blind---

But Keith refused to think of that. He tried very hard, also, to
absorb everything that his father endeavored to teach him. He listened
and watched and said "yes, sir," and he did his best to make the
chalks and charcoal that were put into his hands follow the copy set
for him.

To be sure, in this last undertaking, his efforts were not always
successful. The lines wavered and blurred and were far from clear.
Still, they were not half so bad as the print in books; and if it
should not get any worse--Besides, had he not always loved to draw
cats and dogs and faces ever since he could hold a pencil?

And so, with some measure of hope as to the results, he was setting
himself to be that great and famous artist that his father said he
must be.

But it was not all work for Keith these summer days. There were games
and picnics and berry expeditions with the boys and girls, all of
which he hailed with delight--one did not have to read, or even study
wavering lines and figures, on picnics or berrying expeditions! And
that WAS a relief. To be sure, there was nearly always Mazie, and if
there was Mazie, there was bound to be Dorothy. And Dorothy had said--
Some way he could never see Dorothy without remembering what she did
say on that day he had come home from Uncle Joe Harrington's.

Not that he exactly blamed her, either. For was not he himself acting
as if he felt the same way and did not like to look at blind persons?
Else why did he so persistently keep away from Uncle Joe now? Not