tears falling almost as fast as hers, while between them they half
carried, half dragged the insensible form into the adjoining room and
laid it tenderly down upon a lounge.
Poor children! so utterly overwhelmed were they by their mother's
helpless condition, superadded to all the other causes for anxiety,
perplexity and distress, so taken up with efforts for her restoration to
consciousness, that they scarcely heard the cries of the sick little
ones, who could not understand why they were thus left alone, or the
calls of their father who had roused from sleep and missed his gentle
nurse; nor did they notice who it was that came in through the open
kitchen door and silently assisted them, raising the window blind and
sprinkling water on the still white face.
At last Mrs. Keith's eyes unclosed and she started up asking faintly
"What is it? have I been ill?" then fell back again completely
exhausted.
"You were faint, mother dear," said Mildred, vainly striving to steady
her voice, "but lie still for a while and I hope you will get over it.
You have been doing too much and must rest now."
"Rest, child! how can I? There is your father calling me. And the
children are crying."
She started up again but with the same result as before.
"My poor sick husband! my little ailing children! what is to become of
you?" she sighed, tears stealing from beneath the closed eyelids and
trickling down the pale cheeks.
"Mother, I will do my best," sobbed Mildred; "only lie and rest
yourself."
"And I am here to assist, and able to do it," said a somewhat harsh,
discordant voice, though there was in it a tone of kindness too.
Then they looked up and saw standing near, the stiff, angular figure of
Damaris Drybread.
"You?" Mildred exclaimed in utter surprise.
"Yes, I, Miss Keith. Did you think there was none of the milk of human
kindness in me? My school's broke up by this pestilence, and only one of
our family has took the fever yet; so when I heard that you were nearly
all down sick here, and your girl had gone off and left you, I said to
myself, 'There's a duty for you there, Damaris Drybread; go right away
and do it,' And I came."
"And it was very, very kind in you," Mildred said, extending her hand.
"I have hardly deserved it from you, for I've judged you, harshly."
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if I'd done the same to you," Damaris answered
coldly, taking the offered hand only to drop it again instantly. "But
that's neither here nor there; and I don't ask no thanks. I'm only
tryin' to be a good Samaritan to you, because we're told, 'Go, and do
thou likewise.'"
The cries of the children had become so piteous and importunate that
Mildred rushed away to attend to them.
Her father's calls had ceased and as the little ones quieted down she
could hear a manly voice speaking to him in gentle soothing tones.
"It is the doctor," she thought, with an emotion somewhat akin to
pleasure; he was so sorely needed and had not called since the previous
night; but on going in she found Mr. Lord by the bedside.
He turned, showing a face full of sympathy and concern, and held out his
hand.
"This is kind," she said, putting hers into it.
"My poor child!" he responded feelingly, raising the hand to his lips in
his absent way, "my heart aches for you. And there are many others in
like affliction; many others! all round the country people are sick,
dying; many of them simply for lack of suitable nourishment."
The tears rolled down his manly cheeks as he spoke, and the sight of
them did not lower him in the girl's esteem.
"And what can I do?" he went on. "I know nothing of cooking; I can only
carry them crackers to sustain their poor bodies, and try to feed their
souls with the bread of life. I feel for them all; but for you--O,
Mildred, dear girl, what can I do to help and comfort you in this
extremity?"
"We have need of nurses. Mother--"
But with that word she broke into uncontrollable weeping; suppressed,
for fear of disturbing her father, who had fallen into a doze--but
shaking her whole frame with its violence.
It distressed her listener. He made a step toward her, a gesture as if
he would fold her in his arms, but drew hastily back, blushing and
confused as the door opened and Dr. Grange came in.
[Illustration]
Chapter Twenty-Fifth
"All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever."
--SHELLEY.
"AH, good morning, my dear child! Good morning, sir," the doctor said in
an undertone, giving his hand to Mildred and the minister in turn. Then
with an anxious glance at the bed "How is he? sleeping now, I see. How
did he rest through the night?"
"Not very well, and--"
"Your mother? where is she? not down too?" with almost a groan, as he
read the truth in the young girl's face.
Mildred led him to her. She lay on the lounge still, with closed eyes
and face of deathly pallor, her cheek resting against the dark curls of
Rupert, who had thrown himself on the floor by her side, and laid his
head on the same pillow, while he held one of her hands, caressing it
tenderly.
His cheeks were burning, his eyes sparkling with fever.
The doctor glanced from one to the other. "Ought to be in bed; both of
you. Go my boy, at once; you are not fit to be here."
"I can't, sir, indeed; I'm needed to take care of the others."
