AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
Ever since they had lived in the valley, it had been Nelly's habit,
when she got up in the morning, to go at once to the eastern window
in her room and look out at Pike's Peak. She loved the mountain now
just as much as she had when she first saw it; and her first thought
in the morning always was:--
"I wonder if Pike is clear."
The next morning after Mr. Kleesman's letter came, Nelly slept late.
She had been out all the day before with Rob, who had fished far
down the creek, and led her a long, hard chase through the grape
thickets and wet meadows. They had caught two basketsful of trout,
which were pretty heavy to lug home; and both Rob and Nelly were so
tired that they went to bed the minute they had eaten supper, and
hardly spoke while they were undressing. When Nelly waked, she knew
by the light in her room that it must be late. She sprang up and ran
to the window. As soon as she looked out, she exclaimed "Why!" and
rubbed her eyes and looked again. She could not believe what she
saw.
"Rob! Rob!" she called. But Rob was fast asleep, and did not hear
her. She slipped her feet into her slippers, and ran into his room
(he slept in a tiny room opening out of hers: it was not much bigger
than a closet, and only held a little narrow bed and one chair).
"Rob! Rob!" she said, shaking him, "get up! Come look out of the
window."
"You let me be," said Rob, sleepily: "what is it?"
"Tents! Rob, tents! Four splendid great tents, right close to the
wheat-barn. Do get up! Who do you suppose it is?"
"Tents!" cried Rob, as wide awake in one second as if the house were
on fire, "tents! hurrah! I hope it's those men with instruments that
came last summer. I'm going right down to see." And Rob bounced out
of bed, and began to toss his clothes on at a furious rate. Nelly
also made great haste; and, in less time than you would have thought
possible, the two children were dressed and out in the lane, walking
toward the tents. When they got there, they had had their walk for
their pains: the tents were all closed up tight,--not a sign of life
about one of them. Rob and Nelly walked round and round, like two
little spies, trying to find out some sign by which they could tell
what sort of people had come into their territory; but they could
not.
"I know one thing," said Rob: "they've got splendid wagons and
horses." There were six fine horses grazing in the field; and there
was a nice covered carriage, besides the heavy white-topped wagon.
"What do you suppose the other two horses are for?" said Nelly.
"They don't have four to draw the wagon: do they?"
"I guess they're horses to ride," said Rob: "one of them isn't much
bigger than a pony. Oh, dear! I think they're real lazy people not
to get up." And Rob and Nelly walked back to the house quite
discontented. When they told their mother about the tents, she
said:--
"Oh, yes, I know it. The party came late last night, after you had
gone to bed. They sent up to the house for milk; they were very
tired; they had come all the way from Canyon City. There's a little
lame boy in the party; and the motion of the carriage hurts him. He
was quite sick last night, the nurse said."
"Oh!" said Nelly: "poor little fellow! That's the reason they
weren't up, then. I'm real sorry for him. Can't we go down there, by
and by, and see him?"
"Yes, I think so," said her mother: "this afternoon, perhaps."
Rob and Nelly sat down on the barn-doorsteps, and watched the tents.
It seemed a long time before anybody stirred. At last, a man came
out of the tent which was nearest the barn. He stood still for a
minute, looking up and down the valley. Then he gave a great stretch
and yawned very loud, and walked off towards the field where the
horses were.
"That's their man," said Rob: "he's going to water the horses. I
mean to go and talk to him."
"Oh, no, don't!" said Nelly: "let's see who comes out next."
In a few minutes more, there came out of the next tent a stout
woman, with a white cap on her head. The cap had thick fluted
ruffles all round the front.
"Oh! what a funny cap!" said Rob. "That must be the little boy's
mother."
"No," said Nelly, "I don't think so. I think that's the nurse. Mamma
said there was a nurse."
"Oh, yes!" said Rob; "she must be the nurse."
The nurse stood looking, just as the man had, up and down the
valley. Nobody could see that beautiful view without wanting to
stand still and look at it.
"She's looking at Pike now," said Nelly. "I wonder if she ever saw
such a mountain before."
The woman stood a long time without moving: then she turned and
walked slowly back to the tent. As she walked she kept looking back
over her shoulder at the mountains.
