“Oh!  I showed her the other note, and she only laughed, and patted my cheek, and said, ’Why, Mignonne! he is old enough to be your father.’  This note is only to find out whether he received the other.  I sent it by the servant who brought this fawn—­oh dear me! just see what a hole the pretty little wretch has nibbled in my new Swiss muslin dress!  Won’t mamma scold!  There, do go away, pet; I will feed you presently.  Indeed, Edna, there is no harm in your taking the note, for I give you my word mamma does not care.  Do you think I would tell you a story?  Please, Edna.  It will reach him so much sooner if you carry it over, than if I were to drop it into the post-office where it may stay for a week; and Uncle Allan has no extra servants to run around on errands for me.”

“Gertrude, are you not deceiving me?  Are you sure your mother read the other note and sanctions this?”

“Certainly; you may ask her if you doubt me.  There!  I must hurry in; mamma is calling me.  Dear Edna, if you love me!  Yes, mamma, I am coming.”

Edna could not resist the pleading of the lovely face pressed close to hers, and with a sigh she took the tiny note and turned away.

More than a week had elapsed since Mr. Hammond and Mrs. Powell had written, recommending her for the situation in Mrs. Andrews’s famity; and with feverish impatience she awaited the result.  During this interval she had not exchanged a word with Mr. Murray—­had spent much of her time in writing down in her note-book such references from the library as she required in her Ms.; and while Estelle seemed unusually high-spirited, Mrs. Murray watched in silence the orphan’s preparations for departure.

Absorbed in very painful reflections, the girl walked on rapidly till she reached the cheerless home of the blacksmith, and knocked at the door.

“Come in, Mr. Murray.”

Edna pushed open the door and walked in.

“It is not Mr. Murray this time.”

“Oh, Edna!  I am so glad you happened to come.  He would not let me tell you; he said he did not wish it known.  But now you are here, you will stay with me, won’t you, till it is over?”

Huldah was kneeling at the side of her father’s cot, and Edna was startled by the look of eager, breathless anxiety printed on her white, trembling face.

“What does she mean, Mr. Reed?”

“Poor little lamb, she is so excited she can hardly speak, and I am not strong enough to talk much.  Huldah, daughter, tell Miss Edna all about it.”

“Mr. Murray heard all I said to you about praying to have my eyes opened, and he went to town that same evening, and telegraphed to some doctor in Philadelphia, who cures blindness, to come on and see if he could do anything for my eyes.  Mr. Murray was here this morning, and said he had heard from the doctor, and that he would come this afternoon.  He said he could only stay till the cars left for Chattanooga, as he must go back at once.  You know he—­hush!  There! there!  I hear the carriage now.  Oh, Edna! pray for me!  Pa, pray for my poor eyes!”