"I don't know any songs," Peggy said doubtfully; "only a few hymns, and little scraps from anthems which I've heard at church."
"Sing that hymn about 'Light at evening time,' my dear," requested Mr. Tiddy. "I dearly like to hear you sing that."
Peggy complied immediately, and when her sweet voice ceased there was dead silence for a minute or so. Surprised, the little girl turned her sightless eyes in the direction of Miss Leighton, wondering why she did not at least say, "Thank you."
"Don't you like it?" she asked. "It's my favourite hymn, and when I was a very little girl mother taught me to say the first verse as a prayer. I say it every night now, and I expect I always shall. I suppose I like it so much because I'm blind. I don't know what light is, but I know it's very beautiful and wonderful, because Jesus is called 'The Light of the World,' and people seem to think it's so dreadful to be without it."
"The light our Saviour brought into the world is given to the blind as freely as to others," Mrs. Tiddy reminded her gently. "Its home is in the heart, making peace and happiness and joy." She glanced at Miss Leighton as she spoke and was surprised at the expression of her face. The old lady was regarding the child with yearning eyes, and her whole countenance—generally so repellent in its pride—was softened by an emotion which rendered her incapable of speech.
At that moment Peggy started to her feet, declaring she heard Wolf outside the window—he was in search of her—and hastened out of the room. A few minutes later, she and her faithful canine friend ran down the garden path side by side, the dog barking joyously at having lured her from the house.
"How full of life and high spirits she is!" remarked Mr. Tiddy, as he moved to the window to watch the pair. "She is looking capital, isn't she? I declare her cheeks have become quite round and rosy, and she was such a pale little soul not much more than a month ago."
"It is terrible that she should be blind!" Miss Leighton exclaimed, a sort of restrained vehemence in her tone as she found her voice once more. "Can nothing really be done for her? Has she had good advice?"
"The best in London, I believe," Mrs. Tiddy answered with a sigh.
"Then money would be no good—" The old lady paused as both her companions shook their heads. "Because if it was a question of money I would gladly pay any amount for the child's sake," she proceeded eagerly. "I—I have taken a great fancy to her. I do not know when I was so much attracted by a child before. I would give a great deal if she could be made to see."