“How can ye tell how he looks, ’hind them great goggles o’ his’n? I guess it’s bad as it can be, er he wouldn’t give in to it. He’s clear grit, an’ so I say. That’s where Miss Steenie gets her’n. See! she’s spied her father comin’ back from the valley! He rid away to call the boys together, ’cause his lordship wants to see ’em, I suppose. Well, he’s right peart-lookin’ yet; but man’s born to troubles, an’ he’ll hev to take his share.”
The women watched Steenie run with outstretched arms to meet Mr. Calthorp; saw him check his horse suddenly, when he had almost ridden her down, and bend low to lift her to his saddle. They saw the child’s arms clasp close about his neck, and fancied they could hear her wild outburst of grief. Then, with moistened eyes, but in true delicacy, they turned away from witnessing a child’s first sorrow.
“Papa, is it true?”
“My darling, why do you cry? What true?” The well-trained horse stood still while the rider folded his little daughter close to his own heavy heart.
“About your eyes. Are you—blind?”
Mr. Calthorp shivered. Even to himself he could not yet acknowledge what seemed so plain to almost everybody else. “No, sweetheart, I am not blind—yet; but for a long, long time there has been something wrong with my eyes, and I dare put off no further the treatment which they require. So I wrote to Lord Plunkett and asked him to relieve me of my duties here, and I meant to tell you as soon as it seemed necessary. He came before I had expected that he could. He wishes to make a thorough examination of all Santa Felisa affairs, and to be fully informed concerning what has and has not been accomplished. I was glad, yet sorry, to see him; for our going away means leaving what has been my home for many years, and the only one you have ever known.” He continued talking for some time, till he had given a very quiet and clear explanation, which soothed the excited child; besides, the words “not blind—yet” were quite enough to fill her buoyant heart with a hope that seemed certainty.
“Oh, how glad I am! And I s’pose the lordship didn’t understand. I’m quite—quite sure he didn’t mean to tell a wrong story, and I’m sorry I snatched my hand away from him. I’ll go and ’xplain it now, if you will put me down, Papa, dear!”
Smiling, Mr. Calthorp complied; and chirruping to his horse, continued his course stableward, while Steenie sought the “cor’net man” to make her naïve apology.
“I guess I didn’t behave very p’lite, Mr. Plunkett, but I hope you won’t be angry; I don’t like folks to be angry; but you see I didn’t think of anything ’cept my father,—not then. And I want to ’xplain it,—he isn’t blind—yet; and he’s going to see a treatment; so he’ll prob’ly get them fixed over all right. And if there’s anything I can do to int’rest you I will; for I like you very much.”
“Eh?—So?—Thank you. I like you, too. Bright—bonny—worth a fortune. Hm-m! Better than coronets. Stick to it. Sit down? Orange-tree, yonder. Now, then, talk.”