When they were in the buggy again Mary said, “But what if the baby goes blind after all? Of course they would say that you did it with your ‘strong medicine.’”
“Of course they would, but that would not disturb me in the least. But it will not go blind now. I'll see to that.”
Soon they had left the town behind them and were fairly on their way. The soft, yet bracing, air of the April morning was delightful. The sun shone warm. Birds carolled everywhere. The buds on the oak trees were swelling, while those on the maples were bursting into red and furzy bloom. Far off to the left a tall sycamore held out white arms in welcome to the Springtime and perfect stillness lay upon the landscape.
“I am so glad the long reign of winter and bad roads is ended, John, so I can get out with you again into the blessed country.”
“And I am glad to have good company.”
“Thanks for that gallant little speech. Ask me often, but I won't go every time because you might get tired of me and I'd be sure to get tired of you.”
“Thanks for that gracious little speech.”
That evening when the doctor and Mary were sitting alone, she said, “John, that baby's eyes have haunted me all day long. And you say one-third of the blindness of the world is due to this disease.”
“Yes.”