"Ah! ah!" said Nelly; "see how she looks at the mountains!"
"I should think she would," said Rob. "But I wish the boy'd come
out."
The nurse went into the tent; and presently came out, bringing a
chair all folded up into a flat shape: this she set down on the
ground in the shadow of the tent, and unfolded it, and kept on
unfolding it, till it was about as long as a lounge.
"Hullo!" said Rob, "what sort of a chair is that?"
"For the sick boy, I guess," said Nelly. "It's a kind of bed."
Then the nurse brought out pillows and blankets, and put them in it,
and then she brought out two pretty bright rugs, and spread them
down, one in front of the chair and one at its side. Next she
brought out a little table, and set it close to the chair. On this
she spread a white cloth.
"I guess he's going to have his breakfast on that," said Nelly.
Then the woman went into the tent, and did not come back again. In a
few minutes another man came out of the tent out of which the first
man had come. This man did not look about him at all. He ran to the
place where the stove stood, and began making a fire in a great
hurry.
"Oh, ho!" cried Rob: "two men! I say, Nell, they must be awfully
rich folks. They've got a cook, and a driver, besides the nurse. I
wish that boy'd come out."
"I guess if he's sick he won't get up early," said Nelly. "Don't you
remember how you used to have to lie in bed when we were at home,
Rob?"
"Oh, my! I guess I do!" said Rob. "Wasn't it horrid! I'd as
lief die as be like that again. I haven't been sick once since we came
to Colorado: have I, Nell?"
"No," said Nelly. "Don't you remember you used to say I ought to be
sick half the time: it wasn't fair for me not to be sick any and for
you to be sick all the time?"
"Did I?" said Rob: "that was real mean of me. I wouldn't say so
now."
While they were talking, they suddenly saw the nurse come out again,
and call the cook. He went in to the tent with her, and, in a moment
more, they came out again, bringing in their arms a little boy about
Rob's size.
"Oh, goodness!" cried Rob: "can't he walk? Pshaw! I hoped he'd go
fishing with me! He won't be any fun."
"Why, Rob March!" exclaimed Nelly: "you're a selfish thing. How'd
you like to be lame like that and not have anybody sorry for you?"
"Why, Nell, I am real sorry for him: I mean I expect I should be if
I knew him; but I did hope he'd go round some with me. I haven't had
a boy since we came to Colorado."
Nelly looked hurt.
"I'm sure I go everywhere that you do," she said. "You don't ever
have to be alone."
"I know it, Nell," replied Rob, meekly: "you're as good as any girl
can be,--lots better than most girls; but a boy's different. You'd
like a girl sometimes yourself: you know you would."
"I wouldn't either," retorted Nelly: "I'd rather have you than any
girl in the whole world."
The little sick boy had sharper eyes than the nurse had. She had not
seen the two children sitting on the barn-doorsteps: but the boy
spied them in a minute, and said to his nurse:--
"There are a boy and a girl sitting in that barn-door. Give me my
opera-glass: I want to see what they're like."
Then Nelly and Rob saw the boy lift up a round thing to his eyes,
and point it at them.
"He's looking at us, Rob," said Nelly, "through that thing: I saw a
gentleman have one in the cars. I shall go away: I don't want him to
look at us."
"Stop!" said Rob: "he's put it down. He's talking to his nurse."
This is what the boy was saying:--
"Flora, please go across there and ask that boy to come here: I want
to see him. Tell him I'm sick. I want to ask him if there are any
birds here,--if he can't get me a lark."
"Now, Master Arthur," the nurse replied, "you just wait till your
mamma gets up, and ask her. Perhaps she wouldn't want you to have
that boy play with you."
"You go along this minute," said Arthur, beginning to cry: "if you
don't I'll cry. You know the doctor said I was not to be crossed in
any thing. You go along, quick! Stay! you tell them both to come
here."
The nurse walked away, muttering under her breath:
"And a fine life ye'll lead them, if ye get them under your thumb,
to be sure! It's a thousand pities you ever heard that speech of the
doctor's, you poor thing."
"She's coming over here, Rob," said Nelly, as she saw the woman
walking in their direction: "what do you suppose she wants?"
