I'll sing that to Neddy," said Melody, laughing to herself as she went
along. "I can sing it to the tune of 'Lightly Row.' Dear little boy!"
she added, after a silence. "Think, if he had been blind, how dreadful
it would have been! Of course it doesn't matter when you have never
seen at all, because you know how to get on all right; but to have it,
and then lose it--oh dear! but then,"--and her face brightened
again,--"he _isn't_ going to be blind, you see, so what's the use of
worrying about it?

The worry cow
Might have lived till now,
If she'd only saved her breath.
She thought the hay
Wouldn't last all day,
So she choked herself to death."

Presently the child stopped again, and listened. The sound of wheels
was faintly audible. No one else could have heard it but Melody, whose
ears were like those of a fox. "Whose wagon squeaks like that?" she
said, as she listened. "The horse interferes, too. Oh, of course; it's
Eben Loomis. He'll pick me up and give me a ride, and then it won't
take so long." She walked along, turning back every now and then, as
the sound of wheels came nearer and nearer. At last, "Good-morning,
Eben!" she cried, smiling as the wagon drove up; "will you take me on
a piece, please?"

"Wal, I might, perhaps," admitted the driver, cautiously, "if I was
sure you was all right, Mel'dy. How d'you know't was me comin', I'd
like to know? I never said a word, nor so much as whistled, since I
come in sight of ye." The man, a wiry, yellow-haired Yankee, bent down