arest friends. Ever since her mother went to Heaven, (which was soon
after Emily's birth,) the little girl had dwelt in the household where we
now find her. Mr. and Mrs. Temple seemed to love her as well as their own
children; for they had no daughter except Emily; nor would the boys have
known the blessing of a sister, had not this gentle stranger come to teach
them what it was. If I could show you Emily's face, with her dark hair
smoothed away from her forehead, you would be pleased with her look of
simplicity and loving-kindness, but might think that she was somewhat too
grave for a child of seven years old. But you would not love her the less
for that.

So brother George, and this loving little girl, were to be Edward's
companions and playmates, while he should be kept prisoner in the dark
chamber. When the first bitterness of his grief was over, he began to feel
that there might be some comforts and enjoyments in life, even for a boy
whose eyes were covered with a bandage.

"I thank you, dear mother," said he, with only a few sobs, "and you,
Emily; and you too, George. You will all be very kind to me, I know. And
my father--will not he come and see me, every day?"

"Yes, my dear boy," said Mr. Temple; for, though invisible to Edward, he
was standing close beside him. "I will spend some hours of every day with
you. And as I have often amused you by relating stories and adventures,
while you had the use of your eyes, I can do the same, now that you are
unable to read. Will this please you, Edward?"

"Oh, very much!" replied Edward.

"Well then," said his father, "this evening we will begin the series of
Biographical Stories, which I promised you some time ago."

Chapter II

When evening came, Mr. Temple found Edward considerably revived in
spirits, and disposed to be resigned to his misfortune. Indeed, the figure
of the boy, as it was dimly seen by the fire-light, reclining in a well
stuffed easy-chair, looked so very comfortable that many people might have
envied him. When a man's eyes have grown old with gazing at the ways of
the world, it does not seem such a terrible misfortune to have them
bandaged.

Little Emily Robinson sat by Edward's side, with the air of an
accomplished nurse. As well as the duskiness of the chamber would permit,
she watched all his motions, and each varying expression of his face, and
tried to anticipate her patient's wishes, before his tongue could utter
them. Yet it was