THE LITTLE MOTHER TO THE RESCUE.
Yes, the lost children were found, but little Diana was very ill. The
blow she had received on her head had developed into inflammation of
the brain. She was highly feverish, and did not in the least know what
she was saying. Fortune immediately made up her mind not to leave her.
After standing by her bedside for a minute or two, she went into the
next room and asked Mrs. Darling if she would take a fly and go with
little Orion to Delaney Manor.
"You are going to your own home, my poor little boy," said the nurse,
"and please tell your uncle and Iris and Apollo that I am staying here
to look after Diana."
The little boy was so excited at the prospect of being home once more
that he forgot any small anxieties which he had experienced with
regard to Diana. He started off, therefore, with Mrs. Darling in the
highest spirits, and Fortune returned to the bedside of the sick
child. Within a couple of hours after Orion's departure, Mr. Dolman
arrived in person. When he saw Diana he immediately insisted on the
best doctor in the place being sent for to see her.
The medical man arrived; but, when he did so, he shook his head.
"The child is dangerously ill," he said. "I could not hear of her
being moved at present. She must have absolute quiet and good
nursing."
"I'm going to nurse her," said Fortune.
"A properly trained nurse would be best," said the doctor.
"I and no other am going to nurse her," repeated Fortune.
She had taken off her bonnet and mantle and was seated quietly by the
bedside. No one could look more capable, more determined, than the
American woman did on this occasion. The doctor saw that he must give
way.
"Haven't I done for her from the blessed moment when she was sent from
heaven into her mother's arms?" continued Fortune. "I shall nurse her
now, whether it's the will of the Almighty that she lives or dies."
At these words, little Diana opened her great, black eyes.
"And you'll never know fear
Any more, little dear,"
she said in a voice of intense satisfaction. Then she looked up at
Fortune, and raised her brow in a puzzled manner.
"I aren't fwightened of G'eased Lightning," she said. A smile broke
over her little face, then the light of reason once more faded, and
she entered the dark region of delirium and danger.
The doctor did all he could and Fortune did all she could, and
presently Aunt Jane appeared on the scene, and insisted on seeing the
child, and shook her head over her and cried a little privately; but,
in spite of all their efforts to get her well again, little Diana
grew weaker, day by day. She did not know Fortune, except at very
rare intervals. Day and night she talked incessantly of her past life,
of the beautiful garden, of the animals, of Rub-a-Dub, and more
especially of Rub-a-Dub's public funeral. She also mentioned Greased
Lightning and Pole Star, and Uncle Ben and the circus; but when she
talked of them her voice changed; it grew high, eager, and excited,
and her little breath panted out of her weary body. She often ended
her delirious talk with a cry of distress.
"Oh, I has fallen," she said, with a sob. "I has fallen from the
wing." Then she would clasp both her hot hands to her aching head, and
moan bitterly.
The doctor was very anxious about her, and Fortune was very sad, and
so was Uncle William, and even Aunt Jane.
The cablegram was sent to father, and they all earnestly hoped that he
was already on his homeward way.
Meanwhile, at the Manor, Iris, Apollo, and Orion had a hard time. It
is true that they were no longer fettered or coerced in any way. Aunt
Jane took scarcely any notice of them, and Uncle William spent most of
his time alone. The three children could come in and out of the house
as they pleased; they could wander about the garden where four used to
play happily; they could visit the old haunts that four used to love;
but because the fourth was now absent, the joy and the mirth of the
old days seemed quite to have left the remaining three.
As time went by, Iris grew whiter and whiter. Often she wandered away
by herself, and flinging herself on the ground, would moan out her
distress.
"Mother, mother," she used to sob, "I have not done what you told me;
I have not been a little mother. Can you ever forgive me? Oh, if Diana
dies, I am certain that I shall never forgive myself."
At last, when a fortnight had passed by, Iris had a dream. She never
told her dream to anyone, but she got up that morning with a very
determined expression on her small face. After breakfast she went
straight downstairs to the library, and spoke to Uncle William.
