An awesome quiet settled over the house. I did not remember a time
when any one had ever been very sick. The children gathered in groups,
and spoke in whispers, and for a day or two Stuart appeared almost
conscience-stricken. But his natural flow of spirits could not be
repressed. Yet his laugh jarred on my nerves. We were used to caring
so much for each other’s welfare and comfort, and sympathizing with
sorrows or trivial illnesses, that his carelessness seemed to us as
something quite dreadful. Yet he was so pleasant and good-natured, so
ready to do anything that was asked of him, though he never appeared to
think that he might volunteer any little service.
“We must make some allowance for them,” mamma said, in her kindly
fashion. “Remember that they have had no mother. Much of their lives
has been spent at school; and their uncle was a cold and rather
arrogant man, papa thinks. So they have had no chance to acquire the
graces of home life.”
When the tidings became noised abroad through the village, we were
quite besieged. Mamma threw up the fortifications at the hall door.
The old women, who were curious, or anxious, or even kindly-hearted
in their officious way, heard all of the story there, or in the
sitting-room, that it was necessary for them to know. Aunt Letty
Perkins was not last nor least.
“Was it true, as she had understood, that these two young men came
to study with Mr. Endicott? She heard they were going in college,
or something or other. She hoped he would get well paid for his
trouble—young college chaps were always pretty wild. There was no great
loss without some small gain; and if this young fellow was sick, he
couldn’t be kitin’ round the village into all sorts of mischief.”
“No, to be sure not,” returned mamma, with a smile at this sort of
comfort.
“But what _are_ you to do? You have your hands full already, with such
a houseful of children! I allers say that Mis’ Endicott’s the most
wonderful woman I know. I should think you’d a been worn out long ago;
and here you haven’t scarcely a wrinkle in your face!”
“I do not know why people should wrinkle up their faces when they
have a number of healthy, happy children about them. Why, they keep
you young, Mrs. Perkins. It takes you back to your own childhood
continually.”
“I hope you’re a going to get paid for all this.”
“I do not believe the Duncans will become chargeable to the parish,
since they have fortunes of their own,” said mamma, rather dryly.
“Rich, now? Well, that’s good! Though rich men’s sons are exposed to
sights of temptations. No one knows!” and Aunt Letty shook her head
solemnly.
“I fancy there will not be many here at Wachusett.”
“Mean to keep them the whole year?”
“No; only through vacation.”
“They have gardeens, I s’pose?”
“Mr. Endicott is their sole guardian now, with the exception of an
elder brother, who acts for them.”
“O!”
Then Aunt Letty fidgeted about.
“If you should want some one to help do the nussin’, I could take my
knitting and sit up stairs. I haven’t much of anything to do, and I’d
as lief.”
“No,” said mamma. “I am much obliged. Mrs. Whitcomb is coming over this
evening.”
So Aunt Letty had to go away without seeing the patient. But she had
considerable news to sow broadcast, which comforted her.
For the first two days I spent all my time in the sick room, while papa
remained at night. The violent paroxysms were not very long at a time,
and for the rest he only tumbled about and wanted a drink every few
moments. Then Mrs. Whitcomb arrived, and I was partly released.
By Saturday Dr. Hawley had nearly given up the faintest hope. Every one
knew who was meant when the prayer for the sick was used on Sunday.
Something in papa’s voice touched me in a peculiar manner. In the great
calm of earth and sky, it seemed so strange that any life should go out
into utter nothingness! Why, the smallest insects were on the wing, and
birds and bees went humming and soaring, with no anxious cares, just
brim full of glad, free life.
If we had been less engrossed, we should have felt quite elated over
Fanny’s successful examination; but, as it was, we were glad to have
her at home, without thinking much about it. So the days passed until
the quivering life seemed to hang by a mere thread.
