Rose's sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the eldersloved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys werenot inspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for. Infact, her feelings were much hurt by overhearing Archie say thathe couldn't see any sense in it; and the Prince added another blowby pronouncing her "the queerest chicken ever seen."

It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not wanttrumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated,and cannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.

A time soon came, however, when Rose, quite unconsciously, wonnot only the respect of her cousins, but their gratitude andaffection likewise.

Soon after the Island episode, Mac had a sunstroke, and was veryill for some time. It was so sudden that everyone was startled, andfor some days the boy's life was in danger. He pulled through,however; and then, just as the family were rejoicing, a new troubleappeared which cast a gloom over them all.

Poor Mac's eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abusedthem, and never being very strong, they suffered doubly now.

No one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculistwho came to look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinkingthat a few weeks of rest would repair the overwork of severalyears.

He was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thinghe most delighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the Worm.Everyone was very ready to read to him, and at first the ladscontended for this honour. But as week after week went by, andMac was still condemned to idleness and a darkened room, theirzeal abated, and one after the other fell off. It was hard for theactive fellows, right in the midst of their vacation; and nobodyblamed them when they contented themselves with brief calls,running of errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.

The elders did their best, but Uncle Mac was a busy man, AuntJane's reading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long,and the other aunties were all absorbed in their own cares, thoughthey supplied the boy with every delicacy they could invent.

Uncle Alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his timeto the invalid; and if it had not been for Rose, the afflicted Wormwould have fared ill. Her pleasant voice suited him, her patiencewas unfailing, her time of no apparent value, and her eagergood-will was very comforting.

The womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, andshe remained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away.Hour after hour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light onher book, reading to the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silentlyenjoying the only pleasure that lightened the weary days.Sometimes he was peevish and hard to please, sometimes hegrowled because his reader could not manage the dry books hewished to hear, and sometimes he was so despondent that her heartached to see him. Through all these trials Rose persevered, usingall her little arts to please him. When he fretted, she was patient;when he growled, she ploughed bravely through the hard pages notdry to her in one sense, for quiet tears dropped on them now andthen; and when Mac fell into a despairing mood, she comfortedhim with every hopeful word she dared to offer.

He said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited himbetter than anyone else. If she was late, he was impatient; whenshe had to go, he seemed forlorn; and when the tired head achedworst, she could always soothe him to sleep, crooning the oldsongs her father used to love.

"I don't know what I should do without that child," Aunt Jane oftensaid.

"She's worth all those racketing fellows put together," Mac wouldadd, fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for hercoming.

That was the sort of reward Rose liked, the thanks that cheeredher; and whenever she grew very tired, one look at the greenshade, the curly head so restless on the pillow, and the poorgroping hands, touched her tender heart and put new spirit into theweary voice.

She did not know how much she was learning, both from thebooks she read and the daily sacrifices she made. Stories andpoetry were her delight, but Mac did not care for them; and sincehis favourite Greeks and Romans were forbidden, he satisfiedhimself with travels, biographies, and the history of greatinventions or discoveries. Rose despised this taste at first, but soongot interested in Livingstone's adventures, Hobson's stirring life inIndia, and the brave trials and triumphs of Watt and Arkwright,Fulton, and "Palissy, the Potter." The true, strong books helped thedreamy girl; her faithful service and sweet patience touched andwon the boy; and long afterward both learned to see how usefulthose seemingly hard and weary hours had been to them.

One bright morning, as Rose sat down to begin a fat volumeentitled "History of the French Revolution," expecting to come togreat grief over the long names, Mac, who was lumbering aboutthe room like a blind bear, stopped her by asking abruptly

"What day of the month is it?"

"The seventh of August, I believe."

"More than half my vacation gone, and I've only had a week of it! Icall that hard," and he groaned dismally.

"So it is; but there is more to come, and you may be able to enjoythat."

"May be able! I will be able! Does that old noodle think I'm goingto stay stived up here much longer?"

"I guess he does, unless your eyes get on faster than they have yet."

"Has he said anything more lately?"

"I haven't seen him, you know. Shall I begin? this looks rathernice."

"Read away; it's all one to me." And Mac cast himself down uponthe old lounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.

Rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a couple ofchapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpectedsuccess, she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, andlay so still she fancied he was deeply interested. All of a suddenshe was arrested in the middle of a fine paragraph by Mac, who satbolt upright, brought both feet down with a thump, and said, in arough, excited tone

"Stop! I don't hear a word, and you may as well save your breath toanswer my question."

"What is it?" asked Rose, looking uneasy, for she had somethingon her mind, and feared that he suspected what it was. His nextwords proved that she was right.

"Now, look here, I want to know something, and you've got to tellme."

"Please, don't - " began Rose, beseechingly.

"You must, or I'll pull off this shade and stare at the sun as hard asever I can stare. Come now!" and he half rose, as if ready toexecute the threat.

"I will! oh, I will tell, if I know! But don't be reckless and doanything so crazy as that," cried Rose, in great distress.

"Very well; then listen, and don't dodge, as everyone else does.Didn't the doctor think my eyes worse the last time he came?Mother won't say, but you shall."

"I believe he did," faltered Rose.

"I thought so! Did he say I should be able to go to school when itbegins?"

"No, Mac," very low.

"Ah!"

That was all, but Rose saw her cousin set his lips together and takea long breath, as if she had hit him hard. He bore thedisappointment bravely, however, and asked quite steadily in aminute

"How soon does he think I can study again?"

It was so hard to answer that! Yet Rose knew she must, for AuntJane had declared she could not do it, and Uncle Mac had beggedher to break the truth to the poor lad.

"Not for a good many months."

