A CHEERFUL DOCTOR.
There was an apartment in Aaron Cohen's house which was called the
cozy room, where the family were in the habit of sitting when they had
no visitors, and it was here that their real domestic happiness
reigned. Here Aaron used to smoke his old silver-mounted pipe, and
chat with his wife, and indulge in his entertaining pleasantries when
he was in the humor, and here the feeling used to steal over him that
life would hold more joy for him and those dear to him if they dwelt
in a smaller house and his doings were less under the public eye.
"I am convinced," he would say, "that those who are in the lower
middle class are the best off. They have fewer cares, they have more
time for domestic enjoyment, they can attend without hindrance to
their own affairs. There is no happiness in riches. Why do I continue
to wish to accumulate more money?"
"Because," Rachel would answer affectionately, "It enables you to
contribute to the happiness of others. But I should be as contented if
we were poor."
On the occasion of Mr. Dillworthy's visit to Aaron a scene of a
different nature was being enacted in the cozy room. Rachel was
overpowered with languor, and she fell into a doze. The apartment was
large, but an arrangement of screens and the disposal of the furniture
made it look small; domestically speaking, there is no comfort in any
but a small room.
Rose during her present visit had noticed with concern that Mrs. Cohen
appeared weak, and that her movements, which were always gentle, were
more so than usual, and that her quiet ways seemed to be the result of
physical prostration. She spoke of it to Rachel, who confessed that
she had not felt strong lately, but cautioned Rose to say nothing of
it to Aaron.
"He is so easily alarmed about me," she said, "and he has great
anxieties upon him."
"But you should see the doctor," urged Rose solicitously.
"I will wait a day or two," answered Rachel, and again enjoined Rose
not to alarm her husband.
On the evening of this exciting day she looked so pale and fatigued
that she yielded to Rose's solicitations, and without Aaron's
knowledge sent for the physician who was in the habit of attending
her. While waiting for him she fell asleep in her armchair in the cozy
room. At her request Rose played softly some of Rachel's favorite
pieces. The piano was behind a screen at one end of the room, and Rose
did not know that she had fallen asleep. While thus employed Prissy
quietly entered the room. The faithful woman looked at her mistress,
and stepped noiselessly to the screen.
"Miss Rose," she whispered.
The girl stopped playing immediately, and came from behind the screen.
"Is it the doctor, Prissy?" she asked.
"No, miss."
Prissy pointed to her mistress, and Rose went to the armchair, and
adjusted a light shawl which was falling from the sleeping lady's
shoulder. It was a slight action, but it was done with so much
tenderness that Prissy smiled approvingly. She liked Rose much better
than Ruth, who did not hold in her affections the place the other
members of the family did. Humble as was her position in the
household, she had observed things of which she disapproved.
Ruth was from home more frequently than she considered proper, and had
often said to her: "You need not tell my mother that I have gone out
unless she asks you."
Prissy had not disobeyed her, and the consequence was that Ruth was
sometimes absent from the house for hours without her father or mother
being aware of it. Prissy's idea was that her young mistress would
bring trouble on the house, but she kept silence, because she would
otherwise have got into trouble herself with Ruth, and would also have
distressed her dear lady if she had made mention of her suspicions,
for which she could have offered no reasonable explanation. Prissy's
distress of mind was not lessened because Ruth, when she enjoined
secrecy upon her, gave her money, as if to purchase her silence. She
would have refused these bribes, but Ruth forced them upon her, and
she felt as if she were in a conspiracy to destroy the peace of the
family.
"I did not know she was asleep," said Rose, coming back to Prissy.
"I'm sure you didn't, miss. She falls off, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Rose with affectionate solicitude. "What do you
want, Prissy?"
"I've got a letter for you, miss."
"I didn't hear the postman."
"The postman didn't bring it, miss," said Prissy, giving her the
letter. "A boy. Said immejiet."
"It must be from--no." She was thinking of her lover as she looked at
the letter, but she saw it was not his hand. She recognized the
writing--it was Ruth's. "The envelope is not very clean, Prissy."
"So I told the boy when he brought it to the back door."
"The back door!" exclaimed Rose, rather bewildered.
"It's curious, isn't it, miss, that it wasn't sent by post?"
"Yes, it is. What did the boy say?"
"It's what I said first, miss. 'You've been and dropped it in the
gutter,' I said. But he only laughed and said it was give to him this
morning, and that he was to bring it to the servants' entrance and ask
for Prissy."
"But why didn't he deliver it this morning?" asked Rose, her
bewilderment growing.
"I don't know, miss. He's been playing in the streets all day, I
expect. Anyway he said I was to give it you when nobody was looking.
It's Miss Ruth's writing, miss."
Rose made no remark upon this, but asked: "Did he say who gave it to
him?"
"A young lady he said, miss."
"That will do, Prissy."
"Can I do anything for you, miss?
"Nothing, thank you."
Prissy gone, Rose looked at the envelope, and saw written in one
corner, "Read this when you are alone." Troubled and perplexed, she
stood with the letter in her hand, but when the door was opened again
and the doctor was announced she put it hastily into her pocket and
went forward to meet him.
Dr. Roberts had attended Rachel for some years past, and took the
deepest interest in her.
"Sleeping," he said, stepping to her side. He turned to Rose, and
questioning her, learned why he had been sent for.
"She falls asleep," he said, with his fingers on Rachel's pulse. "Ah,
you are awake," as Rachel sat upright. "Now let us see what is the
matter. You are not in pain? No. That's good."
"It is only because Rose was so anxious," said Rachel. "There is
really nothing the matter with me, doctor."
"But you feel weak and drowsy at times. We will soon set that right."
Dr. Roberts was one of those cheerful physicians whose bright ways
always brightened his patients. "Make the best of a case," was a
favorite saying of his, "not the worst."
He remained with Rachel a quarter of an hour, advised her to get to
bed, gave her instructions as to food, ordered her a tonic, and took
his leave. Rose went with him into the passage.
"There is no danger, doctor?"
"Not the slightest, my dear," he answered in a fatherly manner. "But I
would advise perfect rest. Don't tell her anything exciting. She must
not be worried. Get a humorous story, and read it to her. Make her
laugh. Let everything be bright and cheerful about her. But I need not
say that. It always is, eh? If you have any troubles keep them to
yourself. But what troubles should a young girl like you have?"
He met Aaron at the street door.
"Ah, Mr. Cohen, I have been to see your wife--in a friendly way."
"She is not ill?" asked Aaron in an anxious tone, stepping back.
"No--a little weak, that is all. Don't go up to see her; I have just
left her, and she will think there is something the matter, when
there's nothing that cannot be set right in a few days. She wants
tone, that is all, and rest, and perfect freedom from excitement. That
is essential. Such a day as this, flattering and pleasant as it must
have been, is not good for her. Keep her mind at rest, let her hear
nothing to disturb her, speak of none but cheerful subjects to her,
and she will be herself again in a week. Follow my advice, and there
is not the least cause for anxiety."