"I heard," Lizzie Graham said; she leaned forward and stroked his
hand. "But maybe you can finish it at the Farm, Nathaniel?"

"No," he said, sadly; "no; I know what it's like at the Farm. There is
no room there for anything but bodies. No time for anything but
Death."

"How long would it take you to put it together?" she asked; and Dyer,
who was lounging across his counter, shook his head at her, warningly.

"There ain't nothin' to it, Mrs. Graham," he said, under his breath;
"he's--" He tapped his forehead significantly.

"Oh, man!" Nathaniel cried out, passionately, "you don't know what you
say! Are the souls of the departed 'nothing'? I have it in my
hand--right here in my hand, Lizzie Graham--to give the world the gift
of sight. And they won't give me a crust of bread and a roof over my
head till I can offer it to them!"

"Couldn't somebody put it together for you?" she asked, the tears in
her eyes. "I would try, Nathaniel;--you could explain it to me; I
could come and see you every day, and you could tell me."

His face brightened into a smile. "No, kind woman. Only I can do it. I
can't see very clearly, but there is a glimmer of light, enough to get
it together. But it would take at least two months; at least two
months. The doctor said the light would last, perhaps, three months.
Then I shall be blind. But if I could give eyes to the blind world
before I go into the dark, what matter? What matter, I say?" he cried,
brokenly.