It was done in a trice and the girl thanked her with lips and eyes.
"It often takes me full five or ten minutes," she said, "and sometimes I
have to get mother to do it for me."
"What a pity! it must be a great hindrance to your work."
"Yes, indeed, and my eyes ache so that I can seldom sew or read for more
than an hour or two at a time. Ah, I'm afraid I'm going to lose my sight
altogether."
The tone was inexpressibly mournful, and Elsie's eyes filled again.
"Don't fret about it," she said, "I think--I hope you can be cured."
The rain had nearly ceased, and Philip, saying the worst was over, and
they were in danger of being late at dinner, hurried the girls into the
phaeton.
"What was that woman whispering to you?" asked Gertrude, as soon as they
were fairly off.
Elsie looked uncomfortable. "It was something I was to tell mamma," she
replied.
"But what is it?"
"I'm afraid she wanted to keep it a secret from you, Gerty, or she would
have spoken out loud."
"I think you're very mean and disobliging," retorted Gertrude, beginning
to pout.
"No, she isn't," said Philip pompously, "she's honorable, and one of the
few females who can keep a secret. But I overheard it, Elsie, and feel
pretty sure that the reason she whispered it, was to keep the poor girl
from hearing. It's very natural she shouldn't want her to know she's
afraid her sight's leaving her."
"Oh, yes; I suppose that was it!" returned Elsie. "But you were very wise
to think of it, Phil."
"Don't flatter him," said Gertrude; "he thinks a great deal too much of
himself, already."
Dinner was just ready when they reached home, and their mammas were on the
porch looking for them.
"So there you are at last! what detained you so long?" said Mrs. Ross.
"Went further than we intended; and then the rain, you know," said
Philip.
"And, oh, we had an adventure!" cried the girls, and hastened to tell it.
Mrs. Travilla had not forgotten her old governess, and though no pleasant
recollection of her lingered in her memory, neither was there any dislike
or revengeful feeling there. She heard of her sorrows with commiseration
and rejoiced in the ability to alleviate them.
"That Mrs. Gibson!" exclaimed Lucy, "I've seen her many a time at the door
or window, in driving past, and have often thought there was something
familiar in her face, but never dreamed who she was. That hateful Miss
Day! as I used to call her; Elsie, I wouldn't do a thing for her, if I
were you. Why she treated you with absolute cruelty."
"She was sometimes unjust and unkind," said Mrs. Travilla, smiling at her
friend's vehemence, "but probably my sensitiveness, timidity and
stupidity, were often very trying."
"No such thing!--if you will excuse me for contradicting you--everybody
that knew you then, would testify that you were the sweetest, dearest,
most patient, industrious little thing that ever was made."
Elsie laughed and shook her head, "Ah, Lucy, you always flattered me;
never were jealous even when I was held up to you as a pattern an evidence
that yours was a remarkably sweet disposition. Now, tell me, please, if
you know anything about these Gibsons?"
"Not much; they came to that hut years ago, evidently very poor, and quite
as evidently--so report says--having seen better days. The husband and
father drank deeply, and the wife earned a scanty support for the family
by sewing and knitting; that is about all I know of them, except that
several of their children died of scarlet fever within a few days of each
other, soon after they came to the neighborhood, and that a year ago last
winter, the man, coming home very drunk, fell into a snow-drift, and next
day was found frozen to death. I was told at that time they had only two
children--a son who was following in his father's footsteps, and this
daughter."
"Poor woman!" sighed Elsie, "she is sorely tried and afflicted. I must go
to her at once."
"Do, mamma, and get a doctor for her," said little Elsie; "she looked so
sick and miserable."
Mrs. Ross offered her carriage, and the shower having cooled the air,
Elsie went, shortly after the conclusion of the meal.