Next morning I rose early and replaced the spectacles on Aunt Debora's table, after which I obtained admittance with a basket of cherries.
"We are really much obliged to you," said Mistress Debora, speaking in the plural number, though she gave none to anybody but herself.
"Oh, it is not worth mentioning."
"But I must just look if they have any inhabitants," she added; "this fruit generally has." And searching for her spectacles, she placed them on her nose and began examining the cherries, holding them first close, then at a distance, and then taking off her glasses and wiping them to look again.
"I don't know what is the matter," she exclaimed at last; "I can't see in the least to-day."
"Eh, how? what is the matter?"
"Just try these glasses, nephew, and tell me if they magnify."
I looked through them. "Why, aunt, the hairs on my skin look like porcupines' quills."
"O dear! then I must be becoming blind, for I can see nothing through them."
"My dear aunt," I exclaimed, with a look of alarm, turning her round to the light, "what can be the matter with your eyes? St. Gregory! you are going to get a white cataract! Why don't you take more care of yourself?"