“Then,” she said, “everything seemed all light to me and brightness. I did not know what to make of it. I could not realize what had happened. I looked around the room. I ran and looked out the window. And I could see.”
“She went out with me the other evening, heavily veiled,” said Mrs. Lincoln. “We passed a boy leading a man. I said nothing, thinking I would not call her attention to it.
“‘Mother,’ she said, ‘was that boy leading the man?’
“‘Yes,’ I replied.
“‘Oh, the man is blind?’ she asked again. And I told her he was. She paused a moment, then said: ‘What a pity.’”
Miss Lincoln is tall, slender, and fair-haired. Her eyes are blue, like those of her parents. She had on a gown of deep red, with little black bows on it, and she talked entertainingly and always she laughs with joy at her “miracle.”
“Maud was born on April twenty-second, eighteen-ninety-four,” said Mrs. Lincoln.
“She was twenty-one this month. She was born blind. We did not realize at once that she could not and might never see. Her eyes had the appearance of eyes which have cataract. There seemed to be a thin, white, opaque substance over the pupils.
“No one seemed to know what the matter was. But she grew up blind. When she was nine years old we sent her to the Perkins Institute for the Blind, and she was there nine years and received an education. Then we took her home, and she has lived here since, helping me as she could. When she was examined by Doctor P. I. Perkins at the Perkins Institute, six years ago, he told her never to have anything done to her eyes, never to put anything in them, that some day she would see—and he was right.”