“If he can go through the next twelve hours!” said Dr. Hawley, in a low
tone. “But there seems so little strength to him. I can’t realize that
he has ever been such a rosy, rollicking boy as that Stuart; and yet I
do not see why he should not have been. Well, we have done our best,
Mrs. Whitcomb, and the good parson has prayed; so we must leave all the
rest in God’s hands. Don’t let him sleep more than an hour at a time,
and then give him a teaspoonful of this, out of the glass—remember.”
I didn’t want to go to bed. I crept up to the room, and Mrs. Whitcomb,
and the other strange, uncertain presence, standing by the window
and watching the great stars and the little flecks of silver cloud
threading their way in and out like dainty ladies. I was so afraid of
death, too! and yet I wanted to stay. I thought of Stephen’s perplexity
concerning his brothers, and did not wonder at it now. I was sorry that
I had been so ungracious that night; but I had made all the amends I
could. And I prayed softly for the sick boy, that he might live to a
better and less selfish life, that he might see and know the great
things there are for men to do in the world.
Twelve. The old eight-day clock in the hall told it off in a solemn
way, and went on ticking “forever, never,” and Mrs. Whitcomb breathed
in her chair as if she were asleep; but in a moment she rose and gave
the medicine.
“You had better lie down here on the couch, Rose. Here is a pillow.”
“No; I am not sleepy.” And crossing my arms on the window sill, I
rested my chin on them, and watched the stars again.
One, two, three; and the summer night began to show signs of
drowsiness. The stars grew dimmer, and there was a peculiar grayish
duskiness in the heavens. Then a faint stirring in the east, a melting
of the gray into rose and gold, a piping of birds in the leafy trees,
and a strange tremulousness in all the air. I turned away from the
window and glanced at the pallid face, put my fingers on the thin
wrist. Had the resurrection of the morning reached him?
“O, Mrs. Whitcomb,” I exclaimed, “his pulse is stronger! I believe he
will live. I am so thankful!”
“Now run to bed, dear. You have had your way, and sat up all night.”
I did fall asleep, and never woke until the breakfast bell rang. Dr.
Hawley came in bright and early, and the verdict was favorable.
“Now you must feed him on beef tea, and I’ll feed him on iron,” he said
to Mrs. Whitcomb. “We will run a race to see which can get the most fat
on his bones. Goodness knows there’s need enough of it. He seems to
have put into practice some one’s suggestion, to take off his flesh and
sit in his bones a space. Cool, for this hot weather.”
“I suppose we can venture to be a little jolly now,” Stuart said, that
afternoon, as we were all on the porch. “We have been going about this
whole week like a funeral procession.”
“There might have been one—very easily,” I replied, with as much
sternness as I could put in my voice.
“But when you are through the woods, what is the use of frightening
yourself with the darkness and the ‘bug-a-boos’? Isn’t that what you
tell children? I never really believed that he was going to die. It is
only your good people—”
“Then there is not much fear of you,” said Fan.
“Thank Goodness, no. I mean to have a deal of fun out of life yet. Just
wait until I can get my hands into the money. There will be larks then,
I can tell you. Meanwhile, may we not dissipate harmlessly on croquet?”
“I think not,” was my answer. “Your brother is very weak and nervous;
and I have sometimes found the click of the balls hard to bear myself.”
“Hang it! I wish he was in—England with Stephen. He is always putting
on airs of some kind. Before I’d be such a Molly-fuss-budget I’d go off
and hang myself, and leave my money to the nearest of kin.”
“O, Stuart,” I exclaimed, “you are perfectly—”
“There, don’t preach to me, you small midget! I hate girls’ preaching.
It’s hard enough to have it on Sundays. Can a leopard change his
spots? Yes, he can go off to another spot. So I’ll go. Adieu, little
grandmother.”
He caught his hat, and walked down the garden path as if whistling for
a wager.
“There, you have made him angry,” declared Fan.
“I cannot help it. He doesn’t seem to care for anything. O!”
I was after him in a minute, for there he had Tabby by the nape of the
neck, holding her up high to see her draw up her feet and curl her tail
between her legs like a dog.
