aid, "Never mind
it; I'll go back and get another."

"Oh, will you? Thank you, Jack."

Grannie Burt's daughter, Susan, now came to the door, and made all sorts
of exclamations over Nannie, whose ankle pained her so much, she couldn't
walk, and Jack had to carry her into the house. While Jack told the story
of the pie, Susan had taken off Nannie's shoe and stocking, and was
bathing her ankle, while grannie kept saying, "Does it feel better,
dear?"

"Never mind the pie," said grannie, as Jack went on with his story; "it's
just as good as ever, though it is broken."

"Oh, but it doesn't look so nice," said Nannie.

"I can't see it, you know," said grannie, laughing.

But Nannie wasn't satisfied, and called to Jack, as he started off, to be
sure and bring another.

Very soon Nannie felt better, and sitting up in the big chair, she
reached over for the large Bible, and said,--

"Grannie, shall I read to you, while I'm waiting?"

"I'm afraid you don't feel well enough."

"Oh yes, I should like to read; I want to read the chapter father read
this morning."

She turned over the leaves and found the place, and began: _"I love the
Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications."_

"Oh yes," said grannie; "David isn't the only one who can say that. God
has always heard me."

"Did you ever ask him, grannie, to make you see?" said Nannie.

"No; I never asked him. I asked him to make me patient to bear it. You
think it's dreadful, Nannie, to be blind, and I used to think so too.
But God never takes anything from us without giving us something else to
make up for it. You think I sit in the dark always; but it isn't dark,
Nannie; it's all light--a light brighter than the sun: it's the light
of heaven; I see it constantly. It isn't only those that live in heaven
that can say they have no need of the sun or moon, for the Lamb is their
light: I can say it too.--Yes," she went on, more to herself than
Nannie,--"yes, dear Saviour, thou art my light."

Nannie sat looking wonderingly at the wrinkled old face, so happy and
peaceful, and at the withered hands folded so quietly, and thought she
did not understand it then. Many years after, when she too was old, did
she remember that peaceful face and those folded hands, and say in the
midst of trial and sorrow,--

"Yes, dear Saviour, thou art my light!"

"I have thought sometimes," grannie went on, "that heaven will be
pleasanter to me, for not seeing here. Think