“Sally, you’re standing there a long time.”  It was the mother’s querulous voice again.

The girl turned toward her, answering in a patient tone.  “Yes, mother, it rests my eyes to look at the sky and the mountains or any distant object.”

“You’d better get yourself something to eat.  It must be six or eight hours at least since breakfast.”

An hour later Sally, again busied with her sewing, by the window, lifted her head at the sound of wheels and exclaimed in a low tone, “There is the same carriage again!  It has stopped and a lady is getting out of it.”

But turning her head she perceived that her mother, who was now lying on the bed, had fallen asleep.  Dropping her work, she stepped quickly to the door in time to prevent a rap.

She recognized the lady at once from her likeness to her namesake daughter, and holding out her hand with a joyful admiring smile said, “Mrs. Travilla, is it not?  Thank you for coming.  I am so glad, and mother will be so delighted to see you; but she is sleeping just now.”

She had spoken softly, and Elsie answered in the same subdued tone, as she took the offered hand, then stepped in and sat down in a chair the girl hastened to set for her, “That is well; we must not wake her.”

A long talk followed in which Elsie by her ready tact and sweet sympathy, free from the slightest approach to patronage, drew from the girl the story of their sorrows, privations and fears for the future.

Her mother had been gradually failing for some time, though she really did not know what was the nature of the disease.  For a while they had contrived by their united efforts to make the two ends meet, but now that all depended upon her, with her poor sight, it was no longer possible.

“How are your eyes affected?” asked Elsie.

“The sight is dim; I can scarcely see to set my stitches:  I have great difficulty in threading a needle:  I always had.  I could never read fine print, never read through a long sentence without shutting my eyes for an instant or looking off the book.  It has always been an effort to see, and now I am forced to use my eyes so constantly they grow worse and pain me very much.  At times a mist comes over them so that I cannot see at all until I rest them a little.  Indeed I often seem to be going blind and I’m afraid I shall,” she added, with a tremble in her tones, a tear rolling down her cheek.  But she hastily wiped it away.

“My poor child, I hope not,” Elsie said, laying a hand softly on hers; “there have been wonderful cures of diseased eyes.  You must go to an oculist.”

“The expense would be far beyond our means.”

“You must let me assume that.  No, don’t shake your head.  I have abundant means.  The Lord has given me far more of this world’s goods than I ought to use for myself or my family and I know it is because he would have me be his almoner.”

The girl wept for joy and thankfulness.