“I am glad to welcome you, Miss Overton,” she said; “but am sorry you had to walk. We did not know you were coming to-day. You must be very tired.” Edna assured her she was not; and then Mrs. Churchill continued: “I cannot see you as distinctly as I wish I could, for I like to know the faces of those I have about me. It is terrible to be blind!” Her lip quivered as she said it, and instantly there awoke in Edna’s bosom a feeling akin to love for this woman, who was her mother, in one sense of the word, and before whom she knelt, saying cheerily: “Let me come nearer to you, then. Perhaps you will get an idea of me. I don’t mind your looking at me as long as you like.” And Mrs. Churchill did look at the fresh young face held so close to her own, and passed her hand over the mass of golden brown hair, and lifted one of the heavy curls and held it to the light; then, with a gesture of satisfaction, she said: “There, that will do. I think I know tolerably well how you look. I certainly know the feeling of your hands and hair. You are a little bit of a girl, and Maude rightly named you _Dot_. She is at Oakwood now with some young ladies from New York and a Mr. Heyford. They are having a croquet party, and Roy is there too. Maude is croquet mad, I think.” Suddenly it occurred to Mrs. Churchill that her guest might like to see her room, and she arose, saying: “I do not like being led; it implies too much helplessness; but I think I shall not mind using you for my guide. I can lean on your shoulder nicely. I am glad you are so short.” The soft, white hand rested itself softly on Edna’s shoulder in a caressing kind of way, and the two went slowly from the library and out into the wide hall, through which blew the warm September wind, sweet with the perfume of flowers it had kissed in its passage across the garden. To Edna it seemed as if she had gained an entrance into Paradise, as through either open door she caught glimpses of the beautiful grounds, stretching away to the winding river in one direction and back toward the Catskill hills in the other. Slowly up the long flight of stairs they went, till they reached the hall above, and Mrs. Churchill, pointing to a door, said: “That is Roy’s room, and the one farther down, where the door is shut, was Charlie’s, my other son, who died two years ago. Yours is this way, opposite mine. I hope you will like it. Georgie Burton said it was all right.” They were in the room by this time, and with a cry of pleasure Edna broke away from the hand on her shoulder, and running to the window, from which the grounds, the river, and so many miles of country could be seen, exclaimed: “Oh, I like it so much! It is all like fairyland; and seems a dream that I should ever be in a place like this! I hope I shall not wake and find it so; that would be very dreadful!” She was talking more to herself than to Mrs. Churchill, who nevertheless said to her: