and babe, the fairy was
gone.--The mother silently pondered over what had happened and when the
christening day came, she said his name was to be "Blessed-Eyes."

Most of her friends and relatives thought this was a very queer name
indeed to give to a child, and even went so far as to argue with the
father that the little one ought to be named "John" or "James" after one
or the other of his two grandfathers. But as the boy grew into a sweet,
healthy childhood, loving and kind to everyone, they were gradually
reconciled to the name, and little Blessed-Eyes became a general
favorite. He was always sunshiny, always happy. His mother never failed
on each new birthday to rise early, even before the day dawned, and to
go to his bedside, and, bending over him, kiss his two eyelids as the
fairy had bidden. At such times she imagined that she heard a faint
sound as of a far-away chorus of strange, silvery voices, singing:

"Love well, love well, love well,
That the heart within may swell,
Love well, love well, love well!"

Still, she was never quite sure but that it was merely the first mellow
tones of the church bell in a distant village.

Long before her child could talk the mother noticed how closely he
observed everything about him, and how quickly he responded to the
faintest smile upon her face. As he grew older it was a delight to take
him out for a walk. He was constantly discovering some new beauty in the
landscape. He saw the first red glow of the evening sunset. His eyes
were the first to spy out the early spring flower, even before the snow
was off the ground. In the late autumn when the wind was sharp and cold
and the woods were bare, he was sure to bring home some red mountain
berries, or some withered leaf into a corner of which a cunning little
caterpillar had wrapped himself, sewing it over and over as one would
sew a bag. Then he would tell gleefully how the frost had touched the
ponds and changed them into smooth glass. Often on a cold winter morning
he would waken his mother by clapping his hands with joy over the
frost-pictures on the window pane. Sometimes in the evening twilight he
would ask his mother if the stars were pinholes in the floor of heaven
through which the glory shone. No stone nor cloud nor stream nor tree
but gave him pleasure.

"Ah," thought the mother, "this is the fairy's birthday gift. She has
made his eyes to see the beautiful everywhere." "More than that, far
more tha