"I'm so glad for both I could sing."
"Go on," said the woman; "I'm glad too, and I believe I could help you to holler."
As David climbed the hill by the woodland he thought musingly, "Strikes me Phœbe didn't seem extra glad to see me. Perhaps she was just surprised, perhaps my being crippled changed her. Oh, Phœbe, I want you more than ever! I wonder—is it some nerve to ask you to marry a cripple?"
However, all disquieting thoughts were forgotten as he reached the summit of the hill and saw his boyhood home.
He whistled his old greeting whistle. At the sound of it Mother Bab ran to the door.
"It's David come home!" she cried, her renewed eyes turned to the road, her hands outstretched.
"I'm back, mommie!" he called before his running feet could take him to her. But as he held her again to his heart there were no words adequate for the greeting. Their joy was great enough to be inarticulate for a while.
"But, Davie," the mother said after a long silence, "you come running! You have no crutches!"
"Why, mommie!" There was questioning wonder in his voice. "How do you know? You couldn't see! You are blind!"
"Oh, Davie, not any more! I can see!"