eyes at sight of the change in him, but the warm kiss on his cheek, and the gentle “We are so glad to have you here,” told the story.
Those three days were the beginning of a new life to Fred. At home, he had moped and meditated. His parents, by their every word, reminded him of his trouble, and made him feel in countless little ways, well meant though they were, that he was not like other boys, not what he used to be. Here it was all so different. Beyond the little necessary help that Bess gave him so easily and pleasantly, there was nothing to suggest to him his blindness. Bess read to him, played simple memory games with him, or, with his hand drawn through her arm, they walked up and down the long hall, talking and laughing gayly, while Fuzz tagged at their heels. He held Mrs. Carter’s skein of yarn while she wound it, and in many little ways began to live more like a natural boy, less like a wax doll.
The evenings were the pleasantest times. Then Mr. and Mrs. Carter were deep in their cribbage, by the lamp; and Bess sat in a low chair in front of the crackling fire, with Fred
