that of a child. I noticed as his hands rested on the arms of the chair that the thumbs had thickened, yet his other senses had begun to do the mechanical work of his lacking sight."
"'Is that you, Leyden?' he asked, in a full, flat, heavy voice, the voice which suggested a fat throat. His two children were playing about his chair; all three were munching a confection of sugar and chopped cocoanut.
" 'Yes,' he said, in answer to my question. 'We are doing nicely. Ah, Leyden, each cloud has its silver lining. . . .' His wife joined us at this point and a glance at her face showed me the change. I had never known it otherwise, yet the change was evident. '. . . I wrote to the earl . . . .' continued Dalton—his voice grew slightly peevish—'. . . . and while he was not above hurting the feelings of a poor blind man . . . .'—the fat voice grew querulous—'. . . . he was generous . . . . very generous . . . .'—a complacent note crept in.
"I glanced at the woman and a shiver ran
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