And so passed on a long and rather severe winter, and presently Roderick’s birthday came round, and there was great wondering as to what Mamma could do to keep it.  And when the time came it turned out that she had got a band of musicians to come and play—­and the children danced, and Roderick among them, for some sister was always ready to take him under her especial charge.  And then some older children acted a little play, which he could hear and understand, and his Mamma described to him who came in and went out, and in this manner he enjoyed it nearly as much as the others.

Well, the spring-time came once more, and with it the season for returning to the old Sea Castle, and the children went through their usual round of impatience, and I cannot say that Roderick at all forbore, for his Papa had promised to teach him to climb a ladder like the lamplighter when he got back, and he was by that means to go up one of the very old elm trees, and get on to a great branch there was, which was curled into a sort of easy chair, and there he was to sit and play at being judge, and hold trials, and I know not what.  There were besides so many schemes for his instruction and amusement, and among other things, there was to be a band established in the neighbouring village, which should come and play to them in the old Sea Castle—­that the child was more wild with hurry and impatience than ever, and said more absurd things than the rest, for he used every day to declare the flies were becoming so numerous and troublesome he was plagued out of his life by their walking over his face and nose!  But as none of his brothers and sisters ever saw the flies, we are obliged to conclude the tickling he talked of was only an effect of his excited imagination.

At last, however, they went, and in compliment to Roderick’s wishes it was a week or two sooner than usual.  The return to the Sea Castle home rather oppressed poor Lady Madeline’s spirits.  The doctors in the great town had failed—­it was now clear that nothing could be done, and in spite of all her sincere endeavours to be resigned, she could not help feeling this coming back to the original scene of her misfortune very much.  One day—­it was the anniversary of the day on which her poor child became blind, the Lady Madeline was working in her sitting-room that faced the Sea,—­Mothers’ memories are very acute about anniversaries, and days, and even hours marked by particular events.  They may not talk much about them perhaps, but they recollect times and circumstances connected with their children very keenly, and therefore it is not surprizing that on this day the poor lady was sitting in her room working, or trying to work, but thinking of nothing in the world but of that day year and her blind child.  It was a beautiful evening, and the window was thrown wide open, and the fresh but soft breeze from the Sea blew pleasantly on her face as she sat at her work-table by the casement—­but lovely as