"He put something on, at last, which relieved the pain a little, then my eyes were bandaged, and I was put to bed. My dear mother, when she stooped down to kiss me after everything was done, did not forget to whisper that I was a dear little girl to try to help mother, and that the drawer looked beautiful. "I sat up to the supper table that very night, but with bandaged eyes that ached a good deal, and every one at the table wore a sober face; I could tell, by the sound of their voices. I don't know whether father just _happened_ to read those verses at family worship, that night, or whether the trouble made him think of them. However it was, he read the story of the blind man who was cured; and who, when the people questioned and _questioned_ him, could give only this answer: 'One thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see.' "Father's voice trembled over the word 'blind,' and mother cried; I could feel her tears dropping on my hand. But I did not shed a tear; my heart was full of a great thought. Jesus had cured that blind man with a touch, and my Bible verse the Sunday before, had been 'Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.' Why couldn't he cure people in just the same way now? Why didn't he? Perhaps he did, only I had never heard of it. Father's prayer made the thought all the stronger. He asked the Lord to bless their little girl, and, if it was possible, to take away the fear which was gnawing at their hearts. He didn't think I would understand. Mother did not know she had screamed out that I had put out my eyes. But I heard her. I knew all about it. I remembered the time when the dog slipped his chain and came and saved me; I thought God sent him; and God could in some way cure me now. Every waking minute that night I prayed to him to cure me. The first thing I did in the morning was to pray the same prayer. I will not deny that I thought about the beautiful fire balls, and all the wonders of the evening, and I asked God, since he could do it just as well, to cure me _quick_, so I could see all the lovely things. "Well, children," Grandma dropped her knitting, and, leaning forward, folded her soft white hands over her knee in an impressive way she had, and looked her attentive little audience squarely in the face, "I don't know how it was; I don't pretend to explain it, never have, but when the doctor came that morning, and said he must take off the bandages to bathe my eyes, and warned me that the light would hurt very much, and I must try to be brave, and told my mother that when he saw my eyes, he could give her an idea of how many months I would have to wear the bandage, and when everything was ready, and mother had me in her arms, and father sat the other side, and held my hand, and the doctor unpinned the bandage, I looked straight at father with two eyes that did not even wink, and said: 'Father, they don't hurt a bit; _not a single bit_.'