"Yes, my dear Harriet," said I, "it must be a dreadful thing—and I fear neither you nor I have been thankful enough to God for saving you from such an affliction, when you got well of the same disease which has made Alice blind. When you pray for your little friend to-night, my love, do not forget how much reason you have to be thankful that you can see."
Harriet did not say any thing more, but she laid her head on my lap, and I heard her sob once or twice.
It was now getting late, and kissing her, I told her it was time for her to go to bed, and that I would only sit up long enough after her to write a letter to a bookseller to whom I intended sending for the books. Harriet was now standing by me in the hall, where I had gone to light her candle, and when I mentioned the books, she looked as if she was about to speak, but stopped herself. After I had ended, she said, "Aunt Kitty,"—then stopped again.
"What, my love?" said I.
"Nothing, ma'am—good-night," and taking her candle she went to her room.
I wrote my letter and then went to mine, into which, you must remember, I have told you hers opened. I turned my latch very softly, for fear of waking Harriet if she was asleep; but as soon as I entered, she called out, "I'm not asleep, Aunt Kitty; please come here, and let me speak to you."
I went to her directly, asking what was the matter.
"I have been waiting and listening a long time for you, Aunt Kitty, for there is something I wanted to say to you, and I could not go to sleep till I had said it. I hope you did not write the letter about the books, for I do not want them now, Aunt Kitty. I want you, if you please, to give the money to poor Mrs. Scott, that it may help her to go to the city and get something done for Alice's eyes."
"My dear Harriet, this money is yours, and you have a right to do what you will with it, but I hope you have thought well of what you are going to do now. It will not do afterwards to be sorry you did not buy the books you want, which you will not be likely to get in any other way."
"Oh no, Aunt Kitty! I do not want them now; at least, I do not want them half so much as I want Alice to see again, and I have thought very much about it,—indeed I have.