"Milk or eggs, I guess," said Rob. "I can get her some splendid
fresh eggs right behind this door. Old Spotty's got her nest in
there now. The weasels got into her old nest and she won't lay there
any more."
When the nurse reached the door, she said very politely to the
children:--
"Good morning, children. Do you live here?"
"No, ma'am," said Rob, gravely.
Nelly looked at him indignantly.
"Why, Rob!" she began. But Rob went on:--
"Our oxen and cows and hens live here: we live in the house over
yonder."
Nelly laughed out, and so did the nurse.
"You have a droll tongue in your head, my boy," she said. "I came to
ask you if you wouldn't come over to the tent there and see Master
Arthur. He's in the chair there: see him? He's lame: he can't walk."
"What's the matter with him?" asked Nelly. "Was he always lame?"
"Oh, no!" said the nurse: "he got a fall when he was about six years
old, and he's been lame ever since: he's twelve now. But I must go
right back: he don't like to be alone a minute. Will you come
across?"
Rob looked at Nelly.
"Mamma said we might go this afternoon," he said: "do you think
she'd care if we went now?"
"We'd better go and ask her," answered Nelly. "You tell the little
boy we've gone to ask our mother if we may come," she said to the
nurse, and ran off with Rob to the house as fast as feet could go.
The nurse looked after them, and sighed.
"Well, those are well-brought-up children, whosever they are, to be
found out in this wilderness. Oh, but I'd like to see Master Arthur
run like that."
Flora had been little Arthur's nurse ever since he was a baby; and,
though she was often out of patience with him, she loved him dearly.
When she went back and told him what the children said, he muttered
fretfully:--
"Oh, dear! they needn't have gone to ask. Can't they go two steps
without getting leave? I should think they were babies. They looked
as old as I am."
"They're older, Master Arthur," replied Flora. "I think they are as
much as thirteen: the girl is, at any rate."
"Is the boy nice?" asked Arthur.
Flora laughed.
"He's funny," she replied. And then she told Arthur what Rob had
said when she asked him if he and his sister lived there.
Arthur smiled faintly: he hardly ever laughed. His back ached all
the time, so that he could very seldom forget it; and this constant
pain made him very nervous and irritable.
"You go up to the house and ask their mother to let them come," he
said.
"Well, dear," Flora replied, "I will, if they don't come in a few
minutes. But I'm sure they'll come, for they said their mother had
told them they might come this afternoon; and I'm sure she'll let
them come now instead."
"They can come in the afternoon too," said Arthur. "I want them all
the time."
"Well, well: I dare say they'll like to stay with you, and read your
books, and see your things, very much," said Flora.
"I'll show them my microscope," said Arthur: "that's the only thing
I've got that's good for any thing. The books are no good."
Just now the cook came up, bringing Arthur's breakfast on a tray. It
looked very nice: milk-toast, and baked apples, and poached eggs,
and a cup of nice cocoa. It was wonderful what good things Ralph
used to cook, in that little bit of a camp stove, out of doors.
Ralph had lived in the family as long as Flora, and loved poor
Arthur just as well as she did. It was into the area in front of the
basement that Arthur had fallen when he got his terrible hurt; and
Ralph had picked him up and carried him upstairs in his arms,
thinking all the way that he was dead. Ralph often said that he'd
never forget that time,--not if he should live to be a thousand
years old! He often told the story to people they met on their
journeys. Everybody took an interest in poor Arthur, and wanted to
know how he came to be so lame; but nobody liked to ask his father
or mother: so they would ask Flora or Ralph. Ralph was an
Englishman, and he had a very queer pronunciation of all words
beginning with _h_. He dropped the _h_'s off such words, and he put
them on to other words; which made his sentences sound very queer
indeed.
