"Yes, she's on the road," said Mercy. Her face showed that pathetic tension of the other senses which is peculiar to the blind. A moment later Greta stepped into the cottage. The telegram which Brother Peter gave her at the church was still in her hand.
"Good-morning, Matthew; good-morning, Gubblum; I have news for you, Mercy. The doctors are coming to-day."
Mercy's face fell perceptibly. The old man's head drooped lower.
"There, don't be afraid," said Greta, touching her hand caressingly. "It will soon be over. The doctors didn't hurt you before, did they?"
"No; but this time it will be the operation," said Mercy. There was a tremor in her voice.
Greta had lifted the child from the sconce. The little fellow cooed close to her ear, and babbled his inarticulate nothings.
"Only think, when it's all over you will be able to see your darling Ralphie for the first time!"
Mercy's sightless face brightened. "Oh, yes," she said, "and watch him play, and see him spin his tops and chase the butterflies. Oh, that will be very good!"
"Dusta say to-day, Mistress Ritson?" asked Matthew, the big drops standing in his eyes.
"Yes, Matthew; I will stay to see it over, and mind baby, and help a little."