“Put her down!” I cried, authoritatively.
He held me off with one arm.
“Why, she likes it,” he said. “Look! what an angelic smile illumines
her countenance!”
“Mia-o-o-ow!” was kitty’s answer, in a prolonged wail; but she managed
to twist herself out of his grasp, and bounded off.
“You are a cruel, hateful boy!” I exclaimed, angrily.
But he only laughed, and went on his way whistling. Fan glanced up from
her embroidery.
“It is tit for tat,” she said, laughingly; “preaching and practice.”
I was quiet for some minutes.
“Do I preach much, Fan?” I asked, rather soberly.
“Not very much. But it may be as dangerous a habit as scolding, if one
gets confirmed in it. And I suppose it isn’t entertaining to boys.”
“But what are you to do when they are just as bad as they can be?”
“Bear it with Christian fortitude and resignation. I am not sure but
it will be good for us to have something that takes us out of the one
groove, and shows us that the world is wider than the little space just
around us.”
There was much truth in that, to be sure.
“You see we have had everything pretty much one way; and now we have
come to a change in the current. I rather like the stir and freshening
up.”
“But if Tabby was yours—”
“You remember the old lady whose idea of heaven was to ‘sit in a clean
checked apron, and sing psalms;’ and I think yours must be to sit here
on the porch, in a clean white dress, and nurse that sleek Maltese cat.”
“O, Fan, how can you be so irreverent?”
I heard the faint tinkle of a bell; so I ran up stairs. Mrs. Whitcomb
asked me to sit there while she went out for a walk. I took up some
crocheting, and, as I worked, watched the wind blowing about the high
tree-tops, and making picturesque backgrounds of the blue sky. Then a
wood robin came and sang his sweet song almost in my ear.
The sick youth stirred and opened his eyes wide. How strange and sunken
they looked!
“Where am I?”
I started at the question, and collected my wandering senses.
“At the rectory. At Mr. Endicott’s.”
“O! Have I been sick? How long since—I can’t seem to remember—”
“It is almost a fortnight since you were taken ill. But you are out of
all danger, and have only to get well.”
“I suppose I have been a great deal of trouble. Did I talk much?” And
he glanced sharply at me.
“No; that is, it was not of much account.”
“Where is Stuart?”
“Out somewhere.”
“May I have a drink?”
I gave him that.
“And you have been taking care of me—all the time?”
“Not all. Mamma and Mrs. Whitcomb have done the most of it.”
“Was I near dying?”
“We thought so, at one time,” I answered, rather slowly, not feeling
quite sure that the admission was right.
“It wouldn’t have been much loss. Both Stephen and Stuart would
have been glad, no doubt, or, at least, relieved. Don’t look so
horror-stricken.”
“I think you are unjust to both your brothers,” I said. “But perhaps it
is best not to talk any more. You are still weak.”
He turned his face over on the pillow, and was silent until mamma came
in and spoke in her cheerful fashion.
“You have all been very kind, much kinder than I deserve. How long will
it take me to get well?”
“That depends a good deal upon yourself,” returned mamma. “When you
feel like it, you may begin to sit up. And you must keep as cheerful as
possible. Are you not hungry?”
He thought he was presently; but he made a wry face over the beef tea.
“Can’t I have something besides this?” he asked. “I am so tired of it!”
“Then you may take it hereafter as medicine, and we will find a new
article of diet. I am glad that you are sufficiently improved to desire
a change. I will see what I can find for you.”
She was as good as her word; and Mrs. Whitcomb brought him up the
cunningest tea in the old-fashioned china, and a fresh nosegay of spice
pinks lying beside his plate.
“O, how delightful they are! I am very much obliged,” he said,
gratefully.
That evening Kate Fairlie and her brother Dick came over to call upon
us.
“I heard your invalid was out of danger, or I should not have
ventured,” she began, after the first greetings were over, “for it is
not a call of condolence merely. Fan, aren’t you glad school is over?
