ound the room, father."

"All right," said Caleb. "No sooner said than done, Bertha."

"Tell me about it."

"It's much the same as usual," said Caleb. "Homely, but very snug. The
gay colours on the walls; the bright flowers on the plates and dishes;
the shining wood, where there are beams or panels; the general
cheerfulness and neatness of the building,--make it very pretty."

Cheerful and neat it was, wherever Bertha's hands could busy
themselves. But nowhere else were cheerfulness and neatness possible in
the old crazy shed which Caleb's fancy so transformed.

"You have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as when you wear
the handsome coat?" said Bertha, touching him.

"Not quite so gallant," answered Caleb. "Pretty brisk, though."

"Father," said the Blind Girl, drawing close to his side, and stealing
one arm round his neck, "tell me something about May. She is very fair?"

"She is indeed," said Caleb. And she was indeed. It was quite a rare
thing to Caleb not to have to draw on his invention.

"Her hair is dark," said Bertha pensively, "darker than mine. Her voice
is sweet and musical, I know. I have often loved to hear it. Her
shape----"

"There's not a Doll's in all the room to equal it," said Caleb. "And her
eyes!----"

He stopped; for Bertha had drawn closer round his neck, and, from the
arm that clung about him, came a warning pressure which he understood
too well.

He coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then fell back upon the
song about the sparkling bowl, his infallible resource in all such
difficulties.

"Our friend, father, our benefactor. I am never tired, you know, of
hearing about him.--Now, was I ever?" she said hastily.

"Of course not," answered Caleb, "and with reason."

"Ah! With how much reason!" cried the Blind Girl. With such fervency,
that Caleb, though his motives were so pure, could not endure to meet
her face; but dropped his eyes, as if she could have read in them his
innocent deceit.

"Then tell me again about him, dear father," said Bertha. "Many times
again! His face is benevolent, kind, and tender. Honest and true, I am
sure it is. The manly heart that tries to cloak all favours with a show
of roughness and unwillingness, beats in its every look and glance."

"And makes it noble," added Caleb in his quiet desperation.

"And makes it noble," cried the Blind Girl. "He is older than May,
father."

"Ye-es," said Caleb reluctantly. "He's a little ol