sage. Tibbie listened to the end, without
word of remark or question, her face turned towards the reader, and her
sightless balls rolling under their closed lids. When Annie's voice
ceased, she said, after a little reflection:

"Ay! ay! It's bonnie, an' verra true. And, puir man! it was waur for
him nor for me and Milton; for it was a' his ain wyte; and it was no to
be expecket he cud be sae quaiet as anither. But he had no richt to
queston the ways o' the Maker. But it's bonnie, rael bonnie."

"Noo, I'll jist read to ye what Milton says aboot his ain blin'ness.
But it's some ill to unnerstan'."

"Maybe I'll unnerstan' 't better nor you, bairn. Read awa'."

So admonished, Annie read. Tibbie fidgeted about on her seat. It was
impossible either should understand it. And the proper names were a
great puzzle to them.

"Tammy Riss!" said Tibbie; "I ken naething aboot _him_."

"Na, neither do I," said Annie; and beginning the line again, she
blundered over "_blind Maeonides_."

"Ye're readin' 't wrang, bairn. It sud be '_nae ony days_,' for there's
nae days or nichts either to the blin'. They dinna ken the differ, ye
see."

"I'm readin' 't as I hae't," answered Annie. "It's a muckle M."

"I ken naething aboot yer muckle or yer little Ms," retorted Tibbie,
with indignation. "Gin that binna what it means, it's ayont me. Read
awa'. Maybe we'll come to something better."

"Ay will we?" said Annie, and resumed.

With the words, "_Thus with the year seasons return_," Tibbie's
attention grew fixed; and when the reader came to the passage,

"So much the rather thou, Celestial Light,
Shine inward,"

her attention rose into rapture.

"Ay, ay, lassie! That man kent a' aboot it! He wad never hae speired
gin a blin' crater like me kent what the licht was. He kent what it was
weel. Ay did he!"

"But, ye see, he was a gey auld man afore he tint his eesicht," Annie
ventured to interpose.

"Sae muckle the better! He kent baith kinds. And he kent that the sicht
without the een is better nor the sicht o' the een. Fowk nae doobt has
baith; but I think whiles 'at the Lord gies a grainy mair o' the inside
licht to mak' up for the loss o' the ootside; and weel I wat it doesna
want muckle to do that."

"But ye dinna ken what it is," objected Annie, with unnecessary
persistency in the truth.

"Do ye tell me that again?" returned Tibbie, harshly. "Ye'll anger me,
bairn. Gin ye kent hoo I lie awauk at nicht, no able to sl