"It was just about height o'clock," he would say, "an' I'd just in
my 'and the 'ot water for the master's shaving; an' Thomas 'ee was a
takin' hof it out o' my 'and, when we 'ears such a screech, such a
screech, and the missus she come a flyin' hover the stairs,--I'm
blessed hif 'er feet so much as lighted hon 'em,--an' she screeching
screechin', an' 'ollerin'; an' the same minute I 'ears a noise to
the front o' the 'ouse, an' a perliceman a knockin' at the airy
door, an' the missus she got to't fust; an' if it wan't a meracle
wat was it, for 'er to 'ave come down two flights o' 'igh stairs in
less time than I could 'urry across the 'all? An' I takes Master
Harthur out o' the perliceman's 'ands; an' 'is little 'ead a 'anging
down 's if 't 'a' been snapped off. Oh! if it seemed one minute
afore I got 'im hup to the nursery it seemed a 'undred years; an'
the missus she was never 'erself again,--not till she died. She
allers said as 'ow she'd killed 'im 'erself. You see 'ee was all
alone with 'er in 'er bedroom, an' she never noticed that 'ee 'ad
gone to the window. She was never 'erself again,--never: she'd sit
an' look at 'im, an' look at 'im, an' the tears'd run down 'er face
faster'n rain. But she couldn't 'old a candle to this missus, in no
respects: not to my way o' thinkin'. It's a 'ard thing to say of
'er, bein' she's dead; but it's my 'onest opinion that she's better
in 'eaven than hearth, an' all parties better suited."
This was Ralph's story of the accident, and he told it wherever they
went. Every one was much surprised to hear that Mrs. Cook was not
Arthur's own mother; for no own mother could have shown more
patience and love than she did. She had never left Arthur for a
whole day or a whole night since she became his mother; and it
seemed as if she really thought of little else except how to invent
some new thing to amuse him, and keep him from remembering his pain.
Just as Arthur had begun to eat his breakfast, he looked up and saw
Rob and Nelly coming out of the door of the house. He pushed away
his plate, and cried:--
"Take it away! take it away! I won't eat another mouthful. That boy
and girl are coming. Take it away!"
"Oh, Master Arthur," said Flora: "indeed you must eat some more.
You'll never get well if you don't eat."
"I won't! I won't! I tell you take it away," screamed Arthur. "I am
not hungry. I hate it!"
Poor Arthur never was really hungry.
"Your mamma will be very unhappy when she comes out if you have not
eaten any thing," said Flora.
Arthur's face fell.
"Well, give me the cocoa, then, quick!" he said: "I'll drink that,
just to please mamma: that's all. She don't make me eat when I don't
want to."
At that moment Mrs. Cook came out of her tent, and hurried to
Arthur's chair.
"My darling," she said, "mamma was a lazy mamma, wasn't she, this
morning? Have you had a nice breakfast? Papa will be out in a
minute."
"Mamma! mamma!" cried Arthur, "see that boy and girl, the other side
of the fence: they're coming over to see me. I sent Flora after
them. I wish they'd hurry. Don't they walk slow?"
Mrs. Cook looked inquiringly at Flora, who explained that Master
Arthur had spied the children sitting in the barn-door, and that
nothing would do but she must go over and ask them to come and see
him.
"They seem to be most uncommon nice-spoken children for these parts,
ma'am," said Flora; "and the little girl she wouldn't come, nor let
her brother come, till she'd gone into the house and asked leave of
their mother."
Mrs. Cook was gazing very earnestly at the children, as they walked
slowly towards the tent. In a moment more she sprang to her feet,
and took two or three steps forward, and exclaimed, "Why, it is! it
is my little Nelly!" and, to Arthur's great astonishment, he saw his
mother run very fast to meet the children, and throw her arms round
the little girl's neck, and kiss her over and over again.
Nelly was so astonished and bewildered she did not know what to do.
She could not see the face of the lady who was kissing her for she
held her so tight she could not look up; and, when she did look up,
she did not at first know who the lady was.
"Why, Nelly, Nelly!" she cried; "have you forgotten me? Don't you
remember I came on in the same car with you? Why! I've been looking
for you and asking for you all over Colorado."
Then Nelly remembered; but still she looked bewildered.
"Oh, yes! Mrs. Williams. I remember you very, very well," she said;
"but you don't look a bit as you used to."
"Come here! come here!" shouted Arthur; "come right here, all of
you! Mamma, who is this girl, and what makes you kiss her?"
Arthur had been so long used to being the only child, and having all
his mother's affection showered upon him, that he really felt
uncomfortable to see her kiss another child.
