"There are things worse than blindness," said Paulina Maria. "Nobody shall sacrifice himself for my son. If our own prayers and sacrifices are not sufficient, it is the will of the Lord that he should suffer, and he will suffer." "Take it, Henry," pleaded Jerome, utterly disregarding her. "Would you take it in my son's place?" demanded Paulina Maria, suddenly. She looked fixedly at Jerome. "Answer me," said she. "That has nothing to do with it!" Jerome cried, angrily. "He is going blind, and this money will cure him. If you are his mother--" "Don't ask anybody to take even a kindness that you wouldn't take yourself," said Paulina Maria. Jerome flung out of the room without another word. When he got out-of-doors, he found Adoniram at his elbow. "I want ye to know that I'm much obliged to ye, J'rome," he whispered. He felt for Jerome's hand and shook it. "Thank ye, thank ye, J'rome," he repeated, brokenly. "I don't want any thanks," replied Jerome. "Can't you take the money and make Henry go with you to Boston and see the doctor, if she won't?" "It's no use goin' agin her, J'rome." "I believe she's crazy." "No, she ain't, J'rome--no, she ain't. She knows how you saved up that money, an' she won't take it. She's made so she can't take anybody else's sufferin' to ease hers, an' so's Henry--he's like his mother." "Can't you make her take it, Uncle Adoniram?" "She can't make herself take it; but I'm jest as much obliged to ye, J'rome." Adoniram was about to re-enter the house. "She'll wonder where I be," he muttered, but Jerome stopped him. "If I do begin work on the mill to-morrow," said he, "I sha'n't be able to fetch and carry to Dale, nor to do as much work in Uncle Ozias's shop. Do you suppose you can help out some?" "I can, if I'm as well as I be now, J'rome." "Of course, you can earn more than you do now," said Jerome. That was really the errand upon which he had come to the Judds that evening. He had been quite elated with the thought of the pleasure it would give them, when the possibility of larger service--Henry's cure by means of his cherished hoard--had suddenly come to him. He arranged with Adoniram Judd that he should go to the shop the next morning, then bade him good-night, and turned his own steps thither. When he came in sight of Ozias Lamb's shop, its window was throwing a long beam of light across the field creeping with dry grass before the frosty wind. When Jerome opened the door, he started to see Ozias seated upon his bench, his head bowed over and hidden upon his idle hands. Jerome closed the door, then stood a moment irresolute, staring at his uncle's dejected figure. "What's the matter, Uncle Ozias?" he asked. Ozias did not speak, but made a curious, repellent motion with his bowed shoulders. "Are you sick?" Again Ozias seemed to shunt him out of the place with that speaking motion of his shoulder.