illus196"'OH,FEE!DID YOU FALL? HAVE YOU HURT YOURSELF?'""Shut the door," Felix said; he spoke slowly, as if he were very tired. His face looked badly, too,—pale, and with black rings under his eyes away below his glasses. And there was something in the way he lay there—a limpness and helplessness—that somehow frightened me, and made me feel right away as if I ought to call nurse or somebody. But I know Fee likes to have people do as he tells them, so first I shut the door tight, then I came back and knelt down by him again. "Hadn't I better help you up, Fee?" I asked, "or shall I call"—I was going to say "Nannie or Phil," butremembered they were helping papa, and ended up with "somebody?"But Felix only said, "How's father? Tell me about him."He listened to all I could tell about papa; then, when I had finished, he threw his arms wide apart on the floor with a groan, and rolled his head impatiently from side to side. I justlongedto do something for him,—dear old Fee!"Don't you want to get up?" I asked again, in as coaxing a way as I could. "I could help you, you know, Fee; the floor is so hard for your back."Then he told me. "Jack," he said, in a tired, hopeless voice that made a lump fly into my throat, "I'm in a pretty bad fix, I'm afraid; my poor old back and my legs have given out. I got a very queer feeling that time I sat down so suddenly on the steps, and after you'd gone 'twas all I could do to brace up and drag myself to this floor to call nurse. Then I crawled in here, and barely got inside the door when I collapsed. My legs gave way entirely, and down I tumbled just where you see me now." He threw his arms out again, and twisted one of his hands in the fringe of the rug on which he was lying; then presently he went on: "Do you know why I'm still lying here? do you know why, Jack? because"—his voice shook so he had to stop for a minute—"because, from my waist down, Ican't move my body at all. Unless somebody helps me, I'll have to lie here all night;I'm perfectly helpless!"I'd been swallowing and swallowing while Fee was talking, but now I couldn't stand it any longer; I felt awfully unhappy, and I justhadto let the tears come. "It's that fall that's done it," I said, trying to wipe away the tears that came rushing down,—it's sogirlieto cry!—"the day Alan upset you in the schoolroom! Oh, Fee,dolet me call somebody to help you! Phil's downstairs, you know; oh, and the doctor,—please,pleaselet me askhimto come up! Oh, mayn't I?"Felix put out his hand and patted my knee in a way that reminded me of Nannie; he doesn't usually do those things. "Don't cry, Jackie-boy," he said very gently, "and don't blame Alan,—I don't believe he touched me that day; I believe now that that was an attack similar to this, only not so severe. What'll thenextone be!" His voice began shaking again, but he went right on: "Now I want you to help me keep this thing quiet,—I was hoping you'd be the one to find me,—so that Nannie and the others won't have it to add to their anxiety while thepateris ill. I'm afraid he's in a bad way; I don't like the doctor's sounding his heart,—that looks as if he suspected trouble there. He has been working like a slave eversince—oh, whatbeastswe were to get up that Fetich joke! Poor oldpater!" Felix folded his arms across his eyes and lay perfectly quiet; IthinkI saw a tear run down the side of his face to his ear, but I won't be sure. That just brought that horrid lump right back into my throat, but I was determined I wouldn't break down again; so I got up, and taking a pillow from the bed, brought it over to slip under Fee's head,—the floor wassohard you know.This roused him. "You're not very big, Rosebud, but perhaps you can help me to get to bed," he said, trying to speak as if nothing had happened. "I may feel better after I'm there; who knows but this attack may wear off in a day or two, as the other did."He spoke so cheerfully that I began to feel better, too, and I flew around and did just as he told me. First I pulled his bed right close up to where Fee lay,—it's very light,—then I made a rope of his worsted afghan, and passing it round the farthest bedpost, gave the ends to him; then, as he pulled himself up, I pushed him with all my might, and by and by he got on the bed. It was awfully hard to do, though, for the bed was on casters, and would slip away from us; but after a good while we succeeded."There, I feel a little better already!" he said, after I'd got him undressed. "That floorwashard, and I was there some time; yes, Ido feel a little better." He took hold of the railing at the head of the bed and pulled himself a little higher on the pillows."Perhaps you'll be all right again in a few days, same as the last time," I suggested.Fee's face brightened up. "That's so,—perhaps I shall," he said. "Why, Jack, you're almost as good a comforter as Nannie!" Then he took my hand as if he were going to shake hands, and holding it tight, went on with, "Now, Jack, I want you to promise me that you'll not speak about this attack of mine toanybody. As you say, I'll possibly—probably—be all over it in a few days, and there's too much sickness and trouble in the house already, without my adding to it. Promise me, Jack!" He gave my hand a little shake as he spoke.But I hesitated; for, though now he seemed better, I couldn't get out of my mind howawfullyhe had looked when I first found him,—and Fee isn't strong like the rest of us. But he shook my hand again two or three times, saying impatiently, "Why don't you promise? There's no harm in doing what I ask; think how worried and anxious Phil and Nannie are about papa!""Yes, presently," we heard Phil's voice say at the door at that very moment."Promise!promise!" repeated Felix, almost fiercely, and I got so nervous—Phil was comingright into the room—that I said, "All right, I promise," almost before I knew what I was saying. I got a frightened sort of feeling the moment the words were out of my mouth, that made me just wish I hadn't said them."Hullo! in bed? What's up?" asked Phil in surprise, as he walked up to Fee. "I wondered where you were." Then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down on the edge of the bed, and went on, in an excited tone of voice, "Did you hear about thepater? I tell you we've had our hands full downstairs; I'm afraid he's"—here Phil stopped and cleared his throat—"he's pretty low down. Dr. Archard as much as admitted it when I asked him to tell me the truth. It's that Fetich! He has been working over it like a galley slave, because—" Phil stopped again. He and Felix looked at each other; then, starting up, Phil walked over to the other side of the room, and stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at Fee's picture of the Good Shepherd which hangs on the wall there, and which he had seen scores of times before."Who's going to take care of father?" Felix asked presently, and that brought Phil back to his bedside."The doctor is going to send us a trained nurse this afternoon," he said; "but in the mean while Nannie and nurse are with him.Every time he became conscious he asked for Nannie or spoke her name, and seemed easier when she was near him; once or twice he called her 'Margaret'!"We were quiet for a moment or two,—that was dear mamma's name,—then Phil began again: "The nurse that's coming is a woman, and very efficient, I believe. Of course she'll have to have a certain amount of rest every day, and at those times somebody will have to take her place; so I'm going to try to be home early afternoons,—Nannie can't do everything, you know,—and sit with thepaterwhile the nurse takes her nap. I thought perhaps we could alternate, you and I,—you're so splendid in a sick room; but I suppose I'll be as awkward as the proverbial bull in the china shop. I generally get rattled when I undertake to do anything for father, and am sure to do just what I shouldn't; so I'm not sorry you're going to be there for a change, old man." He threw his arm across Fee's poor helpless legs as he spoke, and gave one of them a little squeeze.Fee hesitated. "I'm afraid I can't begin right away," he said slowly; "I'm not up to the mark just now, and it would be best not to depend on me for anything for at least—a week. Then, if I can, you may be sure I'll willingly take my part of the nursing.""Why, you're not ill, are you?" exclaimedPhil. "You were all right this morning when I went out. It's just to sit in the room, you know; you could read there, I suppose, if you wanted to."Felix coloured up at Phil's tone. "You know very well I'm not one of the sort to shirk,—I would do anything for thepater," he said quickly, "and just as soon as I can I'll take my full share in looking after and nursing him; but, as I told you, I don't feel quite up to it just now. I'm going to keep quiet for a few days,—a week, perhaps."Fee was trying to speak in his usual way, but there was something in his voice when he said that "perhaps" that made me just long to tell Phil right out what the trouble was. As it was, maybe Phil noticed something, for he eyed Fee sharply as he asked, rather anxiously: "Look here, Felix, is there anything you're keeping back? Come to notice, you do look rather white about the gills; do you feel ill, old fellow?"I thought everything would come out then, for I knew Fee wouldn't lie about it; and so it would, I'm pretty sure, if Paul and Alan hadn't come bouncing into the room, and Nora behind them.The boys flew to Fee's bedside. "Oh, Fee,don'tlet her get us!" "Oh, Fee,dolet us stay with you!" they cried at the same moment,while Alan added saucily, "she just thinks we b'long to her!""They're therudestchildren I ever knew!" exclaimed Nora, angrily,—just as if she knew all the children in the world! "They don't know what the word, 'obedience' means. Come straight upstairs this minute,—both of you!"She made a dive for them, but the boys were too quick for her. Alan ducked under Fee's bed, and came up on the other side with a triumphant chuckle, while Paul rolled right over Fee's legs and landed on the floor, where Phil grabbed him."Can't you behave yourselves, you young rascals?" demanded Phil, sternly, giving Paul's arm a shake, and catching Alan by the collar. "Just walk straight upstairs, and do as your sister tells you. Stop your noise this minute,—do you hear me?"But instead they both roared the louder, at the same time pulling and tugging to get away. "She's justhorrid!" asserted Alan, trying to wriggle out of Phil's grasp. "I just wish she'd go an' live in some other house, and never come back;" while between his sobs Judge drawled out pertly: "She thinks she can treat us like anything 'cause nurse isn't here to take our part. She won't let us do one single thing, an' she's just as cross as an old cat—sonow!""I am, eh?" cried Nora, indignantly. "Well,like it or not, you will have to obey me. Go upstairs at once,—both of you!Makethem go, Phil!"I felt awfully sorry for them,—you see I know Nora is a nagger, she tries it on me sometimes; but theyweremaking a horrible din. Fee looked very white; he lay with one arm folded over his eyes; and to make matters worse, in walked Betty. "Kathie has started crying, and I can't stop her," she announced, as she got in