Mrs. Gibson was the first to speak again. "Well I'd like to have that kind, but I'd like wonderfully well to try the other a while first." Elsie looked at the thin, sallow face with its hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, and wished mamma were there to talk of Jesus to this poor woman, who surely had but little time to prepare for another world. "Is your mother at the Crags?" asked Mrs. Gibson turning to her again. Elsie answered in the affirmative, adding that they had been there for some time and would probably remain a week or two longer. "Do you think she would be willing to come here to see me?" was the next question, almost eagerly put. "Mamma is very kind and I am sure she will come if you wish to see her," answered the child. "Then tell her I do; tell her I, her old governess, am sick and poor and in great trouble." Tears rolled down her cheeks and for a moment her eyes rested upon her daughter's face with an expression of keen anguish. "She's going blind," she whispered in Elsie's ear, drawing the child toward her, and nodding in the direction of Sally, stitching away at the window. "Blind! oh how dreadful!" exclaimed the little girl in low moved tones, the tears springing to her eyes. "I wish she could go to Doctor Thomson." "Doctor Thomson! who is he?" "An oculist: he lives in Philadelphia. A friend of mamma's had something growing over her eyes so that she was nearly blind, and he cut it off and she can see now as well as anybody." "I don't think that is the trouble with Sally's; though of course I can't tell. But she's always had poor sight, and now that she has to support the family with her needle, her eyes are nearly worn out." Sally had been for several minutes making vain attempts to thread a needle. Elsie sprang to her side with a kindly, eager, "Let me do it, won't you?" It was done in a trice and the girl thanked her with lips and eyes. "It often takes me full five or ten minutes," she said, "and sometimes I have to get mother to do it for me." "What a pity! it must be a great hindrance to your work." "Yes, indeed, and my eyes ache so that I can seldom sew or read for more than an hour or two at a time. Ah, I'm afraid I'm going to lose my sight altogether." The tone was inexpressibly mournful, and Elsie's eyes filled again. "Don't fret about it," she said, "I think--I hope you can be cured." The rain had nearly ceased, and Philip, saying the worst was over, and they were in danger of being late at dinner, hurried the girls into the phaeton. "What was that woman whispering to you?" asked Gertrude, as soon as they were fairly off. Elsie looked uncomfortable. "It was something I was to tell mamma," she replied. "But what is it?" "I'm afraid she wanted to keep it a secret from you, Gerty, or she would have spoken out loud." "I think you're very mean and disobliging," retorted Gertrude, beginning to pout.