Part 22

“So,” he said kindly, as after patting Phronsie's head he came over and sat down by Polly, “this is the little girl who came to see me when I was sick.”

“Oh, sir,” said Polly, “I'm so glad you wasn't!”

“Well, when I come again,” said Mr. Henderson, rising after a merry chat, “I see I shall have to slip a book into my pocket, and read for those poor eyes.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Polly; and then she stopped and blushed.

“Well, what is it?” asked the minister, encouragingly.

“Ben loves to hear reading,” said Polly.

“Does he? well, by that time, my little girl, I guess Ben will be down-stairs; he's all right, Polly; don't you worry about him--and I'll sit in the kitchen, by the bedroom door, and you can hear nicely.”

So the Hendersons went away. But somehow, before they went, a good many things found their way out of the old-fashioned chaise into the Peppers' little kitchen.

But Polly's eyes didn't get any better, with all the care; and the lines of worry on Mrs. Pepper's face grew deeper and deeper. At last, she just confronted Dr. Fisher in the kitchen, one day after his visit to Polly, and boldly asked him if they ever could be cured. “I know she's--and there isn't any use keeping it from me,” said the poor woman--“she's going to be stone-blind!”

“My good woman,” Dr. Fisher's voice was very gentle; and he took the hard, brown hand in his own--“your little girl will not be blind; I tell you the truth; but it will take some time to make her eyes quite strong--time, and rest. She has strained them in some way, but she will come out of it.”

“Praise the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, throwing her apron over her head; and then she sobbed on, “and thank you, sir--I can't ever thank you--for--for--if Polly was blind, we might as well give up!”

The next day, Phronsie, who had the doctor's permission to sit up, only she was to be kept from taking cold, scampered around in stocking-feet in search of her shoes, which she hadn't seen since she was first taken sick.

“Oh, I want on my very best shoes,” she cried; “can't I, mammy?”

“Oh, no, Phronsie; you must keep them nice,” remonstrated her mother; “you can't wear 'em every-day, you know.”

“'Tisn't every-day,” said Phronsie, slowly; “it's only one day.”

“Well, and then you'll want 'em on again tomorrow,” said her mother.

“Oh, no, I won't!” cried Phronsie; “never, no more to-morrow, if I can have 'em to-day; please, mammy dear!”

Mrs. Pepper went to the lowest drawer in the high bureau, and took therefrom a small parcel done up in white tissue paper. Slowly unrolling this before the delighted eyes of the child, who stood patiently waiting, she disclosed the precious red-topped shoes which Phronsie immediately clasped to her bosom.

“My own, very own shoes! whole mine!” she cried, and trudged out into the kitchen to put them on herself.

“Hulloa!” cried Dr. Fisher, coming in about a quarter of an hour later to find her tugging laboriously at the buttons--“new shoes! I declare!”

“My own!” cried Phronsie, sticking out one foot for inspection, where every button was in the wrong button-hole, “and they've got red tops, too!”

“So they have,” said the doctor, getting down on the floor beside her; “beautiful red tops, aren't they?”

“Be-yew-ti-ful,” sang the child delightedly.

“Does Polly have new shoes every day?” asked the doctor in a low voice, pretending to examine the other foot.

Phronsie opened her eyes very wide at this.

“Oh, no, she don't have anything, Polly don't.”

“And what does Polly want most of all--do you know? see if you can tell me.” And the doctor put on the most alluring expression that he could muster.

“Oh, I know!” cried Phronsie, with a very wise look. “There now,” cried the doctor, “you're the girl for me! to think you know! so, what is it?”