Well, it so happened that nobody was at home but Abe and Ephe, and it didn’t take but few words before Abe was ready to set right down, then and there, and let anybody do anything he was a mind to with his misfortunate eyes. No, he wouldn’t wait till the old folks come home; he didn’t want to ask no advice; he wasn’t afraid of pain, nor of what anybody could do to his eyes--couldn’t be made any worse than they were, whatever you did to ’em. Take ’em out and boil ’em and put ’em back if you had a mind to, only go to work. He knew he was of age and he guessed he was master of his own eyes--such as they were. [Illustration: FIRST SPIRT OF BLOOD.] Well, there wasn’t nothing else to do but go ahead. The doctor opened up his killing tools and tried to keep Abe from seeing them; but Abe he just come right over and peeked at ’em, handled ’em, and called ’em “splendid”--and so they were, barrin’ havin’ them used on your own flesh and blood and bones. Then they got some cloths and a basin, and one thing and another, and set Abe right down in a chair. (No such thing as chloroform in those days, you’ll remember.) And Squire Caton was to hold an instrument that spread the eyelid wide open, while Ephe was to hold Abe’s head steady. First touch of the lancet, and first spirt of blood, and what do you think? That ornery Ephe wilted, and fell flat on the floor behind the chair! “Squire,” said Brainard, “step around and hold his head.” “I can hold my own head,” says Abe, as steady as you please. But Squire Caton, he straddled over Ephe and held his head between his arms, and the two handles of the eye-spreader with his hands. It was all over in half a minute, and then Abe he leaned forward, and shook the blood off his eyelashes, and looked straight out of that eye for the first time since he was born. And the first words he said were: “Thank the Lord! She’s mine!” About that time Ephe he crawled outdoors, sick as a dog; and Abe spoke up, says he: “Now for the other eye, doctor.” “Oh,” says the doctor, “we’d better take another day for that.” “All right,” says Abe; “if your hands are tired of cuttin’, you can make another job of it. My face ain’t tired of bein’ cut, I can tell you.” “Well, if you’re game, I am.” So, if you’ll believe me, they just set to work and operated on the other eye, Abe holding his own head, as he said he would, and the squire holding the spreader. And when it was all done, the doctor was for putting a bandage on to keep things quiet till the wounds all healed up, but Abe just begged for one sight of himself, and he stood up and walked over to the clock and looked in the glass, and says he: “So that’s the way I look, is it? Shouldn’t have known my own face--never saw it before. How long must I keep the bandage on, doctor?” “Oh, if the eyes ain’t very sore when you wake up in the morning, you can take it off, if you’ll be careful.”