I had been standing at my easel a good part of the forenoon, and the satisfaction that comes from faithful work done, together with the assurance from Mrs. Larkum that my visits carried with them something better than sunshine, I trod swiftly over the frozen streets, quite content with life and its developments.  I met Dr. MacKenzie on the way.  He stopped to shake hands, and with an almost boyish eagerness, said:  “Have you heard the news?”

“Not anything special.  I hope you have some good news for me.”

“Well, our friend Mr. Bowen has been heard from.  The doctor has performed his miracle.”

“Can he see as well as ever?” I cried joyously.

“I believe so.”

I could not keep back the troublesome tears.  “I am so glad you told me,” I murmured, and then nodded my adieus rather abruptly, for I was ashamed of my emotion.  It seemed perfectly fitting to me, as I walked briskly along, that Dr. MacKenzie should be the first to tell me the news; for, but for him, we should never have thought of making the experiment.  That very evening I met him at a party at Mrs. Silas Markham’s, when he gave me the full particulars I was too tender hearted to hear in the morning.  In answer to his inquiries, the occulist had written to him some special circumstances of the case.  He described Mr. Bowen’s extreme patience.  “Such an instance of perfect trust in God is refreshing to meet with,” he wrote; “and but for this his case would probably have proved hopeless, since it was one of the worst cases we have treated successfully.”

“His religion has helped him wonderfully all through his terrible affliction.  I wonder will he be just as devout as ever?” I said.

“I think so.  He is not made of the stuff that forgets favors received from God or man.”

“I think he will have stronger reasons than mere gratitude to keep him close to the Lord,” I said, thinking of the joy he had in communion with the Divine, even amid his darkness and poverty.

That same day, after leaving the doctor, I proceeded first to Mrs. Blake’s to tell her the news.  She threw a shawl over her head and accompanied me directly to Mrs. Larkum’s.  We found her sitting in a comfortable, though rather ancient easy-chair, which I had exhumed, along with a good many other useful articles, from the garret at Oaklands.  The two older children we interrupted taking a lesson at their mother’s knee.  The primer was gladly laid aside, while the children came coyly to my side, quite certain there was a delectable bite for them somewhere in my pockets.  I dismissed that care from my mind by dividing the sweets, and then gave Mrs. Larkum her lunch.  She sat enjoying the dainty food, sharing now and then a taste with the little ones, who had a keen appreciation for Oaklands’ cookery.  I sat watching the group, glancing now and then at Mrs. Blake’s eloquent face with a good deal of satisfaction.  I was anxious to break the news carefully and scarce knew how to begin, when Mrs. Larkum looked up at me eagerly and said: