There were weeks of fearful suffering when the little hands were tied to keep them from the eyes which the poor baby, who was only two years and a half old, said, “Bite Robin so bad,” and which, when at last the pain had ceased, and the inflammation subsided, were found to be hopelessly blind.

“Blind! blind!  Oh, Robin, I wish I was dead!” Lucy had exclaimed, when they told her the sad news, and with a bitter cry she threw herself beside her brother on his little bed and sobbed piteously.  “Oh, Robbie, Robbie, you must not be blind!  Can’t you see me just a little?  Try, Robbie.  You must see me; you must.”

Slowly the lids unclosed, and the sightless eyes turned upward toward the white face above them, and then Lucy saw there was no hope; the beautiful blue she had so envied in her wicked moods, was burned out, leaving only a blood-shot, whitish mass which would never again in this world see her or any other object.

“No, shister,” the little boy said, “I tan’t see ’oo now.  It ’marts some yet, but bime by I see ’oo.  Don’t ty;” and the little hand was raised and groped to find the bowed head of the girl weeping in such agony beside him.

“What for ’oo ty so?  I see ’oo bime by,” he persisted, as Lucy made no reply, but wept on until her strength was exhausted and she was taken from the room in a state of unconsciousness, which resulted in a low nervous fever, from which she did not recover until Robbie was as well as he ever would be, and his voice was heard again through the house in baby laughter, for he had not yet learned what it was to be blind and helpless.

Lucy had said, when questioned with regard to the accident, that she had climbed up in a chair to get some sugar for herself and Robin from the bowl on the shelf of the sideboard, that she saw the cup of pepper and took it up to see what it was, and let it drop from her hand, directly into the face of Robin, who was looking up at her.  Thus she was answerable for his blindness, and she grew suddenly old beyond her years, and devoted herself to her brother, with a solicitude and care marvelous in one so young, for she was not yet six years old.

“I must be his eyes always as long as I live,” she said, and she seldom left his side or allowed another to care for him in the least.

He slept in a little cot near hers.  She undressed him at night, and dressed him in the morning and gave him his breakfast, always selecting the daintiest bits for him and giving him the larger share of everything.  Together they wandered in the park, she leading him by the hand and telling him where they were, or carrying him in her arms, when the way was rough, and then, when she put him down, always kissing him tenderly, while on her face there was a look of sadness pitiful to see in one so young.

When she was seven years old, and Robin four, her mother, who had been an invalid, ever since the birth of Geraldine, died, and that made Lucy’s burden still heavier to bear.  They told her, her mother would not live till night, and with a look on her face, such as a martyr might wear when going to the stake, Lucy put Robin from her, and going to her mother’s room, asked to be left alone with her.