Chapter XII: Quite Blind

WHILE the events we have narrated in the last two chapters occurred, Annie Newton was passing through deep waters. Her father's health, as we know, had been declining for some time, and his eyesight was sorely affected. She would have entered into the question of Tom's dismissal with more earnestness, had she been differently situated; but on the very Monday when Dick acted so falsely, Mr. Newton awoke to blindness.

"Annie, child," he called from his bed, "I can't see this morning."

The young girl was quickly at his side. "What is the matter, papa?" she asked, for she only heard the accents of pain, but did not distinguish the words.

"I'm blind—I can't see you, darling."

"Perhaps you will be better presently, papa," she replied. "I will get breakfast ready, and fetch you some warm water, and you shall bathe your eyes."

She was soon on her way down-stairs, but found, to her discomfort, that the kitchen fire was only just lighted, and that Miss Pringle was very cross.

"You must wait for your water, miss," she said. "It's too bad of Tom Gillies to treat me like this. He's sent for his clothes, and won't come back again."

Annie was so pre-occupied that she scarcely noticed Miss Pringle's remark about Tom, but answered, "Papa is so ill this morning that I want to get him some breakfast at once."

"The water will boil in five minutes. You must be patient, Miss Annie."

"I suppose I must; but I am really very much troubled, Miss Pringle. I shall return to papa, and come back again for my water."

"She's only a child in behaviour, and ought to know better than be so full of her own affairs, and never think of my worries," said the spinster to herself. "I wonder if that new boy will suit me. It's intensely vexing, to be sure, to be left in this manner by Tom. I really began to like him."

And Miss Pringle vented her spleen on the chairs and tables, and knocked and thumped her furniture, and banged the doors, and poked the fire noisily. She was glad to see Dick; and he set to work so heartily that he soon made up for lost time.

When Annie came down the second time, he was receiving orders from his mistress. She could not help noticing his face—it struck her as so opposite to Tom's; but she asked no questions then, for her father appeared so prostrate, she scarcely liked to leave him for a few minutes.

He seemed better able to talk after he had taken a cup of tea, and called her to his side.

"I'm quite blind, Annie, darling," he murmured. "Quite blind; it's come at last. God help you!" And he sobbed, as only a man can sob when hope dies out for the moment, and he thinks of those whose lives depend on his exertions for support.

Annie came to her father's side. "Papa, dear, God will help us—we shall not be left," she said.

"I'm so disappointed, child. I felt so much better yesterday, and yet I knew it must come at last. How I shall miss the blue sky and the fields and trees. But I must not forget; there is a land beyond, where I shall see again."

"Yes, dear father, try and think of that land, and then you will have strength to bear anything that comes."

"Draw nearer to me, Annie; put your face between my hands; let me know your features by feeling them. I did so love to look at you."

"I will try very hard to be eyes to you, papa. I will take you out, and tell you about everything I see. I can pick up the shells we require quite well now."

"Ah! That is another trouble, dearest. We have only two more boxes to sell."

"But I can arrange others, papa. I know how to find all the shells, and I can make the boxes. I shall always keep one as a pattern. We will go to Mother Crampton presently, and take her a finished box."

"Not to-day, dearest. I am too ill to leave the house."

"Then I shall have time to complete a second this afternoon."

The invalid sighed deeply, and his daughter left him for awhile to put the rooms in order. Then she sat down by his side and arranged the shells, chatting about indifferent things, and trying her best to cheer him. At the same time, she felt a dull pain oppressing her, when she pictured to herself her father depending on her efforts for support.

When she was shut into her tiny room at night, she wept bitterly. So soon as her tears were spent, she kneeled in prayer, and told out all her fears and hopes to her Father in Heaven, until she was quite calm and trustful again.

"Why should I doubt God?" she asked herself. "He fed His people in the wilderness, and He has fed us many times."

Mr. Newton was less depressed next morning. "I am not so weak in body, Annie," he said, when she asked him how he had passed the night, "and my faith in God burns more brightly."

"I am so very, very glad, papa!"

"I wish you to carry two boxes to Mother Crampton this morning. Did you finish a third yesterday?"

"Not quite, but very nearly; it is far enough advanced to serve as a pattern."

Annie left the house just as Dick entered with his bundle.

"That's my new boy, Miss," called the spinster from the shop.

The young girl bent her head to Dick, but did not speak. She walked quickly to Mother Crampton's, for she longed to tell her best friend about her father.

She met with the heartfelt sympathy she so much needed; and, at the same time, she was braced up to endure her trouble.

