“My own dear father died when I was a child.  My mother died when I was born.  I have never had anything but money.  I have never had anyone to take care of, no one to make sacrifices for, no one to make me strong because I was needed.  If the worst should happen, would you trust your father to me?  Could you trust me?”

“Yes,” said Barbara slowly; “I could.”

[Sidenote:  A Compact]

“Then I promise you solemnly that your father shall never want for anything while he lives.  And now, if there is a chance, will you take it—­for me?”

Barbara looked long into the sweet face, glorified by the inner light.  Then she leaned forward and put her soft arms around the older woman, hiding her face in the masses of copper-coloured hair.

“For you?  A thousand times, yes,” she sobbed.  “Oh, anything for you!”

* * * * *

Late in the afternoon, when Ambrose North and Barbara were alone again, he came over to her chair and stroked her shining hair with a loving hand.

“Did they tell you, dear?” he asked.

“Yes,” whispered Barbara.

“I have dreamed so often that my baby could walk and I could see.  He said that the dream should come true if he could make it so.”

“Did he say anything about your eyes?” asked Barbara, in astonishment.

[Sidenote:  Hopeful]

“Yes.  He thinks there may be a chance there, too.  If you are willing, I am to go to the city with him sometime and see a friend of his who is a great specialist.”

“Oh, Daddy,” cried Barbara.  “I’m afraid—­for you.”

He drew a chair up near hers and sat down.  The old hand, in which the pulses moved so slowly, clasped the younger one, warm with life.

“Barbara,” he said; “I have never seen my baby.”

“I know, Daddy.”

“I want to see you, dear.”

“And I want you to.”

“Then, will you let me go?”

“Perhaps, but it must be—­afterward, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because, when you see me, I want to be strong and well.  I want to be able to walk.  You mustn’t see the crutches, Daddy—­they are ugly things.”

“Nothing could be ugly that belongs to you.  I made a little song this afternoon, while you and Miriam were talking and I was out alone.”

“Tell me.”

[Sidenote:  In a Beautiful Garden]

“Once there was a man who had a garden.  When he was a child he had played in it, in his youth and early manhood he had worked in it and found pleasure in seeing things grow, but he did not really know what a beautiful garden it was until another walked in it with him and found it fair.

“Together they watched it from Springtime to harvest, finding new beauty in it every day.  One night at twilight she whispered to him that some day a perfect flower of their very own was to bloom in the garden.  They watched and waited and prayed for it together, but, before it blossomed, the man went blind.