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Blind Willy's Dream.

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"Where's the blind child so beautiful and fair,

With guileless dimples and with flaxen hair,

That waves in every breeze?"

—Blomfield.

Little Willy had not always been blind. A severe attack of scarlet fever, when he was four years old, had so affected his eyes as to destroy their sight.

"My eyes fell asleep," the child would say when anyone spoke kindly to him about it, "and never woke again."

That was the way he put it; and few, looking into the sweet, happy face of the child, could realize that the light was shut out forever from the blue eyes. They had a fixed, strange look in them, as if they were gazing on some far-off object which never came any nearer; but they were open and as blue as ever.

Willy was one of the happiest of children; no one ever saw him crying or fretting. He had a smile for everyone, and everyone loved and cared for him. His little hands seemed to take the place of his eyes. He rarely stumbled or fell; his fingers, spread at the tips, were his guides, and so fine was his touch that he knew the nature of every object, and even avoided obstructions as if he felt their presence before he touched them with the sensitive little fingers. As he grew older he ran about as fearlessly as any of the other children, his sense of hearing helping him to know when anyone was coming towards him, and enabling him thus to prevent running against them.

Besides his elder brothers and sisters, Willy had two great friends whom he loved very dearly. One, and I think the dearer-though Willy never allowed that one was any dearer to him than the other—was a shaggy little Scotch terrier. From under the long hair which hung over his eyes, Jack (for that was his name) watched his master with a great love. Jack never left Willy for long at a time. He watched every movement, and seemed to know exactly what he wanted and where to run before him and keep him away from rough places. The other was a snow-white pussy cat. Willy called her "Owny." An odd name it was for a cat, but Willy said she was his "very own," and there could be no better name for her than "Owny."

These three spent many an hour together, and it was a pretty sight to see the golden-haired child sitting on the grass or among the flowers, his soft, white pussy clasped in his arms and rubbing her head lovingly against his face, while the faithful terrier lay at his feet, keeping watch and ward to obey the little master's slightest wish.

Willy loved the sunshine; he felt its warmth, and it seemed to shine right down into his heart and out again in his happy smile and joyous laughter. He knew that "God is love," and it kept that love ever shining bright within. This was what made them say that Willy was "the sunbeam in the house."

Willy had been told all about the flowers, and he loved them dearly, touching them tenderly and weaving many a tiny garland of the daisies he gathered from among the grass.

He heard the birds singing, and knew all their songs one from another. He asked a great many questions about the things he could not see, and as he was a bright, clever little fellow, and remembered what he was told, his mother and sisters and brothers were never wearied by his questions: they sometimes wondered how it was he remembered so much. They did not know that he remembered because he wanted to learn all about the birds and flowers and trees, and did not ask the questions merely from idleness, as many children do who have their eyes to answer such questions for them. Then Willy thought over what he was told, and in that way impressed it so upon his mind that people said he had a good memory.

Willy had not altogether forgotten what he saw before the fever sent his eyes to sleep. He knew the sky was blue, and that white fleecy clouds chased each other across the wide, wide heavens. He remembered that there was a loving look in his mother's eyes, and that they were more beautiful than anything else in the world. He heard the wind among the tree-tops, and knew that some of these were very tall and high, almost touching the blue of the sky. He knew that the roses which grew so thickly over the wall were bright red, as well as very sweet to smell. He knew that the lily was white as snow, and that his dear "Owny" was white, too; that the velvety pansy growing in the borders was of many lovely colours, and that faithful Jack's long hair was a yellowy, browny shade.

He could see pictures of them all, he said, when they told him about them, and Willy's mind-pictures were as real to him as the things themselves are to us as we see them with our eyes.

But it was in his sleep, he said, that he saw everything best. In his dreams the birds and the beasts, the insects and the flowers, all had voices for him and for each other. He could understand what they said, and sometimes he thought they were all really alive like himself.

The older children often laughed at Willy's odd notions, but they were always ready to listen to and be amused by his wonderful dreams. It was like reading stories of Wonderland or fairy tales, they said.

One day in June, the sun was shining brightly as Willy sat on the grass by the side of the house. He threw his head back that the warm rays might fall on his upturned face. His mother passing him laid her hand on his brow and asked, "Is my boy happy in the sunshine?"

"Oh, yes, mother," he said, as he caught her fingers and patted them softly; "it is so lovely, just as if it was kissing me."

"Tell me what you dreamt last night," said his sister Nellie, as, tired from her walk home from school, she threw herself down on the grass beside him. "You look so bright, I know you must be thinking of something nicer than usual."

The Queen of the Lake.

And Willy turning to her smiling, told his dream: "I saw a beautiful lake, and the Queen of the lake was a big white bird. She was a wild swan, and she loved the bright water, and all the big fishes and the little fishes, and the wild ducks and the geese, and she loved the water-lilies that grew in the lake, and said they were pretty and sweet. She loved the wild rice, too, for it made good food for her and for the poor hungry Indians that gather it, and she cared for the May-flies and the dragon-flies, and was good to everything that was on the lake, as well as the flowers that grew on the banks of the green grassy meadow, for she was a good Queen was the white swan, and all her subjects loved her.

