"I'm glad they please him," she said; "but how awful it is to be blind;" and by way of trying the experiment, she shut her eyes, and stretching out her arms, walked just as Richard, succeeding so well that she was beginning to consider it rather agreeable than otherwise, when she unfortunately ran into a tall rose-bush, scratching her forehead, tangling her hair, and stubbing her toes against its gnarled roots. "'Taint so jolly to be blind after all," she said, "I do believe I've broken my toe," and extricating herself as best she could from the sharp thorns, she ran on as fast as her feet could carry her, wondering what Mrs. Atherton would say when she heard Richard was blind, and feeling a kind of natural delight in knowing she should be the first to communicate the bad news. CHAPTER III. GRACE ATHERTON. "Edith," said Mrs. Atherton, who had seen her coming, and hastened out to meet her, "you were gone a long time, I think." "Yes'm," answered Edith, spitting out the bonnet strings she had been chewing, and tossing back the thick black locks which nearly concealed her eyes from view. "Yes'm; it took me a good while to talk to old Darkness." "Talk to whom?" asked Grace; and Edith returned, "I don't know what you call him if 'taint old Darkness; he kept muttering about the dark, and asked "where Charlie was." "Ole Cap'n Harrington," said Rachel. "They say how't he's allus goin' on 'bout Charlie an' the dark." This explanation was satisfactory to Grace, who proceeded next to question Edith concerning Mrs. Richard Harrington, asking if she saw her, etc. "There ain't any such," returned Edith, "but I saw Mr. Richard. Jolly, isn't he grand? He's as tall as the ridge-pole, and---" "But what did he say to the flowers?" interrupted Grace, far more intent upon knowing how her gift had been received, than hearing described the personal appearance of one she had seen so often. Edith felt intuitively that a narrative of the particulars attending the delivery of the bouquet would insure her a scolding, so she merely answered, "He didn't say a word, only kissed them hard, but he can't see them, Mrs. Atherton. He can't see me, nor you, nor anybody. He's blind as a bat--" "Blind! Richard blind! Oh, Edith;" and the bright color which had stained Grace's cheeks when she knew that Richard had kissed her flowers, faded out, leaving them of a pallid hue. Sinking into the nearest chair, she kept repeating "blind--blind--poor, poor Richard. It cannot be. Bring me some water, Rachel, and help me to my room. This intensely hot morning makes me faint."