She says how dearly she would like to meet us all again under the old beech-tree, where she and I and your papa have spent so many happy hours together. Let us hope that her wish will some day be granted."

"Does mamma say anything about my sight, grandpapa? Does she say anything more of what Dr. Pirie told you when you took me to London ?"

"Of the operation, my dear? Your parents are very hopeful about it, but are still willing that it should be put off till they come home. I am very pleased that they do think so, for I should like them to be with you, if you have to undergo this. So you see, it is all for the best, Maudie; and we must continue to pray, as we always do, for the safe and speedy return of your dear parents.

"So we will," answered Maud; "and I know that they love me so much, that they will be sure to choose what is good for me. If they think proper to let Dr. Pirie try if he can do my blindness any good, I am sure that I am quite willing and ready. If it pains me ever so much I will not complain; for if my parents did not

love me, they would not care whether I were blind or not, would they, grandpapa?"

"Certainly not, Maud; and in this your earthly parents are like your great Father who is in heaven. They would put you to a little pain that you might be better for it all your lifetime; and in the same way God often sends pain and trouble upon His children, that these may make them ready for some great blessing. It makes it easy for us to bear the smart, when we think about the good things that are to follow."

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Oh, yes," she replied, "I could bear anything bravely, if it would only give me my sight."

"And now, my girls," said Mr. Ashton, "I think we must bend our steps towards home, or we shall have Ellen's papa coming to see what has become of her."

CHAPTER II.

MAUD'S FAMILY AND FRIENDS.

"Oh, I can feel the blessed sun,
Mirth, music, tears that fall,
And darkness sad, and joy, and woe,
And nature's movements all !-

But I must image them in mind;

I cannot see them-I am blind.".
"-NICHOL.

BUT we must go back a little in our history, and give the reader some fuller description of the persons we have spoken of in the previous chapter.

There was a path across the fields between Broadlands wood and the residence of Mr. Ashton, which was a pretty little house, standing in its own grounds, a few hundred yards from the village. Mr. Ashton had been, in his early life, a naval officer, and in addition to having travelled nearly over the world, he had been engaged in several battles. In the course of his dangerous adventures, he had received some wounds, the chief of which was the loss of his left hand just above the wrist,-it had been

shot away by a cannon-ball. He wore his coatsleeve turned back over the stump, and used often to say, jokingly, that if he could find any man who had lost his right hand, they might make one pair of gloves do between them. When he retired from service upon his half-pay, he purchased this little house at Springfield (that was the name of the village), with the intention of settling down there for the rest of his life. His wife had died some years before, and the sole relative that he brought with him was an only surviving child and daughter, who acted as his housekeeper and companion. He had been there about five years, when she married Mr. Summers, a gentleman in the Indian civil service, and shortly after accompanied her husband when he returned to his post in Calcutta. Thus Mr. Ashton, now advanced in years, was left without a companion; but being of an active turn of mind, he soon found plenty of things to occupy his attention, and fill up his time. An industrious and energetic person will never suffer from dulness and low spirits for any long period; and even if he is left alone, as Mr. Ashton was, he will always find the means of

useful amusement.

So he employed himself in laying out the little grounds about the house, in planting a shrubbery, and arranging for the construction of a greenhouse; and when these were all in good order, he took under his own management the farm-land and meadows which belonged to the house. He got a good stock of poultry, looked after the cows and sheep, watched with pleasure and interest the progress of the crops, busied himself in the harvest, and in a few years became as good a farmer in a small way as any in the neighbourhood. Broadlands wood, which we have spoken of, was the boundary of his farm, and the old beech-tree was a prominent object in the view from the best bedroom window. While his daughter remained with him, she was in the habit of walking as far as this spot every day, when the weather permitted; and so, when she had gone to India, her father thought more of this old tree than he would otherwise have done, and had the path to it kept clean and level. It went through one arable field; but when the men were ploughing in the spring, though the path was in the way, he would