"When I first heard Mrs. Scott and you talking this morning, and you said Alice was blind, and Mrs. Scott was too poor to take her to the good doctors, who might do something for her, I remembered my gold piece, and thought I would give it to her to help her, and I was just going to tell you so when Betty Maclaurin came up, and you stopped to speak to her about going to Mrs. Scott's, and then I could not, you know."
"Well, but you could have told me after she had gone, if you still wished it."
"Yes, I know I could, but while you were talking to her, I remembered my books, and I called all their names over, and thought how Alice would like to hear me read them, till I wanted them more than ever; and then I thought it would be a great deal kinder to get them and read some of them every day to Alice, than to give Mrs. Scott my money, which, though I think it so much, would hardly help her at all. Besides, Aunt Kitty, I knew you and my uncle and my grandpapa would give Mrs. Scott a great deal more money than my two dollars and a half, if it would help Alice."
"And what made my little girl change her mind—what made her think this would not be best?"
"I do not know, Aunt Kitty; I only know I could not think of any thing but Alice all day, though I tried every way to forget her, and every thing I looked at made me feel bad, because Alice could not see it too."
"Did my little Harriet never think, during all this time, of that verse she learned from her Bible the other day, which I told her would always teach her what she ought to do for others, 'As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise?'"
"Oh yes! Aunt Kitty, I thought of that this evening, when you were telling me what a dreadful thing it is to be blind, and that I might have been blind, as well as Alice, and I said to myself, if I had been blind, I would have thought it very unkind in Alice not to do all she could to help me to see again, and then I felt as if I was so cruel that I could not help crying; and when you said you were going to write for the books, I wanted to beg you not to do it, but somehow I could not—so I only bid you good-night, and came to bed."
"And what happened then to make you feel differently? Tell me all you felt and thought, dear child, and then I shall know whether you are doing right now."
"Why you see, Aunt Kitty, after I was undressed I knelt down to say my prayers, and after I had thanked God as you told me to do, for my own eyesight, I tried to pray that He would give Alice back hers; but, though I said the words over and over again, I could not feel as if I was praying them, for I kept thinking, Aunt Kitty, how deceitful God would think me, to pretend to care so much for Alice's eyes, when I really cared so much more about my books; and then I remembered the little prayer you taught me once, 'Oh God! I pray thee show me what is right to do, and make me love to do it.' As soon as I said 'what is right to do,' it came into my head that it was right for me to do all I could for Alice, if everybody else did ever so much for her; and now, Aunt Kitty, I wish I had a great deal more money, that I might give it all to her—and though I am just as sorry for Alice, I do not feel half so bad about her; for if we are willing to do all we can for her, God, who loves her a great deal more than any of us, will certainly give her back her eyesight. Don't you think he will, Aunt Kitty?"
"God does love her a great deal more than we do, my dear; but He is a great deal wiser than we are, and He may see that it is best for Alice that she should continue blind, though it seems so terrible to us. You must remember, therefore, that Alice may go to the city and come back no better. Should you not feel sorry then that you had given up your books without doing her any good?"