Poor little Preston! Not twelve years old, yet growing blind like an old man of ninety!
“But after he is blind, we can help him,” said Dr. A., stroking the boy’s white forehead. “When that dreadful veil, which is stealing over his eyes, has grown thick enough, then we can take it off, and he can see. But it is not thick enough yet. He must go home and wait.”
Dr. Gray was not at all surprised by this. He had known all the while that Preston’s eyes must grow worse before they could be made better. But how long the boy must wait, the oculist could not say; some months, at any rate, and perhaps a year.
It was a sorrowful time for the whole family when Dr. Gray took Preston home with him that night and told the story. Julia put her arms around her dear brother as if she wanted to hold him safe from this trial. Loving Julia! if darkness was coming upon him, she would surely be, as Uncle Ben had said:
“Like a little candle burning in the night.”
And what would Flaxie be? I am afraid Preston did not expect much of Flaxie, she was such a flyaway child.
She cried bitterly now, and said:
“Oh, I wish ’twas my eyes, ’cause I’m a naughty little girl; but Preston is splendid!”
Milly didn’t say a word, she only laid her soft cheek against Preston’s hand to let him know she pitied him.
“There, there, don’t feel so bad, all of you,” said he, holding up his head grandly. “I can bear it, you see if I can’t.”