"I guess I know--all there is to know, Mis' McGuire," she said then
coldly. "But there ain't anybody KNOWS anything. We're jest waitin' to
see." Her voice had grown unsteady again.

"You mean he MAY be blind, later?"

"Yes."

"Oh, the poor boy! Ain't that terrible? How CAN they stand it?"

"I notice there are things in this world that have to be stood. An'
when they have to be stood, they might as well be--stood, an' done
with it."

"Yes, I suppose so," sighed Mrs. McGuire. Then, after a pause: "But
what is it--that's makin' him blind?"

"I don't know. They ain't sayin'. I thought maybe't was a catamount,
but they say't ain't that."

"But when is it liable to come?"

"Come? How do I know? How does anybody know?" snapped Susan tartly.
"Look a-here, Mis' McGuire, you must excuse me from discoursin'
particulars. We don't talk 'em here. None of us don't."

"Well, you needn't be so short about it, Susan Betts. I'm only tryin'
to show a little sympathy. You don't seem to realize at all what a
dreadful thing this is. My John says---"