CHAPTER

I. "THE BLIND-EYED CHILDREN"

II. EMILY'S TRIALS

III. PLAYING SHIP

IV. A SPOILED DINNER

V. PLAYING TRUANT

VI. A STRANGE VISIT

VII. PLAYING PRISONER

VIII. PLAYING THIEF

IX. THANKSGIVING DAY

X. GRANDMA'S OLD TIMES

XI. THE CRYSTAL WEDDING

CHAPTER I.

"THE BLIND-EYED CHILDREN."

"You is goin' off, Dotty Dimpwil."

"Yes, dear, and you must kiss me."

"No, not now; you isn't gone yet. You's goin' nex' day after this day."

Miss Dimple and Horace exchanged glances, for they had an important secret between them.

"Dotty, does you want to hear me crow like Bantie? 'Cause," added Katie, with a pitying glance at her cousin, "'cause you can't bear me bimeby, when you didn't be to my house."

"That will do, you blessed little Topknot," cried Horace, as the shrill crowing died on the air, and the pink bud of a mouth took its own shape again. "Now I just mean to tell you something nice, for you might as well know it and be happy a day longer: mother and you and I are going to Indianapolis to-morrow with Dotty—going in the cars."

"O!" exclaimed the child, whirling about like a leaf in a breeze. "Going to 'Naplis, yidin' in the cars! O my shole!"

"Yes, and you'll be good all day—won't you, darling, and not hide mamma's spools?"

"Yes, I won't if I don't 'member. We for salt, salt, salt," sang Flyaway (meaning mi, fa, sol). Then she ran to the bureau, perched herself before it on an ottoman, and talked to herself in the glass.

"Now you be good gell all day, Katie Clifford—not dishbey your mamma, not hide her freds o' spools, say fank you please. O my shole!"

So Katie was made happy for twenty-four hours.

"After we sleep one more time," said she, "then we shall go."

She wished to sleep that "one more time" with Dotty; but her little head was so full of the journey that she aroused her bedfellow in the middle of the night, calling out,—

"We's goin' to 'Naplis,—we for salt, salt, salt,—yidin' in the cars, Dotty Dimpwil."

It was some time before Dotty could come out of dreamland, and understand what Katie said.

"Won't you please to hush?" she whispered faintly, and turned away her face, for the new moon was shining into her eyes.

"Let's we get up," cried Katie, shaking her by the shoulders; "don't you see the sun's all corned up bwight?"

"O, that's nothing but just the moon, Katie Clifford."

"O ho! is um the moon? Who cutted im in two?" said Flyaway, and dropped to sleep again.

Dotty was really sorry to leave aunt Maria's pleasant house, and the charming novelties of Out West.

"Phebe," said she, with a quiver in her voice, when she received the tomato pincushion, "I like you just as well as if you wasn't black. And, Katinka, I like you just as well as if you wasn't Dutch. You can cook better things than Norah, if your hair isn't so nice."

This speech pleased Katinka so much that she patted the letter O's on each side of her head with great satisfaction, and was very sorry she had not made some chocolate cakes for Dotty to eat in the cars.

Uncle Henry did not like to part with his bright little niece. She had been so docile and affectionate during her visit, that he began to think her very lovely, and to wonder he had ever supposed she had a wayward temper.

The ride to Indianapolis was a very pleasant one. Katie thought she had the care of the whole party, and her little face was full of anxiety.

"Don't you tubble yourself, mamma," said She; "I'll look out the winner, and tell you when we get there."

"Don't let her fall out, Horace," said Mrs. Clifford; "I have a headache, and you must watch her."

"Has you got a headache, mamma? I's solly. Lean 'gainst ME, mamma."

Horace wished the conductor had been in that car, so he could have seen Miss Flyaway trying to prop her mother's head against her own morsel of a shoulder—about as secure a resting-place as a piece of thistle-down.

"When was it be dinner-time?" said she at last, growing very tired of so much care, and beginning to think "'Naplis" was a long way off.

But they arrived there at last, and found Mr. Parlin waiting for them at the depot. After they had all been refreshed by a nice dinner, and Flyaway had caught a nap, which took her about as long as it takes a fly to eat his breakfast, then Mr. Parlin suggested that they should visit the Blind Asylum.

"Is it where they make blinds?" asked Dotty.

"O, no," replied Mr. Parlin; "it is a school where blind children are taught."

"What is they when they is blind, uncle Eddard?"

"They don't see, my dear."