"Uncle William," she said, "I want to say that I am going to see
Diana."
"My dear," said Uncle William, who was furtively at that moment wiping
a tear from his eye, "I greatly fear that you cannot do so; we have
had bad news of little Diana this morning. I greatly fear, Iris, that
she will not be long with us; her strength is going, and there is
little chance of the fever abating. The doctor has but a small hope of
her recovery--in fact, I may almost say that he has no hope."
"It is a fortnight since Diana was found, and you have never let me
see her yet," continued Iris; "but I am going to her to-day. I had a
dream last night," she continued, "and in my dream I--But I'm not
going to say anything more, only I must see Diana to-day."
"I am afraid you cannot do so, Iris," replied Uncle William.
"And why not, if the child has the wish?" remarked Aunt Jane suddenly.
Until that moment Iris had no idea that Aunt Jane was in the room. She
started now when she heard her voice; but reading the expression on
her face, she ran up to her eagerly.
"If you are for it, Aunt Jane, it will be all right," she cried.
"Please have a carriage ordered this minute and let me go."
"I would not, if I were you, wife," said Uncle William. "You see how
delicate Iris is already, and the sight of her little sister would
shock her dreadfully."
"She may just as well go," said Aunt Jane. "In my opinion, it would be
wrong to leave any stone unturned, and Iris always had a remarkable
influence over the other children. Besides, my dear William, when
David comes back, I should not like Iris to have to tell him that I
refused what, after all, is a very natural request."
"Aunt Jane, I love you for those words," said Iris.
Aunt Jane's face quite flushed when Iris said she loved her. She went
across the room and rang the bell.
"Desire the pony carriage to be sent round directly," was her order to
the servant when he appeared.
Accordingly, in less than half an hour, Iris and Aunt Jane were
driving into Madersley. They went straight to the humble house where
the Darlings lived. The greater part of the house was given up to
little Diana and her nurse.
"Please, Aunt Jane," said Iris, as they approached the door; "may I go
into Diana's room by myself? I don't want anyone to be with me when I
see her."
"You may have it your way, Iris," said Aunt Jane. "I interfered once,
and I believe I did wrong; now you shall have it your own way."
"Thank you, Aunt Jane," answered Iris. She scarcely looked at her
aunt; all her thoughts were centered on the mission which she had
taken in hand. When the carriage drew up at the humble door, the
child ran straight into the house.
"Who may you be, little miss?" said Bessie Darling, who had never seen
her before.
"I am the sister of Diana; I am a mother to the others," said Iris.
"Sakes alive!" exclaimed the woman. "You a mother? Why, you poor
little mite, you look as if you wanted a deal of mothering yourself."
"Please tell me what room my sister is in," said Iris, removing her
hat as she spoke.
Bessie Darling stared at her for a moment, then she pointed to a door.
Iris turned the handle and entered the room.
It was a hot day, and the window was wide open; a green blind was down
to keep out the glare of the sun; there was a quantity of ice in a
great pail in one corner of the room, and, as Iris softly entered,
Fortune was in the act of putting a fresh cold cloth on the sick
child's forehead.
Little Diana was murmuring her ceaseless refrain:
"You'll never know fear,
Any more, little dear.
Good-by."
"Why, Diana!" said Iris.
Iris's voice was quite fresh. It had a different note in it from all
the voices which for weeks had sounded in little Diana's ears. She was
lying in a partial stupor, but now she opened her eyes very wide.
"Iris," she said; "Iris." And a smile broke all over her face.
Iris ran up to the bedside. She was always quiet in her manner; great
excitement only accentuated her quiet. She knelt down at once by the
sick child, and took both her hot hands in hers.
"Darling," she said, "I am your little mother, and I have come back to
you."
"That's beautiful," answered Diana. She uttered a very deep sigh. She
had been tossing restlessly about, but now her hot hands lay quiet in
Iris'.
As to Fortune, she was so amazed that she did not utter a word.
"Go to sleep, Di," said Iris, in a voice of authority; "I am your
little mother, and I wish you to go to sleep."