the doorway. "I'm afraid Mädel will be off in a few minutes, too, if we don't quiet Kathie; hadn't I better call Nannie?""Who is taking my name in vain?" said a voice that we were all glad to hear, and there was Nannie herself, smiling at us over Betty's shoulder.XIII.THROUGH THE SHADOW.TOLD BY JACK.WELL, it was astonishing how things quieted down after that. Phil let go the boys, and with a shout of delight they rushed up to Nannie, and just threw themselves on her; with an arm round each, she went straight to Fee's side: "Why, Felix, are you ill? My dear, is it your back again?" As she spoke she laid her hand on his forehead, and then stroked his hair back."Yes," Fee said wearily, closing his eyes; "my back—and thenoise!""Come, boys, we'll go up to the nursery and get ready for dinner. Nurse has to stay with poor papa, so I'm going to give you your dinner; and of course I want my little knights to be on their best behaviour for the occasion." Nannie drew them, still hanging on to her, toward the door."Oh, yes, anddostop Kathie, if you can," put in Betty. "Mädel accidentally rocked thecharger on Kathie's pet doll's head and smashed it, and she's justhowledever since. Do listen!"Sure enough, we could all hear a long, mournful wail; then another and another; if there's one thing Kathie does well, it's crying."What! Esmeralda Dorothea? Poor Kathie!" said Nannie; "I don't wonder she feels badly. Come, boys, we'll go up and see if we can comfort her."The boys looked quite jubilant! holding on to Nannie's hand, Alan threw a defiant glance at Nora as he passed her, and Judge quoted in his slow, droll way: "'Mydeardolly's dead! She died of a hole in her head!'""Instead of petting those boys, Nannie, you ought to punish them well, or give them a good scolding!" cried Nora. "They have both been exceedingly rude and disobedient to me."Nannie looked grieved, and the boys immediately began making excuses, which Nannie heard in silence. When they had finished, she said: "We are going upstairs to get ready for dinner, Nonie; but after that, when we are all sweet and clean, these two little men will, I am sure, come to you and ask you to overlook this afternoon's behaviour. I can't think that they really meant to be rude or disobedient to sister Nora."Nora tossed her head, but said nothing until Nannie had gone upstairs; then she remarked:"It's outrageous the way Nannie spoils the children; did you see the impertinent look Alan gave me as he went by? You will see they won't apologise,—I know they won't;" and then she, too, walked out of the room.But they did apologise, all the same, and very soon after, too."Like oil on troubled waters! What a blessing that Nannie belongs to this family!" Phil said, when we three were alone again."Ay, thank God for her!" answered Felix, fervently; and I felt like saying so too. Really, I don't know what we'd do without Nannie to keep the peace. It isn't that we don't love one another, for we do, dearly, and we justloveto be together, too; but somehow, somebody or other's sure to get into a discussion, or a fuss, or a regular quarrel, if Nannie isn't on hand to smooth things down. I don't know how it is, but she can get us to do things that we wouldn't do for any one else, and it isn't because she coaxes, for she doesn't always; sometimes she speaks right square out, and doesn't mince matters either,—but even then we don't mind. I mean it doesn't hurt as it would from somebody else. Felix says it's because she has tact, and Betty says it's because she loves us an awful lot.Ithink perhaps it's both.illus210"'THESE TWO LITTLE MEN WILL, I AM SURE, COME TO YOU AND ASKYOU TO OVERLOOK THIS AFTERNOON'S BEHAVIOUR.'"Well, those next two weeks were justawful! Seems now as if they'd been a tremendous longnightmare. There was Fee in bed upstairs he didn't get up or stand on his feet for nearly ten days,—he couldn't, you know, his legs wouldn't hold him up, though I rubbed and rubbed them every night till I was so tired, I felt as if I'd drop. Of course I didn't let Fee know how tired I got over it, 'cause then he wouldn't have let me rub 'em so long, and I did want to do it thoroughly.At first Fee hadn't a bit of feeling in his legs; but gradually it came back, and at last one afternoon he managed to stand on his feet, holding on to me and the furniture,—his cane wasn't any good at all at first,—and I tell you he used to press hard, though he didn't know it. You see he was anxious to be all right as soon as he possibly could, 'cause the others began to think 'twas queer he stayed in bed so long if it was nothing but his back, and he didn't want them to know what the trouble was; and besides, he felt all the time that he should be up and helping take care of papa: there was a good deal to do, though the nurse was there, for the doctor said papa shouldn't be left alone for even a minute. So they were all very busy and anxious, or they would certainly have noticed what a long time I stayed in Fee's room every afternoon, and perhaps have suspected something.Phil was the one Fee said he was most afraid would find out, but he was a good deal in papa'sroom in the afternoons, and evenings he was studying, 'cause his exams, were coming on, though sometimes he went for long walks with Chad. Chad was very often at the house at this time, but he never went in to see Fee; and after the first or second time I didn't tell Fee, for he doesn't like Chad, and I could see he didn't want Phil and Chad to be together without his being there too. We don't any of us care very much for Chad,—not half or even a quarter as much as we do for Hilliard; even Betty has to admit that, for all she makes such fun of Hill's slow ways. You see Chad puts on such silly airs, pretending he's a grown-up man, when really he's only a boy,—he's only a year older than Phil. And then he talks so much about his money, and wearsdiamonds,—rings and pins and buttons,—fancy! As Betty says, nice men and boys don't wear diamonds like that.Betty is awfully rude to Chad sometimes; she calls him Monsieur le Donkey, and Dresden-china-young man, and laughs at him almost to his face. I should think he'd get mad, but he just ignores her. In fact, the only one he shows any attention to is Nora; he's all the time bringing her flowers, and talking to her in his affected way, and lately he has begun to be very friendly with Phil, though I'm not sure that Phil cares very much in return,—he's so short with Chad sometimes.But, dear me! all this isn't what I started to say; I was telling you about those awful nightmare weeks. Well, to go back, there was Fee in bed upstairs, just as brave-hearted as he could be, but getting thinner and paler every day; and there was papa in the extension—he's slept down there ever since dear mamma died—in bed too, and desperately ill. The doctor came two and three and four times a day, and the house was kept as still as could be; we just stole through the halls, and scurried up the stairs like so many mice, so's not to make any noise, and because the constant muttering that we could hear from the sick-room made us feel so badly,—at least it did us older ones, the younger children didn't understand.Papa doesn't usually say very much; but now he was out of his head, and he just talked the whole time, and loud, so one couldn't help hearing what he said. 'Twas about the Fetich; he called it "my book," and scolded himself because he couldn't work faster on it, so's to sell it. I tell you what, that just broke Betty and Phil all up! Then he'd seem to forget that, and begin about walking in the country with mamma, through fields full of flowers and trees and "babbling brooks,"—that's what he called 'em, and quoted poetry about them all. He never once spoke of us; it was always "Margaret, Margaret!" sometimes in a glad voice, as if he were veryhappy, and sometimes in a sad, wailing sort of way, that brought a great lump into our throats.Nannie had to be in papa's room most all of every day,—the nurse said he got very restless when she wasn't around,—and as he kept getting worse and worse, she was in there lots of nights, too. Her lessons, and all the other things, had to just go, and we hardly saw her except for a little while now and then, when she ran up to sit with Felix and tell him about how papa was getting on.After a while she began to look a little pale, and her eyes got real big and bright; but she never once said she was tired, and it never occurred to any of us—you see we were all worked up over papa—until one day Max spoke of it to Felix: he said Nannie was just killing herself, and got so sort of excited over it—Max isn't one of the excitable kind—that Fee started in to worry about Nannie. It was when he had just begun to walk about a little, and he was wild to go right down and take Nannie's place in the sick-room. But he couldn't, you know; why, 'twas as much as he could do to barely stand on his feet and get round holding on to the furniture. Then, when he realised that, he got disheartened, and called himself a "useless hulk," and all sorts of horrid names, and was just as cranky as he could be; but I felt so sorry for him that I didn't mind. Poor old Fee!Well, from day to day papa got more and more ill; the fever kept right on and he was awfully weak, and at last he fell into a stupor. That day Dr. Archard hardly left our house for even an hour, and the other physicians just went in and out all the time. Max was there, too,—he almost lived at our house those weeks, taking all the night watching they'd let him, and doing all he could for papa and us,—and about seven o'clock that evening he came up to the schoolroom, where we older ones were. Dr. Archard had told Phil, and he had told us, that a change would come very soon,—papa would either pass from that stupor into a sleep which might save his life, or he would go away from us, as our dear mother had gone.No one of us was allowed to stay in the sick-room but Nannie, and she had promised to let us know the minute the change came; so we five and Max were waiting in the schoolroom, longing and yet just dreading what Nannie might have to tell us.It was a glorious afternoon: the sun had just gone down, and from where we sat—close together—we could see through the windows the sky, all rose-colour and gold, with long streaks here and there of the most exquisite pale blue and green; and soft, white, fleecy clouds that kept changing their shape every minute. When I was little and heard that anybody we knew wasdead, I used to sit in one of our schoolroom windows and watch the sunset, to see the angels taking the soul up to heaven,—- I thought that was the way it went up; I could almost always make out the shape of an angel in the clouds, and I'd watch with all my eyes till every speck of it had melted away, before I'd be willing to leave the window. Of course I really know better than that now, but this afternoon as we all sat there so sad and forlorn, looking at the skies, there came in the clouds the shape of a most beautiful large angel, all soft white, and with rosy, outspread wings, and I couldn't help wondering if God was sending an angel for papa's soul, or if he would let mamma come for it—she loved him so dearly!Betty saw the angel, too, for she nudged my elbow and whispered softly, "Oh, Jack, look!"Just then we heard a step outside, the door flew open, and Nannie came in; her face was pale, but her eyes were wide opened and shining, and when she spoke her voice rang out joyfully: "Oh, my dears, my dears!" she cried, stretching out her arms to us, "God is good to us,—papa is asleep! He will live!" Then, before anybody could say a word, she got very white, and threw out her hand for the back of Fee's chair; Phil sprang to catch her, but like a flash Max was before him. Taking Nannie right up in his arms, as if she'd been a littlechild, Max went over and laid her on the sofa, then knelt down by her, and began rubbing one of her hands.Phil flew for nurse, Nora for a fan, Betty for water, and I caught up Nannie's other hand and began rubbing it, though I could scarcely reach it from where I stood almost behind Max. I could hear Fee's chair scraping the floor as he hitched himself along toward us.Max stopped rubbing and began smoothing the loose, curly pieces of Nannie's hair off her forehead. "Dear little Nancy Lee!" I heard him say; and then, "My brave little—" I lost that word, for Nannie opened her eyes just then, and looked up at him with a far-off, wondering look; then the lids fell again, and she lay perfectly still, while Max and I rubbed away at her hands.In a minute or two the others came trooping in with nurse and the things they'd gone for, and pretty soon Nannie was much better. She sat up and looked at us with a smile that just lighted up her whole face,—I think Nannie is so pretty! "What a goose I was to faint!" she said, "when we have suchgoodnews! Oh, isn't it splendid,splendid! that papa will get well!" Then in a minute—before we knew what she was about—she was kneeling by Felix, with her arms round his neck, crying and sobbing as if her heart would break.And what d'you think! in about two minutesmore, if we weren't every one of us crying, too! I don't mean out loud, you know,—though Nora and Betty did,—but all the same we all knew we were doing it. Phil laid his arms on the schoolroom table and buried his face in them, Fee put his face down in Nannie's neck, and I was justbusywiping away the tears that would come pouring down; nurse threw her apron over her face and went out in the hall, and Max walked to the window and stood there clearing his throat. And yet we were allvery,veryglad and happy; queer, wasn't it?XIV.A MISSION OF THREE.TOLD BY JACK.THAT was the turning-point, for after that papa began to get better; but my! so slowly: why, it was days and days, Nannie said, before she could really see any improvement, he was so dreadfully weak. After a while, though, he began to take nourishment, then to notice things and to say a few words to Nannie, and one day he asked the doctor how long 'twould be before he could get at his writing again.The evening that Nannie came upstairs and told us about his asking the doctor this, we held a council. The "kids" were in bed, and Miss Marston was in her own room, so we had the schoolroom to ourselves; and in about five minutes after Nannie got through telling us, we were all quite worked up and all talking at once. You see we didn't want papa to begin working again on the Fetich as he had done, for Dr. Archard had said right out that that was what made him ill; and yet we didn't see, either, how we could prevent it."Let's steal the Fetich and bury it in the cellar," proposed Betty, after a good deal'd been said; "then hecouldn'twork at it, for it wouldn't be there, you know."Her eyes sparkled,—I think she'd have liked no better fun than carrying off the Fetich; but Phil immediately snubbed her. "Talk sense, or leave the council," he said so crossly that Nannie put in, "Why,Phil!" and Betty made a horrible face at him.Then Fee spoke up: "Say, how would it do for us, we three,—you, Phil, and Betty and I,—to tell thepaterhow mean we feel about that beastly joke, and then run through the potential mood in the way of beseeching, imploring, exhorting him not to slave over his work in the future as he's been doing in the past months. I have a fancy that Mr. Erveng has really made him an offer for the book when completed—""I'm pretty sure he has, from something Mrs. Erveng said the other day," broke in Nora, with a slow nod of her head."Well," went on Felix, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice, "and I suppose thepaterthinks we're watching and measuring his progress like so many hungry hawks, just ready to swoop down and devour him—ach!" He threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust that somehow made us all feel ashamed, though we weren't all in it, you know."That isn't a bad plan," said Nora, presently. "In fact, I think it is good; only, instead of three of you going at papa about it, why not let one speak for all? He would be just as likely to listen to one as to three, and it wouldn't tire him so much,—that'smyopinion. What do you think, Nannie?"Nannie shook her head dubiously; she was lying on the sofa looking awfully tired. "I'm not sure that it'll do any good," she answered; "I'm afraid papa has made up his mind to do just so much work, and he likes to carry out his intentions, you know. But I'd speak all the same," she added, "for I think he felt dreadfully cut up over that Fetich affair, and this will show him, anyhow, that you all care more for him—his well-being, I mean—than for the money the book might bring in. I fancy he has been doubtful of that sometimes. And I agree with Nora that it would be better for one to speak for the three. He is getting stronger now, and whoever is to be spokesman might, perhaps, go in to see him for a few minutes some afternoon this week. Who is it to be,—Phil?""Don't ask me to do it!" exclaimed Phil; "don't—if you want the affair to be a success. I feel mortally ashamed of my share in that joke, and I agree with Felix thatsomebodyought to speak to thepaterabout working so hard, and almost killing himself; but I warn you that thewhole thing will be a dead failure if I have the doing of it. In the first place, he looks so wretchedly now that I can't even look at him without feeling like breaking down; and with all that, if I undertook to say to him what I'd have to, why, I'm convinced I'd get rattled,—make an ass of myself, in fact,—and do no good whatever,—for that sort of thing always makes him mad. That's just the truth,—'tisn't that I want to shirk. Why don't you do it, old fellow?" (throwing his arm across Fee's shoulders), "you always know what to say, and can do it better than I."But Fee didn't seem willing either;Ithink the chief reason was because he was afraid of the steps,—it's as much as he can do to get up the one short flight from his floor to the schoolroom, and he gets awfully nervous and cranky over even that short distance; but of course the others didn't know that, and he didn't want them to know, and I couldn't say anything, so everybody was very much surprised: even Nannie opened her eyes when, after a good deal of urging, he said sharply, "I amnotgoing to do it, and that settles it!"I was afraid there'd be a fuss, so I sung out quickly, "Why don'tyoudo it, Betty? You're always saying you're equal to anything."Well, if you had seen her face, and felt the punch she gave my shoulder! I declare Bettyought surely to've been a boy; she's entirely too strong for a girl, and rough. I will say, though, that she's been better lately; but still she breaks out every now and then, and then she hits out, perfectly regardless of whether she hurts people or not.She just glared at me. "Me!I!Igo into papa's room and make a speech to him!" she exclaimed so loudly that Phil reminded her she needn't roar, as none of us were deaf. "Why, I couldn't, I simplycouldn't! I'm just as bad as Phil in a sick-room,—you all know I am; I'd tumble over the chairs, or knock things off the table, or fall on the bed, or something horrid, and papa'd have me put out. Then I'm sure matters would be worse than they are now. 'Tisn't that I'mafraid,"—with a withering glance at me,—"and Idofeel awfully sorry about papa; but all the same, I don't want to be the one to speak to him about the Fetich,—I don't think it's my place: how much attention do you suppose he would pay to whatI'd say?" She fanned herself vigorously, then added, in a milder tone, "Why not let Felix draw up a petition, and we could all sign it; then—eh—" with another withering glance—"Jackcould take it in to papa!""You're a fine set!" mocked Nora; "allverysorry,verypenitent, all seeing what should be done, but no one willing to do it. You are asbad as the rats who decided in council that a bell should be placed on the neck of their enemy, the cat, so that they should always have warning of her approach; but when it came to deciding on who was to do the deed, not one was brave enough.""I suppose you think, as Nora does, that we're a pretty mean set?" Felix said to Nannie; he ignored Nora's remark, though Phil made a dash for her with the laughing threat, "Just let me catch you, Miss Nora!"Nannie sat up and pushed her hair off her forehead; she looked pale and languid, and when she spoke, her voice sounded tired. "No," she said, "I don't think you are any of you mean; but I am disappointed: I like people to have the courage of their convictions, and particularly you, Fee.""That's right, give it to us, Nancy,—we deserve it!" shouted Phil, coming back in triumph with Nora; but Felix coloured up, and, leaning over, laid his hand on Nannie's arm. "Perhaps if you—" he began eagerly, but he didn't say the rest, for Max and Hilliard came in just then, and Nannie got up to speak to them.That was on a Tuesday evening, and the next afternoon, as I was going through the hall, Miss Appleton came out of the sick-room and asked if I would sit with papa for a short time, whileshe went to the basement to make some nourishment or something or other. "There is nothing to do but to sit somewhere about the room, within range of your father's sight," she said, as I hesitated a little,—not that I minded, but you see I was rather nervous for fear I might be asked to do things that I didn't know how to. "I won't be long, and I don't think he will need anything until I return."illus226"MISS APPLETON ... ASKED IF I WOULD SIT WITH PAPA FOR ASHORT TIME."Nannie was lying down with a headache, and nurse, Miss Marston, and the others were away upstairs; Phil had not yet come home; so I said, "Very well," and walked in.Papa was lying in bed, and he did look awful!