"Oh, dear! I do wish it would stop raining," sighed Betty, glancing out of the window one wet afternoon a few days later. "It's rained just as hard as it can for two whole days, and it doesn't look a bit more like clearing now than it did yesterday morning."
"I hope mother won't take any more cold," said Jack, rather anxiously, pausing in his task of endeavoring to draw a sketch from memory of an automobile. "She coughed dreadfully last night; it woke me up. I wish she didn't have to go out on rainy days."
"So do I," said Betty decidedly. "Don't you hate being poor, Jack?"
"If you were only grown up," Jack went on, ignoring his sister's question, "you could go out and give the lessons on wet days or when mother didn't feel well, and she could stay at home and rest."
"No, I couldn't," said Betty, dolefully. "You know I'm not a bit musical; I couldn't play like mother if I tried all my life. I don't see how I'm ever going to be any kind of a teacher if I can't go to school and get a diploma. People can't teach without diplomas; Mrs. Flynn says so. Her daughter's trying for one this year."
"Well, you would be able to do something any way," Jack maintained, "and mother wouldn't have to work so dreadfully hard. I wish you were grown up, Betty, only then I should have to be grown up too, and I shouldn't like that."
"Why not?" inquired Betty in some surprise.
Jack flushed, and turned his face towards the wall.
"I don't know exactly," he stammered, "but I think—I'm sure it must be much worse to be a grown up cripple, than to be a little boy one."
Betty left her seat by the window, and coming over to her brother's side, sat down on the end of the sofa by Jack's feet.
"You wouldn't mind so much if you could be a great artist and paint beautiful pictures, would you, Jack?" she asked gently.
"N—no, I don't suppose I should, not quite so much, because then I could sell my pictures, and make lots of money for you and mother. Thenwe could live in a lovely place in the country, and keep a carriage."
"And you could go to drive every day," added Betty, falling in at once with Jack's fancy, "and mother could have a fine piano, and go to hear all the concerts and operas. Then we could give money to poor people instead of having people want to give it to us, and I could be very accomplished, and go to parties sometimes."
"Yes," said Jack eagerly, "and some time we could all go to England, and see the place where mother used to live."
Betty looked a little doubtful.
"I don't know whether mother would like that or not," she said. "You see, when mother lived there she knew father, and now he's dead. It might make her feel badly to go back."
"So it might; I never thought about that, but she might like to see Uncle Jack. I should like to see him, shouldn't you, Betty?"
"Yes; I wonder if we ever shall. Mother doesn't like to have us talk much about him, but I know she loves him very much; her eyes always look that way when she tells us how handsome and splendid he used to be when he was a boy."
"Wouldn't it be nice if Winifred Hamiltoncame to see us this afternoon," Jack remarked rather irrelevantly; "I do like her very much, don't you?"
"Yes, she's lovely; she said she'd come to see you some day."
"We haven't seen her since the day we went for the drive. Perhaps she's waiting for you to call on her first."
"Mother won't let me go," said Betty regretfully; "she says she's afraid Mrs. Hamilton might not want Winifred to know us."
"But if she hadn't wanted to know us she wouldn't have taken us to drive, would she?"
"I shouldn't think so, but, any way, mother won't let me go there till Winifred has been here."
"There's the clock striking four," exclaimed Jack joyfully; "mother'll be in in a few minutes now. Why don't you light the gas stove, Betty, and get her slippers nice and warm? She'll be so tired and wet."
"I will," said Betty, springing up with alacrity; "and I'll make her a cup of tea, too; she'll like that." And away bustled the little housewife, disappointment and vexation alike forgotten in the pleasant prospect of making mother comfortable.
She had scarcely finished her preparations, andthe kettle was just beginning to boil, when the familiar ring was heard, and she flew to open the door.
Jack was quite correct in his predictions; Mrs. Randall was both wet and tired. Indeed, she came in looking so much more tired than usual that Betty noticed it, and inquired anxiously as she hung up the dripping umbrella, and helped her mother off with her waterproof, "Have you got a headache, mother, dear?"
"Yes, dear, I have a bad headache. My cold is rather bad, too; I have been coughing a great deal to-day. Is Jack all right?"
"Oh, yes; he ate a good lunch, and was reading all the morning, and drawing pictures all the afternoon."
"How chilly it feels here," Mrs. Randall said, shivering and coughing as she spoke.
"I've lighted the stove, and your slippers are nice and warm," said Betty proudly. "The kettle's boiling too, and I'll have a nice cup of tea for you in five minutes."
Mrs. Randall's tired face brightened, and she looked rather relieved.
"That is good," she said. "Hurry as quickly as you can with the tea, dear, for I believe I am really chilled through."
Betty, nothing loath, flew about like a small whirlwind; had her mother's wet shoes off and the warm slippers in their place; drew the comfortable armchair as near as possible to the steam radiator, and darted away to the kitchen, from whence she returned in a twinkling, with a cup of steaming tea.
Mrs. Randall drank the tea, but though she pronounced it delicious, and declared herself ever so much better, she still shivered, and cowered over the radiator for warmth. Jack watched her anxiously, with a troubled look on his pale little face.
In a little while Mrs. Randall rose.
"I think I will go and lie down," she said, and the children noticed that her voice was very hoarse. "My head is bad, and if I could sleep for half an hour I might be all right. Be sure and call me in time to get dinner, Betty."
