Melody | Page 6

the strawberries, though I don't know that I realized it till this very minute." She smiled grimly, and went on. "'That's just it,' Mrs. Green screams out, right in my face. 'Dr. Brown has just been here, and he says the child is blind, and will be blind all her days, and we've got to bring her up; and I'd like to know if I haven't got enough to do without feedin' blind children?' I just looked at her. 'I don't know that a deaf woman would be much better than a blind child,' said I; 'so I'll thank you to speak like a human being, Liza Green, and not scream at me. Aren't you ashamed?' I said. 'The child can't help being blind, I suppose. Poor little lamb! as if it hadn't enough, with no father nor mother in the world.' 'I don't care,' says Liza, crazy as ever; 'I can't stand it. I've got all I can stand now, with a feeble-minded boy and two so old they can't feed themselves. That Polly is as crazy as a loon, and the rest is so shif'less it loosens all my j'ints to look at 'em. I won't stand no more, for Dr. Brown nor anybody else.' And she set her hands on her hips and stared at me as if she'd like to eat me, sun-bonnet and all. 'Let me see the child,' I said. I went in, and there it lay,--the prettiest creature you ever saw in your life, with its eyes wide open, just as they are now, and the sweetest look on its little face. Well, there, you'd know it came straight from heaven, if you saw it in--Well, I don't know exactly what I'm saying. You must excuse me, sir!" and Miss Vesta paused in some confusion. "'Somebody ought to adopt it,' said I. 'It's a beautiful child; any one might be proud of it when it grew up.' 'I guess when you find anybody that would adopt a blind child, you'll find the cat settin' on hen's eggs,' said Liza Green. I sat and held the child a little while, trying to think of some one who would be likely to take care of it; but I couldn't think of any one, for as she said, so it was. By and by I kissed the poor little pretty thing, and laid it back in its cradle, and tucked it up well, though it was a warm night. 'You'll take care of that child, Liza,' I said, 'as long as it stays with you, or I'll know the reason why. There are plenty of people who would like the work here, if you're tired of it,' I said. She quieted down at that, for she knew that a word from me would set the doctor to thinking, and he wasn't going to have that blind child slighted, well I knew. Well, sir, I came home, and told Rejoice."
"Her sister," put in Dr. Brown,--"a crippled saint, been in her bed thirty years. She and Melody keep a small private heaven, and Vesta is the only sinner admitted."
"Doctor, you're very profane," said Miss Vesta, reprovingly. "I've never seen my sister Rejoice angry, sir, except that one time, when I told her. 'Where is the child?' she says. 'Why, where do you suppose?' said I. 'In its cradle, of course. I tucked it up well before I came away, and she won't dare to mistreat it for one while,' I said. 'Go and get it!' says my sister Rejoice. 'How dared you come home without it? Go and get it this minute, do you hear?' I stared as if I had seen a vision. 'Rejoice, what are you thinking of?' I asked. 'Bring that child here? Why, what should we do with it? I can't take care of it, nor you either.' My sister turned the color of fire. 'No one else shall take care of it,' she says, as if she was Bunker Hill Monument on a pillow. 'Go and get it this minute, Vesta. Don't wait; the Lord must not be kept waiting. Go, I tell you!' She looked so wild I was fairly frightened; so I tried to quiet her. I thought her mind was touched, some way. 'Well, I'll go to-morrow,' says I, soothing her; 'I couldn't go now, anyhow, Rejoice. Just hear it rain and blow! It came on just as I stepped inside the door, and it's a regular storm now. Be quiet,' I said, 'and I'll go up in the morning and see about it.' My sister sat right up in the bed. 'You'll go now,' she says, 'or I'll go myself. Now, this living minute! Quick!' I went, sir. The fire in her eyes would have scorched me if I