—white and thin! He put out his hand as I went up to the bed, and said with a little smile, "Why, it is Jack! how do you do, my dear?" then he drew me down and kissed me. I wouldloveto have told him how very,veryglad I was that he was better, but I choked up so I couldn't get out a word. I just stood there hanging on to his hand, until he drew it away and said, "Take a seat until the nurse returns."Miss Appleton had told me to sit where papa could see me, so I took a chair that somebody had left standing near the foot of the bed, and in full view of him.It was very quiet in the room after that; papa lay with his eyes closed, and I could see how badly he looked. He was very pale,—kind of a greyish white,—his eyes were sunk 'way in, and there were quite big hollows in his temples and his cheeks. I wondered if he knew that he had nearly died, and that we had prayed for him in church; then I thought of the figure of the angel that we'd seen in the clouds that afternoon in the schoolroom, and of the Beautiful City—"O mother dear, Jerusalem"—where everything is lovely and everybody so happy, and I wondered again if papa were sorry or glad that he was going to get better. You see he would have had dear mamma there, and been with the King "in His felicity;" but then he wouldn't have had the Fetich or his books!Suddenly papa opened his eyes and looked at me. "Jack," he said, "suppose you take another seat,—over there behind the curtain. I will call you if I need anything."He told Nannie afterward—and she told me, so I shouldn't do it again—that I'd "stared him out of countenance." I was awfully sorry; I wouldn't have done such a rude thing for the world, you know,—I didn't even know I was doing it; but, as I've told you before, when I'm alone with papa, I somehow justhaveto look and look at him.I'd hardly taken my seat behind the curtain when the door opened and Fee came slowly in. He leaned heavily on his cane and caught on to the different pieces of furniture to help him make his way to papa's bedside. They just clasped hands, and for a minute neither of them said a word; then Felix began: "Oh, sir, I thank God that you are spared,"—his voice shook so he had to stop.Papa said gently: "More reference-making for you, my lad; I am evidently to be allowed to finish my work." And then Fee began again.He didn't say a great deal, and it was in a low tone,—a little slow, too, at first, as if he were holding himself in,—but there was something in his voice that made my heart swell up in me as it did that day I thrashed Henderson. It's a queerfeeling; it makes one feel as if one could easily do things that would be quite impossible at any other time."I hope I'll not tire or agitate you, sir," Fee said, "but I feel I must tell you, for Phil, Betty, and myself, howutterlyashamed we are of that miserable, heartless joke we got off some months ago,—going to Mr. Erveng about your book; no, father,pleaselet me go on,—this ought to have been said long ago! We earnestly ask your forgiveness for that, sir; the remembrance of it has lain very heavy on our hearts in these last anxious weeks—"He stopped; I guess there was a lump in his throat,—Iknow what that is! And presently papa said, very gently: "That did hurt me, Felix; but I have forgiven it. It may be that the experience was needed. I am afraid that I forgot I owed it to my children to finish and make use of my work.""No,no!" exclaimed Felix, vehemently. "Don'tfeel that way, father; oh,pleasedon't! We hope you won't ever work on it again as you have been working,—to run yourself down, to make yourself ill. We beg, we implore that you will take better care of yourself. Let the book go;neverfinish it; what do we care for it, compared to having you with us strong and well once more! Oh, sir, if you really do forgive us, if you really do believe in the love of your children, promise us that you will not work as you've been doing lately!"He waited a minute or two; then, as papa said nothing, he cried out sharply: "We are—her—children, sir; forhersake do as we ask!""Why do you want this—why do you want me to live?" papa asked slowly."Why?Because we love you!" exclaimed Fee, in surprise.And then I heard papa say, "Myson!" insucha tender voice; and then,—after a while,—"I am under a contract to finish my book, and I must do it; but I will endeavour to work less arduously, and to look more after my health."Here I think Fee must have kissed him,—it sounded so. "I shall have good news for the others," he said. "You know, sir, Phil and Betty feel as keenly about this as I do, but, for fear it would tire you, it was thought best for only one of us to speak to you about the matter. You don't feel any worse for our talk,—do you, father?" He said this anxiously, but papa said no, it hadn't done him any harm; still, he added, Felix had better go, and so he did in a few minutes. I felt so sorry when I thought of all the steps he'd have to climb to the schoolroom; I wondered how he'd ever get up them.Well, after that I think papa had a nap; anyway, he was very quiet. It was pretty stupid for me behind that curtain, and I was just wishing forabout the tenth time that Miss Appleton would put in an appearance, when the door opened suddenly, and who should come walking in but Phil!He went straight up to papa, and began rather loud, and in a quick, excited sort of way,—I could tell he was awfully nervous,—"How d'you feel to-day, sir?" Then, before papa had time to answer, he went on: "We were talking things over last evening, and—and we—well, sir, we—that is, Felix, Betty, and I—feel that we're at the bottom of this illness of yours, through our getting up the scheme about the Fet—your book, you know—in going to Mr. Erveng. It was the cheekiest thing on our part! I deserve to be kicked for that, sir,—I know I do. And we're afraid—we think—you're just killing yourself! I'm a blundering idiot at talking, I know, so I might's well cut it short. What I want to say is this: We'd rather have you living, sir, and the—history—neverfinished, than have it finished, with no end of money, and you dead. Oh, father, if you could know how we felt that night when your life hung in the balance!" He broke right down with a great sob.Then everything was so quiet again that I looked round the portière; Phil knelt by the bedside with his face buried in the bed-clothes, and papa's hand was resting on his head.I let the curtain fall. I felt, perhaps, they'd rather I didn't look at them.Then presently papa said quite cheerfully, "It will be all right, Phil: I think I am going to get well, and I shall try to take better care of myself; so you will, I hope, have no further occasion to be troubled about my health. I appreciate your speaking frankly to me, as you have done. Now, perhaps, you had better go; I am a little tired."Phil shook hands with papa and started to go, but paused half-way to the door. "This is for Felix and Betty, as well as for myself, father," he said pleadingly. "They feel just as badly as I do about you, but we thought 'twas best for one to speak for the three; and I being the eldest,—you understand?""Yes," papa said gently, "I understand."As the door closed behind Phil, papa called me. "Jack," he said, in a weak voice, "it seems to me that Miss Appleton is gone a good while; perhaps you had better give me something,—I think I am tired."My! didn't I get nervous! There was nothing on the table but bottles and a medicine glass; I didn't know any more than the man in the moon what to give him, and I didn't like to ask him. I was pretty sure he didn't know; and besides, he had shut his eyes. I caught up one of the bottles and uncorked and smelled it without in the least knowing what I intended doing next. How I did wish the nurse wouldcome! Just then some one came into the room, and when I turned quickly, expecting to see Miss Appleton, who was it butBetty!Well, I was so surprised, I nearly dropped the bottle. But she didn't even look at me; she just marched up to papa and began talking.She stood a little distance from the bed,—she said afterward she was afraid to go nearer for fear she'd shake the bed, or fall on it,—with her hands behind her back, and she just rattled off what she had to say as if she'd been "primed," as Phil calls it. Without even a "how d'you do?" she plunged into her subject. That's Betty all over; she always goes right to the point. "Papa," she said earnestly, "I'm awfully—that is,very,verysorry we went to Mr. Erveng that time about your book, without first speaking to you about it. We're allverysorry,—Phil, Felix, and I,—and just as ashamed as we can be. We've worried dreadfully over it, and about you, and it was simplyawfulwhen we thought you were going to die! We didn't acknowledge it to one another, but if you had died, I know we three'd have felt as if we had as much as killed you" (here Betty's voice dropped to almost a whisper; I thought perhaps she was going to cry, but she didn't, she just went on louder); "for we are sure you never would have hurried so with—your book—if we hadn't played that mean joke. You see, papa,we'resoafraid you'll—you'll—die, or be ill, or something else dreadful if you don't stop working so hard,—like a galley slave, as Phil says. And I've come to ask you, for Phil, Felix, and myself, to let the hateful old book go, and just get well and strong again; will you?""But if the history is completed, it can be sold, and thus bring in the money that is so much needed in the family."Betty eyed papa; I think she wasn't sure whether he was in sarcasm or earnest. "Oh," she said, "we did think it would be nice to have enough money to send Fee to college, but we don't want it any more,—at least, not if it's to come by your being ill—or—or—oh, papa, dear, we're all soveryglad and thankful that you are going to get well." She took his hand up carefully and kissed it."I think that now I am glad, too, Betty," said papa; "much more so than I ever expected to be.""And you won't work so hard again, will you?" asked Betty, anxiously. "You see, papa, I'm to get you to promise that; that's what I've come for. We talked the matter over last evening, and Phil would have come to speak to you about it, but he said you looked so wretchedly—and so you do—that just to look at you made him break down, and he was afraidhe'd get rattled and make an a—a mess of it. Then Felix, he couldn't come, because, well, because—I guess he felt badly, too, about your being ill. So I thoughtI'dbetter come down and have a talk with you, though I must say I was afraid I might do something awkward,—I'm sostupidin a sick-room; but so far all's right, isn't it? The boys don't know I've come,—I thought I'd surprise them; and so I will, with the good news: you'll promise, won't you, papa?""Yes," papa said, "I promise."Then Betty flew at him and kissed him, and then papa told her she'd better go. It was only just as she got to the door that she spied me. "Hullo! you here?" she exclaimed in astonishment,—adding, in a lower tone, "What're you laughing at?" Then, as I didn't answer, she walked out."Jack," called papa, "are there anymore of them to come? Do you suppose they are crazy?" Then he added to himself, "I wonder if any one else in the world has such children as I have?" We looked at each other for a minute or two (papa's eyes were bright, and his mouth was kind of smiley, and I was, I know, on a broad grin), and then we both laughed,—papa quietly, as he always does; but I cackled right out, Icouldn'thelp it.At this moment in came Miss Appletonwith papa's nourishment, and right behind her Nannie."Oh, how bright you look!" Nannie exclaimed with delight, as she came up to him; "that last medicine has certainly done you good.""Yes, I think it has," papa said, with a quizzical glance at me. "It was a new and unexpected kind; Nannie, my dear,—I have had a visitation."
illus196"'OH,FEE!DID YOU FALL? HAVE YOU HURT YOURSELF?'"
