the close rings of hair under
the scarlet Tarn. "Now, I'll know you forever. What color is your hair?
What is your hood, or bonnet?"

"My hair is very dark brown, or almost black, I think. My Tarn is red.
But do you know colors?"

"I know what they are like to me. Papa says that maybe that is not the
same as they are in the truly world, but I don't care. They are pretty
and suit me, my blind colors do. I like you. I like you very much. I
think you are lovely, lovely to give me your don-key--"

"But I didn't. That is, I will, since I know about you; but I asked your
father to buy her first. I wouldn't--"

"Oh, never mind. It's all the same, isn't it? It would be in my blind
world. She was yours and now she is mine, and you're lovely. Oh, I wish
mamma could see!"

"Why, can't she, dear? Is she--"

"No," interrupted the superintendent, smiling. "No, she isn't blind. The
only body in our household who is able to see beautiful things with her
eyes shut is Nanette, here; and the only trouble with the mother is that
there is a new baby in her room just now, so she hasn't time or strength
to get up and look out of window at new burros. She thinks the new
babies are the nicer of the two sorts. Eh, Nan, child?"

"I suppose she does, but I don't. Pooh! there have been three new baby
sisters that I can remember, and once I was a new baby sister myself, to
my brothers. They're so common, you know; but I don't think of any girl
anywhere, except you, and now me, that has had a new snow-white donkey.
Do you?"

"No, I do not," laughed Amy.

Mr. Metcalf invited Amy into the house, while he led the burro around to
the little stable in the rear, which was to be Pepita's new home. Amy
would have liked to throw her arms about the hairy white neck, but pride
forbade, and so the parting was made without any sign of distress on
either side. Pepita was eager for shelter, and her late mistress to hear
what the blind child was saying.

"It's right this way into the sitting room. I love the sitting room
best. That's where papa has his books and papers, and it smells like
him. He smokes, you know, but only in this room or out of doors. Oh, do
help me think! Mamma, dear heart, says I am to name this last little new
baby. Just fancy it! I, myself! And it bothers me terrifically. I would
want a nice long name, the longest that's in the books; but papa says
that there are so many little folks who like us and come to live with
us, that we mu