Miss Mattie's Eyes
Miss Mattie went to the kitchen and brought back a small, cracked mirror. She studied the offending orbs by the light, very carefully, both with and without her spectacles.
"No, they ain't," she announced, finally. "They're the same size and shape and colour that they've always been, and the specs are the same. Your pa bought 'em for me soon after you commenced readin' out of a reader, and they're just as good as they ever was. It must be the oil. I've noticed that it gets poorer every time the price goes up." She pushed the paper aside with a sigh. "I was readin' such a nice story, too."
"Shan't I read it to you, Mother?"
"Why, I don't know. Do you want to?"
"Surely, if you want me to."
"Then you'd better begin a new story, because I'm more'n half-way through this one."
"I'll begin right where you left off, Mother. It doesn't make a particle of difference to me."
"But you won't get the sense of it. I'd like for you to enjoy it while you're readin'."
"Don't worry about my enjoying it—you know I've always been fond of books. If there's anything I don't understand, I can ask you."