Jem stroked her cheek, which had flushed with eagerness, and he said, turning to Mrs. Seymour and smiling a little sadly-- "Mother, she's like a hen with one chick; nobody can't take care of Dickie but her." "Oh, Jem!" exclaimed Meg. "No, more they can't, half as well," he went on. "Nobody who has seen my Meg for the last few weeks, but knows as she has the true motherly heart. I'd thought as our Father above was goin' to give her one of her own to see after, but He's seen as it 'ud be nice for her to have two instead o' one. Ah! Meg, my girl, I've seen the meanin' of those words, 'as one whom his mother comforteth' since I've watched you." Meg did not answer; she was thinking of the tiny white-robed form that had lain unresponsively in her arms. For a moment she felt very desolate. "But it would be very nice indeed for Dickie to go with her," remarked Mrs. Seymour; "I am glad it's been proposed." Then they explained as well as they could what had happened that evening, with the sad certainty which had come upon them, that the cruelty which had been practised on Dickie had made him quite blind. "Now I can understand what made Cherry so dumpy," said Mrs. Seymour. "She came up-stairs as quiet as anything, and crept into bed with hardly a word. I've heard her sniffin' and that, for ever so long; indeed, that was partly why I came down to ask you if anythin' was the matter." "Poor child," said Jem, "I could see as she felt it very much. There, mother, we've had mercies and trials both mixed up, as you may say. Here's my Meg about again, as is the greatest joy I've had for a long time, and here's this trouble about poor little Dickie. Then Cherry's got a nice beginnin' of somethin' to do, and she too has got to hear, as her little brother, what she's loved so tenderly, is blind." "Well, my dear," answered Mrs. Seymour, "I'm gettin' to learn, a step at a time, as God leads His people along in the _best_ way. He knows just how to send the sunshine and cloud so as to make the fruits of the earth come to ripen; and it's so with us: if we was to have all sunshine we'd be dried up, and should not bear fruit for Him, and if we was to have all cloud and rain, we'd be so damp and mildewy that I doubt if we should do much good. So He sends both, just as He sees best, to make us what He would have us be." "Yes, mother," answered Jem, thoughtfully; "I dare say as you're quite right." "You see, Jem," she added, as she rose to go back to her own room, "I have a lot o' time to think, as I stand washin' and ironin', and where I used to think of other folks and a hundred things, now says I to myself, 'What can I do better than think on the Lord, and all His ways?' So I put up a large-print Bible I've got, where my eyes can light upon a word here and there, without stoppin' in my work, and you'd be surprised what a deal o' comfort I get." Jem kissed her for good night very tenderly.