“Yes! loose to the figure!” cried the blind girl, laughing heartily; “and in it, you, dear Father, with your merry eye, your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair—looking so young and handsome!”
“There! There!” said Caleb, “I shall be vain presently.”
“I think you are already!” cried the blind girl, pointing at him in her glee. “I know you, Father! Ha, ha, ha! I’ve found you out, you see!”
How different the picture in her mind from Caleb as he sat observing her. She had spoken of his free step. She was right in that. For years and years he had never once crossed their threshold with his own slow pace, but with a footfall free and sprightly, for her to hear; and never, even when his heart was heaviest, had he forgotten the light tread that was to render her own so cheerful and courageous.
“There we are,” said Caleb, falling back a step or two to better judge his work. “It’s a pity the whole front of this doll’s house opens at once! If there was only a staircase in it, now, and regular doors to go in at! But that’s the worst of my work, I’m always trying to make believe!”
“You are speaking quite softly. Are you tired, Father?”
“Tired?” echoed Caleb with a great burst of enthusiasm. “What should tire me, Bertha? I was never tired. What does it mean?”
To give greater force to his words, he checked himself in the middle of a yawn, and began to hum a song. He sang it with a pretended care-free manner that made his face look a thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful than before.
Tackleton Comes In
Just then Tackleton put his head in at the door. “What! You’re singing, are you?” he thundered. “Go it! I can’t sing!”