to enjoy so much. And they are fonder of you than ever, for they are all so sorry for you, and want to help you.”
“That’s the worst of it,” said Fred impatiently; “nobody can forget I’m blind one single minute!”
“Do you remember, Fred,” asked Bess, “when Bert sprained his ankle two years ago? You boys went often to see him, and he enjoyed your running in. He didn’t expect you to forget that he couldn’t step on his foot for three or four weeks, did he?”
“Yes, I know that,” admitted Fred; “but, after all, ’tisn’t the same thing a bit. He was going to get right over it, and be as well as ever, and I can’t ever do anything any more. Oh, Miss Bessie, I wish I could die and be through with it!” And the hot tears rolled down on her hand, as it lay against his cheek.
Poor Bess was at her wit’s end. The boy was nervous and excited, and she felt that she must quiet him, but she knew not what to say. His trouble was too great, too real, to make light of it; and yet, now was the time, if ever,