"It is good thing you are old enough to help your father," said the dame; "there is mercy in that. Cheer up, deary; your invalid will grow reconciled to his blindness as time goes on. God gives more of Himself when He takes away outside props. He's been thinking of you already. I sold a box of shells last evening, and I have an order for one more at ten shillings, and two more at a guinea each. The gentleman who requires them wants you to have them ready in a month, as they are for birthday presents."

Annie felt greatly comforted, and at last grew cheerful, for she was encouraged to depend on her own exertions, and to have faith in God; added to this, the order for the three boxes would bring in enough money for several weeks' food and lodging. By degrees, she and Mother Crampton conversed on other topics, and Tom was not forgotten among them.

"I know that I shall find he's been more sinned against than sinning," remarked the dame. "I don't mean that he ought to have broken God's day, but I'm sure Dick Potter has been his worst enemy, and led him into evil."

"Miss Pringle has a new boy," said Annie; "I saw him just now; but he has not a pleasant face."

"She has soon found a successor to Tom, then. I am very partial to that lad, and am glad that he is going to live opposite, and with such good people as Mr. and Mrs. Jones."

"I suppose you managed to secure the situation for him? You are always lending a helping hand, Mother Crampton. I am not the only one who has to thank you for kindnesses. Now, I am going back to persuade papa to take a walk with me, and I intend to be very bright, and not allow myself to think how desolate I shall feel when I have to pick up shells alone, and realise that papa will never accompany me again."

"Be a brave little maiden, even if sad thoughts force themselves on you. Should Tom Gillies turn out as well as I expect he will, I'm sure he will be glad to help you; and I'm quite sure Mr. Jones will grant him an occasional half-holiday for the purpose."

"That is a famous idea," said Annie. "Mrs. Jones has always been very kind to me, and I shall not mind asking a favour of her."

In five minutes, Annie was home and standing by the invalid's side. "Capital news, Papa," she said; then, noticing the traces of tears, she continued, in an anxious tone, "you have been crying, father; oh do not, please, do not fret. I have an order for three more boxes. Now, come out for a walk—the air will refresh you." And she put his hat on and led him gently to the door and down the stairs.

Miss Pringle brushed past them in the passage.

Mr. Newton drew back. "Did I hurt you," he asked. "I am quite blind now."

"No—nothing to speak of," she replied, hastily.

They walked slowly down the narrow pathway from the top of the cliff to the sands, Annie going first and holding her father's hand.

"How nicely you manage, papa," she said, "and how beautiful the air is; already you are better. We will sit down, while I tell you how every point looks, and which part is in shadow." She prattled on until Mr. Newton was beguiled into asking questions, and forgot himself and his sorrow for awhile.

They remained out for more than an hour before he expressed a wish to return. Their simple dinner over, Annie arranged her shells. She was thus employed when a step was heard on the stairs, and Miss Pringle tapped at the door. A visit from her never boded any good, but generally heralded some unpleasantness.

"I came to say, I'm sorry you've gone blind, Mr. Newton," she began. "I'm sorry for two reasons—one for yourself, and the other because I'm obliged to give you notice, that if my rent isn't paid regularly, I can't keep you. I don't know how you'll live now, and I'm too poor to let my rooms for nothing. I thought it was better to speak plainly and come to some understanding."

Mr. Newton looked very much pained. "If I fail in paying my rent, you may complain," he said; "but I think it would have been better for you to have waited until such was the case. My daughter can fit up the boxes of shells almost as well as I can, and we have several orders to execute. More I cannot say."

Annie's face flushed crimson, and she felt inclined to answer, "You cruel, unkind woman, how dare you behave thus?" But she restrained herself, and only replied, "I shall manage the rent, Miss Pringle; you may trust me."

"Very well, miss, that's enough; but I must be just to myself and look after my own interests, for I'm a lone woman," and the spinster left the room.

"Never mind her, papa!" exclaimed Annie. "We shall be as well off as before; and I know God will take care of us. I only wish we could change our lodging."

"Better not, child; we know all the disagreeables we have to put up with here."

"Miss Pringle is not a happy woman, and she is really very hard by nature, I do believe. How unkindly she behaves to her boys! I wonder if the new one she has now is the Dick Potter that Mother Crampton says has done so much harm, and been such a bad friend to Tom Gillies."

"As if there were not two boys of the same name at Dixtown."

"Still, papa, it is odd that he happens to be called Dick," persisted Annie.

Mr. Newton smiled at his daughter, and the conversation ended here.