"But I can't--I'm blind, I tell you!" cut in the boy. "I can't do--
anything, now."

"But you can, an' you're goin' to," insisted Susan again. "You jest
wait till I tell you; an' it's because you ARE blind that it's goin'
to be so wonderful. But you can't do it jest lyin' abed there in that
lazy fashion. Come, I'm goin' to get your clothes an' put 'em right on
this chair here by the bed; then I'm goin' to give you twenty minutes
to get into 'em. I shan't give you but fifteen tomorrow." Susan was
moving swiftly around the room now, opening closet doors and bureau
drawers.

"No, no, Susan, I can't get up," moaned the boy turning his face back
to the wall. "I can't--I can't!"

"Yes, you can. Now, listen. They're all here, everything you need, on
these two chairs by the bed."

"But how can I dress me when I can't see a thing?"

"You can feel, can't you?"

"Y-yes. But feeling isn't seeing. You don't KNOW."

Susan gave a sudden laugh--she would have told you it was a laugh--but
it sounded more like a sob.

"But I do know, an' that's the funny part of it, Keith," she cried.
"Listen! What do you s'pose your poor old Susan's been doin'? You'd