"It's awfu' nice to be mothered again," said Diana. She opened her
eyes languidly, fixed them on Iris, smiled once more, and then the
thick lashes fell over the pale cheeks. In about five minutes she was
sound asleep.
Little Diana had often slept during the past fortnight, but during all
that time she had had no sleep like this--so quiet, so restful. Iris,
kneeling by her side, never moved.
"Let me give you a chair or you'll faint, my love," said Fortune, in a
low whisper.
Iris shook her head.
Soon afterwards Fortune softly left the room, and then there fell a
deep and solemn silence over the little house.
Aunt Jane, Bessie Darling, and Fortune all sat in the outer room. The
heat grew greater; they opened both door and window, and a gentle
breeze now blew through the sick-room. The child slept on. The little
mother kneeling by her side remained as still as if she was carved in
marble.
About four in the afternoon the doctor came in.
"Who is this?" he whispered, looking at Iris.
"It's the eldest little sister, sir," said Fortune; "she came down
here this morning quite unbidden, and she told the little one that she
was her mother, and the little one smiled and went off sound asleep
directly."
The doctor, too, retreated into the outer room.
"It is my belief that the little girl has saved the child's life," he
said. "Whatever you do, don't make a sound; my little patient has not
slept like this since the beginning of her illness. This sleep will
probably be the turning-point. I shall not be far off; send for me
whenever she awakens."
The day wore on, the evening approached; and Iris still knelt by
Diana's side, and Diana still slept. The sick child had no dreams in
that healthful, beautiful, life-restoring slumber. Slowly, hour by
hour, the fret and the worry left the little face, the burning fever
departed, the little brow grew cool and calm; smiles--baby
smiles--came once more round the lips; the old child-look--the old
Diana-look--returned.
Iris knelt on. Her knees ached, her arms ached, her head ached; she
grew stiff; she grew first hot and then cold; but never once did she
move or swerve from her original position. The great joy of her spirit
supported her through the terrible ordeal. At long, long last she was
really a little mother; she was saving Diana's life.
Now and then Fortune approached to hold a cup of milk or other
restorative to Iris' pale lips. She feared that the child might faint
before Diana awoke. But great love enabled Iris to go through this
time of suffering. She neither fainted nor failed.
The beautiful healing sleep lasted for nearly eight hours; then, when
faint, cool shadows had stolen across the sick room, little Diana
opened her eyes. She saw Iris still kneeling in the same position and
looking at her with a world of love in her face. Diana smiled back in
answer to the love.
"I's k'ite well, Iris," she said. "I's had a beaut'ful s'eep, and
there's not going to be a pwivate nor yet a public funeral."
"No, no, Di!" said Iris, sobbing now as she spoke.
"I's hung'y," said little Diana. "I'd like my supper awfu' much."
* * * * *
The crisis was over, and Diana was to live. From that hour she
recovered, slowly but surely. Iris was allowed to be with her a good
deal, and the mere fact of Iris being in the room always seemed to
chase the irritation and the weakness of that long recovery away. At
the end of a fortnight the sick child was well enough to return to
Delaney Manor. Then, from being half well she became quite well, and
when the autumn really came, and the cool breezes blew in from the
sea, father returned to his home once more, and he and Aunt Jane had a
long talk, and it was finally arranged that the four children were to
remain in the old home, and were to play in the old garden, and that
father was to stay at home himself and look after them as best he
could.
"They are not ordinary children, and I frankly confess I cannot manage
them," said Aunt Jane. "As to Iris, she is without exception the most
peculiar child I ever came across; I know, of course, she is a good
child--I would not say a word to disparage her, for I admire her
strength--but when a child considers that she has got a mission----"
"I know all about that," said David Delaney.
"Iris thinks that she is to be a little mother to the others--those
were Evangeline's last words to her. Well, Jane, it is a heavy burden
for such a little creature to carry, but the fact of her obeying her
mother's last injunction really saved little Diana's life."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Mother to the Others, by L. T. Meade