Dawn Eleanor Porter (free novels to read txt) 📖

was resting and Susan was with Keith that theboy came to a full, realizing sense of himself, on his lips the time-worn question asked by countless other minds back from that mysteriousland of delirium:

"Where am I?"

Susan sprang to her feet, then dropped on her knees at the bedside.

"In your own bed—honey."

"Is that—Susan?" No wonder he asked the question. Whenever before had

Susan talked like that?

"Sure it's Susan."

"But I can't—see you—or anything. Oh-h!" With a shudder and aquivering cry the boy flung out his hands, then covered his eyes withthem. "I know, now, I know! It's come—it's come! I am—BLIND!"

"There, there, honey, don't, please don't. You'll break Susan's heart.

An' you're SO much better now."

"Better?"

"Yes. You've been sick—very sick."

"How long?"

"Oh, several weeks. It's October now."

"And I've been blind all that time?"

"Yes."

"But I haven't known I was blind!"

"No."

"I want to go back—I want to go back, where I didn't know—again."

"Nonsense, Keith!" (Susan was beginning to talk more like herself.)

"Go back to be sick? Of course you don't want to go back an' be sick!

Listen!

      Don't you worry, an' don't you fret.

      Somethin' better is comin' yet.

      Somethin' fine! What'll you bet?

      It's jest the thing you're wantin' ter get!

Come, come! We're goin' to have you up an' out in no time, now, boy!"

"I don't want to be up and out. I'm blind, Susan."

"An' there's your dad. He'll be mighty glad to know you're better.

I'll call him."

"No, no, Susan—don't! Don't call him. He won't want to see me. Nobodywill want to see me now. I'm blind, Susan—blind!"

"Shucks! Everybody will want to see you, so's to see how splendid youare, even if you are blind. Now don't talk any more—please don't;there's a good boy. You're gettin' yourself all worked up, an' then,oh, my, how that nurse will scold!"

"I shan't be splendid," moaned the boy. "I shan't be anything, now. Ishan't be Jerry or Ned or dad. I shall be just ME. And I'll be pointedat everywhere; and they'll whisper and look and stare, and say, 'He'sblind—he's blind—he's blind.' I tell you, Susan, I can't stand it. Ican't—I can't! I want to go back. I want to go back to where Ididn't—KNOW!"

The nurse came in then, and of course Susan was banished in disgrace.Of course, too, Keith was almost in hysterics, and his fever had goneaway up again. He still talked in a high, shrill voice, and stillthrashed his arms wildly about, till the little white powder the nursegave him got in its blessed work. And then he slept.

Keith was entirely conscious the next day when Susan came in to sitwith him while the nurse took her rest. But it was a very differentKeith. It was a weary, spent, nerveless Keith that lay back on thepillow with scarcely so much as the flutter of an eyelid to show life.

"Is there anything I can get you, Keith?" she asked, when a long-drawnsigh convinced her that he was awake.

Only a faint shake of the head answered her.

"The doctor says you're lots better, Keith."

There was no sort of reply to this; and for another long minute Susansat tense and motionless, watching the boy's face. Then, with almost aguilty look over her shoulder, she stammered:

"Keith, I don't want you to talk to me, but I do wish you'd just SPEAKto me."

But Keith only shook his head again faintly and turned his face awayto the wall.

By and by the nurse came in, and Susan left the room. She wentstraight to the kitchen, and she did not so much as look towardKeith's father whom she met in the hall. In the kitchen Susan caughtup a cloth and vigorously began to polish a brass faucet. The faucetwas already a marvel of brightness; but perhaps Susan could not seethat. One cannot always see clearly—through tears.

Keith was like this every day after that, when Susan came in to sitwith him—silent, listless, seemingly devoid of life. Yet the doctordeclared that physically the boy was practically well. And the nursewas going at the end of the week.

On the last day of the nurse's stay, Susan accosted her in the hallsomewhat abruptly.

"Is it true that by an' by there could be an operator on that boy'seyes?"

"Oper—er—oh, operation! Yes, there might be, if he could only getstrong enough to stand it. But it might not be successful, even then."

"But there's a chance?"

"Yes, there's a chance."

"I s'pose it—it would be mighty expulsive, though."

"Expulsive?" The young woman frowned slightly; then suddenly shesmiled. "Oh! Oh, yes, I—I'm afraid it would—er—cost a good deal ofmoney," she nodded over her shoulder as she went on into Keith's room.

That evening Susan sought her employer in the studio. Daniel Burtonspent all his waking hours in the studio now. The woods and fieldswere nothing but a barren desert of loneliness to Daniel Burton—without Keith.

The very poise of Susan's head spelt aggressive determination as sheentered the studio; and Daniel Burton shifted uneasily in his chair ashe faced her. Nor did he fail to note that she carried some foldedpapers in her hand.

"Yes, yes, Susan, I know. Those bills are due, and past due," he criednervously, before Susan could speak. "And I hoped to have the money,both for them and for your wages, long before this. But—-"

Susan stopped him short with an imperative gesture.

"T ain't bills, Mr. Burton, an't ain't wages. It's—it's somethin'else. Somethin' very importune." There was a subdued excitement inSusan's face and manner that was puzzling, yet most promising.

Unconsciously Daniel Burton sat a little straighter and lifted hischin—though his eyes were smiling.

"Something else?"

"Yes. It's—poetry."

"Oh, SUSAN!" It was as if a bubble had been pricked, leaving nothingbut empty air.

"But you don't know—you don't understand, yet," pleaded Susan,unerringly reading the disappointment in her employer's face. "It's tosell—to get some money, you know, for the operator on the poor lamb'seyes. I—I wanted to help, some way. An' this is REAL poetry—truly itis!—not the immaculate kind that I jest dash off! I've worked an'worked over this, an' I'm jest sure it'll sell, It's GOT to sell, Mr.Burton. We've jest got to have that