“What is too bad, Phil?” she asked, closing it, and giving her full attention to him.

“That you must be hurried away so soon.  I’ve hardly been at home two weeks, and we hadn’t seen each other before for two years.”

“Well a fortnight is a good while.  And you will soon have your cousins here—­Herbert, Meta——­”

“Herbert!” he interrupted impatiently, “who cares for him? and Meta, prying, meddling, tell-tale Meta’s worse than nobody.  But there! don’t look so shocked, as if I had said an awfully wicked thing.  I really don’t hate her at all, though she got me into trouble more than once with grandma and Aunt Sophie that winter we spent at Ashlands.  Ah, a bright thought strikes me!”

“Indeed! may I have the benefit of it?” asked the little girl, smiling archly.

“That you may.  It is that you might as well stay on another week, or as long as you will.”

“Thank you, but you must remember the doctor says we should go at once, on baby’s account.”

“I know that, but I was speaking only of you personally.  Baby doesn’t need you, and papa could take you to your father and mother after a while.”

“Let them all go and leave me behind?  Oh, Phil, I couldn’t think of such a thing!”

The Travillas had been occupying their seaside cottage for two weeks, when a letter came from Sally Gibson; the first she had written them, though she had been notified at once of their change of address, told that they would be glad to hear how she was and what Dr. Thomson thought of her case, and a cordial invitation given her to come to them to rest and recruit as soon as she was ready to leave her physician.

Elsie’s face grew very bright as she read.

“What does she say?” asked her husband.

“There is first an apology for not answering sooner (her eyes were so full of belladonna that she could not see to put pen to paper, and she had no one to write for her), then a burst of joy and gratitude—­to God, to the doctor and to me,—­’success beyond anything she had dared to hope,’ but she will be with us to-morrow, and tell us all about it.”

“And she won’t be blind, mamma?” queried Violet, joyously.

“No, dear; I think that she must mean that her eyes are cured, or her sight made good in some way.”

“Oh, then, I’ll just love that good doctor!” cried the child, clasping her hands in delight.

The next day brought Sally, but they scarcely recognized her, she had grown so plump and rosy, and there was so glad a light in the eyes that looked curiously at them through glasses clear as crystal.

Mrs. Travilla took her by both hands and kissed her.

“Welcome, Sally; I am glad to see you, but should scarcely have known you, had we met in a crowd;—­you are looking so well and happy.”

“And so I am, my dear kind friend,” the girl answered with emotion; “and I can see! see to read fine print that is all a blur to me without these glasses; and all the pain is gone, the fear, the distress of body and mind.  Oh, the Lord has been good, good to me! and the doctor so kind and interested!  I shall be grateful to him and to you as long as I live!”