"You will help most by giving up at once," said the doctor; "otherwise
you will make yourself so sick as to need a great deal of attention."
"Yes, go, my dear boy," whispered Mrs. Keith.
"I will, since you bid me, darling mother," he answered, pressing his
hot lips to her cheek, then tottering from the room.
She looked after him with sad, pitying eyes, "So sick, and your mother
not able to nurse you! Mildred, my poor dear child, how are you to stand
it?" she sighed, turning them upon her daughter's face as she bent over
her.
"Try not to be troubled and anxious, my dear madam," said the doctor,
"the more quiet and free from care you can keep your mind, the better
for you. Trust the Lord that all will come out right."
"I will; he is all my hope and trust for myself and for my dear ones,"
she answered, with almost her accustomed cheerfulness. "Things look
very dark but 'behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened that it cannot
save; neither his ear heavy that it cannot hear.'"
"And he has sent us some help already," observed Mildred; "from a most
unexpected quarter."
Damaris came in at that moment from the kitchen, saluted the doctor in
her usual formal way, and turning to Mrs. Keith, remarked,
"I hope you're not going to be very sick; but you'd ought to go to bed
for to-day, anyhow. Don't you say so, doctor?"
"I do most emphatically," answered the physician, who had seated himself
at the table and was busied in measuring out medicines; "and I'm very
glad, Miss Damaris, to see you here."
"It appeared to be my duty to come," she said, looking not ill-pleased;
"I'm no great nurse, but I can do housework and cook for sick or well;
and them things is as necessary as the nursing."
"Certainly," said Dr. Grange, and went on to give directions to her
concerning the proper food for his patients, and to Mildred in regard to
the administering of medicines and other remedies.
He made his round among them, pronounced Zillah much better, Mr. Keith
slightly so. He was silent as to the little boys, and Mildred's heart
was full of anguish as she perceived from his countenance, or thought
she did, that their recovery was still very doubtful.
Mr. Lord had remained at Mr. Keith's bedside while the doctor and
Mildred were absent from the room, and was still there when they
returned. He looked perplexed and ill at ease.
"I have no skill in nursing," he said; "never have had any experience;
am in fact a very unsuitable person for the task; being very absent
minded, as you both know. But if I can be of any service, I--Miss
Mildred, I can sit here and hand anything he asks for, call you if he
needs your assistance, and give the medicines, if you will be good
enough to remind me when it is time to do so."
The offer was gladly accepted and the new nurse entered upon his duties
immediately.
Yet even with these new and unexpected helps it was clearly impossible
for the weary girl to give proper attention to five very sick persons,
and two who were barely convalescent. Her heart was overwhelmed; the
burden heavier than she could bear.
But blessed be God, the God of Israel, his people need not bear their
griefs and anxieties alone; he bids them not.
"Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee." "Call upon
me in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify
me."
These and other like great and precious promises were brought home with
power and sweetness to Mildred's mind in this time of deep distress and
anguish, and kept her from sinking beneath the load.
"O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee." "For thou,
Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favor wilt thou compass him as with
a shield."
There seemed no earthly friend left to come to Mildred's aid; she could
think of none. Claudina Chetwood and Lucilla Grange were both themselves
lying upon sick beds; so were all her lady acquaintances in Pleasant
Plains except such as, like herself, had their hands more than full with
the care of the sick in their own families; and Aunt Wealthy was so far,
far away that before a message could reach her, they might all be in
their graves.
How long it seemed since she went away! how long since the beginning of
this dreadful sickly season that had, as it were, shut her (Mildred)
away from all pleasant social intercourse with her young companions into
her own little world of trial and trouble!
It was a comfort that some one was attending to domestic affairs, some
one sitting with her sick father and Rupert, who now shared his bed; but
ah, she could not more than half attend to the pressing needs of the
others.
The day was intensely hot, scarce a breath of air stirring though every
door and window stood wide open. The little boys feverish and restless,
wanted to be fanned every moment, and called almost incessantly for
"cold fresh water."
The others craved it, too; and it could be had only from the spring at
the foot of the steep river bank. And ice being an unknown luxury in
Pleasant Plains at that period, it could not be kept cool for any length
of time.
She did not feel at liberty to call upon either Miss Drybread or Mr.
Lord for this service, and as the one judged it unnecessary that the
water should be brought frequently and the other was too absent-minded
to think of offering to bring it, and she could not leave her charges to
go herself, even if her strength had been equal to the effort in
addition to all the other demands upon it, she could but endure the
pain of seeing the loved ones suffer from thirst.
"Water, water, cold water, Milly," sobbed little Don.
"This is cold water, dear," she said holding a cup to his lips.
