"Money enough—why, Aunt Kitty, is Mrs. Scott so very poor?"
"You heard her say that she owed money which she could only hope to pay by working very hard, and living very poorly. She has no husband to work for her now, Harriet, and Mr. Scott's and Alice's illness must have made her spend a great deal."
"Oh, Aunt Kitty! I am very sorry for Alice, and if I thought it would help her, I would—"
What Harriet would have said was here interrupted by the coming up of the very girl whom I had wished to get to help Mrs. Scott take care of Alice. I told her of Alice's blindness, how anxious we were that she should not hear of it just now, and that we wished to keep her amused, as well as to have her made comfortable. I added, that I would pay her for what she did, and then asked how soon she could go.
"Right away, right away, ma'am. Poor things, and such kind and clever people as them are too. I only wish, ma'am, I could go to 'em without pay; I am sure if it wasn't for them as depends on me, I'd do it with all my heart."
I told her this was not necessary, though it was very kind, and again bidding her take good care of Alice, I sent her to them while I went home.
Harriet was very silent during the rest of our walk. I did not ask any questions about what she had been going to tell me she would do for Alice, if she thought it would help her; because, whatever she did, I wished should be done from her own free will. When we were again at home, she did not go to play or to read, as usual, but sat down in one place, as if she were tired, and seemed very thoughtful; yet she never named Alice, which surprised me a little, as she was accustomed to talk to me of whatever distressed her. In the afternoon she tried to amuse herself, bringing out first a book and then a toy from her room into the parlor where I sat, until she had gathered together all she had; but there seemed still to be something wanting, for in a short time the books were laid aside, the toys pushed away, and Harriet, apparently forgetting them, again sat as she had done in the morning, quiet and thoughtful. After it began to grow dark, she carried her books and toys back to her room, and came and seated herself at my feet. As the weather was warm, we had no lights in the parlor, and the hall light just let us see where objects stood, but was not bright enough to show us very plainly what they were.
"Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, "can Alice see no more plainly than we do now, when there is no light in the room?"
"Not so plainly, my love, for we can see a little. She can see no more than you can of a dark night, when you wake up at midnight, with your windows shut and your curtains down."
She was silent a few minutes, and then said, "It must be a dreadful thing, Aunt Kitty, to be blind."