"I hope mother isn't going to be ill," said Jack anxiously, when they were once more alone together.
"Oh, I guess not," said cheerful Betty; "she's only got a cold and a headache. She'll be better after she's rested. Let's play a game of lotto."
Jack assented, but though they played severalgames, and Betty did her best to be entertaining, the troubled expression did not leave his face. Suddenly he stopped short in the middle of a game.
"Hear mother coughing, Betty; she can't be asleep. I wish you'd go and see if she wants anything."
Betty rose promptly, and hurried into the little bedroom. Her mother was lying on her bed, with flushed cheeks and wide-open eyes. At sight of her little girl she smiled faintly.
"I'm getting nice and warm now, dear," she said; "that tea did me so much good. I'm going to get up very soon."
"You look ever so much better," said Betty in a tone of decided relief. "You've got a lovely color in your cheeks."
Mrs. Randall pressed her hand to her forehead, but said nothing, and next moment a violent spasm of coughing shook her from head to foot.
The evening that followed was a decidedly uncomfortable one. Mrs. Randall's cough was very painful, and although she went about as usual, and tried to appear like herself, it was easy to see that every movement cost her an effort. Betty noticed that she scarcely tasted any dinner, andJack's eyes never left her face. Almost as soon as dinner was over Jack said he was tired, and would like to go to bed. The others soon followed, and by nine o'clock the lights were out, and the little family settled for the night.
But there was little sleep for at least two members of the household. Mrs. Randall coughed incessantly, and tossed from side to side in feverish restlessness. Betty lay with wide-open eyes, and a heavier heart than she had ever known before. It was all very well to assure Jack that there was not much the matter with mother, and that she would surely be all right in the morning. She knew nothing about illness, but she could not help thinking that that dreadful cough and those burning hands meant something more than an every-day cold.
"I am afraid I am disturbing you very much, dear," Mrs. Randall said at last, when the clock struck ten, and a restless movement on Betty's part assured her that the child was still wide awake. "I wish I could be quieter, but this cough——"
"Never mind, mother, I'm not one bit sleepy. I'm really not. Wouldn't you like to have me get you some water or something?"
"No, thank you, darling; I'm afraid itwouldn't do any good, but if you are not asleep I should like to talk to you a little."
Betty took one of the hot hands in both her little cool ones, and patted it gently. After another fit of coughing, her mother went on.
"You are only a little girl, Betty, but you are very sensible, and in many ways seem older than you really are. There are some things that I think you ought to know about, in case anything should ever happen to me."
"But nothing is going to happen, is it, mother?" Betty asked in a rather frightened whisper. They both spoke in whispers, so as not to disturb Jack in the next room.
"No, no, dear, of course not; I only said 'in case.' I am sure I shall be all right in the morning, but if at any time I should be ill, Betty—if anything serious were to happen to me—you and Jack would be all alone."
Betty nestled closer to her mother's side, and softly kissed the hot fingers.
"I sometimes fear, dear, that I have done wrong in not making more friends," Mrs. Randall said, after another fit of coughing. "People would have been kind I dare say, but I have always been so proud and reserved. Some of thefamilies where I teach would have been friendly if I had let them. I almost wish now that I had."
"Mrs. Hamilton is very kind," said Betty eagerly; "and she came to see you."
"Yes, dear, and I liked her too, but I have always so dreaded being patronized. You know, dear, that I haven't always been poor."
"Yes, mother, I know; you were not poor in England."
"I have often told you about my English home, and about your Uncle Jack, and how happy we were together when we were children. I have been thinking a great deal of those times this evening, and all last night I dreamed of Jack."
"He was your twin brother, wasn't he, mother?"
"Yes; and we were everything to each other. Our mother died when we were babies, and our two sisters were much older, almost grown up in fact, while we were still little children. I suppose my father loved us in his way, but he was very stern, and we were all rather afraid of him. Our older sisters were very good to us little ones, but they had their own affairs to think of, and so Jack and I were left a good deal to ourselves.Such merry times as we had—such pranks as we played."
"You mean the time when Uncle Jack rode the wild colt, and the day you climbed the plum tree, and fell and broke your arm," said Betty, glad to have her mother's thoughts turn in this direction, and hopeful of new stories.
"Yes, those and many others, but, Betty dear, I want to talk to you about something else to-night. You have never heard very much about your father, have you, darling?"
"No, mother," said Betty softly; "I know you don't like to talk about him."
"I ought to like it, but I loved him so dearly that for a long time after his death I could not bring myself to mention his name to any one, even my own children."
"Did Uncle Jack love him too?" Betty asked rather timidly; "you said you always liked the same things."
"They never met. Jack was at college when your father first came into our neighborhood. He came to visit at the vicarage; Mr. Marvyn, our vicar, had known his father. By that time both my sisters were married, and as I was often lonely at home when Jack was away, I got into the habit of spending a good many days with the Marvyngirls, who were about my own age. Your father was only a poor artist, but he was very clever, and people said he would make his mark in the world some day. Jack was very fond of sketching himself, and I think that was one reason why I first began to be interested in your father. We used to go off on sketching expeditions together that spring, and we grew to know each other very well. Jack was invited to spend his summer vacation in Switzerland with a party of friends, and he decided to go. It was the first vacation he had not spent with me, and I think I was more hurt and jealous than I had any right to be under the circumstances. I wrote him how I felt, and he, as was only natural, thought me silly, and told me so. That made me angry, and we quarreled for the first time in our lives. It was only a foolish little quarrel, but it kept me from telling him, as I should otherwise have done, how much I was going about with Archie Randall.
