“More than a year. I studied too much, and was sick ever so long. Then I went to Boston, and there I grew blind, about six months ago.”
“Poor Fred!” said Mr. Muir, gently stroking the firm little hand that lay by his side.
“Yes, it was pretty bad at first, but since I came here,” and Fred lowered his voice to a confidential murmur, “I’ve had such good times. You see, Miss Bess is no end good to me, and she’s more fun than half the boys. She reads to me and plays games with me, and we go to walk together, and, really, we do have lots of fun.”
“You are a real hero, my boy,” said Mr. Muir warmly. “A brave boy who will make a brave man.”
“Yes,” said Fred, nodding soberly; “that’s what Miss Bess said she wanted me to be. But it’s kind of hard work sometimes, for I do get awfully mad at the boys when they do things I can’t.”
Frank Muir smiled to himself at the confession so artlessly made. The boy interested him greatly, for he seemed so shy, yet had responded so quickly to his attentions. And