"Well, you must know, a wicked man came in a boat. He had a long gun, and he shot the beautiful swan and carried her away in his boat. There was great sorrow on the lake because the white swan, the Queen, was dead and gone—and they all said, 'Who will be Queen now?'

"The big bull-frog put up his ugly head and croaked out in his harsh voice, 'I'll be King of the lake!' But the big fishes said, 'No, we will not have you.' You eat our little ones. You are rude and ugly, and have a loud voice. Go back to your mud-bank again.'

"Then the bull-frog gave a croak and went away, for though he was very bold in speaking, he was afraid some big fish might open his mouth and eat him.

"A beaver came out of his dam, and said he wanted to be King of the lake; but the fish all said they would not have him either, as he would soon spoil the beautiful lake with his building. And the musk-rat and the otter were all bad subjects. They would be as bad as the beaver, so the fishes would not listen to them.

"Then a great loon came swimming along, and he said, 'Let me have charge of the lake, and I will not let any beavers, or musk-rats, or otters come into the waters; only such things as are good for the geese and ducks and fish to live upon.'

"But the fish would not have the loon to rule, as they said he was a selfish fellow, who would think only of himself.

"Before anyone could speak there was a great flapping of wings overhead, and a great osprey flew down from a tree that hung its branches over the lake. All the ducks and the geese, and all the other birds, even the kingfisher, flew away, for they were afraid of the fish-hawk. The loon, who is a diver, went under the water like a flash, so that the keen eye of the fierce bird could not see where he went. The only one that was not quick enough to get away was the fish that had been talking. The greedy fish-hawk caught him and carried him off in his talons.

"Presently the great green Dragon-fly, who had thrown off the warm cloak he had worn while sheltered by the roots of the white water-lily at the bottom of the lake, and now sat sunning himself on the smooth surface of her large green leaf, spread his gauzy wings to dry in the warm rays of the sun. Looking about him with his bright eyes, he saw that all the creatures on the lake were sad and sorrowful, grieving that they had no Queen to make laws for the protection of the newly hatched dragon-flies and May-flies and shad-flies.

"'Our good old Queen, the white swan, is dead!' they cried, 'and we have not found anyone to be Queen of the lake.'

"'Then I will choose a queen for you,' said the dragon-fly, 'the pure white water-lily, who is wise as she is fair. She left her crystal palace this morning at break of day, and came up like a bride to meet the glory of the rising sun. He filled her lap with gold and sweet perfumes, and wrapped her round with ivory whiteness, and decked her with gems of light more rare than rubies or diamonds. Is she not worthy to be our Queen? Has she not been a nursing mother in her care of us under the water when we were weak and helpless?'

"All the other water-flowers bowed their heads and said, 'Yes, we too will have the sweet white water-lily to be the Queen of the lake.'

"Then there was a great clapping of wings among the May-flies, the young dragon-flies, the shad-flies, and thousands of silvery winged moths and shining beetles who had all lain at the bottom of the lake, shut up in their hard prison-like little cases under the shelter of the roots of the water-lily, and were now waiting for flight into the gay sunbeams on shore, and they all cried out, 'The White Lily shall reign over us; the White Water-lily is our Queen!'

"And she looked so lovely and so stately that I am sure she would make a very good Queen," added Willy. "It made me very happy, too, to have such a nice dream."

What did blind Willy do when the days were cold or wet, and he could no longer sit on the grass in the sunshine among the flowers? While his brothers were away at school all day, or out with other boys at play, would Willy be lonely and dull and fretful? No! he lived in too bright a world of his own to be dull and fretful. He had his faithful Jack and dear Owny to talk to, and he was so deft with his fingers that he was a great help to his mother. He could pare the apples for pies and puddings, beat the eggs for the cakes she made, and bring in the wood and water from the shed. When his mother went to the village, Willy carried her bag or basket and made himself useful in many ways. His mother, when she was young, had seen how the blind people worked in a great hospital in England, and she taught Willy to make baskets and knit stockings and warm mufflers for winter wear for his brothers and himself. Willy was never idle. He loved to plait the sweet-scented grass that the Indian women use in some of their basket work. The name of the grass is "Holy Grass," and in some countries it is used to strew over the floors of the churches. Willy's plaits were given to his sister Nellie to make into dinner mats.

He was very fond of music, and could whistle a tune very correctly. One day a gentleman heard him, and brought him a flageolet, a sort of small flute. Willy soon learned to play pretty airs and hymn-tunes on it, and it was a great delight to the blind boy.

One hope was the brightest thought in Willy's mind, and it was one that made him most content with his lot. When anyone pitied him for being blind, he would raise his face with a bright smile and say, "Oh, never mind, when I die and God takes me to heaven, He will give me new eyes and I will see all the beautiful things in His garden, and oh! won't that be glorious!" and a ray from the truest sunshine glorified the sweet face and made it very beautiful.

Willy was indeed one of God's own children, a lamb of the Good Shepherd's fold, and he knew and loved the Good Shepherd who cared for him.