It may have been a week after this conversation that John and Martha wandered in the woods picking wild flowers, and Mrs. Tucker was inoculated with ivy-poisoning that settled in her eyes, so that for several days she was confined to her room, and when she came out she was told by her doctor to wear smoked glasses for a week or two, her eyes still being inflamed and very painful. “Keep outdoors; go riding as much as you can, but don’t take off the glasses until the inflammation has entirely subsided,” said he.
John was sincerely sorry for his wife’s misfortune, but when he heard that she would see through a glass darkly for the matter of a week or two, he made up his mind to act and act quickly.
They went out for a ride that he might test her vision. The horse he was driving was a gray, Roanoke by name.
“My dear,” said Mr. Tucker, “don’t you think that the gait of this black horse is very like that of Roanoke?”
“I’m sure I can’t tell,” said Martha. “With these dismal glasses on I’m not quite sure whether it’s a horse or a cow in the harness. I get a hazy outline of some animal, but no color and little form. Don’t ever touch poison-ivy if you value your sight.”
“Well, the doctor says you’ll be all right in a week or two. By the way, Martha, I’m going to run down to New York to-morrow on business. I’ll be back in the evening. If your eyes were all right you might come along, but as it is, I guess you’d better not go down.”
“No; driving around with James will do me more good than a stuffy train. Come home as soon as you can, dear, and—” She hesitated. “I hate the old things, but if you are so set on trying one of those automobiles, why don’t you do it to-morrow, when you are in New York?”
“Why, I believe I will, my dear. I wish I could overcome your prejudice against them.”
“But you can’t, dear, so don’t try.”
When Mr. Tucker reached New York, the first thing that he did was to visit an automobile repository.