his afternoon, and I must be off. I'll
send Dodo in to keep you out of mischief."

She stooped to kiss the smooth cheek, where time had been sparing of
wrinkles, and her mother drew her down for a closer caress.

"Adieu, my love. One of the lessons my blindness teaches me is that, a
great many times in this world, the hardest work we are given is just to
sit one side and neither speak, nor act. It is then prayer becomes an
unspeakable blessing."

"Mother, you're awfully good! I won't meddle; don't worry. Here's Dodo.
She hasn't learned that lesson yet, bless her heart! Now don't let Mamma
mope, Blossom."

"Me'll tate tare ob her, S'e tan p'ay wiv mine Wobin, an' hol' mine
dolly."

Camille disappeared, throwing kisses as she went. The library she
mentioned was one in connection with the school, and somewhat chaotic in
condition. Joyce had bought a selected lot of good reading matter in
paper covers, with which to start a circulating library, and with the
assistance of the Bonnivels, was getting it in shape. In the absence of
a catalogue the books were now numbered on the backs, and when issued
the corresponding number, on a slip of paper marked the vacant place on
the shelf. In addition, the name of the drawer had to be recorded,
making the work of distribution something of a task. As yet no regular
librarian had been appointed. Joyce thought that either Dan or Rachel
could do the work satisfactorily, but both were valuable glass-workers,
and Dalton demurred at giving up any of their time. So the matter
rested.

Though well into the Fall the day had come off sunny and mild. As
always, in such weather, that part of the population not confined in the
factory was pretty well turned out of doors. Camille, crossing the park
from one end to the other, noted the women standing about in groups, or
passing from cottage to cottage, and wondered when they ever found time
for their household duties. She exchanged pleasant nods with those she
met--all liked her gay, gypsyish face and easy manners--and was in great
good humor when the school-house was reached.

It was still early and the children not dismissed, but already a large
group of women were waiting in the library room. Among these, so demure
and still as to seem oldest of all, waited Lucy Hapgood. Camille could
scarcely keep back a smile at sight of her incongruous attire. Her gown
was a cotton one of a washed out indigo-blue, with large polka spots
that had once be