Flyaway shut her eyes, just to give herself an idea of their condition, and ran against Horace, who saved her from falling.

"I was velly blind, then, Hollis," said she, "and that's what is it."

"I don't see," queried Dotty,—"I don't see how people that can't see can see to read; so what's the use to go to school?"

"They read by the sense of feeling; the letters are raised," said Mr. Parlin. "But here we are at the Institute."

They were in the pleasantest part of the city, standing before some beautiful grounds which occupied an entire square, and were enclosed by an iron fence. In front of the building grew trees and shrubs, and on each side was a play-ground for the children.

"Why, that house has windows," cried Dotty. "I don't see what people want of windows when they can't see."

"Nor me needer," echoed Katie. "What um wants winners, can't see out of?"

They went up a flight of stone steps, and were met at the door by a blind waiting-girl, who ushered them into the visitors' parlor.

"Is she blind-eyed?" whispered Flyaway, gazing at her earnestly. "Her eyes isn't shut up; where is the see gone to?"

Mrs. Clifford sent up her card, and the superintendent, who knew her well, came down to meet her. He was also "blind-eyed," but the children did not suspect it. They were much interested in the specimens of bead-work which were to be seen In the show-cases. Mr. Parlin bought some flowers, baskets, and other toys, to carry home to Susy and Prudy. Horace said,—

"These beads are strung on wires, and it would be easy enough to do that with one's eyes shut; but it always did puzzle me to see how blind people can tell one color from another with the ends of their fingers."

The superintendent smiled.

"That would be strange indeed if it were true," said he; "but it is a mistake. The colors are put into separate boxes, and that is the way the children distinguish them."

"I suppose they are much happier for being busy," said Mr. Parlin. "It is a beautiful thing that they can be made useful."

"So it is," said the superintendent. "I am blind myself, and I know how necessary employment is to MY happiness."

The children looked up at the noble face of the speaker with surprise. Was he blind?

"Why does he wear glasses, then?" whispered Dotty. "Grandma wears 'em because she can see a little, and wants to see more."

The superintendent was amused. As he could not see, Dotty had unconsciously supposed his hearing must be rather dull; but, on the contrary, it was very quick, and he had caught every word.

"I suppose, my child," remarked he, playfully, "these spectacles of mine may be called the gravestones for my dead eyes."

Dotty did not understand this; but she was very sorry she had spoken so loud.

After looking at the show-cases as long as they liked, the visitors went across the hall into the little ones' school-room. This was a very pleasant place, furnished with nice desks; and at one end were book-cases containing "blind books" with raised letters. Horace soon discovered that the Old Testament was in six volumes, each volume as large as a family Bible.

In this cheerful room were twenty or thirty boys and girls. They looked very much like other children, only they did not appear to notice that any one was entering, and scarcely turned their heads as the door softly opened.

Dotty had a great many new thoughts. These unfortunate little ones were very neatly dressed, yet they had never seen themselves in the glass; and how did they know whether their hair was rough or smooth, or parted in the middle? How could they tell when they dropped grease-spots on those nice clothes?

"I don't see," thought Dotty, "how they know when to go to bed! O, dear! I should get up in the night and think 'twas morning; only I should s'pose 'twas night all the whole time, and not any stars either! When my father spoke to me, I should think it was my mother, and say, 'Yes'm.' And p'rhaps I should think Prudy was a beggar-man with a wig on. And never saw a flower nor a tree! O, dear!"

While she was musing in this way, and gazing about her with eager eyes which saw everything, the children were reading aloud from their odd-looking books. It was strange to see their small fingers fly so rapidly over the pages. Horace said it was "a touching sight."

"I wonder," went on Dotty to herself, "if they should tease God very hard, would he let their eyes come again? No, I s'pose not."

Then she reflected further that perhaps they were glad to be blind; she hoped so. The teacher now called out a class in geography, and began to ask questions.

"What can you tell me about the inhabitants of Utah?" said she.

"I know," spoke up a little boy with black hair, and eyes which would have been bright if the lids had not shut them out of sight,—"I know; Utah is inhabited by a religious INSECT called Mormons."

The superintendent and visitors knew that he meant sect and they laughed at the mistake; all but Dotty and Flyaway, who did not consider it funny at all. Flyaway was seated in a chair, busily engaged in picking dirt out of the heels of her boots with a pin.

Horace was much interested in the atlases and globes, upon the surface of which the land rose up higher than the water, and the deserts were powdered with sand. These blind children could travel all about the world with their fingers as well as he could with eyes and a pointer.