"Shut the door," Felix said; he spoke slowly, as if he were very tired. His face looked badly, too,—pale, and with black rings under his eyes away below his glasses. And there was something in the way he lay there—a limpness and helplessness—that somehow frightened me, and made me feel right away as if I ought to call nurse or somebody. But I know Fee likes to have people do as he tells them, so first I shut the door tight, then I came back and knelt down by him again. "Hadn't I better help you up, Fee?" I asked, "or shall I call"—I was going to say "Nannie or Phil," butremembered they were helping papa, and ended up with "somebody?"
But Felix only said, "How's father? Tell me about him."
He listened to all I could tell about papa; then, when I had finished, he threw his arms wide apart on the floor with a groan, and rolled his head impatiently from side to side. I justlongedto do something for him,—dear old Fee!
"Don't you want to get up?" I asked again, in as coaxing a way as I could. "I could help you, you know, Fee; the floor is so hard for your back."
Then he told me. "Jack," he said, in a tired, hopeless voice that made a lump fly into my throat, "I'm in a pretty bad fix, I'm afraid; my poor old back and my legs have given out. I got a very queer feeling that time I sat down so suddenly on the steps, and after you'd gone 'twas all I could do to brace up and drag myself to this floor to call nurse. Then I crawled in here, and barely got inside the door when I collapsed. My legs gave way entirely, and down I tumbled just where you see me now." He threw his arms out again, and twisted one of his hands in the fringe of the rug on which he was lying; then presently he went on: "Do you know why I'm still lying here? do you know why, Jack? because"—his voice shook so he had to stop for a minute—"because, from my waist down, Ican't move my body at all. Unless somebody helps me, I'll have to lie here all night;I'm perfectly helpless!"
I'd been swallowing and swallowing while Fee was talking, but now I couldn't stand it any longer; I felt awfully unhappy, and I justhadto let the tears come. "It's that fall that's done it," I said, trying to wipe away the tears that came rushing down,—it's sogirlieto cry!—"the day Alan upset you in the schoolroom! Oh, Fee,dolet me call somebody to help you! Phil's downstairs, you know; oh, and the doctor,—please,pleaselet me askhimto come up! Oh, mayn't I?"
Felix put out his hand and patted my knee in a way that reminded me of Nannie; he doesn't usually do those things. "Don't cry, Jackie-boy," he said very gently, "and don't blame Alan,—I don't believe he touched me that day; I believe now that that was an attack similar to this, only not so severe. What'll thenextone be!" His voice began shaking again, but he went right on: "Now I want you to help me keep this thing quiet,—I was hoping you'd be the one to find me,—so that Nannie and the others won't have it to add to their anxiety while thepateris ill. I'm afraid he's in a bad way; I don't like the doctor's sounding his heart,—that looks as if he suspected trouble there. He has been working like a slave eversince—oh, whatbeastswe were to get up that Fetich joke! Poor oldpater!" Felix folded his arms across his eyes and lay perfectly quiet; IthinkI saw a tear run down the side of his face to his ear, but I won't be sure. That just brought that horrid lump right back into my throat, but I was determined I wouldn't break down again; so I got up, and taking a pillow from the bed, brought it over to slip under Fee's head,—the floor wassohard you know.
This roused him. "You're not very big, Rosebud, but perhaps you can help me to get to bed," he said, trying to speak as if nothing had happened. "I may feel better after I'm there; who knows but this attack may wear off in a day or two, as the other did."
He spoke so cheerfully that I began to feel better, too, and I flew around and did just as he told me. First I pulled his bed right close up to where Fee lay,—it's very light,—then I made a rope of his worsted afghan, and passing it round the farthest bedpost, gave the ends to him; then, as he pulled himself up, I pushed him with all my might, and by and by he got on the bed. It was awfully hard to do, though, for the bed was on casters, and would slip away from us; but after a good while we succeeded.
"There, I feel a little better already!" he said, after I'd got him undressed. "That floorwashard, and I was there some time; yes, Ido feel a little better." He took hold of the railing at the head of the bed and pulled himself a little higher on the pillows.
"Perhaps you'll be all right again in a few days, same as the last time," I suggested.
Fee's face brightened up. "That's so,—perhaps I shall," he said. "Why, Jack, you're almost as good a comforter as Nannie!" Then he took my hand as if he were going to shake hands, and holding it tight, went on with, "Now, Jack, I want you to promise me that you'll not speak about this attack of mine toanybody. As you say, I'll possibly—probably—be all over it in a few days, and there's too much sickness and trouble in the house already, without my adding to it. Promise me, Jack!" He gave my hand a little shake as he spoke.
But I hesitated; for, though now he seemed better, I couldn't get out of my mind howawfullyhe had looked when I first found him,—and Fee isn't strong like the rest of us. But he shook my hand again two or three times, saying impatiently, "Why don't you promise? There's no harm in doing what I ask; think how worried and anxious Phil and Nannie are about papa!"
"Yes, presently," we heard Phil's voice say at the door at that very moment.
"Promise!promise!" repeated Felix, almost fiercely, and I got so nervous—Phil was comingright into the room—that I said, "All right, I promise," almost before I knew what I was saying. I got a frightened sort of feeling the moment the words were out of my mouth, that made me just wish I hadn't said them.
"Hullo! in bed? What's up?" asked Phil in surprise, as he walked up to Fee. "I wondered where you were." Then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down on the edge of the bed, and went on, in an excited tone of voice, "Did you hear about thepater? I tell you we've had our hands full downstairs; I'm afraid he's"—here Phil stopped and cleared his throat—"he's pretty low down. Dr. Archard as much as admitted it when I asked him to tell me the truth. It's that Fetich! He has been working over it like a galley slave, because—" Phil stopped again. He and Felix looked at each other; then, starting up, Phil walked over to the other side of the room, and stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at Fee's picture of the Good Shepherd which hangs on the wall there, and which he had seen scores of times before.
"Who's going to take care of father?" Felix asked presently, and that brought Phil back to his bedside.
"The doctor is going to send us a trained nurse this afternoon," he said; "but in the mean while Nannie and nurse are with him.Every time he became conscious he asked for Nannie or spoke her name, and seemed easier when she was near him; once or twice he called her 'Margaret'!"
We were quiet for a moment or two,—that was dear mamma's name,—then Phil began again: "The nurse that's coming is a woman, and very efficient, I believe. Of course she'll have to have a certain amount of rest every day, and at those times somebody will have to take her place; so I'm going to try to be home early afternoons,—Nannie can't do everything, you know,—and sit with thepaterwhile the nurse takes her nap. I thought perhaps we could alternate, you and I,—you're so splendid in a sick room; but I suppose I'll be as awkward as the proverbial bull in the china shop. I generally get rattled when I undertake to do anything for father, and am sure to do just what I shouldn't; so I'm not sorry you're going to be there for a change, old man." He threw his arm across Fee's poor helpless legs as he spoke, and gave one of them a little squeeze.
Fee hesitated. "I'm afraid I can't begin right away," he said slowly; "I'm not up to the mark just now, and it would be best not to depend on me for anything for at least—a week. Then, if I can, you may be sure I'll willingly take my part of the nursing."
"Why, you're not ill, are you?" exclaimedPhil. "You were all right this morning when I went out. It's just to sit in the room, you know; you could read there, I suppose, if you wanted to."
Felix coloured up at Phil's tone. "You know very well I'm not one of the sort to shirk,—I would do anything for thepater," he said quickly, "and just as soon as I can I'll take my full share in looking after and nursing him; but, as I told you, I don't feel quite up to it just now. I'm going to keep quiet for a few days,—a week, perhaps."
Fee was trying to speak in his usual way, but there was something in his voice when he said that "perhaps" that made me just long to tell Phil right out what the trouble was. As it was, maybe Phil noticed something, for he eyed Fee sharply as he asked, rather anxiously: "Look here, Felix, is there anything you're keeping back? Come to notice, you do look rather white about the gills; do you feel ill, old fellow?"
I thought everything would come out then, for I knew Fee wouldn't lie about it; and so it would, I'm pretty sure, if Paul and Alan hadn't come bouncing into the room, and Nora behind them.
The boys flew to Fee's bedside. "Oh, Fee,don'tlet her get us!" "Oh, Fee,dolet us stay with you!" they cried at the same moment,while Alan added saucily, "she just thinks we b'long to her!"
"They're therudestchildren I ever knew!" exclaimed Nora, angrily,—just as if she knew all the children in the world! "They don't know what the word, 'obedience' means. Come straight upstairs this minute,—both of you!"
She made a dive for them, but the boys were too quick for her. Alan ducked under Fee's bed, and came up on the other side with a triumphant chuckle, while Paul rolled right over Fee's legs and landed on the floor, where Phil grabbed him.
"Can't you behave yourselves, you young rascals?" demanded Phil, sternly, giving Paul's arm a shake, and catching Alan by the collar. "Just walk straight upstairs, and do as your sister tells you. Stop your noise this minute,—do you hear me?"
But instead they both roared the louder, at the same time pulling and tugging to get away. "She's justhorrid!" asserted Alan, trying to wriggle out of Phil's grasp. "I just wish she'd go an' live in some other house, and never come back;" while between his sobs Judge drawled out pertly: "She thinks she can treat us like anything 'cause nurse isn't here to take our part. She won't let us do one single thing, an' she's just as cross as an old cat—sonow!"
"I am, eh?" cried Nora, indignantly. "Well,like it or not, you will have to obey me. Go upstairs at once,—both of you!Makethem go, Phil!"
I felt awfully sorry for them,—you see I know Nora is a nagger, she tries it on me sometimes; but theyweremaking a horrible din. Fee looked very white; he lay with one arm folded over his eyes; and to make matters worse, in walked Betty. "Kathie has started crying, and I can't stop her," she announced, as she got in the doorway. "I'm afraid Mädel will be off in a few minutes, too, if we don't quiet Kathie; hadn't I better call Nannie?"
