"Yes," said Mary Gage, "that's true."
"Oh, then," said Annie Squires, pulling herself together with resourcefulness, "that was your husband out in the yard, that fine-looking man! I was in such a hurry. You lucky thing! Why didn't you tell me more about him, Mary? He has such a pleasant way. I don't mind men being light complected, or even bald. He's fine!"
"I think so," said Mary. "You like him?"
"Why, how could any one help liking him, Sis?" demanded Annie, choking. "Of course. So this is where you live?"
"Yes, this is my home," said Mary Gage. "And then you're not disappointed in him? I'm so glad! I've never seen him—my husband. You're joking about the color of his hair, of course."
"You'll have to help yourself, Annie," she went on, having no reply. "I'm not of much use. I've learned a few things and I help a little. You can see about everything there is, I suppose, at one look. Isn't it nice?"
"Couldn't be better," said Annie Squires, again choking back her tears. "You certain are the lucky kid. And he—he married you after he saw you was blind?"
"It was a strange thing for a man to do," said Mary Gage, slowly. "Yes,—but fine."
"I'm glad you've done so well. This will settle a heap of things, won't it, Mary?"
"Some things."