"I don't see why the tears don't come into my eyes as easy as they do into Prudy's," thought she, trying to squeeze out a salt drop; "Mrs. Brooks'll think I don't care a speck; but I do care."
As for wee Fly, she took Maria's blindness to heart about as much as she did the murder of the Hebrew children off in Judea.
"Pitiful 'bout her seeingness; but I wished I had such a beauful dog!"
Aunt Madge was struck with the exalted expression of Maria's face. The child was only thirteen, but suffering had made her look much older.
"My child," said she, putting her arm around the little girl, and drawing her towards her, "I know you see a great deal with your mind, even though your eyes are shut. Now, do tell me all about your misfortune, and how it happened, for I came on purpose to hear."
"Yes, we camed to purpose to hear," said Fly, from the foot-board of the bed, where she had perched and prattled every moment since she came in. "I founded Maria, and then I went up to her, and says I, 'Doggie, doggie!'"
"That was a pretty way to speak to her, I should think," said Dotty; "but can't you just please to hush while auntie is talking?"
"As near as I can tell the story," said Mrs. Brooks, rattling the poor old coal-stove,—for she always had to be moving something else, as well as her nose, when she talked,—"she lost her sight by studying too hard, and then getting cold in her eyes."
"She was always a master hand to study," put in Mr. Brooks.
Maria looked as if she wanted to run and hide. She did not like to have her father praise her before people.