"At first my father did not seem to notice how things were going, but I think some one must have warned him, for one day when I came back from a long walk with your father, he called me into his study, and told me he did not wish me to have anything more to do with young Randall,who was only a penniless artist, and not a proper companion for one of his daughters.
"I am not going to tell you about that time, Betty. I was very angry, and I am afraid I did not behave very well towards my father, who was an old man, and who I think really loved me. When he found that I would not obey him, he sent for Archie, and forbade him to see me again. Then all at once your father and I found out how much we cared for each other. He was very honorable. He wanted me to wait for him while he went away and made a name for himself, but I was young and headstrong, and I loved him better than anything else in the world. The end of it was that we ran away, and were married in London by special license."
Betty gasped. This was the most interesting, romantic story she had ever heard.
"And didn't your father ever forgive you?" she questioned breathlessly.
"No, never. He wrote me one letter after my marriage, and only one. He said that I had disgraced my family, and he never wished to see my face again. He said he had changed his will, and that neither I nor my husband should ever inherit a penny of his money."
"And Uncle Jack, was he angry too?"
"He wrote me only once. He was very much grieved, and could not understand how I could have acted as I had done. That was twelve years ago and I have never heard a word from him since.
"We came to America, and after a time your father obtained employment as an illustrator for a publishing firm here in New York. Then you and Jack were born. We were very happy in those days, and if it had not been for my longing to see Jack and know that he forgave me, I should have been quite content. I was too proud to write to him, but kept hoping that something would happen to bring us together again, and that he and my husband might become good friends. Then, six years ago, just as we were beginning to feel that we were really making our way in the world, your father died."
Mrs. Randall paused, and Betty felt the hand she held quiver convulsively, but after a moment's pause she went on again.
"It was a terrible struggle at first. I had never been brought up to support myself, and now I was left alone in the world with two little helpless children to care for. Little Jack was frightfully delicate. The doctors told me that it was only by the very tenderest care that I could hope to savehim. Twice I decided to write to my brother Jack. He would help me, I knew. I even wrote the letters, but I tore them up again. I was too proud. I could not ask for help even from him.
"My music was my only talent, and in time I succeeded in procuring pupils. It has been hard work ever since, but I have managed somehow, and you and Jack have never suffered."
"No, indeed, we haven't, mother; we've had lots of good times, and Jack is ever so much stronger than he used to be."
"I know that, and I am very thankful. If I can only keep my health—I have always been very strong. Why, I don't think I have ever been really ill in my life."
A spasm of coughing interrupted Mrs. Randall's words, and it was several minutes before she was able to speak again.
"I don't know why I am telling you all this to-night, Betty, unless it is that I feel so restless and wakeful. If I keep well everything will be all right, but if anything should ever happen—things do happen sometimes you know, darling—if you and Jack are ever left alone in the world, then you must try to find your UncleJack. He will be good to you and love you for my sake, I know."
"Where does he live, mother?"
"I don't know where he is now, but a letter sent to the old home would probably reach him. My father has been dead for nearly two years—I saw the notice of his death in an English newspaper—and Jack, as his only son, would naturally inherit everything. My father was a general, you know—General Stanhope. In my desk you will find a letter addressed to John Stanhope, Esq., Stonybrook Grange, Devonshire, England. That is the address of my old home. You must see that it is stamped and posted. I wrote it shortly after my father's death. I thought that I ought to make some provision in case of anything happening to me. In it I have told him everything, and asked him to care for you and Jack. Why, my darling, what are you crying for? I didn't say anything was going to happen. Hush, I hear Jack stirring; I am afraid our talk is disturbing him. Now turn over like a good little girl, and go to sleep. I feel better than I did, and I shall try to go to sleep too."
Betty, much reassured by her mother's words, obeyed as far as turning over was concerned, and soon the only sounds to be heard were the tickingof the clock and Mrs. Randall's heavy breathing. Betty lay awake for some time, thinking over the story she had heard, but she was only a little girl, after all, and before very long her thoughts grew dim and confused; she fell into a doze, and in a few moments more was fast asleep.
When Betty next opened her eyes it was broad daylight, and the morning sunshine was peeping through the chinks of the shutters. Her first thought was of her mother, and she was glad to find that Mrs. Randall was still asleep. She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were closed, and she did not cough. Even when Betty rose softly, and crept round to the other side of the bed to look at her more closely, she did not move, although she was as a rule a very light sleeper.
"It's after seven," said Betty to herself, glancing rather uneasily at the clock; "I don't think mother ever slept so late before."
Just then she heard Jack stirring in his bed, and she hurried into the next room to tell him to be very quiet, as mother was still asleep.
"Is she better?" Jack inquired in an anxious whisper, as Betty bent over him in motherly fashion, to arrange his pillows more comfortably.
"Yes, I think so; her eyes are shut, and she's lying very still. I only just woke up myself."
"I've been awake for ever so long," said Jack; "I've been listening to mother. She doesn't cough so much any more, but she breathes so hard, and sometimes she moans. Oh, Betty, I'm frightened; I don't know why, but I am." And the poor little fellow buried his face in the pillow, and began to cry.
