Dawn

determination about even the way heset one foot before the other. He had the air of one who sees his goalahead and cannot reach it soon enough. Yet when Keith arrived at thesagging, open gate before the Harrington cottage, he stopped short asif the gate were closed; and his next steps were slow and hesitant.Walking on the grass at the edge of the path he made no sound as heapproached the stoop, on which sat an old man.
At the steps, as at the gate, Keith stopped and waited, his gaze onthe motionless figure in the rocking-chair. The old man sat with handsfolded on his cane-top, his eyes apparently looking straight ahead.
Slowly the boy lifted his right arm and waved it soundlessly. Helifted his left—but there was no waving flourish. Instead it fellimpotently almost before it was lifted. On the stoop the old man stillsat motionless, his eyes still gazing straight ahead.
Again the boy hesitated; then, with an elaborately careless air, heshuffled his feet on the gravel walk and called cheerfully:
"Hullo, Uncle Joe."
"Hullo! Oh, hullo! It's Keith Burton, ain't it?"
The old head turned with the vague indecision of the newly blind, anda trembling hand thrust itself aimlessly forward. "It IS Keith—ain'tit?"
"Oh, yes, sir, I'm Keith."
The boy, with a quick look about him, awkwardly shook the flutteringfingers—Keith was not in the habit of shaking hands with people,least of all with Uncle Joe Harrington. He sat down then on the stepat the old man's feet.
"What did ye bring ter-day, my boy?" asked the man eagerly; then witha quick change of manner, he sighed, "but I'm afraid I can't fix it,anyhow."
"Oh, no, sir, you don't have to. I didn't bring anything to be mendedto-day." Unconsciously Keith had raised his voice. He was speakingloudly, and very politely.
The old man fell back in his chair. He looked relieved, yetdisappointed.
"Oh, well, that's all right, then. I'm glad. That is, of course, if Icould have fixed it for you—His sentence remained unfinished. Aprofound gloom settled over his countenance.
"But I didn't bring anything for you to fix," reiterated the boy, in ayet louder tone.
"There, there, my boy, you don't have to shout." The old man shifteduneasily hi his seat. "I ain't deaf. I'm only—I suppose you know,Keith, what's come to me in my old age."
"Yes, sir, I—I do." The boy hitched a little nearer to the two ill-shod feet on the floor near him. "And—and I wanted to ask you. Yourshurt a lot, didn't they?—I mean, your eyes; they—they ached, didn'tthey, before they—they got—blind?" He spoke eagerly, almosthopefully.
The old man shook his head.
"No, not much. I s'pose I ought to be thankful I was spared that."
The boy wet his dry lips and swallowed.
"But, Uncle Joe, 'most always, I guess, when—when folks are going tobe blind, they—they DO ache, don't they?"
Again the old man stirred restlessly.
"I don't know. I only know about—myself."
"But—well, anyhow, it never comes till you're old—real old, doesit?" Keith's voice vibrated with confidence this time.
"Old? I ain't so very old. I'm only seventy-five," bridled Harringtonresentfully. "Besides anyhow, the doctor said age didn't have nothin'ter do with this kind of blindness. It comes ter young folks, realyoung folks, sometimes."
"Oh-h!" The boy wet his lips and swallowed again a bit convulsively.With eyes fearful and questioning he searched the old man's face.Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak; but each time he closed itagain with the words left unsaid. Then, with a breathless rush, verymuch like desperation, he burst out:
"But it's always an awful long time comin', isn't it? Blindness is.
It's years and years before it really gets here, isn't it?"
"Hm-m; well, I can't say. I can only speak for myself, Keith."
"Yes, sir, I know, sir; and that's what I wanted to ask—about you,"plunged on Keith feverishly. "When did you notice it first, and whatwas it?"
The old man drew a long sigh.
"Why, I don't know as I can tell, exactly. 'T was quite a spell comin'on—I know that; and't wasn't much of anything at first. 'T was justthat I couldn't see ter read clear an' distinct. It was all sort ofblurred."
"Kind of run together?" Just above his breath Keith asked thequestion.
"Yes, that's it exactly. An' I thought somethin' ailed my glasses, an'so I got some new ones. An' I thought at first maybe it helped. But itdidn't. Then it got so that't wa'n't only the printin' ter books an'papers that was blurred, but ev'rything a little ways off was in afog, like, an' I couldn't see anything real clear an' distinct."
"Oh, but things—other things—don't look a mite foggy to me," criedthe boy.
"'Course they don't! Why should they? They didn't to me—once,"retorted the man impatiently. "But now—" Again he left a sentenceunfinished.
"But how soon did—did you get—all blind, after that?" stammered theboy, breaking the long, uncomfortable silence that had followed theold man's unfinished sentence.
"Oh, five or six months—maybe more. I don't know exactly. I know itcame, that's all. I guess if 't was you it wouldn't make no differenceHOW it came, if it came, boy." "N-no, of course not," chattered Keith,springing suddenly to his feet. "But I guess it isn't coming to me—ofcourse't isn't coming to me! Well, good-bye, Uncle Joe, I got to gonow. Good-bye!"
He spoke fearlessly, blithely, and his chin was at a confident tilt.He even whistled as he walked down the hill. But in his heart—in hisheart Keith knew that beside him that very minute stalked thatshadowy, intangible creature that had dogged his footsteps ever sincehis fourteenth birthday-gift from his father; and he knew it now byname—The Great Terror.
CHAPTER II
DAD
Keith's chin was still high and his gaze still straight ahead when hereached the foot of Harrington Hill. Perhaps that explained why he didnot see the two young misses on the fence by the side of the roaduntil a derisively gleeful shout called his attention to theirpresence.
"Well, Keith Burton, I should like to know if you're blind!"challenged a merry voice.
The boy turned with a start so violent that the girls giggled againgleefully. "Dear, dear, did we scare him? We're so