"Who is taking my name in vain?" said a voice that we were all glad to hear, and there was Nannie herself, smiling at us over Betty's shoulder.
WELL, it was astonishing how things quieted down after that. Phil let go the boys, and with a shout of delight they rushed up to Nannie, and just threw themselves on her; with an arm round each, she went straight to Fee's side: "Why, Felix, are you ill? My dear, is it your back again?" As she spoke she laid her hand on his forehead, and then stroked his hair back.
"Yes," Fee said wearily, closing his eyes; "my back—and thenoise!"
"Come, boys, we'll go up to the nursery and get ready for dinner. Nurse has to stay with poor papa, so I'm going to give you your dinner; and of course I want my little knights to be on their best behaviour for the occasion." Nannie drew them, still hanging on to her, toward the door.
"Oh, yes, anddostop Kathie, if you can," put in Betty. "Mädel accidentally rocked thecharger on Kathie's pet doll's head and smashed it, and she's justhowledever since. Do listen!"
Sure enough, we could all hear a long, mournful wail; then another and another; if there's one thing Kathie does well, it's crying.
"What! Esmeralda Dorothea? Poor Kathie!" said Nannie; "I don't wonder she feels badly. Come, boys, we'll go up and see if we can comfort her."
The boys looked quite jubilant! holding on to Nannie's hand, Alan threw a defiant glance at Nora as he passed her, and Judge quoted in his slow, droll way: "'Mydeardolly's dead! She died of a hole in her head!'"
"Instead of petting those boys, Nannie, you ought to punish them well, or give them a good scolding!" cried Nora. "They have both been exceedingly rude and disobedient to me."
Nannie looked grieved, and the boys immediately began making excuses, which Nannie heard in silence. When they had finished, she said: "We are going upstairs to get ready for dinner, Nonie; but after that, when we are all sweet and clean, these two little men will, I am sure, come to you and ask you to overlook this afternoon's behaviour. I can't think that they really meant to be rude or disobedient to sister Nora."
Nora tossed her head, but said nothing until Nannie had gone upstairs; then she remarked:"It's outrageous the way Nannie spoils the children; did you see the impertinent look Alan gave me as he went by? You will see they won't apologise,—I know they won't;" and then she, too, walked out of the room.
But they did apologise, all the same, and very soon after, too.
"Like oil on troubled waters! What a blessing that Nannie belongs to this family!" Phil said, when we three were alone again.
"Ay, thank God for her!" answered Felix, fervently; and I felt like saying so too. Really, I don't know what we'd do without Nannie to keep the peace. It isn't that we don't love one another, for we do, dearly, and we justloveto be together, too; but somehow, somebody or other's sure to get into a discussion, or a fuss, or a regular quarrel, if Nannie isn't on hand to smooth things down. I don't know how it is, but she can get us to do things that we wouldn't do for any one else, and it isn't because she coaxes, for she doesn't always; sometimes she speaks right square out, and doesn't mince matters either,—but even then we don't mind. I mean it doesn't hurt as it would from somebody else. Felix says it's because she has tact, and Betty says it's because she loves us an awful lot.Ithink perhaps it's both.
illus210"'THESE TWO LITTLE MEN WILL, I AM SURE, COME TO YOU AND ASKYOU TO OVERLOOK THIS AFTERNOON'S BEHAVIOUR.'"
Well, those next two weeks were justawful! Seems now as if they'd been a tremendous longnightmare. There was Fee in bed upstairs he didn't get up or stand on his feet for nearly ten days,—he couldn't, you know, his legs wouldn't hold him up, though I rubbed and rubbed them every night till I was so tired, I felt as if I'd drop. Of course I didn't let Fee know how tired I got over it, 'cause then he wouldn't have let me rub 'em so long, and I did want to do it thoroughly.
At first Fee hadn't a bit of feeling in his legs; but gradually it came back, and at last one afternoon he managed to stand on his feet, holding on to me and the furniture,—his cane wasn't any good at all at first,—and I tell you he used to press hard, though he didn't know it. You see he was anxious to be all right as soon as he possibly could, 'cause the others began to think 'twas queer he stayed in bed so long if it was nothing but his back, and he didn't want them to know what the trouble was; and besides, he felt all the time that he should be up and helping take care of papa: there was a good deal to do, though the nurse was there, for the doctor said papa shouldn't be left alone for even a minute. So they were all very busy and anxious, or they would certainly have noticed what a long time I stayed in Fee's room every afternoon, and perhaps have suspected something.
Phil was the one Fee said he was most afraid would find out, but he was a good deal in papa'sroom in the afternoons, and evenings he was studying, 'cause his exams, were coming on, though sometimes he went for long walks with Chad. Chad was very often at the house at this time, but he never went in to see Fee; and after the first or second time I didn't tell Fee, for he doesn't like Chad, and I could see he didn't want Phil and Chad to be together without his being there too. We don't any of us care very much for Chad,—not half or even a quarter as much as we do for Hilliard; even Betty has to admit that, for all she makes such fun of Hill's slow ways. You see Chad puts on such silly airs, pretending he's a grown-up man, when really he's only a boy,—he's only a year older than Phil. And then he talks so much about his money, and wearsdiamonds,—rings and pins and buttons,—fancy! As Betty says, nice men and boys don't wear diamonds like that.
Betty is awfully rude to Chad sometimes; she calls him Monsieur le Donkey, and Dresden-china-young man, and laughs at him almost to his face. I should think he'd get mad, but he just ignores her. In fact, the only one he shows any attention to is Nora; he's all the time bringing her flowers, and talking to her in his affected way, and lately he has begun to be very friendly with Phil, though I'm not sure that Phil cares very much in return,—he's so short with Chad sometimes.
But, dear me! all this isn't what I started to say; I was telling you about those awful nightmare weeks. Well, to go back, there was Fee in bed upstairs, just as brave-hearted as he could be, but getting thinner and paler every day; and there was papa in the extension—he's slept down there ever since dear mamma died—in bed too, and desperately ill. The doctor came two and three and four times a day, and the house was kept as still as could be; we just stole through the halls, and scurried up the stairs like so many mice, so's not to make any noise, and because the constant muttering that we could hear from the sick-room made us feel so badly,—at least it did us older ones, the younger children didn't understand.
Papa doesn't usually say very much; but now he was out of his head, and he just talked the whole time, and loud, so one couldn't help hearing what he said. 'Twas about the Fetich; he called it "my book," and scolded himself because he couldn't work faster on it, so's to sell it. I tell you what, that just broke Betty and Phil all up! Then he'd seem to forget that, and begin about walking in the country with mamma, through fields full of flowers and trees and "babbling brooks,"—that's what he called 'em, and quoted poetry about them all. He never once spoke of us; it was always "Margaret, Margaret!" sometimes in a glad voice, as if he were veryhappy, and sometimes in a sad, wailing sort of way, that brought a great lump into our throats.
Nannie had to be in papa's room most all of every day,—the nurse said he got very restless when she wasn't around,—and as he kept getting worse and worse, she was in there lots of nights, too. Her lessons, and all the other things, had to just go, and we hardly saw her except for a little while now and then, when she ran up to sit with Felix and tell him about how papa was getting on.
After a while she began to look a little pale, and her eyes got real big and bright; but she never once said she was tired, and it never occurred to any of us—you see we were all worked up over papa—until one day Max spoke of it to Felix: he said Nannie was just killing herself, and got so sort of excited over it—Max isn't one of the excitable kind—that Fee started in to worry about Nannie. It was when he had just begun to walk about a little, and he was wild to go right down and take Nannie's place in the sick-room. But he couldn't, you know; why, 'twas as much as he could do to barely stand on his feet and get round holding on to the furniture. Then, when he realised that, he got disheartened, and called himself a "useless hulk," and all sorts of horrid names, and was just as cranky as he could be; but I felt so sorry for him that I didn't mind. Poor old Fee!
Well, from day to day papa got more and more ill; the fever kept right on and he was awfully weak, and at last he fell into a stupor. That day Dr. Archard hardly left our house for even an hour, and the other physicians just went in and out all the time. Max was there, too,—he almost lived at our house those weeks, taking all the night watching they'd let him, and doing all he could for papa and us,—and about seven o'clock that evening he came up to the schoolroom, where we older ones were. Dr. Archard had told Phil, and he had told us, that a change would come very soon,—papa would either pass from that stupor into a sleep which might save his life, or he would go away from us, as our dear mother had gone.
No one of us was allowed to stay in the sick-room but Nannie, and she had promised to let us know the minute the change came; so we five and Max were waiting in the schoolroom, longing and yet just dreading what Nannie might have to tell us.
It was a glorious afternoon: the sun had just gone down, and from where we sat—close together—we could see through the windows the sky, all rose-colour and gold, with long streaks here and there of the most exquisite pale blue and green; and soft, white, fleecy clouds that kept changing their shape every minute. When I was little and heard that anybody we knew wasdead, I used to sit in one of our schoolroom windows and watch the sunset, to see the angels taking the soul up to heaven,—- I thought that was the way it went up; I could almost always make out the shape of an angel in the clouds, and I'd watch with all my eyes till every speck of it had melted away, before I'd be willing to leave the window. Of course I really know better than that now, but this afternoon as we all sat there so sad and forlorn, looking at the skies, there came in the clouds the shape of a most beautiful large angel, all soft white, and with rosy, outspread wings, and I couldn't help wondering if God was sending an angel for papa's soul, or if he would let mamma come for it—she loved him so dearly!