"Why, Arthur! Arthur!" exclaimed his mother, leading Nelly and Rob
towards him; "don't speak so. These are old friends of mamma's that
she knew before she ever saw you. Don't you recollect my telling
you about the little boy in the cars, that threw away the onions,
and the little girl that had the nice wax doll all broken in the
crowd? These are those very same children; and isn't it wonderful
that we should have found them here? I am very glad to see them:
Nelly, Rob, this is my little boy, Arthur, and he will be more glad
to know you than you can possibly imagine; for he can't run about as
you do. He has to lie in this chair all day."
While she was speaking, Arthur had been looking very steadily at
Rob. He did not take much notice of Nelly. As soon as his mother
stopped speaking, Arthur said to Rob:--
"How do you do? Mamma told me all about your throwing away the man's
onions ever so long ago, and I used to make her tell me over and
over and over again, till she said it was almost as bad as having
onions in the house. Didn't you have fun when you did it?" and
Arthur laughed harder than he had been seen to laugh for a long
time.
"Why, no!" said Rob; "I don't think it was much fun. I don't
remember much about it now; but I know I felt awfully mean: you see
I felt like a thief when the man began to look for his onions."
Nelly was standing still, close to her new-found friend. She was
thoroughly bewildered; she looked from Mrs. Williams to Arthur, and
from Arthur to Mrs. Williams, and did not know what to make of it
all: and no wonder. When Mrs. Williams bade Nelly good-by in Denver
three years before, she was a thin, pale lady, dressed in the
deepest black, and with a face so sad it made you feel like crying
to look at her. She wore a widow's cap close around her face, and a
long, black veil; and she was all alone with her nurse; and she had
no little boy. Now she was a stout, rosy-faced lady; and she wore a
bright, dark-blue cloth gown, looped up over a scarlet petticoat;
and on her head she wore a broad-brimmed straw hat with scarlet
poppies and blue bachelor's buttons round the crown. At last Nelly
could not contain her perplexity any longer.
"Oh! Mrs. Williams," she exclaimed; "what does make you so pretty
now?"
"That isn't my mamma's name," cried Arthur; "her name is Mrs. Cook.
Wasn't she pretty when you saw her in the cars? She's always pretty
now."
Mrs. Williams laughed very hard, and told Nelly she did not wonder
that she was surprised to see her look so differently.
"I often think, when I look in the glass now," she said, "that I
shouldn't know my own self, if I hadn't seen myself since three
years ago."
Then she led Nelly to one side, and explained to her that she had
met Arthur and his papa up at Idaho Springs, where she had gone
immediately after leaving Nelly in Denver. Mr. Cook had taken Arthur
there, to see if the water in the Idaho Springs would not cure his
lameness. They had all lived in the same hotel at Idaho all winter,
and in the spring Mrs. Williams had been married to Mr. Cook, and
had thus become Arthur's mother. Mr. Cook's home was in New York;
but they had come to Colorado every summer for Arthur's sake. He
always was much better in Colorado. While they were talking, Mr.
Cook came out of his tent; and surprised enough he looked to see his
wife sitting on the ground with a little stranger girl in her lap,
and Arthur in eager conversation with a boy he had never seen
before. He stood still on the threshold of the tent for a moment,
looking in astonishment at the scene.
"Oh, Edward! Edward!" exclaimed Mrs. Cook, "this is my little
friend! Think of our having found her at last, down in this valley!"
"Is it possible!" said Mr. Cook. "Why, I am as glad to see you, my
little girl, as if I were your own uncle. I didn't know but I should
have to go journeying all about the world, like my famous ancestor,
Captain Cook, to find you; for my wife has never given up talking
about you since I have known her."
Mr. Cook was so tall and so big Nelly felt half afraid of him. He
was as tall as Long Billy, and twice as big: he had a long, thick
beard, of a beautiful brown color, and his eyes were as blue as the
sky. Nelly thought he looked like one of the pictures, in a
picture-book Rob had, of "Three Giant Kings from the North who came
Over the Sea." But when he smiled you did not feel afraid of him;
and his voice was so good and true and kind that everybody trusted
him and liked him as soon as he spoke.
