I DON'T care anything about Thanksgiving-Day," said Pearl Radney. "We never have things as nice as other people, and I don't feel a bit thankful. I don't see anything to be thankful for."

"I'm sorry for that," said her mother, who worked hard to provide for her three fatherless children, and tried to make them happy. 

Pearl was twelve years old, old enough to understand that she was saying something very unkind to her self-sacrificing, devoted mother, but she did not seem to think of that. She lay pouting on the lounge before the ruddy sitting-room fire, and her mother sat silently at the table darning the family stockings.

By-and-by Pearl felt very sick, and in a moment it seemed to her that several of the neighbors were in the room and the doctor was there.

"She has the fever," some one said. Pearl well knew what that meant. A terrible, contagious fever had lately broken out in the town, and the worst of it was that it left people almost if not quite blind. 

Oh, how her eyes and head ached! And how hot she was! "Mother, mother," she moaned; but her mother did not come near her. Again she called for her mother; but some one said that her mother was sick, also, in the room overhead. She had never lived an hour in her life without her mother's care, and she wept and raved now, so delirious was she with pain; but only strangers were about her. Yet the disease upon her brain prevented her seeing even their faces. Oh, the agonizing pain of her head! It seemed to drown every other feeling. How long did she bear it? It seemed to her weeks, months almost.

By-and-by they told her that her mother was dead. Then she settled down into a hopeless misery and anguish that she believed would kill her. But it did not. 

"She will get well," said the doctor's voice, "but she will be blind." Already she felt the seal of blindness upon her lids. She could not open them. Never again would she see the sunshine, flowers, or sky. All was darkness.

"Pearl, dear, what makes you moan so? You had better not sleep by the hot stove.'

It was her mother's voice, and there the washer’s dear familiar face bent over her work as she still sat by the table darning stockings.

Oh, what a beauty and preciousness was in that countenance to Pearl then! A gust of mingled grief and thankfulness swept through her heart, and in a moment, all trembling, she flung herself upon her mother's shoulder.

"Oh, mother, I have had such a terrible dream; I thought you were dead."

"No, dear, no," kissing her cheek. "You have your mother yet, such as she is."

"The best, the most beautiful mother that ever lived!" cried Pearl. "Oh, I am an ungrateful, selfish girl! You do everything for me. I am comfortable and have everything I need. And, oh! Mother, I am not blind, as I dreamed. I can see and hear you, and that is enough to have a thankful heart for."

Yes, Pearl's terrible dream had taught her a good lesson. When Thanksgiving dawned, on the following day, instead of restless and dissatisfied, it found her humble and grateful.

 Zions Herald.