The Blind Girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a moment in her
own two hands; and laid her cheek against it tenderly before releasing
it. There was such unspeakable affection and such fervent gratitude in
the act, that Tackleton himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than
usual:

"What's the matter now?"

"I stood it close beside my pillow when I went to sleep last night, and
remembered it in my dreams. And when the day broke, and the glorious red
sun--the _red_ sun, father?"

"Red in the mornings and the evenings, Bertha," said poor Caleb with a
woeful glance at his employer.

"When it rose, and the bright light I almost fear to strike myself
against in walking, came into the room, I turned the little tree towards
it, and blessed Heaven for making things so precious, and blessed you
for sending them to cheer me!"

"Bedlam broke loose!" said Tackleton under his breath. "We shall arrive
at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers soon. We're getting on!"

Caleb, with his hands hooked loosely in each other, stared vacantly
before him while his daughter spoke, as if he really were uncertain (I
believe he was) whether Tackleton had done anything to deserve her
thanks or not. If he could have been a perfectly free agent at that
moment, required, on pain of death, to kick the toy merchant, or fall at
his feet, according to his merits, I believe it would have been an even
chance which course he would have taken. Yet Caleb knew that with his
own hands he had brought the little rose-tree home for her so carefully,
and that with his own lips he had forged the innocent deception which
should help to keep her from suspecting how much, how very much, he
every day denied himself, that she might be happier.

"Bertha!" said Tackleton, assuming, for the nonce, a little cordiality.
"Come here."

"Oh, I can come straight to you! You needn't guide me!" she rejoined.

"Shall I tell you a secret, Bertha?"

"If you will!" she answered eagerly.

How bright the darkened face! How adorned with light the listening
head!

"This is the day on which little what's-her-name, the spoilt child,
Peerybingle's wife, pays her regular visit to you--makes her fantastic
Picnic here, an't it?" said Tackleton with a strong expression of
distaste for the whole concern.

"Yes," replied Bertha. "This is the day."

"I thought so," said Tackleton. "I should like to join the party."

"Do you hear that, father?" cried the Blind Girl in an ecs