The teacher—a kind-looking young lady—was quite pleased when Mr. Parlin said to her,—

"I see very little difference between this and the Portland schools for small children."

She wished, and so did the teachers in the other three divisions, to have the pupils almost forget they were blind.

She allowed them to sing and recite poetry for the entertainment of their visitors. Some of them had very sweet voices, and Mrs. Clifford listened with tears. Their singing recalled to her mind the memory of beautiful things, as music always does; and then she remembered that through their whole lives these children must grope in darkness. She felt more sorrowful for them than they felt for themselves. These dear little souls, who would never see the sun, were very happy, and some of them really supposed it was delightful to be blind.

Their teacher desired them to come forward, if they chose, and repeat sentences of their own composing. Some things they said were very odd. One bright little girl remarked very gravely,—

"Happy are the blind, for they see no ghosts."

This made her companions all laugh. "Yes, that's true," thought Dotty. "If people should come in here with ever so many pumpkins and candles inside, these blind children wouldn't know it; they couldn't be frightened. I wonder where they ever heard of ghosts. There must have been some naughty girl here, like Angeline."

CHAPTER II.

EMILY'S TRIALS.

At three o'clock the little blind girls all went out to play in one yard, and the little blind boys in the other.

"Goin' out to take their air," said Katie. Then she and Dotty followed the girls in respectful silence.

Almost every one had a particular friend; and it was wonderful to see how certain any two friends were to find one another by the sense of feeling, and walk off together, arm in arm. It was strange, too, that they could move so fast without hitting things and falling down.

"When I am blindfolded," thought Dotty, "it makes me dizzy, and I don't know where I am. When I think anything isn't there, the next I know I come against it, and make my nose bleed."

She was not aware that while the most of these children were blind, there were others who had a little glimmering of eyesight. The world was night to some of them; to others, twilight.

They did not know Dotty and Katie were following them, and they chatted away as if they were quite by themselves.

"Emily, have you seen my Lilly Viola?" said one little girl to another. "Miss Percival has dressed her all over new with a red dressing-gown and a black hat."

The speaker was a lovely little girl with curly hair; but her eyes were closed, and Dotty wondered what made her talk of "seeing" a doll.

Emily took "Lilly Viola," and travelled all over her hat and dress and kid boots with her fingers.

"Yes, Octavia," said she, "she is very pretty—ever so much prettier than my Victoria Josephine."

Then both the little girls talked sweet nothings to their rag babies, just like any other little girls.

"Is the dollies blind-eyed, too?" asked Katie, making a dash forward, and peeping into the cloth face of a baby.

The little mamma, whose name was Octavia, smiled, and taking Katie by the shoulders, began to touch her all over with her fingers.

"Dear little thing!" said she; "what soft hair!"

"Yes," replied Katie; "velly soft. Don't you wish, though, you could see my new dress? It's got little blue yoses all over it."

[Illustration: DOTTY AND KATIE VISITING THE BLIND GIRLS.]

"I know your dress is pretty," said Octavia, gently, "and I know you are pretty, too, your voice is so sweet."

"Well, I eat canny," said Katie, "and that makes my voice sweet. I'se got 'most a hunnerd bushels o' canny to my house."

"Have you truly?" asked the children, gathering about Flyaway, and kissing her.

"Yes, and I'se got a sweet place in my neck, too; but my papa's kissed it all out o' me."

"Isn't she a darling?" said Octavia, with delight.

"Yes," answered Dotty, very glad to say a word to such remarkable children as these; "yes, she is a darling; and she has on a white dress with blue spots, and a hat trimmed with blue; and her hair is straw color. They call her Flyaway, because she can't keep still a minute."

"Yes, I does; I keeps still two, free, five, all the minutes," cried Katie; and to prove it, she flew across the yard, and began to pry into one of the play-houses.

"She doesn't mean to be naughty; you must scuse her," spoke up Dotty, very loud; for she still held unconsciously to the idea that blind people must have dull ears. "She is a nice baby; but I s'pose you don't know there are some play-houses in this yard, and she'll get into mischief if I don't watch her."

"Why, all these play-houses are ours," said little curly-haired Emily; "whose did you think they were?"

"Yours?" asked Dotty, in surprise; "can you play?"

Emily laughed merrily.

"Why not? Did you think we were sick?"

Dotty did not answer.

"I am Mrs. Holiday," added Emily; "that is, I generally am; but sometimes I'm Jane. Didn't you ever read Rollo on the Atlantic?"