"How many?" he asked with a pathetic sort of gruffness.

"A year, perhaps."

"A whole year! Why, I expected to be ready for college by thattime." And, pushing up the shade, Mac stared at her with startledeyes, that soon blinked and fell before the one ray of light.

"Plenty of time for that; you must be patient now, and get themthoroughly well, or they will trouble you again when it will beharder to spare them," she said, with tears in her own eyes.

"I won't do it! I will study and get through somehow. It's allhumbug about taking care so long. These doctors like to keep holdof a fellow if they can. But I won't stand it I vow I won't!" and hebanged his fist down on the unoffending pillow as if he werepommelling the hard-hearted doctor.

"Now, Mac, listen to me," Rose said very earnestly, though hervoice shook a little and her heart ached. "You know you have hurtyour eyes reading by fire-light and in the dusk, and sitting up late,and now you'll have to pay for it; the doctor said so. You must becareful, and do as he tells you, or you will be blind."

"No!"

"Yes, it is true, and he wanted us to tell you that nothing but entirerest would cure you. I know it's dreadfully hard, but we'll all helpyou; I'll read all day long, and lead you, and wait upon you, and tryto make it easier "

She stopped there, for it was evident that he did not hear a sound;the word "blind" seemed to have knocked him down, for he hadburied his face in the pillow, and lay so still that Rose wasfrightened. She sat motionless for many minutes, longing tocomfort him, but not knowing how, and wishing Uncle Alec wouldcome, for he had promised to tell Mac.

Presently, a sort of choking sound came out of the pillow, andwent straight to her heart the most pathetic sob she ever heard, for,though it was the most natural means of relief, the poor fellowmust not indulge in it because of the afflicted eyes. The "FrenchRevolution" tumbled out of her lap, and, running to the sofa, sheknelt down by it, saying, with the motherly sort of tenderness girlsfeel for any sorrowing creature

"Oh, my dear, you mustn't cry! It is so bad for your poor eyes. Takeyour head out of that hot pillow, and let me cool it. I don't wonderyou feel so, but please don't cry. I'll cry for you; it won't hurt me."

As she spoke she pulled away the cushion with gentle force, andsaw the green shade all crushed and stained with the few hot tearsthat told how bitter the disappointment had been. Mac felt hersympathy, but, being a boy, did not thank her for it; only sat upwith a jerk, saying, as he tried to rub away the tell-tale drops withthe sleeve of his jacket, "Don't bother; weak eyes always water. I'mall right."

But Rose cried out, and caught his arm, "Don't touch them withthat rough woollen stuff! Lie down and let me bathe them, there's adear boy; then there will be no harm done."

"They do smart confoundedly. I say, don't you tell the other fellowsthat I made a baby of myself, will you?" he added, yielding with asigh to the orders of his nurse, who had flown for the eye-wash andlinen cambric handkerchief.

"Of course I won't; but anyone would be upset at the idea of beingwell troubled in this way. I'm sure you bear it splendidly, and youknow it isn't half so bad when you get used to it. Besides, it is onlyfor a time, and you can do lots of pleasant things if you can't study.You'll have to wear blue goggles, perhaps; won't that be funny?"

And while she was pouring out all the comfortable words shecould think of, Rose was softly bathing the eyes and dabbing thehot forehead with lavender-water, as her patient lay quiet with alook on his face that grieved her sadly.

"Homer was blind, and so was Milton, and they did something tobe remembered by, in spite of it," he said, as if to himself, in asolemn tone, for even the blue goggles did not bring a smile.

"Papa had a picture of Milton and his daughters writing for him. Itwas a very sweet picture, I thought," observed Rose in a seriousvoice, trying to meet the sufferer on his own ground.

"Perhaps I could study if someone read and did the eye part. Doyou suppose I could, by and by?" he asked, with a sudden ray ofhope.

"I dare say, if your head is strong enough. This sunstroke, youknow, is what upset you, and your brain needs rest, the doctorsays."

"I'll have a talk with the old fellow next time he comes, and findout just what I may do; then I shall know where I am. What a fool Iwas that day to be stewing my brains and letting the sun glare onmy book till the letters danced before me! I see 'em now when Ishut my eyes; black balls bobbing round, and stars and all sorts ofqueer things. Wonder if all blind people do?"

"Don't think about them; I'll go on reading, shall I? We shall cometo the exciting part soon, and then you'll forget all this," suggestedRose.

"No, I never shall forget. Hang the old 'Revolution'! I don't want tohear another word of it. My head aches, and I'm hot. Oh, wouldn't Ilike to go for a pull in the 'Stormy Petrel!"' and poor Mac tossedabout as if he did not know what to do with himself.

"Let me sing, and perhaps you'll drop off; then the day will seemshorter," said Rose, taking up a fan and sitting down beside him.

"Perhaps I shall; I didn't sleep much last night, and when I did Idreamed like fun. See here, you tell the people that I know, and it'sall right, and I don't want them to talk about it or howl over me.That's all; now drone away, and I'll try to sleep. Wish I could for ayear, and wake up cured."

"Oh, I wish, I wish you could!"

Rose said it so fervently that Mac was moved to grope for herapron and hold on to a corner of it, as if it was comfortable to feelher near him. But all he said was

"You are a good little soul, Rosy. Give us 'The Birks'; that is adrowsy one that always sends me off."

Quite contented with this small return for all her sympathy, Rosewaved her fan and sang, in a dreamy tone, the pretty Scotch air, theburden of which is

Whether the lassie went or not I cannot say, but the laddie was offto the land of Nod, in about ten minutes, quite worn out withhearing the bad tidings and the effort to bear them manfully.