"I've no bad news, miss," said Starr, with a broader smile than before.
"You look so very pleased," said Bessie; to which Starr only replied, "It's likely, miss," and became silent again.
When they reached the long crossing, who should be standing on the corner but Sergeant Richards. Bessie saw him at once, and went directly up to him.
"How do you do, Mr. Station Policeman?" she said, politely, and holding out her morsel of a hand to him. "This is my Maggie."
"Well, now, but I'm glad to see you, and your Maggie too," said the police-sergeant. "And how have you been this long time?"
"Pretty well," answered Bessie. "How are your blind boy and your lame wife and your sick baby, and all your troubles?"
"Why, the wife is able to move round a little," said Richards, "and the baby is mending a bit too."
"And Willie?" asked Bessie.
A shadow came over the policeman's honest face. "Willie is drooping," he said, with a sigh. "I think it's the loss of the sight of his mother's face and of the blessed sunlight that's ailing him. His eyes are quite blind now,—no more light to them than if he was in a pitch-dark cell."