don't know me, my dear," Janice said, instinctively; then,
remembering the blind eyes as well as the deaf ears, she drew quite
close to the child and gently took her hand.

The child responded and touched Janice lightly, gropingly. The latter
could see her eyes now--deep, violet eyes, the appearance of which
belied the fact that the light had gone from them. They were neither
dull-looking nor with a film drawn over them. It was very hard indeed
to believe that the little girl was sightless.

She was flaxen-haired, pink-cheeked, and not too slender. Yet Janice
could not say that she was pretty. Indeed the impression the afflicted
child made upon one was quite the reverse.

The little hand crept up Janice's arm to her shoulder, touched her hair
and neck lightly, and then the slender fingers passed over the older
girl's face. She did this swiftly, while Janice took her other hand
and with a soft, urgent pressure tried to draw her along.

But although she seemed so sweet and amenable, Janice did not breathe
freely until they were both off the old wharf. Then she demanded,
quickly:

"Do they let you come here alone? Where do you live?"

The little girl did not answer; of course she did not hear. She was
still looking back toward the tall wall of spruce across the inlet,
from which the sharp echo was flung.

"He-a! he-a! he-a!" she wailed again, and the echo sent back the cry;
but the little girl shook her head.

"I have lost it! And I don't hear what _you_ say--do I? You can
speak, can't you?"

Janice squeezed her hand quickly, and the child seemed to accept it as
an affirmative reply.

"But, you see, I don't hear you," she continued, in that strange, flat
voice. Janice suddenly realized that hearing had much to do with the
use of the vocal cords. It is because we can hear ourselves speak that
we attune our voices to pleasant sounds. This unfortunate child had no
appreciation of the tones that issued from her lips.

"I used to hear," said the afflicted one. "And I could see, too. Oh,
yes! I haven't forgotten how things look. You know, I'm Lottie Drugg.
I can find my way about. But--but I've lost the echo. I used to hear
_that_ always. I'd run down there to the wharf and shout to the echo,
and it would answer me. But now I've lost it."

Janice squeezed the little hand again. She found herself weeping, and
yet the child did not complain. But it was plainly an effort for her
to speak. Lik