very small deep window, through which the sun streamed nearly the whole
day; and out of which there was the most charming imaginable view of the
gardens and orchards of the villagers, with a little dancing brook in the
midst, and the green fields of the farmers beyond, studded with sheep and
cattle and knolls of woodland, and bounded in the far distance by the
bright blue sea. It was a lovely scene, such an one as causes the eye to
brighten and the heart to melt as we gaze upon it, and think, perchance,
of its Creator.

Yes, it was a scene worth looking at; but Mrs. Grumbit never looked at
it, for the simple reason that she could not have seen it if she had.
Half way across her own little parlour was the extent of her natural
vision. By the aid of spectacles and a steady concentrated effort, she
could see the fire-place at the other end of the room; and the portrait
of her deceased husband, who had been a sea-captain; and the white kitten
that usually sat on the rug before the fire. To be sure she saw them very
indistinctly. The picture was a hazy blue patch, which was the captain's
coat; with a white patch down the middle of it, which was his waistcoat;
and a yellow ball on the top of it, which was his head. It was rather an
indistinct and generalized view, no doubt; but she _saw_ it, and that was
a great comfort.




CHAPTER II

IN DISGRACE