But his wife had broken down, and was polishing Bennie’s shoe with her tears.

“O, will you take me?  Can I go to that doctor?” cried Maria, forgetting her timidity, and turning her sightless eyes towards Mrs. Allen with a joyful look, which seemed to glow through the lids.

“Yes, dear child, I will take you with the greatest pleasure in life; but remember, I don’t promise you can be cured.  Come with your mother, to-morrow morning, at ten.  Will that do, Mrs. Brooks?  And now, good by, all.  Children, we must certainly be going.”

“God bless her,” murmured the sick man, as the little party passed out.

“Didn’t I tell you she was an angel?” said his wife.

“No, mother; it’s that little tot that’s the ‘angel.’  The Lord sent her on ahead to spy out the land; and afterwards there comes a flesh-and-blood woman to see it laid straight.”

“Pa thinks that baby is a spirit made out of air,” said Maria, laughing in high excitement.  “And, mother, don’t you really believe now the Lord did send her, just as much as if she dropped down out of the sky?”

“Yes, I hain’t a doubt of it, Maria, but what the Lord had us in his mind when he let the child slip off and get lost.—­Pa, I’m going to give you some of that blackberry cordial now:  you look all gone.”

CHAPTER XI.

“THE HEN-HOUSES.”

While the Brooks family were talking so gratefully, and Maria counting over the cookies and cups of jelly for the twentieth time, Fly, was holding on to Horace’s thumb, saying, as she skipped along,—­“I hope the doctor’ll take a knife, and pick Maria’s eyes open, so she can see.”

“Precious little you care whether she can see or not,” said Dotty.  “I don’t think Fly has much feeling,—­do you, Prudy?—­not like you and I, I mean!”

“Pshaw! what do you expect of such a baby?” said Horace, indignantly.  “You never saw a child so full of pity as this one is, when she knows what to be sorry for.  But a great deal she understands about blindness!  And why should she?—­Look here, Topknot; which would you rather do?  Have your eyes put out, and lots of candy to eat, or, your eyes all good, and not a speck of candy as long as you live?”

“I’d ravver have the candy ’thout blind-eyed?”

“But supposing you couldn’t have but one?”

Fly reflected seriously for half a minute, and then answered,

“I’d ravver have the candy with blind-eyed!”

“There, girls, what did I tell you?”

“’Cause I could eat the candy athout looking, you know,” added Fly, shutting her eyes, and putting a sprig of cedar in her mouth, by way of experiment.

“You little goosie,” said Prudy; “when Aunt Madge was crying so about Maria, I did think you were a hard-hearted thing to look up and laugh; but now, I don’t believe you knew any better.”