"Stop at Todd's cottage, if you please, Mr. Porter," said Mr. Bradford, as they came out of the forest and saw before them a small farm-house, with half a dozen out-buildings about it.
"Who is Todd, papa?" asked Maggie.
But before Mr. Bradford could answer, all curiosity about Todd, or why they were to stop at his house, was set at rest. As they turned the corner they saw, standing in the porch of the farm-house, a woman with a baby in her arms; while hanging over the gate and whistling as he looked up the road, was a boy about the size of Fred. They were Mrs. Richards and Willie, no longer "blind Willie," the sightless little child whose sad face and patient, waiting manner, had so touched the hearts of all who looked upon him. A delicate looking boy Willie was still, though two weeks' stay in this fresh, pure, mountain air had done wonders for him. It was a pretty sight to see his delight in all about him, in the sunshine and clouds, in the blue sky and the bright water, in the grass and flowers, in birds and animals, and above all in the dear faces which had been shut out from his poor eyes for so many weary months.
A light flush mounted to his pale cheeks as he caught sight of his friends in the carriage, the good, kind friends to whom he owed so much; and calling to his mother, he sprang from the gate, as Mr. Porter drew in his horses, and hastened to open it.
"Never mind, Willie," said Mr. Bradford; "we cannot come in this afternoon. Some other day, perhaps; but now we only stopped to ask how you are coming on? How do you do, Mrs. Richards?"
"Bravely, sir," answered the smiling Mrs. Richards; "and as for Willie and the baby, they are improving wonderfully, thanks to your kindness."
"It is my little girls you must thank, Mrs. Richards," said Mr. Bradford.
"But we don't want to be thanked," said Bessie, quickly. "We quite liked to have you come up here, Mrs. Richards, and we felt very much thankful ourselves when Uncle Ruthven gave us the money to send you."
"Willie," said Maggie, "do you enjoy being disblinded just as much as you did at first?"
"Oh, yes," answered Willie, laughing at Maggie's new word; "and everything looks so much nicer than it did before I was blind. Somehow, I think the world did grow prettier while I could not see it, though mother says it only seems so to me."
"Ah, that is often the way, Willie," said Mr. Bradford. "God sometimes has to teach us the worth of the blessings He has given us by taking them from us."
After a little more talk with Willie and his mother, they bade good-by; kind Mr. Porter first saying he would send down for Willie some day and let him come up to his place.
They drove on till they came to the more open country, and saw before them Aunt Patty's house, and beyond that, the grand old homestead of which they had heard so much, and of which papa was so fond.
Aunt Patty's home was a pretty, snug cottage on the side of a hill; its front covered with a beautiful trumpet creeper, which went climbing up to the very top of the many-cornered old chimney, and wreathing itself over the little porch and the bow window of the sitting-room, until the house looked like a quiet green nest. A great white cat peeped out from behind the geraniums which filled the window; a greyhound lay upon the doormat, and beneath and about the porch hung several bird-cages, containing half a dozen canaries and two mocking-birds, while a donkey and a tame goat looked, the one over, the other between the bars of the fence which divided their little pasture ground from the neat garden. For Aunt Patty was very fond of dumb pets, and had collected about her a number, each one of which knew her voice, and would come at her call; and she was never sharp and short with them as she sometimes was with her own fellow creatures, for they never, even by accident, gave her offence.
The old lady herself came to the door to meet her guests, more pleased than she would have been willing to say, that they had come to visit her on the first day of their stay at Chalecoo. She seized Frankie in her arms and covered him with kisses; but that roguish young gentleman after exclaiming, "Hallo, Patty!" would have nothing more to say to her, and struggled to be set free that he might run and see "dat nanny-doat and dat pony wis long ears."
Maggie and Bessie were more polite than their little brother, and though they would have liked to follow him at once, waited quietly till Aunt Patty asked them if they did not wish to run about and make acquaintance with all her pets.
Glad of the permission, the little girls ran out, and turned to the paddock, where they found Frankie seated upon the donkey's back.
The boys had not gone into the house, but after shaking hands with Aunt Patty at the door, had remained without in search of what amusement they could find. The donkey was the first thing that had taken their attention as well as that of Frankie; and when the little fellow came out clamoring for a ride, they were quite ready to indulge him. Harry had been half doubtful if they had not better first ask Aunt Patty's permission, but Fred had said, —
"Pooh! what's the use? She would let Frankie dance on her own head, if he wanted to."
So Harry had allowed himself to be persuaded, and in another moment the donkey, much to his own astonishment, found Frankie seated upon his back.
Now this donkey was not at all accustomed to children; for those of Mr. Alexander Bradford, who lived at the homestead, seldom came to see Aunt Patty, and when they did so, they would as soon have thought of asking to ride upon her back as upon that of the donkey. To be harnessed in the little pony-carriage, and trot about with the old lady for her daily drive, was all the work to which Nonesuch was used; and when he found Frankie perched upon him, he was very much displeased, and began a series of antics and prancings which were more becoming some frisky pony than a sober, well-behaved donkey. But try as he would, he could not shake Frankie off. The bold little rogue was not at all frightened, and clung like a burr to his indignant steed. It was hard to tell which would come off victor. But at the side of the paddock ran one of the many streams in which this mountain country rejoiced, shadowed with a growth of elder, sumach, and other high bushes. Nonesuch had raced with Frankie to the very edge of this little rivulet, and then stood still for a moment as if considering what he would do next, when a hand, holding a long, thorny switch, was suddenly put forth from the clump of bushes, and Nonesuch received a stinging blow across his haunches. Down went the donkey's nose and up went his heels, as he sent Frankie flying directly over his head into the stream, and then tore away to the further side of the field.
Maggie and Bessie were very much startled, and screamed aloud, and even Harry and Fred were a good deal alarmed; but the child himself did not seem to be at all frightened, and when his brothers pulled him out of the water, did not cry, but looked after the donkey in great surprise, exclaiming, —
"Why, dat pony spilled me a little!"
Harry and Fred laughed at this, but Maggie and Bessie thought it no laughing matter; nor did mamma, when alarmed by their screams the grown people came running from the house. Frankie was drenched from head to foot, and had to be carried at once to the house, undressed and rubbed dry. Then he was wrapped in a blanket, while a messenger was sent to the homestead to borrow some clothes for him. The little fellow thought this rather hard, and a very poor ending to his afternoon's amusement, especially when no clothes could be found to fit him but those of little Katy Bradford.
Meanwhile Fred was off, no one knew where. At the moment Frankie had gone over the donkey's head a loud mocking laugh had resounded from behind the clump of bushes, as though the person who had given the blow were rejoicing in the mischief he had done.
Fred only waited to see Frankie safely out of the water, and then, leaving him to the care of his brother and sisters, darted across the stream and forced his way through the bushes in search of the guilty person. At a little distance from him stood two miserable looking objects, a boy about his own size, a girl rather younger; both dirty, ragged, and half-starved, hatless and shoeless. A wicked looking boy and girl they were too, and as Fred appeared they greeted him with grimaces and vulgar noises; then as he darted at the boy, turned and ran.
Fred gave chase, and in a moment had overtaken the girl. But hot-tempered and hasty though he was, Fred was not the boy to fight with one who was weaker than himself; and he passed her without notice, keeping on after her companion. But active as he was, he soon found he was no match