Keith, what's come to me in my old age."

"Yes, sir, I--I do." The boy hitched a little nearer to the two ill-
shod feet on the floor near him. "And--and I wanted to ask you. Yours
hurt a lot, didn't they?--I mean, your eyes; they--they ached, didn't
they, before they--they got--blind?" He spoke eagerly, almost
hopefully.

The old man shook his head.

"No, not much. I s'pose I ought to be thankful I was spared that."

The boy wet his dry lips and swallowed.

"But, Uncle Joe, 'most always, I guess, when--when folks are going to
be blind, they--they DO ache, don't they?"

Again the old man stirred restlessly.

"I don't know. I only know about--myself."

"But--well, anyhow, it never comes till you're old--real old, does
it?" Keith's voice vibrated with confidence this time.

"Old? I ain't so very old. I'm only seventy-five," bridled Harrington
resentfully. "Besides anyhow, the doctor said age didn't have nothin'
ter do with this kind of blindness. It comes ter young folks, real
young folks, sometimes."

"Oh-h!" The boy wet his lips and swallowed again a bit convulsively.