Betty dropped on her knees by the bedside, striving to comfort her little brother by every means in her power.
"There isn't anything to be frightened about, Jack, there really isn't," she whispered soothingly. "Mother's all right; she told me she was better last night before she went to sleep, and, oh, Jack dear, she told me something else; such an interesting story, all about father and our grandfather and Uncle Jack. I'll tell you all of it by and by. There's mother calling me; don't let her see you've been crying."
Mrs. Randall's eyes were open when Betty returned to her bedside. Indeed, the little girl's first impression was that they were unusually bright. There was a bright color in her cheeks too, but Mrs. Randall's first words quickly dispelled Betty's hope that she was better.
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to get up this morning, Betty," she said, and her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper now; "I seem to have lost all my strength, and there is such a terrible pain in my chest that I can scarcely breathe."
"Oh, mother, what shall we do?" cried Betty in sudden consternation. "Oughtn't you to have a doctor come to see you?"
Mrs. Randall shook her head decidedly.
"No, no," she said impatiently, "I can't afford to have a doctor; I will lie here for a while, and perhaps I shall feel better. What day is it?"
"Thursday," said Betty, trying to control the sudden trembling of her knees.
"That's too bad; Mrs. Flynn is always engaged on Thursdays, I know. I thought she might be able to come in and help. Well, you'll have to manage about breakfast as well as you can. I don't want anything myself, but you must prepare some oatmeal, and boil some eggs for Jack and yourself. Tell Jack he must stay in bed a little while longer, but that just as soon as I can I will come and dress him."
That was the strangest morning Betty and Jack had ever spent. Never before in their remembrance had their mother failed to be up and about by seven o'clock. Even in those sad days, whichBetty could just remember, after their father's death, her own grief had never prevented her from fulfilling the little household duties. Now she lay still, with closed eyes, scarcely noticing what went on about her. Betty brought her some tea, and she drank it thirstily, but refused to touch any food. Once she roused herself sufficiently to say that she thought a mustard plaster on her chest might ease the pain, but when Betty inquired anxiously how to make one, she did not answer, and seemed to have forgotten all about the matter.
Jack was very good and patient, but he was, if anything, more frightened than Betty, and his white, drawn little face was pitiful to see. Betty made him as tidy as she could, gave him his breakfast, and brought him his new story book to read, but he shook his head mournfully.
"I don't want to read this morning," he said; "I'd rather just lie still."
"Oh, Jack, you're not going to be ill too, are you?" cried Betty, the tears starting to her eyes.
"No, I'm not ill, only I can't read; I wish I could see how mother looks."
"She looks all right," said Betty encouragingly; "she's got a lovely color in her cheeks, only I wish she'd wake up and talk about things.I don't know what to do about going to market, and I suppose we ought to tell her pupils she can't give them any lessons to-day."
"She's talking now, I hear her," said Jack in a tone of relief. "Oh, Betty, she's calling me. Yes, mother, dear, I'm all right; I'm so glad you're better."
Betty flew to her mother's side.
"Are you better, mother?" she asked eagerly. "I'm so glad you're awake, because I want to ask——" She paused abruptly, terrified by the strange look in those bright, feverish eyes. Her mother was looking straight into her face, but did not seem to see her.
"Jack, Jack," she kept repeating in her low, hoarse whisper, "Jack, I want you. I did wrong, I know, but you will forgive me. You will be good to the children, and love them for my sake, won't you, Jack?"
Betty's face was very white, her eyes big with terror.
"Jack," she gasped, running back to her brother's room, and flinging herself down beside him in an abandonment of grief and despair, "mother's talking in her sleep; she doesn't know what she's saying. She thinks Uncle Jack is here. Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?"
"We'll have to get some one to come and see her," said Jack with decision. "Run down and ask Mrs. Hamilton to come; I know she will, she's so kind."
Betty sprang to her feet.
"I'll go right away," she said, "perhaps she'll know what to do. Mother says she can't afford to have a doctor. Oh, there's the door bell; I'm so glad somebody's come."
She ran to the door, threw it open, and then drew back a step in surprise. The visitor was Winifred Hamilton.
"Good-morning," said Winifred pleasantly. "Mother's gone out shopping with Aunt Estelle, and she said I might come and see you and Jack. I was coming before, but I've had a bad cold ever since Saturday, and mother was afraid of the draughts on the stairs. I haven't been to school all the week. Why, what's the matter—is Jack ill?"
"No," said Betty; "Jack's all right, but oh, I'm so sorry your mother's gone out. I was just going to ask her if she wouldn't please come up here to see mother."
"Is there something the matter with your mother?" Winifred inquired sympathetically.
"She had a bad cold yesterday, and this morningshe's worse. She keeps her eyes shut most of the time, and doesn't understand the things I say to her. I'm afraid she is very ill—oh, I'm afraid she is." And Betty burst into tears.
Winifred's tender little heart was filled with compassion.
"Don't cry, don't," she whispered, throwing her arms impulsively around Betty's neck; "maybe she'll be all right soon. I'll tell mother about it the minute she comes in, and she'll come right up. Do you think Jack would like to have me stay with him for a while? I might read to him while you're doing things for your mother."
Betty said she was sure Jack would like it very much, and having dried her eyes on Winifred's handkerchief, she led the way to her brother's bedside.
