oating over his shoulders, and his
hands clasped upon a staff he held before him. His sightless orbs were
turned in the direction whence came his good child's voice, and when she
mentioned Guly's name he held out one trembling hand, and expressed, in
a feeble, faltering tone, his pleasure at "seeing" them.

Guly took the extended hand, shook it cordially, and sat down near the
old gentleman and entered into a brisk conversation with him, leaving
Blanche to be entertained by, and to entertain, Wilkins.

"She called you Guly, this child of mine," said the old man, suddenly
breaking a slight pause which had occured in the conversation. "Blanche,
my love, when will you ever learn to be polite?"

"Dear grandpapa," returned Blanche, approaching him and stroking down
his snow-white locks with her soft hand, "don't call me impolite, only a
little too thoughtless and informal, grandpapa."

"Thoughtless and informal then, my dear; but I could wish you not to
address young gentlemen by their given names."

"Well, grandpapa, I always say 'Mr.' to Monsieur Wilkins, because he is
twice as tall as I, and looks always as if he expected to be mistered;
but, grandpapa, just feel of Guly--he is nothing but a boy, only a
little taller and a little older than I. Do let us be Blanche and Guly
to each other."

There was no withstanding the simple and artless manner with which these
words were spoken, and Blanche hung fondly over her grandfather's chair.

The old man smiled as he listened to her, and, turning to the side where
Guly sat, he said, in an apologetic manner:

"Blanche's reasoning springs from her heart; she studies no etiquette
save that which nature teaches."

"Which will carry such a spirit as hers through the world more safely
than any other," said Wilkins, drawing his chair also to the side of his
blind friend.

"Still," said Guly, blushing as he spoke, "it may make her heart so rare
a gem that too many will covet it."

A shade of anxiety crossed the blind man's features as he heard the
words, and he turned his dim eyes toward Guly as if he would give worlds
to read the expression of face with which the sentence had been spoken.

"Lately," said he, leaning forward more heavily on his staff, "I have
such thoughts myself. I am a weak, powerless old man, already bending
over the grave into which I must so soon drop. When I think of this
poor, dear child, left unprotected and alone in this great city, I am
very unhapp