Johnny was very sorry.  He said he did not know what was in the bottle; he had sprinkled his cousin’s handkerchief in sport.

“She talks so much about her ‘nightly blue sirreup,’” said he to his mother, “that I thought I would tease her a little speck.”

“I don’t know but you have put her eyes out,” said his mother, severely.

“O, do you think so?” wailed Johnny.  “O, don’t say so, mother!”

“I hope not, my child; but panacea is a very powerful thing.  I don’t know precisely what is in it, but you have certainly tried a dangerous experiment.”

“I didn’t mean to, mother; I’ll never do so again.”

“That is what you always say,” replied his mother, shaking her head; “and that is why I am so discouraged about you.  Nothing seems to make any impression upon you.  If you have really made your cousin blind for life I hope it will be a lesson to you.”

While Mrs. Eastman talked, looking very stately in her velvet dress, Master Johnny was balancing himself on the hat-tree in the hall, as if he scarcely heard what she said; but, in spite of his disrespectful manner, he was really unhappy.

“I knew something would go wrong,” continued Mrs. Eastman, “when it was first proposed that you and Dotty should stand up together, and I did not approve of the plan.  What is the reason you two children must always be quarrelling?”

“She is the one that begins it,” replied Johnny.  “If I could have stood up with Prudy, there wouldn’t have been any fuss.”

“With Prudy, indeed!  I dare say you would be glad to do so now, you naughty boy.  Your kind aunt Mary suggested it, but I told her, No.  Since you have hurt Dotty so terribly, you cannot be groomsman.”

“O, mother!”

“No, my son.  She is unable to perform her part, and you must give up yours.  Percy will take your place.”

In spite of his manliness, Johnny dropped a few tears, which he brushed away with the back of his hand; but his mother, for once in her life, was firm.

I will not say that Johnny’s disappointment was not some consolation to Dotty, who lay on the sofa in the parlor with her eyes bandaged, while the wedding ceremony was performed.  If Johnny had been one of the group, while her own poor little self was left out, necklace, slippers, and all, she would have thought it unjust.

As it was, it seemed hard enough.  She was in total darkness, but her “mind made pictures while her eyes were shut.”  She could almost see how the bride and bridegroom looked, holding each other by the hand, with the tall Percy on one side, and the short Prudy on the other,—­the dear Prudy, who was so sorry for her sister that she could not enjoy taking her place, though a fairer little bridesmaid than she made could hardly be found in the city.

The same clergyman officiated now who had married Mr. and Mrs. Parlin fifteen years before; and after he had married them over again, he made a speech which caused Dotty to cry a little under her handkerchief; or, if not the speech, it was the panacea that brought the tears—­she did not know which.