see we have never decided whose fault it was that the ball struck me.”
“Well, I should think that it was the fault of the person who threw the ball.”
“That’s what I say,” said Amy; “but Fritz—”
“Nobody can understand about anything without hearing the whole story. Amy was standing on a hill just back of the house, tossing the ball up and down. I called to her to throw it to me, and she did;” then, with a laugh, “of course I did n’t mean to have her hit me in the eye. But a girl never can throw a ball straight,” and he looked at Amy affectionately.
“Is it a bad cut?” asked Brenda.
“Oh, the doctor had to take several stitches, and that was n’t very pleasant, and it all swelled up so that I have n’t been able to use the eye for a month. If it was n’t for Amy I don’t know what I’d do. Sometimes I can’t see to walk straight. To-day I had to lean on your arm most of the way, did n’t I?”
Without waiting for Amy’s reply, Brenda broke in, “Why, you did n’t walk down here in the heat, did you?”
“Oh, yes, of course; we always do.”
“But to-day was so hot.”
“Oh, we only walked a little slower. It was hard for you, though, Amy, leading a blind man along; I heard you panting.”
Brenda began to reflect that her own lot was not quite so unhappy as it might have been. At least, she would