Betty saw the angel, too, for she nudged my elbow and whispered softly, "Oh, Jack, look!"
Just then we heard a step outside, the door flew open, and Nannie came in; her face was pale, but her eyes were wide opened and shining, and when she spoke her voice rang out joyfully: "Oh, my dears, my dears!" she cried, stretching out her arms to us, "God is good to us,—papa is asleep! He will live!" Then, before anybody could say a word, she got very white, and threw out her hand for the back of Fee's chair; Phil sprang to catch her, but like a flash Max was before him. Taking Nannie right up in his arms, as if she'd been a littlechild, Max went over and laid her on the sofa, then knelt down by her, and began rubbing one of her hands.
Phil flew for nurse, Nora for a fan, Betty for water, and I caught up Nannie's other hand and began rubbing it, though I could scarcely reach it from where I stood almost behind Max. I could hear Fee's chair scraping the floor as he hitched himself along toward us.
Max stopped rubbing and began smoothing the loose, curly pieces of Nannie's hair off her forehead. "Dear little Nancy Lee!" I heard him say; and then, "My brave little—" I lost that word, for Nannie opened her eyes just then, and looked up at him with a far-off, wondering look; then the lids fell again, and she lay perfectly still, while Max and I rubbed away at her hands.
In a minute or two the others came trooping in with nurse and the things they'd gone for, and pretty soon Nannie was much better. She sat up and looked at us with a smile that just lighted up her whole face,—I think Nannie is so pretty! "What a goose I was to faint!" she said, "when we have suchgoodnews! Oh, isn't it splendid,splendid! that papa will get well!" Then in a minute—before we knew what she was about—she was kneeling by Felix, with her arms round his neck, crying and sobbing as if her heart would break.
And what d'you think! in about two minutesmore, if we weren't every one of us crying, too! I don't mean out loud, you know,—though Nora and Betty did,—but all the same we all knew we were doing it. Phil laid his arms on the schoolroom table and buried his face in them, Fee put his face down in Nannie's neck, and I was justbusywiping away the tears that would come pouring down; nurse threw her apron over her face and went out in the hall, and Max walked to the window and stood there clearing his throat. And yet we were allvery,veryglad and happy; queer, wasn't it?
THAT was the turning-point, for after that papa began to get better; but my! so slowly: why, it was days and days, Nannie said, before she could really see any improvement, he was so dreadfully weak. After a while, though, he began to take nourishment, then to notice things and to say a few words to Nannie, and one day he asked the doctor how long 'twould be before he could get at his writing again.
The evening that Nannie came upstairs and told us about his asking the doctor this, we held a council. The "kids" were in bed, and Miss Marston was in her own room, so we had the schoolroom to ourselves; and in about five minutes after Nannie got through telling us, we were all quite worked up and all talking at once. You see we didn't want papa to begin working again on the Fetich as he had done, for Dr. Archard had said right out that that was what made him ill; and yet we didn't see, either, how we could prevent it.
"Let's steal the Fetich and bury it in the cellar," proposed Betty, after a good deal'd been said; "then hecouldn'twork at it, for it wouldn't be there, you know."
Her eyes sparkled,—I think she'd have liked no better fun than carrying off the Fetich; but Phil immediately snubbed her. "Talk sense, or leave the council," he said so crossly that Nannie put in, "Why,Phil!" and Betty made a horrible face at him.
Then Fee spoke up: "Say, how would it do for us, we three,—you, Phil, and Betty and I,—to tell thepaterhow mean we feel about that beastly joke, and then run through the potential mood in the way of beseeching, imploring, exhorting him not to slave over his work in the future as he's been doing in the past months. I have a fancy that Mr. Erveng has really made him an offer for the book when completed—"
"I'm pretty sure he has, from something Mrs. Erveng said the other day," broke in Nora, with a slow nod of her head.
"Well," went on Felix, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice, "and I suppose thepaterthinks we're watching and measuring his progress like so many hungry hawks, just ready to swoop down and devour him—ach!" He threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust that somehow made us all feel ashamed, though we weren't all in it, you know.
"That isn't a bad plan," said Nora, presently. "In fact, I think it is good; only, instead of three of you going at papa about it, why not let one speak for all? He would be just as likely to listen to one as to three, and it wouldn't tire him so much,—that'smyopinion. What do you think, Nannie?"
Nannie shook her head dubiously; she was lying on the sofa looking awfully tired. "I'm not sure that it'll do any good," she answered; "I'm afraid papa has made up his mind to do just so much work, and he likes to carry out his intentions, you know. But I'd speak all the same," she added, "for I think he felt dreadfully cut up over that Fetich affair, and this will show him, anyhow, that you all care more for him—his well-being, I mean—than for the money the book might bring in. I fancy he has been doubtful of that sometimes. And I agree with Nora that it would be better for one to speak for the three. He is getting stronger now, and whoever is to be spokesman might, perhaps, go in to see him for a few minutes some afternoon this week. Who is it to be,—Phil?"
"Don't ask me to do it!" exclaimed Phil; "don't—if you want the affair to be a success. I feel mortally ashamed of my share in that joke, and I agree with Felix thatsomebodyought to speak to thepaterabout working so hard, and almost killing himself; but I warn you that thewhole thing will be a dead failure if I have the doing of it. In the first place, he looks so wretchedly now that I can't even look at him without feeling like breaking down; and with all that, if I undertook to say to him what I'd have to, why, I'm convinced I'd get rattled,—make an ass of myself, in fact,—and do no good whatever,—for that sort of thing always makes him mad. That's just the truth,—'tisn't that I want to shirk. Why don't you do it, old fellow?" (throwing his arm across Fee's shoulders), "you always know what to say, and can do it better than I."
But Fee didn't seem willing either;Ithink the chief reason was because he was afraid of the steps,—it's as much as he can do to get up the one short flight from his floor to the schoolroom, and he gets awfully nervous and cranky over even that short distance; but of course the others didn't know that, and he didn't want them to know, and I couldn't say anything, so everybody was very much surprised: even Nannie opened her eyes when, after a good deal of urging, he said sharply, "I amnotgoing to do it, and that settles it!"
I was afraid there'd be a fuss, so I sung out quickly, "Why don'tyoudo it, Betty? You're always saying you're equal to anything."
Well, if you had seen her face, and felt the punch she gave my shoulder! I declare Bettyought surely to've been a boy; she's entirely too strong for a girl, and rough. I will say, though, that she's been better lately; but still she breaks out every now and then, and then she hits out, perfectly regardless of whether she hurts people or not.
She just glared at me. "Me!I!Igo into papa's room and make a speech to him!" she exclaimed so loudly that Phil reminded her she needn't roar, as none of us were deaf. "Why, I couldn't, I simplycouldn't! I'm just as bad as Phil in a sick-room,—you all know I am; I'd tumble over the chairs, or knock things off the table, or fall on the bed, or something horrid, and papa'd have me put out. Then I'm sure matters would be worse than they are now. 'Tisn't that I'mafraid,"—with a withering glance at me,—"and Idofeel awfully sorry about papa; but all the same, I don't want to be the one to speak to him about the Fetich,—I don't think it's my place: how much attention do you suppose he would pay to whatI'd say?" She fanned herself vigorously, then added, in a milder tone, "Why not let Felix draw up a petition, and we could all sign it; then—eh—" with another withering glance—"Jackcould take it in to papa!"
"You're a fine set!" mocked Nora; "allverysorry,verypenitent, all seeing what should be done, but no one willing to do it. You are asbad as the rats who decided in council that a bell should be placed on the neck of their enemy, the cat, so that they should always have warning of her approach; but when it came to deciding on who was to do the deed, not one was brave enough."
"I suppose you think, as Nora does, that we're a pretty mean set?" Felix said to Nannie; he ignored Nora's remark, though Phil made a dash for her with the laughing threat, "Just let me catch you, Miss Nora!"
Nannie sat up and pushed her hair off her forehead; she looked pale and languid, and when she spoke, her voice sounded tired. "No," she said, "I don't think you are any of you mean; but I am disappointed: I like people to have the courage of their convictions, and particularly you, Fee."
"That's right, give it to us, Nancy,—we deserve it!" shouted Phil, coming back in triumph with Nora; but Felix coloured up, and, leaning over, laid his hand on Nannie's arm. "Perhaps if you—" he began eagerly, but he didn't say the rest, for Max and Hilliard came in just then, and Nannie got up to speak to them.
That was on a Tuesday evening, and the next afternoon, as I was going through the hall, Miss Appleton came out of the sick-room and asked if I would sit with papa for a short time, whileshe went to the basement to make some nourishment or something or other. "There is nothing to do but to sit somewhere about the room, within range of your father's sight," she said, as I hesitated a little,—not that I minded, but you see I was rather nervous for fear I might be asked to do things that I didn't know how to. "I won't be long, and I don't think he will need anything until I return."
illus226"MISS APPLETON ... ASKED IF I WOULD SIT WITH PAPA FOR ASHORT TIME."
Nannie was lying down with a headache, and nurse, Miss Marston, and the others were away upstairs; Phil had not yet come home; so I said, "Very well," and walked in.
Papa was lying in bed, and he did look awful!—white and thin! He put out his hand as I went up to the bed, and said with a little smile, "Why, it is Jack! how do you do, my dear?" then he drew me down and kissed me. I wouldloveto have told him how very,veryglad I was that he was better, but I choked up so I couldn't get out a word. I just stood there hanging on to his hand, until he drew it away and said, "Take a seat until the nurse returns."
Miss Appleton had told me to sit where papa could see me, so I took a chair that somebody had left standing near the foot of the bed, and in full view of him.
