BLIND ALICE. (continued 2)
Reading edition
Yours, very thankfully,
Martha Scott."
Mrs. Scott was told that those who had given her the money would not have any of it returned, and she then, I afterwards found, paid every one in our village to whom she owed any thing, saying, that though they had told her to make herself easy, she could not be easy while she was in debt to those who, she knew, needed the money.
In a few months after she went to the Institution for the Blind, Alice wrote a letter to Harriet, and from that time they wrote to each other as often at least as once in a month. It has been now about three months since Dr. Franks, who had been making a visit in B——, brought Harriet a letter from Alice, which gave her great delight. You shall read it for yourself, and see how much reason she had to be pleased with it.
B——, April 14, 18—.
Dear Harriet,—
I am so happy that I can hardly write, or do any thing but tell everybody near me how happy I am; or when there is nobody near me, sit down and think of you and your good aunt, and Dr. Franks, and Susan and Lucy, and everybody that lives at home. Oh, Harriet, we are coming there—coming home next week—dear home. It is the middle of April now, and so many flowers will be opening, and the peach-trees and the apple-trees will be in bloom soon, and they will look so beautiful. I cannot see them, but I can smell them, and feel them, and think how they look. Oh, Harriet, how much better off I am than the poor children who never did see, and who cannot remember how such things looked! But I cannot write any more now, except good-by, from your affectionate
Alice.
P. S.—I have spent the gold piece; I will show you how, when I come.
Mrs. Scott sent a message to me by the doctor, to ask, with many apologies for troubling me, that I would get Betty Maclaurin to go to her house early in the next week, and put every thing in order for her by Wednesday evening, as she hoped to be at home some time in that night. Betty liked Mrs. Scott and Alice, and was quite ready to do them a kindness; so, early on Monday morning, she was at work, and she worked so industriously in the house, and Harriet so industriously in Alice's garden, that, before Wednesday evening, both house and garden were in perfect order.
Harriet's grandfather had taken so much interest in Alice, that he had said, when she came home he intended to come to see her; so Harriet found time, in the midst of all her preparations for her friend's arrival, to write him what day she was expected; and on Wednesday, not only he, but her grandmother also, who seldom left home, came to spend a week with us. I was not in the house when they arrived, and when I came in, Harriet met me at the door before I had seen them, and cried out, "Oh, Aunt Kitty! grandpapa's come, and grandmamma too; and only think what they have brought me—dear, pretty pony—as pretty as ever, with another beautiful new saddle and bridle. Is it not good in them, and am I not a happy girl?"
Now my little readers must not suppose that Mr. Armand had only made Harriet believe that pony was sold, while he really kept him for her. Oh no! Mr. Armand always told just the truth, and pony was sold—really and truly sold—to the gentleman he had spoken of, who had bought him for his son. This boy was gone to a school at a distance from his home, and besides, he was now so good a rider that his father thought he might have a larger horse when he came back, so he was not unwilling to let Mr. Armand have pony again, when he expressed a wish for him.
Harriet was indeed a happy girl this Wednesday evening, and still more happy was she when she set out, after an early breakfast the next morning, to ride on pony to Mrs. Scott's. As I started at the same time to walk there, and she would not leave me, she rode very slowly. If any of you can remember some morning in Spring, when the air, though cool, had not the least frosty feeling in it, when the grass was fresh and green, when the trees had put out their first tender leaves, and the peach and the pear and the apple blossoms looked as if just ready to open, to have risen early and walked or ridden out, while the leaves and the blossoms were still glittering with the night-dew, you will know how delightful Harriet and I found it. We went on, at a brisk pace for me, and a slow one for pony, till we were in sight of Mrs. Scott's house, when Harriet looked so eager, that I bade her hasten on. As I spoke, I cheruped to pony, and he went off in a smart trot, which soon brought Harriet to the gate. I had then just entered the clear space before the house, and could see and hear all that passed. Alice was standing at the open window, looking healthy and happy. As pony stopped, she called out to her mother, who seemed to be in some other room, for she spoke loudly, "Mother, mother, here is somebody on horseback—it must be the doctor."
"No, Alice, it is Harriet," cried my little niece, as she sprang from her pony, without much of the caution which she had promised her grandfather always to use in getting down.
"Oh! it is Harriet," exclaimed Alice, clapping her hands joyfully together, and then putting them out to feel her way to the door. Mrs. Scott came from the next room, and taking her hand, led her to meet us. The little girls were in each other's arms in a moment, and any one who had looked at Alice's happy face, and her eyes bright with tender and glad feelings, would never have believed they saw a blind girl. Harriet told of the beautiful pony her grandpapa had brought her the evening before, and Alice passed her hands over him to feel how small he was and how sleek and glossy his sides were, and promised that she would sometimes mount him and walk him over to my house with Harriet at her side. Then they went into the flower-garden, and Alice exclaimed, "Oh, Harriet! how nicely you have weeded my beds and trimmed my flowers."
