“I do pity those spectacles,” said she to Milly in a low voice, as they walked under the apple-trees with their arms around each other’s waist.
“Oh, well,” returned Milly brightly, “he won’t have to wear them always.”
“Yes, he will. He said he was afraid the boys would laugh when they saw him, but they didn’t. Some of them cried though; I saw Bert Abbott wiping his eyes.”
After a while, the little girls, and indeed all Preston’s friends, became so accustomed to seeing him in glasses that they did not mind it all. He could see perfectly well, and was as happy as ever; so it didn’t seem worth while to “pity his spectacles.”
And now I must tell you one thing more about this dear boy, and then my story will be done.
CHAPTER XII.
BRAVE PRESTON GRAY.
“Never saw such folks for jelly; they eat it by the quart. Wish I could be sick once in a while, and get some myself,” muttered Preston, as he settled his school-book under his arm, and took the cup his mother had brought to the door.