"Since the very first of school?"

"Before that."

"How long before that?"

"Last spring on my--birthday. I noticed it first--then."

"Good Heavens! As long as that, and never a word to me? Why, Keith,
what in the world possessed you? Why didn't you tell me? We'd have had
that fixed up long ago."

"Fixed up?" Keith's eyes were eager, incredulous.

"To be sure. We'd have had some glasses, of course."

Keith shook his head. All the light fled from his face.

"Uncle Joe Harrington tried that, but it didn't help--any."

"Uncle Joe! But Uncle Joe is---" Daniel Burton stopped short. A new
look came to his eyes. Into his son's face he threw a glance at once
fearful, searching, rebellious. Then he straightened up angrily.

"Nonsense, Keith! Don't get silly notions into your head," he snapped
sharply. "It's nothing but a little near-sightedness, and we'll have
some glasses to remedy that in no time. We'll go down to the
optician's to-morrow. Meanwhile I'll drop a note to your teacher, and
you needn't go to school again till we get your glasses."