upon the street. He knew then at once that the whole town had heard
all about his trip to Boston and what the doctors had said. He tried
not to see the curious glances cast in his direction. He tried not to
care that the youngest McGuire children stood at their gate and
whispered, with fingers plainly pointing toward himself.

He did not go near the schoolhouse, and he stayed at the post-office
until he felt sure all the scholars must have reached home. Then, just
at the corner of his own street, he met Mazie Sanborn and Dorothy
Parkman face to face. He would have passed quickly, with the briefest
sort of recognition, but Mazie stopped him short.

"Keith, oh, Keith, it isn't true, is it?" she cried breathlessly. "You
aren't going to be blind?"

"Mazie, how could you!" cried Dorothy sharply. And because she
shuddered and half turned away, Keith saw only the shudder and the
turning away, and did not realize that it was rebuke and remonstrance,
and not aversion, that Dorothy was expressing so forcibly.

Keith stiffened.

"Say, Keith, I'm awfully sorry, and so's Dorothy. Why, she hasn't
talked about a thing, hardly, but that, since she heard of it."

"Mazie, I have, too," protested Dorothy sharply.

"Well, anyway, it was she who insisted on coming around this way to-
day," teased Mazie wickedly; "and when I---"