stand no more, for Dr. Brown nor anybody else.' And she set her hands
on her hips and stared at me as if she'd like to eat me, sun-bonnet
and all. 'Let me see the child,' I said. I went in, and there it
lay,--the prettiest creature you ever saw in your life, with its eyes
wide open, just as they are now, and the sweetest look on its little
face. Well, there, you'd know it came straight from heaven, if you saw
it in--Well, I don't know exactly what I'm saying. You must excuse me,
sir!" and Miss Vesta paused in some confusion. "'Somebody ought to
adopt it,' said I. 'It's a beautiful child; any one might be proud of
it when it grew up.' 'I guess when you find anybody that would adopt a
blind child, you'll find the cat settin' on hen's eggs,' said Liza
Green. I sat and held the child a little while, trying to think of
some one who would be likely to take care of it; but I couldn't think
of any one, for as she said, so it was. By and by I kissed the poor
little pretty thing, and laid it back in its cradle, and tucked it up
well, though it was a warm night. 'You'll take care of that child,
Liza,' I said, 'as long as it stays with you, or I'll know the reason
why. There are plenty of people who would like the work here, if
you're tired of it,' I said. She quieted down at that, for she knew
that a word from me would set the doctor to thinking, and he wasn't
going to have that blind child slighted, well I knew. Well, sir, I
came home, and told Rejoice."

"Her sister," put in Dr. Brown,--"a crippled saint, been in her bed
thirty years. She and Melody keep a small private heaven, and Vesta is
the only sinner admitted."

"Doctor, you're very profane," said Miss Vesta, reprovingly. "I've
never seen my sister Rejoice angry, sir, except that one time, when I
told her. 'Where is the child?' she says. 'Why, where do you suppose?'