"Jack," said Betty softly, "here's Winifred Hamilton. Her mother's out, but she's going to tell her about mother just as soon as she comes home."
Jack looked pleased.
"I'm glad to see you," he said politely, holding out his thin little hand. "I'm usually up on the sofa by this time, but mother wasn't able to dress me this morning."
"That's all right," said Winifred, giving theoutstretched hand a hearty squeeze. "When people aren't very strong they often stay in bed quite late, you know. Your mother's awake now, isn't she, Betty? I hear her talking."
Betty stole on tiptoe to her mother's door, but returned in a moment.
"She's only talking in her sleep," she said anxiously. "I spoke to her, but she didn't answer. Did you ever see any one who was very ill, Winifred?"
"I saw Mr. Bradford have an attack once," said Winifred; "his eyes were shut, and he looked very white. Mrs. Bradford sent for the doctor. Why don't you have a doctor come to see your mother?"
"She doesn't want one," said Betty, coloring. "I asked her this morning, and she said she didn't. Would you mind coming to look at her, Winifred? Perhaps you can tell what the matter is."
Winifred said she would not mind, and, hand in hand, the two little girls stole into the dark little bedroom, and stood looking down at the flushed face on the pillow. Mrs. Randall was tossing restlessly from side to side, and talking in a low, incoherent way.
"Mother," said Betty in a voice that she triedhard to make steady and cheerful, "here's Winifred Hamilton. She came up to see us, and she's going to read to Jack."
Mrs. Randall muttered something unintelligible, and her eyes wandered past the two children, and fixed themselves vacantly on the opposite wall.
"I'm not going to be ill," she said, apparently addressing some unseen person; "I can't be ill, you know. I must take care of the children; there's no one else to do it."
"She's delirious," whispered Winifred, looking frightened. "I never saw any one like that before, but I've read about it in books. I'm sure a doctor ought to see her."
Betty's cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes drooped, but she said nothing, and in silence they went back to Jack. The little boy looked imploringly at Winifred, as if with some faint hope that she might be able to set matters right.
"Do you think she's very ill?" he asked tremulously.
"I think a doctor ought to see her," said Winifred decidedly. "My friend Lulu Bell's papa is a doctor, and he's very kind. Would you like to have me ask him to come and see your mother?"
"No," said Betty sharply; "mother doesn't want a doctor; I told you so before."
"But, Betty," persisted Winifred, "she ought to have some medicine or something, and we don't know what to do for her. I know mother would send for a doctor right away if she were at home."
To Winifred's surprise, Betty suddenly put up both hands before her face, and burst into a passion of crying.
"Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?" she sobbed, rocking herself backward and forward in her distress; "we can't have a doctor, mother said we couldn't; she said we couldn't afford it."
For a moment Winifred stood motionless, uncertain what to do or say. Jack hid his face in the bedclothes, shaking from head to foot with sobs. Next instant both Winifred's arms were around Betty's neck.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Betty," she whispered eagerly. "I'll go and see Dr. Bell myself, and tell him all about it. He's very kind indeed. Lulu says he often goes to see poor—I mean people who can't afford to pay him, and when Lulu's kitty got run over by a trolley-car and had her leg broken, he set the leg himself, and took such good care of the kitty that she got all wellagain. I'll go right away; he's always at home in the morning, and I know he won't mind coming one single bit. Oh, Betty, please, please do let me."
Betty wavered, but Jack, lifting his tear-stained face from the pillow, cried imploringly:
"Yes, do go, Winifred, and, oh, please ask him to come right away. Mother must have a doctor, Betty, and it doesn't matter whether she can afford it or not."
Winifred waited to hear no more. Three minutes later she was ringing violently at her own front door bell.
"Oh, Lizzie," she cried breathlessly, as the maid opened the door, "I want you to put on your hat right away, and come with me to Dr. Bell's! Mrs. Randall is very, very ill, and Betty and Jack don't know what to do for her."
At first Lizzie seemed inclined to hesitate, but when the state of the case had been more fully explained to her, she willingly consented to leave her ironing, and she and Winifred were soon in the street hurrying towards the home of Winifred's friends.
As they approached their destination, Winifred's courage began to fail. After all, shethought, she might be doing a very bold and unheard-of thing in asking a doctor to go to see a person who had frankly stated that she could not afford to employ him. What if Dr. Bell were angry—what if he refused to go? Winifred's heart sank at the thought. Her friend Lulu would be at school she knew, but possibly her mother or aunt might be at home. Winifred decided that in that case she would tell her story to them. It would be much less formidable than appealing directly to the doctor himself. Her heart was beating very fast as they mounted Dr. Bell's front steps and when the door was opened by a small boy in brass buttons, who greeted her with a broad smile of recognition, she could scarcely summon voice enough to inquire:
"Are Mrs. Bell or Miss Warren at home, Jimmie?"
"No, Miss, they've both of 'em gone out," returned the boy, regarding her somewhat curiously. "Miss Lulu's out too; she's gone to school."
"Yes, I knew Lulu would be at school," said Winifred, "but I thought Mrs. Bell or Miss Warren might be in. I—I want to see the doctor."
"Oh, the doctor's in all right. He's got a patientjust now, but you can wait in the front office."
