I come home to-day. Dost thou believe
that the Angel of the Pool will open mine eyes?"

"Yea, child, I do believe," answered her mother earnestly. "Thou shalt
see again. I hope it with all my heart."

"And then I shall help thee once more about the house," said Naomi
hopefully, "and learn my lesson every day, and care for baby Jonas when
thou art busy. Then I shall run and wait upon my father as of old, and
he will place his hand upon my head and say, 'Naomi, thou art as quick
and light upon thy feet as a young hart or doe.' That he cannot say now
and speak the truth. But this very day it may be I shall have my sight
again."

And with this hope to comfort her, Naomi lay quietly down upon her bed
and let her thoughts go back to her last trip to Jerusalem and its sad
homecoming.

She remembered the long ride in the jolting bullock cart, which Jacob
guided as carefully as he knew how in order to spare Naomi's aching head
and throbbing eyeballs.

For the night's rest had not cured Naomi. She had awakened with swollen
eyelids that were so heavy she could not hold them up, and sharp little
stabs of pain had caused her to moan and twist in the arms of kind Aunt
Miriam who held her tenderly on the long homeward ride.

Then came days and nights of pain, and a visit from one of the great
doctors of Palestine who ordered poultices of earth mixed with the
saliva of one who had been long fasting. And when Naomi could no longer
bear the heavy weight of this remedy upon her tortured eyes, he kindly
changed the poultice to one of owl's brains, as being not only more
comfortable but a trifle quicker in its action.

At last the day arrived when Naomi was free from pain, but when also,
alas! as she raised her head weakly and looked about, she did not see
the familiar room with its carved chest and gay cushions and little
table pushed against the wall, she did not see the loving anxious faces
of her father and mother and Ezra, but only a black curtain dotted with
blacker stars that danced and winked and danced again.

"I cannot see thee! Where art thou, Mother? Is it night? How black it
is! Oh, am I blind?"

And Naomi clung fast to her father and mother as if they must save her
from this dreadful fate.

"Blind!" thought her mother, remembering with a shudder the numberless
figures that stretched pitiful hands by the Bethlehem roadside. "My
little Naomi, blind?"

"An amulet will cure her," said worried Samuel stoutly. "Be not