Dotty, who could only stammer over the First Reader at her mother's knee, was obliged to confess that she had never made Rollo's acquaintance.

"We have books read to us," said Emily. "In the work-hour we go into the sitting-room, and there we sit with the bead-boxes in our laps, making baskets, and then our teacher reads to us out of a book, or tells us a story."

"That is very nice," said Dotty; "people don't read to me much."

"No, of course not, because you can see. People are kinder to blind children—didn't you know it? I'm glad I had my eyes put out, for if they hadn't been put out I shouldn't have come here."

"Where should you have gone, then?"

"I shouldn't have gone anywhere; I should just have staid at home."

"Don't you like to stay at home?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders.

"My paw killed a man."

"I don't know what a paw is," said Dotty.

"O, Flyaway Clifford, you've broken a teapot!"

"No matter," said Emily, kindly; "'twas made out of a gone-to-seed poppy. Don't you know what a paw is? Why, it's a paw"

In spite of this clear explanation, Dotty did not understand any better than before.

"It was the man that married my maw, only maw died, and then there was another one, and she scolded and shook me."

"O, I s'pose you mean a father 'n mother; now I know."

"I want to tell you," pursued Emily, who loved to talk to strangers. "She didn't care if I was blind; she used to shake me just the same. And my paw had fits."

The other children, who had often heard this story, did not listen to it with great interest, but went on with their various plays, leaving Emily and Dotty standing together before Emily's baby-house.

"Yes, my paw had fits. I knew when they were coming, for I could smell them in the bottle."

"Fits in a bottle!"

"It was something he drank out of a bottle that made him have the fits. You are so little that you couldn't understand. And then he was cross. And once he killed a man; but he didn't go to."

"Then he was guilty," said Dotty, in a solemn tone. "Did they take him to the court-house and hang him?"

"No, of course they wouldn't hang him. They said it was the third degree, and they sent him to the State's Prison."

"O, is your father in the State's Prison?"

Dotty thought if her father were in such, a dreadful place, and she herself were blind, she should not wish to live; but here was Emily looking just as happy as anybody else. Indeed, the little girl was rather proud of being the daughter of such a wicked man. She had been pitied so much for her misfortunes that she had come to regard herself as quite a remarkable person. She could not see the horror in Dotty's face, but she could detect it in her voice; so she went on, well satisfied.

"There isn't any other little girl in this school that has had so much trouble as I have. A lady told me it was because God wanted to make a good woman of me, and that was why it was."

"Does it make people good to have trouble?" asked Dotty, trying to remember what dreadful trials had happened to herself. "Our house was burnt all up, and I felt dreadfully. I lost a tea-set, too, with gold rims. I didn't know I was any better for that."

"O, you see, it isn't very awful to have a house burnt up," said Emily; "not half so awful as it is to have your eyes put out."

"But then, Emily, I've been sick, and had the sore throat, and almost drowned—and—and—the whooping-cough when I was a baby."

"What is your name?" asked Emily; "and how old are you?"

"My name is Alice Parlin, and I am six years old."

"Why, I am nine; and see—your head! only comes under my chin."

"Of course it doesn't," replied Dotty, with some spirit. "I wouldn't be as tall as you are for anything, and me only six—going on seven."

"I suppose your paw is rich, and good to you, and you have everything you want—don't you, Alice?"

"No, my father isn't rich at all, Emily, and I don't have many things—no, indeed," replied Miss Dimple, with a desire to plume herself on her poverty and privations. "My aunt 'Ria has two girls, but we don't, only our Norah; and mother never lets me put any nightly-blue sirreup on my hangerjif 'cept Sundays. I think we're pretty poor."

Dotty meant all she said. She had now become a traveller; had seen a great many elegant things; and when she thought of her home in Portland, it seemed to her plainer and less attractive than it had ever seemed before.

"I don't know what you would think," said Emily, counting over her trials on her fingers as if they had been so many diamond rings, "if you didn't have anything to eat but brown bread and molasses. I guess you'd think that was pretty poor! And got the molasses all over your face, because you couldn't see to put it in your mouth. And had that woman shake you every time you spoke. And your paw in State's Prison because he killed a man. O, no," repeated she, with triumph, "there isn't any other little girl in this school that's had so much trouble as I have."

"No, I s'pose not," responded Dotty, giving up the attempt to compare trials with such a wretched being; "but then I may be blind, some time, too. P'rhaps a chicken will pick my eyes out. A cross hen flew right up and did so to a boy."

Emily paid no attention to this foolish remark.