"I seed her," her cousin said gloomily.
"How air her poor eyes?" asked Aunt 'Mira.
"They're not poor eyes. They're as good as anybody's eyes," Marty cried, with exasperation.
"Wal—they say she's' goin' blind again," said tactless Aunt 'Mira.
"I say she ain't! She ain't!" ejaculated Marty. "All foolishness. I don't believe a thing them doctors say. She's got just as nice eyes as anybody'd want."
"That is true, Marty," Janice said soothingly; but she sighed.
The door was open, for the evening was mild. On the damp Spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old Day house.
"Hello!" grunted Uncle Jason, "who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? Tain't never Walky a-singin' like that, is it?"
"It's Walky; but it ain't him singin'," chuckled Marty.
"Huh?" queried Uncle Jason.