"Betty told you that," said Harriet.
"Betty told me who did it, but I knew it was done without her telling me, for I felt them. I did not have to feel my hyacinths and jonquils to know they were in bloom, for I smelt them, and I know exactly how they look. My rose-bushes too," said she, putting her hand on one, "are in bud; they will soon be beautiful. You see, Harriet, I love my garden, and can take pleasure in it, if I am blind;—but come into the house, and let me show you the books they have taken pains to make for poor blind people, and the different kinds of work I have learned to do."
Alice took Harriet's hand, and walked with a quick and lively step into the house. When they had entered the door, she left Harriet, and putting her hands out to feel that there was nothing in her way, passed into the next room, and soon came out again with her arms full. There were only a few books—I was sorry to see so few—but they were so large that she could not well have carried any more. Having laid them on the table, she opened one, and we saw that the letters were large, and so raised from the paper that the blind could feel their form, and thus distinguish them as readily as we can distinguish the letters in ordinary printing by seeing them. Alice soon showed us how this was done, for passing her finger over the lines of a sentence on the page to which she had opened, she read it as correctly as anybody could have done. Then turning with quickness to a box which stood near, she said, "Now see my work."—There were baskets she had woven, purses and bags she had knitted, pincushions and needle-books she had sewed as neatly as possible. Full of animation and happy as Alice seemed in showing these things, I am certain she was not half so happy in showing, as Harriet was in seeing them. Having looked at them myself, I went into the garden to show Mrs. Scott where some seeds were planted. From the garden I could still hear and see through an open window what was passing in the parlor, and I was too much interested in the feelings of these little girls not to attend to them. I soon saw, however, that they did not think themselves observed; for Harriet—who had hitherto spoken little, expressing her pleasure in looks more than in words—as soon as they were left alone, took Alice's hand, and said, "How glad I am you can do so much!"
"I knew you would be glad, and that made me show you; and I wish I could show them to all the kind people who gave mother money to take me to B., for, you know, if it was not for that, I could not have learned to do these things,—and you don't know, Harriet, how hard those first dark weeks were to bear, and how often, when I thought it would be always so, I wished I was in the grave-yard with my little brother and sisters;—that was wicked, I know, Harriet, but I could not help it then."
Harriet stood with her face turned from me, yet I could see by her movements that she was weeping.
Alice put her arm around her, saying, "Don't cry, I am very happy now."
"And so am I," said Harriet, sobbing, "and I believe that's what makes me cry."
"That's funny too," said Alice laughing, and Harriet laughed with her, though the tears were still on her cheeks. Then Alice told that there was a kind shopkeeper in B., who had promised to buy all she made, and that her mother said, she got so much money from him, that she could afford to keep a woman—Alice hoped it would be Betty—to do the hard work, and as she would only take in a little plain sewing, she would then be able to sit with Alice, and could sometimes spare time to read to her. "And Harriet," she added, "I promised to show you what I had bought with the gold piece you gave me. I bought the straw for my first baskets, and the braids and ribands for my first purses and bags, and the pieces of silk and velvet for my first pincushions and needle-books; so you see how much it helped me," and she kissed Harriet, little knowing how much more she owed to her.
And now, if any of my little readers have thought that Harriet made a foolish choice, when she gave up her pony to help her friend, they will, I am sure, change their minds when they remember what a sad house this was at the time that Alice first became blind, and think that now, as Harriet looked at Mrs. Scott's contented and Alice's cheerful face, and saw how much her friend could do and could enjoy, and heard that by her pleasant employments she could not only support herself comfortably, but help her mother too, she could say to herself—"This is my work—it is I who have made them so happy." Who would not have given pony for such a feeling, even though they had never got him back again?
When we were going away, Alice very modestly gave me a beautiful work-basket, a very neat needle-book, and pincushion, all of her own make. For Harriet she had made a very pretty bag, and hearing that Mr. and Mrs. Armand were with us, she selected a very handsome purse and needle-book, and requested Harriet to present them to her grandfather and grandmother, as the offerings of a blind girl.
And now, my young friends, I have little more to tell you of Alice. If you could visit her, you would find her sometimes employed in making those tasteful and pretty things, by the sale of which she aids in supporting her mother and herself—sometimes in her garden, feeling for the weeds and pulling them away from her plants, or tying up her vines, or cutting flowers to dress their pleasant little parlor—sometimes walking, leaning on her mother's arm, or on that of some young companion,—and though you may see her look a little sad when her friends speak of a beautiful flower, or admire a fine sunset, you will oftener hear her sweet voice in cheerful talk, or merry laugh, or singing some pleasant hymn, expressive of her gratitude to God for His goodness to her. And when you see and hear all this, you will, I hope, not envy Harriet, for that would be a wrong feeling, but watch every opportunity of going and doing like her.
As this has been a very long story, and I do not wish to tire you, I will now bid you good-by, hoping you will soon wish to hear from me again. Whenever you do, I shall know it, and shall be quite ready to have another talk with you.