," said Willie, "I know now; it's the doctor. Doctor, was I
just as patient as you wanted me to be?"
"First-rate," answered the doctor; "but you must have a little more
patience yet. I'll leave the bandage off, but we will not have quite so
much light just now, Mrs. Granby."
Willie begged for one look at Auntie Granby, and then Jennie was
called, that he might have a peep at her, after which he was content
to take the medicine and lie down, still holding his mother's hand, and
now and then putting up his fingers with a wistful smile to touch the
dearly loved face he could still see bending over him in the dim light.
That evening the policeman went up to Mr. Bradford's. He was asked to
walk into the parlor, where sat Mr. Bradford and Aunt Patty, while old
nurse was just taking Maggie and Bessie off to bed.
"Oh, here is our policeman!" said Bessie; and she ran up to him,
holding out her hand. "How is your Willie?"
"That's just what I came to tell you, dear. I made bold to step up and
let you know about Willie, sir," he said, turning to Mr. Bradford.
"And what is the news?" asked the gentleman.
"The best, sir. The Lord has crowned all his mercies to us by giving us
back our boy's sight."
"And has Willie seen his mother's face?" asked Bessie, eagerly.
"Yes, that he has. He took care that should be the first thing his eyes
opened on; and it just seems as if he could not get his full of looking
at it. He always was a mother boy, my Willie, but more than ever so
since his blindness."
"How is he?" asked Mr. Bradford.
"Doing nicely, sir. Rather weakish yet; but when he can bear the light,
and get out into the fresh air, it will do him good; and I hope he'll
come round after a spell, now that his mind is at ease, and he's had a
sight of that he'd set his heart on, even if we can't just follow out
the doctor's orders."
Bessie felt as if she could keep her secret no longer. "May I,
papa,--may I?" she asked.
Papa understood her, and nodded assent.
"But you _can_ follow the doctor's orders," said she, turning again to
the policeman, "and Willie can have all the fresh air he needs,--fresh
mountain air, he and his mother. And Maggie and I are to pay it out
of the money that Uncle Ruthven gave us for the eye doctor whom
the"--here Bessie looked half doubtfully towards Aunt Patty--"the old
lady paid. And now, you see, it's a great deal nicer, 'cause if she
hadn't, then, maybe, Willie couldn't go to the country."
Bessie talked so fast that Richards did not understand at first, and
her father had to explain. The man was quite overcome.
"It's too much, sir, it's too much," he said, in a husky voice,
twisting his cap round and round in his hands. "It was the last thing
was wanting, and I feel as if I had nothing to say. There ain't no
words to tell what I feel. I can only say may the Lord bless you and
yours, and grant you all your desires in such measure as he has done to
me."
Mr. Bradford then told what arrangements had been made, in order to
give Richards time to recover himself. The policeman thought all these
delightful, and said he knew his wife and boy would feel that they
could never be thankful and happy enough.
"And to think that all this has come out of that little one being
brought up to the station that day, sir; it's past belief almost," he
said.
"So good has been brought out of evil," said Mr. Bradford.
As soon as the policeman had gone, Maggie and Bessie ran up-stairs to
tell their mother the good news, leaving papa and Aunt Patty alone
together. Mr. Bradford then turned to the old lady, and laying his hand
gently on her shoulder, said,--
"Aunt Patty, you have laid up your treasure where moth and rust do not
corrupt; but surely it is bearing interest on earth."
"How? Why? What do you mean, Henry?" said Mrs. Lawrence, with a little
start.
"Come, confess, Aunt Patty," he said; "acknowledge that it is to you
this good fellow who has just left us owes his freedom from debt, his
child's eyesight, his release from cares which were almost too much
even for his hopeful spirit; acknowledge that you have generously
sacrificed a long-cherished desire, given up the fruits of much saving
and self-denial, to make those happy in whom you could have had no
interest save as creatures and children of one common Father. We all
know it. The policeman's children recognized you, and told my little
ones. Why will you not openly share with us the pleasure we must all
feel at the blind boy's restoration to sight? Did you not see dear
Bessie's wistful look at you as she bade you good-night? These little
ones cannot understand why there should be any reason to hide such
kindness as you have shown to these people, or why you should refuse to
show an interest you really feel. It is true that we are told not to
let our left hand, know that which is done by our right hand; but are
we not also commanded so to let our light shine before men that they
may see our good works and glorify our Father in heaven? And can we do
so, or truly show our love to him, if we hide the services rendered for
his sake behind a mask of coldness and reserve? My dear aunt, for his
sake, for your own, for the sake of the affection and confidence which
I wish my children to feel for you, and which I believe you wish to
gain, let me satisfy them that it was really you who did this thing."
The old lady hesitated for a moment longer, and then she broke down
in a burst of humility and penitence such as Mr. Bradford had never
expected to see from her. She told him how she had heard them all
talking of the policeman and his troubles, and how much she had wished
that she was able to help him; how she had thought that the desire
to have the grove was only a fancy, right in itself perhaps, but not
to be indulged if she could better spend the money for the good of
others; and how, without taking much time to consider the matter, she
had decided to give it up. Then she had half regretted it, but would
not confess to herself or others that she did so, and so, feeling
irritable and not at ease with herself, had been impatient and angry at
the least thing which seemed to oppose her plans. The children, she
said, had shamed her by their greater patience and submission under
the disappointment she had so unintentionally brought upon them, and
now she felt that the ill-temper she had shown had brought reproach on
the Master whom she really wished to serve, and destroyed the little
influence she had been able to gain with the children.
Mr. Bradford told her he thought she was mistaken here, and if the
children could only be quite certain that it was she who had proved
such a good friend to the policeman's family, they would forget all
else in their pleasure at her kindness and sympathy.
So Mrs. Lawrence told him to do as he thought best; and she found it
was as he said; for when Maggie and Bessie came down in the morning,
full of joy at the happiness which had come to Willie and his parents,
they ran at once to Aunt Patty, and Bessie, putting her little arms
about her neck, whispered,--
"Dear Aunt Patty, we're so much obliged to you about Willie, and if
we had only known it was you, we wouldn't have felt so bad about it.
Now we only feel glad, and don't you feel glad, too, when you know how
happy they all are?"
Then Maggie sidled up, and slipping her hand into Aunt Patty's, said,--
"Aunt Patty, please to forgive me for saying naughty things about you
when I didn't know you was the queer old lady."
Aunt Patty was quite ready to exchange forgiveness; and for the two
remaining days of her stay, it seemed as if her little nieces could not
do enough to show how pleased and grateful they were; and when she left
them, they could tell her with truth how glad they were that they were
to see her soon again in her own home.
And if you are not tired of Maggie and Bessie, you may some time learn
how they spent their summer among the mountains.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] "Chapel Gems."