It was very quiet in the room after that; papa lay with his eyes closed, and I could see how badly he looked. He was very pale,—kind of a greyish white,—his eyes were sunk 'way in, and there were quite big hollows in his temples and his cheeks. I wondered if he knew that he had nearly died, and that we had prayed for him in church; then I thought of the figure of the angel that we'd seen in the clouds that afternoon in the schoolroom, and of the Beautiful City—"O mother dear, Jerusalem"—where everything is lovely and everybody so happy, and I wondered again if papa were sorry or glad that he was going to get better. You see he would have had dear mamma there, and been with the King "in His felicity;" but then he wouldn't have had the Fetich or his books!
Suddenly papa opened his eyes and looked at me. "Jack," he said, "suppose you take another seat,—over there behind the curtain. I will call you if I need anything."
He told Nannie afterward—and she told me, so I shouldn't do it again—that I'd "stared him out of countenance." I was awfully sorry; I wouldn't have done such a rude thing for the world, you know,—I didn't even know I was doing it; but, as I've told you before, when I'm alone with papa, I somehow justhaveto look and look at him.
I'd hardly taken my seat behind the curtain when the door opened and Fee came slowly in. He leaned heavily on his cane and caught on to the different pieces of furniture to help him make his way to papa's bedside. They just clasped hands, and for a minute neither of them said a word; then Felix began: "Oh, sir, I thank God that you are spared,"—his voice shook so he had to stop.
Papa said gently: "More reference-making for you, my lad; I am evidently to be allowed to finish my work." And then Fee began again.
He didn't say a great deal, and it was in a low tone,—a little slow, too, at first, as if he were holding himself in,—but there was something in his voice that made my heart swell up in me as it did that day I thrashed Henderson. It's a queerfeeling; it makes one feel as if one could easily do things that would be quite impossible at any other time.
"I hope I'll not tire or agitate you, sir," Fee said, "but I feel I must tell you, for Phil, Betty, and myself, howutterlyashamed we are of that miserable, heartless joke we got off some months ago,—going to Mr. Erveng about your book; no, father,pleaselet me go on,—this ought to have been said long ago! We earnestly ask your forgiveness for that, sir; the remembrance of it has lain very heavy on our hearts in these last anxious weeks—"
He stopped; I guess there was a lump in his throat,—Iknow what that is! And presently papa said, very gently: "That did hurt me, Felix; but I have forgiven it. It may be that the experience was needed. I am afraid that I forgot I owed it to my children to finish and make use of my work."
"No,no!" exclaimed Felix, vehemently. "Don'tfeel that way, father; oh,pleasedon't! We hope you won't ever work on it again as you have been working,—to run yourself down, to make yourself ill. We beg, we implore that you will take better care of yourself. Let the book go;neverfinish it; what do we care for it, compared to having you with us strong and well once more! Oh, sir, if you really do forgive us, if you really do believe in the love of your children, promise us that you will not work as you've been doing lately!"
He waited a minute or two; then, as papa said nothing, he cried out sharply: "We are—her—children, sir; forhersake do as we ask!"
"Why do you want this—why do you want me to live?" papa asked slowly.
"Why?Because we love you!" exclaimed Fee, in surprise.
And then I heard papa say, "Myson!" insucha tender voice; and then,—after a while,—"I am under a contract to finish my book, and I must do it; but I will endeavour to work less arduously, and to look more after my health."
Here I think Fee must have kissed him,—it sounded so. "I shall have good news for the others," he said. "You know, sir, Phil and Betty feel as keenly about this as I do, but, for fear it would tire you, it was thought best for only one of us to speak to you about the matter. You don't feel any worse for our talk,—do you, father?" He said this anxiously, but papa said no, it hadn't done him any harm; still, he added, Felix had better go, and so he did in a few minutes. I felt so sorry when I thought of all the steps he'd have to climb to the schoolroom; I wondered how he'd ever get up them.
Well, after that I think papa had a nap; anyway, he was very quiet. It was pretty stupid for me behind that curtain, and I was just wishing forabout the tenth time that Miss Appleton would put in an appearance, when the door opened suddenly, and who should come walking in but Phil!
He went straight up to papa, and began rather loud, and in a quick, excited sort of way,—I could tell he was awfully nervous,—"How d'you feel to-day, sir?" Then, before papa had time to answer, he went on: "We were talking things over last evening, and—and we—well, sir, we—that is, Felix, Betty, and I—feel that we're at the bottom of this illness of yours, through our getting up the scheme about the Fet—your book, you know—in going to Mr. Erveng. It was the cheekiest thing on our part! I deserve to be kicked for that, sir,—I know I do. And we're afraid—we think—you're just killing yourself! I'm a blundering idiot at talking, I know, so I might's well cut it short. What I want to say is this: We'd rather have you living, sir, and the—history—neverfinished, than have it finished, with no end of money, and you dead. Oh, father, if you could know how we felt that night when your life hung in the balance!" He broke right down with a great sob.
Then everything was so quiet again that I looked round the portière; Phil knelt by the bedside with his face buried in the bed-clothes, and papa's hand was resting on his head.
I let the curtain fall. I felt, perhaps, they'd rather I didn't look at them.
Then presently papa said quite cheerfully, "It will be all right, Phil: I think I am going to get well, and I shall try to take better care of myself; so you will, I hope, have no further occasion to be troubled about my health. I appreciate your speaking frankly to me, as you have done. Now, perhaps, you had better go; I am a little tired."
Phil shook hands with papa and started to go, but paused half-way to the door. "This is for Felix and Betty, as well as for myself, father," he said pleadingly. "They feel just as badly as I do about you, but we thought 'twas best for one to speak for the three; and I being the eldest,—you understand?"
"Yes," papa said gently, "I understand."
As the door closed behind Phil, papa called me. "Jack," he said, in a weak voice, "it seems to me that Miss Appleton is gone a good while; perhaps you had better give me something,—I think I am tired."
My! didn't I get nervous! There was nothing on the table but bottles and a medicine glass; I didn't know any more than the man in the moon what to give him, and I didn't like to ask him. I was pretty sure he didn't know; and besides, he had shut his eyes. I caught up one of the bottles and uncorked and smelled it without in the least knowing what I intended doing next. How I did wish the nurse wouldcome! Just then some one came into the room, and when I turned quickly, expecting to see Miss Appleton, who was it butBetty!
Well, I was so surprised, I nearly dropped the bottle. But she didn't even look at me; she just marched up to papa and began talking.
She stood a little distance from the bed,—she said afterward she was afraid to go nearer for fear she'd shake the bed, or fall on it,—with her hands behind her back, and she just rattled off what she had to say as if she'd been "primed," as Phil calls it. Without even a "how d'you do?" she plunged into her subject. That's Betty all over; she always goes right to the point. "Papa," she said earnestly, "I'm awfully—that is,very,verysorry we went to Mr. Erveng that time about your book, without first speaking to you about it. We're allverysorry,—Phil, Felix, and I,—and just as ashamed as we can be. We've worried dreadfully over it, and about you, and it was simplyawfulwhen we thought you were going to die! We didn't acknowledge it to one another, but if you had died, I know we three'd have felt as if we had as much as killed you" (here Betty's voice dropped to almost a whisper; I thought perhaps she was going to cry, but she didn't, she just went on louder); "for we are sure you never would have hurried so with—your book—if we hadn't played that mean joke. You see, papa,we'resoafraid you'll—you'll—die, or be ill, or something else dreadful if you don't stop working so hard,—like a galley slave, as Phil says. And I've come to ask you, for Phil, Felix, and myself, to let the hateful old book go, and just get well and strong again; will you?"
"But if the history is completed, it can be sold, and thus bring in the money that is so much needed in the family."
Betty eyed papa; I think she wasn't sure whether he was in sarcasm or earnest. "Oh," she said, "we did think it would be nice to have enough money to send Fee to college, but we don't want it any more,—at least, not if it's to come by your being ill—or—or—oh, papa, dear, we're all soveryglad and thankful that you are going to get well." She took his hand up carefully and kissed it.
"I think that now I am glad, too, Betty," said papa; "much more so than I ever expected to be."
"And you won't work so hard again, will you?" asked Betty, anxiously. "You see, papa, I'm to get you to promise that; that's what I've come for. We talked the matter over last evening, and Phil would have come to speak to you about it, but he said you looked so wretchedly—and so you do—that just to look at you made him break down, and he was afraidhe'd get rattled and make an a—a mess of it. Then Felix, he couldn't come, because, well, because—I guess he felt badly, too, about your being ill. So I thoughtI'dbetter come down and have a talk with you, though I must say I was afraid I might do something awkward,—I'm sostupidin a sick-room; but so far all's right, isn't it? The boys don't know I've come,—I thought I'd surprise them; and so I will, with the good news: you'll promise, won't you, papa?"
"Yes," papa said, "I promise."
Then Betty flew at him and kissed him, and then papa told her she'd better go. It was only just as she got to the door that she spied me. "Hullo! you here?" she exclaimed in astonishment,—adding, in a lower tone, "What're you laughing at?" Then, as I didn't answer, she walked out.
"Jack," called papa, "are there anymore of them to come? Do you suppose they are crazy?" Then he added to himself, "I wonder if any one else in the world has such children as I have?" We looked at each other for a minute or two (papa's eyes were bright, and his mouth was kind of smiley, and I was, I know, on a broad grin), and then we both laughed,—papa quietly, as he always does; but I cackled right out, Icouldn'thelp it.
At this moment in came Miss Appletonwith papa's nourishment, and right behind her Nannie.
"Oh, how bright you look!" Nannie exclaimed with delight, as she came up to him; "that last medicine has certainly done you good."
"Yes, I think it has," papa said, with a quizzical glance at me. "It was a new and unexpected kind; Nannie, my dear,—I have had a visitation."