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Little Faith Douglas was one of the prettiest, brightest, best-natured babies you ever saw. She had such cunning little round, dimpled fists, such soft, golden-brown hair, such chubby, pinky cheeks, such sweet, full kissable lips, and above all, such beautiful, large, bright laughing eyes. No one could look on little Faith and not think of the better land. She was fatherless, this little baby girl, and though she was the darling of her poor mother's heart, she learned early that the pathway of her little life was not all flower-strewn. Perhaps, as she lay in her rough wooden cradle, and watched her mother at her weary work, she learned her first lesson in patient endurance, and brought so early that calm, smiling light into her sweet baby eyes. "Purple and fine linen" were not for her, but her fair little face was just as lovely amidst the coarse, clean blankets of her rough little bed, and no unwholesome dainties robbed her pretty round cheeks of their roses. She would lie for hours upon the soft grass in the little yard, watching the fluttering leaves, the blue sky, the chirping birds, and bright-colored hollyhocks -- now and then stretching her chubby hands towards her mother, at her work near, or murmuring to herself in the sweet tongue which all babies bring with them from Heaven.

"Dear baby!" her mother would say -- "How she loves the light! She never tires while she can see her mother or the sky."

Poor mother! how little she dreamed as she looked in those beautiful eyes, of the great sorrow in store.

The roses of little Faith's third summer were just in bloom when the cloud rose which darkened the fair sky of all her life. She was sitting in the low doorway one bright June morning, with her lap full of dandelions and her sweet eyes full of happy light, when she suddenly turned a puzzled, bewildered face to her mother, and asked -- "mamma, has the night come?"

"No, my darling, it is bright day," her mother said. The child stood up, and the dandelions fell in a golden rain about her, but she did not see them; only, stretching her hands out towards her mother, she cried piteously -- "Help me! -- Help me, mamma! for the darkness has come over my eyes!"

Little Faith had been stricken with blindness!

Dear children, whose happy eyes greet every day the beautiful earth and sky, and the faces of those you love, I know you will think pityingly of this little one, from whose innocent life all earthly light was forever shut out; who might never again look on the green fields or delight in the gay-colored flowers, or watch the golden sunlight straining through the leaves and across the water; and oh, a thousand times sadder than all, behold her mother's face!

The kindly neighbors, who had given her mother help and employment in all her times of need, lent their willing aid, and the child was sent to the city that she might have the best medical attendance; but all in vain. They declared her "hopelessly blind," and she as brought back to her almost broken-hearted mother. No faintest gleam of light might ever reach those darkened eyes, and before half a year had gone by she seemed almost to have forgotten the sunny past. The sightless eyes lost nothing of their old sweet look, and when they were turned upon you, you could not feel that she was blind. No mist seemed to cover them; they did not fade, and always kept the old patient trustful light in them. The senses of hearing and touch were quickened, and it was wonderful to see the little thing guiding herself about the house and yard -- never striking herself against anything, or missing her footing, and when you spoke to her always turning her blind eyes towards you. Her mother would often say --

"Oh, how can my poor darling live when I am gone? She will be so helpless in her poverty, for I cannot always be with her to work for her."

The kind neighboring children often came to take her out for a walk, or to spend an hour or two amusing the gentle little girl. One day she passed, holding by her little friend, Jamie Ramy's hand, the house of an old man, whose life had been very sad, for one after another he had seen his dear wife and little ones go down to the grave, till he alone was left, childless and almost friendless, in his great house, with all his broad fields about him, and none but hired servants to tend and care for him. As he sat that day in his great arm-chair beneath the vines about his porch, he heard the happy voice of the little blind girl, and it brought back sweet memories of other days, then his own children were around him. He did not know that she was blind; so calling to Jamie to open the gate, he held his trembling hands, and called -- "Little one, come and give me some of the sunlight which you carry about with you."

Little Faith heard the kindly voice, and turning her sightless eyes towards him, she held out her chubby hand and ran into his arms.

"What sweet, bright eyes!" he said. "Ah, if you were only mine, pretty one, I should not mourn my youth so much, for I should see through your eyes. What is your name, darling?"