Blinks’s Eyes.
When another week had glided slowly away, and the earth—this world into which Blinks had been so unceremoniously thrust—had made seven somersaults and was preparing for the eighth, Blinks, who was gently reclining in his mother’s arms, opened his little red mouth and whispered—
“My ma!”
“Yes, my chee-ild,” Muffie replied.
“When will I get eyes? Ever, my Ma?”
“Yes, my chee-ild.”
“When, my Ma?”
“On the ninth day, my chee-ild,” said Muffie. She spoke in a mournful tone of voice, for she had not yet ceased to lament the untimely fate of her other five children.
“Oh my eyes!” cried Blinks, not heeding his mother’s grief, “won’t it be a jolly lark!” and straightway he sucked himself to sleep.
Strange, is it not, that any mortal creature should sleep without any eyes to sleep with; but so it was, Blinks slept.