But what can you find to occupy yourself with? I am actually bored to
death already. We are to have some company from the city next week, and
we want to get up a picnic to go to Longmeadow. Won’t you two girls
join, and the young Mr. Duncan who isn’t sick? Dick thinks him such a
funny fellow. Where is he? Can’t I have an introduction? The boys all
seem to know him very well. And is it true that they are so rich?”
“They are very well provided for,” said Fan, quietly.
“And was that handsome man who came to church with you one Sunday, not
long ago, their brother? Has he gone to make the grand tour of Europe?
O, how I _do_ envy people who can go abroad!”
“He has gone to England on some business. He has been to Europe before.”
“Wasn’t he charming? How I should have enjoyed such a visitor! Mother
says that father might give us a winter in Paris just as well as not.
It would perfect my French so much!”
“Do you mean to teach?” asked Fan.
She had such a droll way of clipping the wings of Kate’s higher flights.
“Well, I should think not, Fanny Endicott! But I want to be fitted for
elegant society. I shall go to Washington a while in the winter; that I
am sure of, for my aunt has invited me; and she has no children—so she
will be glad to have me. And so I mean to make a brilliant marriage.”
“That’s all girls think about,” growled Dick.
“O, no,” returned Fan; “some have to think about darning stockings,
and making pies, and altering over their last summer’s dresses. And
some of them think about the future, whether they will be teacher or
dress-maker, or step over to the strong-minded side and keep books or
lecture.”
“I hope neither of you two girls will be strong-minded,” exclaimed
Dick. “Your father does not believe in it at all; and it doesn’t seem
the thing for women to be running round the country lecturing and
haggling with men about money.”
“But, Dick, they have to haggle with the butcher, and baker, and
candlestick-maker, and dry-goods clerk. And they have to scrub floors
and go out washing, and all that. I am afraid I _would_ rather be Anna
Dickinson, even if it is heterodox.”
“And have people laughing about you,” put in Kate, loftily.
“They do not laugh very much when you are a success, I have observed,”
was Fan’s reply.
[Illustration: ROSE’S ENCOUNTER WITH STUART. Page 82.]
“O, don’t let us bother about this humbug. We want to talk over the
picnic. Annie and Chris Fellows are going, and the Hydes, and the
Wests, and the Elsdens. In fact only the nicest people have been asked.
We want it to be select. I should have come to you right in the
first of it but for the sickness. Mrs. Hyde and Mrs. West are going to
take charge of the party. We will have croquet and games, and a little
dancing. Longmeadow is such a lovely place! You must go.”
“We shall have to see what mamma says about it,” I made answer, “and if
we can be spared.”
“Why, there is Nelly and all the others to help take care of the
baby. I am glad we never had any babies to bother with. I should feel
dreadfully if I had a sister. Mamma wouldn’t care half so much for me.”
“Mother-love goes around a good ways,” I said, a trifle resentfully.
“Yes. I don’t believe there is another woman in all Wachusett who loves
her girls any better than your mother,” spoke up Dick, who always had
been mamma’s great admirer. “And on the whole, I don’t know any girls
who have a better time at home.”
“I believe Dick would like our mamma to open a foundling hospital,”
said Kate, with a sneer. “As it is, he keeps the barn full of dogs and
cats, for we will not have them in the house.”
Stuart came up the walk, and Fan called him. He was tall and well-grown
for his sixteen years, and Kate was delighted with him. He accepted her
invitation at once but we were not prepared to give a positive answer.
But Mrs. Hyde came over the next morning and explained it to mamma. It
was to be very select; that is, only rich people were to be invited.
We stood on the boundary line. As daughters of a clergyman we could
visit the poor without contamination, and the wealthier people were not
expected to pass us by. So we had the best of both. But Fan declared
that it was sometimes hard work getting squeezed into all sorts of
places, whether you fitted or not.
“But the great business of this life is to make yourself fit,” papa
always declared.