There was no help for it then, and, with a little frightened gasp, Winifred followed the boy to the doctor's comfortable office, where she sat down on a sofa to wait until he should be disengaged. She did not have long to wait. In a few moments she heard the front door open and close. Then the door of the waiting room opened and the doctor came in.
He was a tall gentleman with a kind, pleasant face, and at sight of Winifred he came quickly forward, smiling and holding out his hand.
"Good-morning, little Miss Winnie," he said pleasantly, "and what can I do for you to-day? Nothing wrong at home, I hope."
"Oh, no, sir," said Winifred, half her fears vanishing at the sound of the doctor's kind voice; "father and mother are very well. I've had a cold, but I'm all right again now. I come—that is, I want—oh, Dr. Bell, will you please do me a very great favor?"
"Do you a favor?" the doctor repeated, still smiling, and sitting down beside her on the sofa. "Yes indeed, I will—that is, if I can. What is it?"
"It's to go and see Mrs. Randall, who lives in our apartment house," Winifred explained timidly."She's a very nice lady, but she hasn't any money to pay a doctor with. She's very ill indeed, but she told Betty—that's her little girl, you know—not to send for a doctor, because she couldn't afford it."
The doctor looked a little puzzled.
"Perhaps she wouldn't care to see me then," he said, "if she objected to having a doctor sent for."
"Oh, yes, she would," said Winifred earnestly, "at least she wouldn't know anything about it, and Betty and Jack would be so very glad. Jack is a cripple, he can't walk at all; and, oh, it's dreadful to see him so unhappy. Mrs. Randall is really very ill. She doesn't know Betty and she keeps talking to herself the way people in books do when they're delirious.
"I said I'd come and tell you about it, and I was sure you'd come, because Lulu says you're so very kind."
The doctor smiled, but he was beginning to look really interested.
"Did your mother send you for me?" he asked.
Winifred's eyes sank.
"N—no, sir," she faltered, "mother's out shopping, and doesn't know anything about it.Perhaps I oughtn't to have come, but I didn't know what else to do, and I was so very sorry for Betty and Jack."
Winifred's lip quivered, and two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. The doctor patted her shoulder kindly.
"You did quite right to come," he said, "and I will go to see your friend to-day."
"Will you please go just as soon as you can?" Winifred asked eagerly.
The doctor rose and looked at his watch.
"It is half-past ten now," he said. "I have to stay in my office till eleven, and then I have one or two serious cases to see, but I will be at Mrs. Randall's as early as I possibly can."
"Now run along home, and if your mother makes any objections, tell her I said you did quite right to come, and that I am very glad you did."
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you very much indeed," said Winifred gratefully, and the look she gave the doctor said more than any words could have done. With a sudden impulse, he bent and kissed her.
"You dear little girl," he said. And then another patient was announced, and Winifred hurried away.
By the time Dr. Bell arrived at the apartment house Betty and Jack were no longer alone with their mother. Mrs. Hamilton had returned from her shopping expedition, and as soon as she heard the story from Winifred, had hastened upstairs to see what could be done. One glance at the flushed face and bright burning eyes, had been enough to convince her that Winifred had not exaggerated matters and that Mrs. Randall was indeed very ill. As for Betty, at the first glimpse of Mrs. Hamilton's kind, sweet face it had seemed to the little girl as though a great load had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders.
Mrs. Hamilton did not waste much time in words, but at once set about the task of making everybody more comfortable. In an incredibly short time Mrs. Randall's face and hands were bathed, and her bed smoothed; Jack was dressed in his wrapper, and carried to his usual place onthe sitting-room sofa, and a substantial meal was in preparation in the kitchen. When the doctor came, Mrs. Hamilton sent Betty to stay with Jack, and the two children sat silently, hand in hand, listening for any sounds that might come from their mother's room.
"Do you think the doctor will make her well right away, Betty?" Jack whispered at last.
"I guess he will if he can. He's got a very kind face, and he smiled at me when I opened the door. Hark, they're coming out now."
Next moment Mrs. Hamilton and the doctor came into the room together. They both looked grave and anxious.
"She must have a nurse," Betty heard the doctor say in a low voice. "I will send one as soon as I can, and be in again myself this evening. You will stay with her till the nurse arrives?"
"Oh, yes, certainly; and the children, what of them?"
The doctor glanced for the first time towards the sofa where the two children sat, Jack propped up with pillows, and Betty close beside him, holding his hand. He remembered what Winifred had said about the little crippled boy, and his face softened.
"We must see about them by and by," he said, "and in the meantime I think we can count on their keeping quiet."
"Oh, yes, sir," said Betty eagerly; "Jack is always very quiet indeed, and I won't make any noise."
"That's right. You are both going to be brave little people, I know, and perhaps by and by you may like to go and make a little visit to some of your friends, just until your mother gets stronger."
"We haven't any friends," said Betty; "we don't know any one at all, except Mrs. Hamilton and Winifred."
The doctor looked surprised, and a little troubled.
"No friends?" he repeated; "no aunts or cousins?"
Betty shook her head.
"We have an uncle in England," she said, "but we've never seen him. We haven't any relations in this country. Mother has her pupils, but we don't know any of them."
The doctor said no more, and was turning to leave the room, when Jack spoke for the first time since his entrance.
"Please, sir," he said tremulously, "wouldyou mind telling us—is mother going to be well again pretty soon?"
