"
"You were very particular, Mr. Bascom, weren't you?" inquired Melody.
"You were a very neat old gentleman, with white hair always brushed
just so, and a high collar. You didn't like dust, unless it was well
refined. I shouldn't wonder if you washed your walking-stick every
time you came home, like Mr. Cuter, over at the Corners. Here's
something growing in the tail of your last _y_. Never mind, Mr.
Bascom, I'll get it out with a pin. There, now you are quite
respectable, and you look very nice indeed. Good-by, and do try not to
fret more than you can help about the dandelions. They will grow, no
matter how often I come."
Melody, in common with most blind persons, always spoke of seeing, of
looking at things, precisely as if she had the full use of her eyes.
Indeed, I question whether those wonderful fingers of hers were not as
good as many pairs of eyes we see. How many people go half-blind
through the world, just for want of the habit of looking at things!
How many plod onward, with eyes fixed on the ground, when they might
be raised to the skies, seeing the glory of the Lord, which He has
spread abroad over hill and meadow, for all eyes to behold! How many
walk with introverted gaze, seeing only themselves, while their
neighbor walks beside them, unseen, and needing their ministration!
The blind child touched life with her hand, and knew it.
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