"No, 'tisn't right cold," he fretted, pushing it away; "it doesn't taste
good. Oh, send somebody to bring cold, _cold_ water!"
She set down the cup and burst into tears.
Absorbed in her grief and distress, she did not hear the gate gently
opened and shut again, or a step coming up the path, across the porch,
through the hall and into the room where she sat weeping such bitter
tears as she had never wept before.
But it was a cautious tread; as of one who feared to disturb the sick,
as was the fact. With that fear before his eyes Wallace Ormsby had taken
thought even to come in slippered feet.
He should have paused at the room door till invited to enter, but forgot
everything else at sight of Mildred's distress, and never stopped till
he was close at her side.
"O, Mildred, dear Mildred, what is it? what can I do to help and comfort
you?" he said in tones tremulous with love and pity, as he bent over her
and took her hand in his.
She started with surprise, but the hand was not withdrawn, and the lips
and eyes smiled faintly through the rain of tears as she looked up into
his noble face and read there ardent affection and deep sympathy in her
sorrow.
"Surely you will let me help you in this dreadful time when there's no
more proper person to do it?" he said with earnest entreaty. "Why should
we care for conventionalities now? You are weak and worn out, in sore
need of assistance; I am well and strong, able and more than willing to
give it. Say, may I not stay here by your side and help with this
nursing?"
"Water, cold water!" sobbed Don, "oh, go get cold water for me and
Cyril."
"Yes, Wallace, Mr. Ormsby," Mildred said, the tears coursing down her
cheeks, "I cannot sacrifice them to conventionalities, and so gladly
accept your kind offer of help."
"Oh, don't talk! go get water, quick!" fretted Don, "I can't wait,
Milly, what makes you so naughty to me?"
Wallace seized a pitcher standing near, and hastened to the spring. He
was no stranger to the premises and knew the way.
For the next fortnight he had what he considered the blessed privilege
of sharing Mildred's burdens, griefs and cares; watching with her over
each of those dear ones as they passed through the crisis of the
disease, and the first stages of the after convalescence; for they all
recovered; a fact which the parents and older children recognized with
deep heart-felt gratitude to Him to whom "belong the issues from death."
Nor did they forget the thanks due their earthly helpers and friends.
The minister held a warmer place than before in the hearts of these
parishioners, and Damaris Drybread received a substantial reward for her
services; which, as she was dependent upon her own exertions for a
livelihood, was not declined.
That fearful sickly season passed away; but not soon to be forgotten by
the survivors, and comparative health and prosperity again dawned upon
the town and surrounding country.
The Keiths returned to their old busy cheerful life, and Wallace Ormsby,
beloved by the whole family, seemed as one of them. Years of ordinary
social intercourse could not have brought him into so close an intimacy
with them, and especially with Mildred, as those two weeks in which they
two shared the toils, the cares and anxieties of those who watch by beds
of sickness that may end in death.
They had learned to know each other's faults and weaknesses, strong
points and virtues, and with the knowledge their mutual esteem and
admiration had but increased; they had been warm friends before, now
they were--not plighted lovers, Ormsby had not spoken yet--but
"To his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him."
[Illustration: _The End_]
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Numerous punctuation printing errors were corrrected.
Page 22, words obscurred "the little" is presumed from context and
partial letters (interruptions from the little)
Page 77, "th" changed to "the" (into her parlor, the)
Page 93, "Rhode" changed to "Rhoda" (you neither, Rhoda Jane)
Page 101, "you you" changed to "see you" (he wants to see you)
Page 124, "the're" changed to "they're" (Jane? they're gimp)
Page 159, "n" changed to "an" (has an old faded)
Page 179, "Jan" changed to "Jane" ("slicked up," as Rhoda Jane)
Page 180, "ooked" changed to "looked" (looked out upon the)
Page 182, parts of text missing on left margin bottom of page. "mark"
and "ource" completed as "remark" and "resource" (remark upon the
weather) (resource when all other)
Page 195, "a" changed to "at" (passed between them at)
Page 196, "w d" presumed to be "walked" (as he walked away)
Page 210, "eying" changed to "eyeing" (eyeing it disapprovingly)
Page 216, the original of this text credits T. H. Baylie as the author
of the poetry couplet. The actual spelling is (Thomas Haines) Bayly.
Page 246, "t" changed to "it" (it was innocently)
Page 251, word "I" added to text to fill in space ("I found Ada down,
too,")
Page 264, "ther" changed to "there" (but after all there)
Page 315, word "and" added to text in space (street. Doors and)
Page 315, "s d" changed to "seemed" (scarcely any one seemed)
Page 326, "whatever the" changed to "whatever there is." (whatever there
is)