"Pretty soon I hope, my boy," said the doctor kindly, and coming over to the sofa, he took the thin little hand in his and looked long and earnestly into Jack's troubled face. "I shall do all I can to make her well soon, you may be sure of that."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack gratefully. "I think you are a very kind gentleman," he added in his quaint, old-fashioned little way.
The doctor smiled, gave the small hand a friendly shake and hurried away, followed by Mrs. Hamilton.
That was about the longest afternoon Betty and Jack had ever known. Mrs. Hamilton was very kind, but she was too busy to pay much attention to them, and they were left pretty much to themselves. There was no use in trying to read or to play games. They tried lotto, but it proved a miserable failure. Then Betty tried reading aloud, but a big lump kept rising in her throat and choking her, and they soon gave that up as well. After all, the most comforting thing seemed to sit hand in hand, talking in whispers, and listening to every sound from the sick-room.
At about four o'clock there was a ring at thebell, and Betty, hurrying to admit the visitor, encountered in the hall a tall young woman, with a bright, sensible face, who carried a traveling bag, and who Mrs. Hamilton told her was the nurse Dr. Bell had promised to send. After that there was a good deal of whispering and moving about, but no one came near the children, and the time seemed very long indeed.
It was nearly dark when the doctor came again. The children heard his voice in the hall, and after a little while he and Mrs. Hamilton came into the sitting room together, and Mrs. Hamilton lighted the gas.
"You poor little things," she said cheerfully, "what a long, lonely afternoon you have had. They've been as quiet as little mice, doctor, and I feel sure Betty is going to be a great help to Miss Clark. As for Jack, he is going to be a good, brave little boy, and let Winifred and me take care of him till his mother gets well again."
She bent over the sofa as she spoke, and softly kissed Jack's forehead. He looked up in her face rather apprehensively, and his lip trembled.
"You're very kind indeed," he said politely, "but if you please, I'd rather stay with mother. I'll be very good."
"I know you will be good, dear; but, you see,there isn't very much room here. Betty will have to sleep in your bed, and then there is Miss Clark, you know. So I want you to be a very good boy, and come home with me. Betty shall come down to see you the first thing in the morning, and you and Winifred will have such good times together."
Jack began to cry.
"I'd rather not, indeed, I would much rather not," he sobbed; "I've never been away from mother and Betty at night. Mother always puts me to bed."
Mrs. Hamilton looked distressed and rather helpless, but the doctor came to the rescue.
"Jack," he said pleasantly, sitting down beside the little boy, "what would you like to be when you grow up?"
"An artist," said Jack promptly, and in his surprise at the question he forgot to cry. "My father was an artist, and I want to be one too. My grandfather was a general, and I'd like to be a soldier, but I couldn't, you know, on account of not being able to walk."
"I don't know about that," said the doctor, smiling; "fighting isn't the only part of a soldier's duty, you know. Wouldn't you like to begin by being a brave little soldier boy now?"
"How could I?" Jack inquired wonderingly.
"Well, one very important part of a soldier's duty is to obey orders. Now we know that you want to stay here with your mother and Betty, but we feel that it will be much better for you to go home with Mrs. Hamilton, who has very kindly offered to take you with her. Betty can be a great help to Miss Clark, the nurse, if she stays here. You would like to do something to help your mother get well, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, of course I would," said Jack, with a brightening face.
"Well, the very best thing you can possibly do for her at this moment is to obey Mrs. Hamilton, and let me carry you downstairs to her rooms."
Jack was silent for a moment; his face was twitching, and he clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. Then he looked up into the doctor's face.
"All right," he said bravely, "I'll go, only—only, may I kiss mother good-night first?"
"Your mother is asleep now, but you may look at her if you like. She is more comfortable than she was this morning. Shall I take you in to have a peep at her?"
Jack nodded—he was finding it rather hard work to speak just then—and the doctor liftedhim in his arms and carried him into the bedroom.
Mrs. Randall was lying with closed eyes, still breathing heavily, but no longer talking in that strange, incoherent way that had frightened Betty so much in the morning. Miss Clark, in her nurse's uniform, sat at the foot of the bed.
"Good-night, mother," Jack whispered very softly, and he kissed his hand to the motionless figure on the bed. "I'll be a good boy. Good-night and pleasant dreams."
The nurse rose, and, at a sign from Dr. Bell, followed them out of the room.
"This is Miss Clark, Jack," the doctor said; "she is taking splendid care of your mother."
"Thank you very much," said Jack, trying to smile. "Won't you please be a little kind to Betty too? I think she'll miss me."
"That I will, dear," said the nurse heartily; and then she turned away hurriedly with a suspicious moisture in her eyes.
It cost Betty a great effort to see her little brother carried away from her, and she clung to him passionately for a moment, feeling half inclined to protest against such a strange state of affairs. But she was a sensible little woman, and realizing the necessity in this case, she forced asmile, and the last words that Jack heard as the doctor carried him downstairs were Betty's cheerful assurances that she should take good care of mother, and come to see him the very first thing in the morning.
It was no easy task for Jack to keep back the tears, but he did keep them back, though he had to bite his lip and to wink very hard indeed in order to do it. Dr. Bell did not fail to notice the effort, and he found himself beginning to like this small boy immensely.
