Quietly and swiftly she led him, and as they went, Tiny never once thought, What if any of the great folks who once courted and praised him should see him led on foot through the streets by a little beggar girl, himself looking hardly more respectable than the poorest of all beggars!
“Shall I ring the door bell?” asked she, at length coming to a sudden halt.
“King it,” said he.
But before she could do that the house door opened, and the physician himself appeared, prepared for a drive; his carriage was already in waiting at the door.
“Here he is,” exclaimed the girl; and at the same moment a gruff voice demanded—
“What do you want, you two, eh? Speak quick, for I’m off.”
In one word Tiny told what it was he wanted.
“Blind, eh?” said the doctor, stooping and looking into the pale face of the unhappy singer; “born blind! I can do nothing for you. John! drive the horses away from that curb-stone.”
He stepped forward, as he spoke, as if about to leave the children, but he stood still again the next minute, arrested by the sound of Tiny’s indignant voice.
“Born blind!” the singer cried; “no more than you were, sir. If you knew how to use your eyes to any good purpose, you never would say such a thing. Since I was ill I’ve been blind, but never a moment before.”