'Father,' said Bertha, hesitating. 'Mary.'
'Yes my dear,' retumed Caleb. 'Here she is.'
'There is no change in her. You never told me
anything of her that was not true?'
'I should have done it my dear, I am afraid,' re-
turned Caleb, 'if I could have made her better than
she was. But I must have changed her for the worse,
if I had changed her at all. Nothing could improve
her, Bertha.'
Confident as the Blind Girl had been when she
asked the question, her delight and pride in the re-
ply and her renewed embrace of Dot, were charming
to behold.
'More changes than you think for, may happen
though, my dear,' said Dot. 'Changes for the better,
I mean; changes for great joy to some of us. You
mustn't let them startle you too much, if any such
should ever happen, and affect you. Are those wheels
upon the road? You've a quick ear, Bertha. Are
they wheels?'
'Yes. Coming very fast.'
'I-I-I know you have a quick ear,' said Dot,
placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talk-
ing on, as fast as she could, to hide its palpitating
state, 'because I have noticed it often, and because
you were so quick to find out that strange step last
night.
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