When I was again aware of living I heard things hazily, quite as if
there were a thick wall between me and the voices of the people who
stood so anxiously bending over me.
“I tell you, Archie, the child was _strangled_,” I heard Aunt Penelope
say. “And Heaven only knows what may happen next, with all the
Bolsheviki around--can’t you do something (Amy, put down that revolver,
you are driving me crazy!)--and Evelyn, right in the next room, hearing
nothing. . . . And said she wasn’t asleep. . . . Amy, if you don’t sit
down I will scream! And Ito, right in the pantry, by the fire-escape, on
which he must have climbed (if it was a he), and how he got up I don’t
know. . . . And you say there’s no danger, doctor? . . . The only child
of my _dear_ dead sister, and what will happen next? . . . The only
thing, of course, is to remain _calm_ (Amy, can’t you stop wiggling?
There _are_ limits.), and I suppose to maintain calm is the only
sensible proceeding---- _What was that?_” She screamed the last, and I
sat up.
The doctor was almost rude about telling her to be quiet. And then he
ordered them all out and sat down on the edge of my bed.
“Anyone you especially want to see?” he asked.
I said I didn’t think so.
“Sure?” he asked.
“You’d better not sit with your back to the window,” I advised. Then he
took hold of my hand. “There is no danger in windows,” he said in a
level, awfully sure voice. “What hurt you won’t hurt you again. . .” And
he said it so that I believed him at the time.
“Now about someone to sit with you to-night. The ladies, it seems, all
have engagements, and I’ve urged them to keep them. Thought the normal
might give them a balance.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” I answered. “Jane can look in once in a while.”
But without meaning to I looked at the window. The doctor frowned, and I
was ashamed. I told him about how I had been chased and that that had
upset me a little. And that I was usually brave. He said he thought I
was splendid, and that he wasn’t angry with me.
“Sam Kempwood who helped you out of that scrape?” he questioned.
I nodded.
“Bully chap,” he said. “I know him.”
I said I thought he was one of the nicest men that I’d ever met. That
you could tell it.
“Suppose he comes up and plays nurse?” the doctor suggested.
I smiled. “That would be lovely,” I admitted after a long breath, for
even then I really loved Mr. Kempwood, “but I am sure it will bore him.
You see, I don’t know how to entertain people the way my cousin Evelyn
does.”
But the doctor said that _I_ was to be entertained, and that he’d stop
at Mr. Kempwood’s on the way down. And then he wrapped me up in a pink
comforter and carried me out to the living-room, where he put me on a
wide lounge which stands before the fire.
“Now Hannah, or Molly, or whatever your name is,” he said to Jane, “you
stay with this child until I come back.” And Jane did, but she wasn’t
much help. She was so awfully frightened and kept jumping and looking
around. . . . In just a few moments the bell rang, and I heard the men
in the hall. . . . “Just a little while will change the trend and help
her,” the doctor said. “The rest have cleared out and good riddance!
Weren’t any good. . . . Awfully decent of you, Kempwood.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Mr. Kempwood; “hadn’t anything to do.”
“Well, don’t make a long business of it,” said the doctor; “just a few
moments will help. The child’s evident admiration for you led me to
think that you could help her most.” And then they stopped talking and
tiptoed in. I smiled at Mr. Kempwood and tried to tell him how grateful
I was to him for coming up, but it was not easy to talk.
“Never mind about that,” he said gently. And then he sat down by me, and
showed me some pictures which I couldn’t see very well, because my sight
was so blurred.
“Suppose,” he said, “we’re quiet----” And I nodded. And then he took
hold of my hand and patted it, and it helped a great deal. And I don’t
know how it happened, but, somehow, I was telling him how I had hated
coming to New York, how I missed Uncle Frank and Bradly-dear, and about
the cricket that stays in the earth for three years. Then my eyes
filled--I could feel them--and I whispered: “It’s only been _three
days_.”
“My _dear_ child!” he answered, and I could see he was awfully sorry for
me. He patted terribly hard. That helped too, but it made me smile.
After that one tear slipped over the edge, and, because I hadn’t a
handkerchief, he wiped it off with his. I thanked him very much, and
then I said: “I don’t ever cry.”
“So I see,” he answered, and he smiled, but so gently that I didn’t
mind.
I said: “I don’t really. That is, not when I’m well. I hadn’t before
to-night for ages.”
“You didn’t to-night,” he answered, and so cheerfully. “‘One swallow
doesn’t make a summer,’ so certainly one tear doesn’t make a cry!” And I
was so glad he thought I hadn’t.
“When you want to cry hard,” I confided further, “swallowing very
quickly again and again will stall it. It’s a great help----”
And he said: “You little _sport_!” And I began to feel happier. He
looked at me so nicely, it warmed me up, and my throat began to feel
better. I asked him when he had to go, and he said not until I was so
sick of him that I would have Jane throw him out. Then again we were
quiet.
“Look here,” he said after a few moments, “don’t you like baseball?”
I nodded as hard as my stiff throat would let me.
“Well,” he went on, “don’t you think your aunt would let you go to the
big games with me next year?”
I sat up. “Oh,” I said, “if she _only_ would!”
“We’ll see that she will. But that’s a long way off. We’ll have to have
good times before _that_. Ever been to the Hippodrome?” I said I hadn’t,
and he described it. I became very interested, for it sounded like a
sort of glorified circus. I had to lie down again, for I began to feel
dizzy and sick, but he went right on talking of it as he arranged the
pillows for me and made me comfortable.
Then I thought of the bracelet and asked for Jane. Mr. Kempwood rang,
and she came. I told her I wanted a white satin box that stood on my
bureau, and asked her please to get it. When she brought it back I held
it for several minutes without opening it, and then I shut my eyes and
felt. The bracelet was there.
I put it on, and then after a little interval I told Mr. Kempwood the
whole story. I couldn’t talk loudly, but he leaned over and got it all.
“Dear child,” he said, “that’s utter nonsense.”
I looked at it and shook my head.
“Give it to me,” he said; “I have a wall safe, and I’ll take charge of
it for you.”
I shook my head. “You said you’d take me to the league games,” I
answered. “I’m not going to run any risks!” And then we both laughed. He
did some more urgings, but I did not give in, for I knew that it was my
battle, and I meant to fight it out. I didn’t think I could ever hold up
my head if I evaded it, and then--I couldn’t bear the idea of its
hurting Mr. Kempwood. I told him so. “And not entirely because of those
games,” I admitted honestly, “but because I like you, a great deal.”
He answered me quickly. “Natalie,” he said (I had told him my name as I
related the story of the bracelet), “let’s be friends. For I like you
too, and,” he added after a pause, “a great deal.”
That began my friendship with Mr. Kempwood, which helped me in so many
ways and came to mean so much.