Winifred was watching for them at the open door, and she gave Jack such a rapturous greeting that it would have been impossible not to feel gratified by it. Almost before he realized what had happened, Jack found himself settled on a comfortable sofa, with Winifred hovering over him, and Mrs. Hamilton and Lizzie bustling about completing the arrangements for his comfort.
"And now I must say good-night, my little soldier," Dr. Bell said, taking Jack's hand as he spoke. "I shall come to see your mother again in the morning, and I have an idea that you and I are going to be great friends. By the way, how long is it that you have been laid up like this?"
"Ever since I was a baby," said Jack. "My nurse let me fall, and it hurt my back."
The doctor said nothing, but looked interested, and when he followed Mrs. Hamilton out of the room a few moments later he asked her how long she had known the Randall family.
"I never spoke to them until last week," said Mrs. Hamilton, and in a few words she told the story of Winifred's Thank Offering. The doctor looked considerably surprised.
"Do you mean to tell me that they are almost total strangers to you, and yet that you are willing to take all this trouble for them?"
Mrs. Hamilton smiled.
"People learn to help each other where I have lived," she said simply; "and besides, I am so happy myself now that I think I feel a little as Winifred does, and should like to make a Thank Offering too."
"I wish there were more people in the world like you and Winifred," said the doctor heartily. "I am sure it would be a better place than it is if there were."
An hour later Jack was lying in a soft bed in the little room opening out of Winifred's. Mrs. Hamilton had undressed him almost as tenderly as his mother could have done; had heard him say his prayers, and when at last she had bentdown to give him a good-night kiss, Jack's warm little heart had overflowed, and he had suddenly thrown his arms around her neck.
"I love you," he whispered softly; "oh, I do love you very much."
But when Mrs. Hamilton had turned down the gas and gone away, and Jack found himself alone in this strange room, away from his mother and Betty, he began to feel very lonely. There was no one to see the tears now, and he let them have their own way at last. He tried to cry very softly, so as not to disturb Winifred in the next room, but in spite of all his efforts the choking sobs would come. Suddenly the door creaked slightly, there was a patter of bare feet on the carpet, and a sweet little voice whispered close at his side:
"Are you asleep, Jack?"
"No," said Jack, speaking in a rather muffled voice, for he had been trying to stifle his sobs by burying his head in the pillow, "I haven't gone to sleep yet, but I guess I shall pretty soon."
"I just came to ask if you would like to have one of the children for company. I know boys don't care much about dolls generally, but they are very comforting sometimes, especially whenpeople don't feel quite happy, and I thought you might possibly like Lord Fauntleroy, because he's a boy too, you know."
"You are very kind," said Jack gratefully; "I should like it. I never do play with dolls—boys don't, you know, but a boy doll—well, that seems a little different, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does," said Winifred confidently. "Just wait a minute, and I'll bring him."
She darted away into her own room, returning in a moment with Lord Fauntleroy in her arms.
"I'll put him right here on the pillow beside you," she said, "and if you should feel lonely, you can just put out your hand and touch him. There isn't anything to be lonely for really, you know, because father and mother are in the parlor, and I'm right here in the next room, but people do sometimes feel a little queer in the dark, especially if they're not used to it. Lulu Bell doesn't like the dark a bit, and she was ten last December. Now I guess we'd better not talk any more, because mother said we were to go right to sleep."
Whether it was the presence of Lord Fauntleroy or the thought of the kind little girl who had brought him I do not know, but, whatever thecause may have been, Jack did not cry any more that night. He lay awake for a little while thinking about how kind every one was, and then his eyes closed, and he fell into a sound sleep from which he did not wake till morning.
For several days Mrs. Randall was very ill, much worse than Jack ever knew, for no one had the heart to tell him of the anxiety that was filling their minds to the exclusion of almost every other thought. Even Betty had always a bright smile and a cheerful assurance for her little brother that mother would soon be better, no matter how heavy her poor little heart might be. It was impossible to help loving the sweet-tempered, gentle little cripple, and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton soon found themselves growing very fond of their guest, while Dr. Bell seldom failed to stop for a word or two with his little soldier boy, as he called him, after each of his visits to the invalid upstairs. As for Winifred, she constituted herself Jack's willing slave, and the two soon became firm friends. They read together, played games together, and finally, as a mark of especial favor, Jack undertook to teach her to draw, anhonor which was highly appreciated by the little girl.
Lulu Bell, hearing the story from her father, came at once to see the interesting addition to the Hamilton household, and the three children spent a delightful afternoon together, the little girls teaching Jack several new games, and being taught several themselves in return. Betty, coming in for a few moments to see how her brother was getting on, found them all laughing heartily over "My Grandmother's Cat." Jack's eyes were fairly dancing, and there was a brighter tinge of color in his cheeks than she had seen there in many a day. Poor Betty's heart was very heavy that day, and, somehow, the sight of Jack's happiness—a happiness in which she had no share—caused her to feel almost angry, although she could not have told why. It was the first time in his life that Jack had ever enjoyed anything in which his sister had not an equal share.
Winifred greeted Betty very kindly, and Jack begged her to stay and join in the fun, but the little girl only shook her head sadly, saying she must go back to her mother, as Miss Clark might need her.
"But you'll come back very soon, won't you, Betty?" Jack said a little wistfully, lifting hisface for a kiss. "Oh, Betty dear, I am having such a good time; I wish you could stay."