"Was Captain Cook really an ancestor of yours?" asked Nelly,
eagerly.
"Oh!" cried Rob, bounding away from Arthur, and looking up with
reverence into this tall man's face, "are you a relation of Captain
Cook? Have you got any of his things? Did you know him? Did he ever
tell you about his voyage? We've got the book about them: I know
everywhere he went."
Mr. Cook lifted Rob up in his arms, and tossed him over his
shoulders, and whirled round with him, and set him down on the
ground again, before he answered. This was a thing Mr. Cook loved to
do to boys of Rob's size. Boys of that age are not used to being
picked up and tossed like babies; but Mr. Cook was so strong he
could toss a big boy as easily as you or I could a little baby.
"No, sir, I am not a relative of Captain Cook's, so far as I know,
nor of any other Cook, except of all good cooks: I am a first cousin
and great friend and lover of all good cooks," shouted this jolly,
tall man, whose very presence seemed like sunshine. "Ralph, you
cook of cooks and for all the Cooks, is our breakfast ready?"
Ralph chuckled with inward laughter as he tried to answer with a
quiet propriety. Long as he had lived with Mr. Cook, he had never
grown accustomed to his droll ways.
Rob and Nelly looked on with amazement. This was a sort of man they
had never seen.
"Oh, I wish papa was like this," thought Rob: in the next second he
was ashamed and sorry for the thought. But from that moment he had a
loving admiration for Mr. Cook, which was about as strong as his
love for his own father.
As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Cook had eaten their breakfast, they walked
up to the house with Nelly. Rob stayed behind with Arthur, entirely
absorbed in the microscope. Nelly's feet seemed hardly to touch the
ground: she was so excited in the thought of taking Mrs. Cook to see
her mother. She utterly forgot all the changes which the three years
had brought to them: she forgot how poor they were, and that her
mother was at that moment hard at work churning butter. She forgot
every thing except that she had found her old friend, and was about
to give her mother a great surprise. She opened the door into the
sitting-room, and, crying, "Mamma! mamma! who do you think is here?"
she ran on into the kitchen, turning back to Mr. and Mrs. Cook and
crying, "Come out here! Here she is!"
Mrs. March looked up from her churning, much astonished at the
interruption, and still more astonished to see two strangers
standing in her kitchen doorway, and evidently on such intimate
terms with Nelly. Mrs. March had on a stout tow-cloth apron which
reached from her neck to her ankles; this was splashed all over with
cream. On her head she had a white handkerchief, bound tight like a
turban. Altogether she looked as unlike the Mrs. March whom Mrs.
Cook had seen in the cars as Mrs. Cook looked unlike the Mrs.
Williams. But Mrs. Cook's smile was one nobody ever forgot. As soon
as she smiled, Mrs. March exclaimed:--
"Why, Mrs. Williams! how glad I am to see you again. Pray excuse me
a minute, till I can take myself out of this buttery apron: walk
back into the sitting-room."
"No, no!" laughed Mr. Cook, "I know a great deal better than that! I
was brought up on a farm. You can't leave that butter! Here! give me
the apron, and let me churn it: it's twenty-five years since I've
churned; but I believe I can do it." And, without giving Mrs. March
time to object, he fairly took the apron away from her, and tied it
around his own neck, and began to churn furiously.
"Now you two go in and sit down," he said, "and leave this little
girl and me to attend to this butter. You'll see how soon I'll
'bring' it!" And indeed he did. His powerful arms worked as if they
were driven by steam; and in less than a quarter of an hour the
butter was firm and hard, and Nelly and Mr. Cook had become good
friends. He liked the quiet, grave little girl very much; but, after
all, his heart warmed most to Rob, and the greater part of his talk
with Nelly was about her brother.
In the meantime, Mrs. Cook and Mrs. March were having a full talk
about all that had happened. There was something about Mrs. Cook
which made people tell her all their affairs. She never asked
questions or pried in any way, but she was brimful of sympathy and
kindly intent; and to such persons everybody goes for comfort and
advice. Mrs. March had always remembered her with affectionate
gratitude for her goodness to Nelly, and she was glad of the
opportunity, even three years late, to thank her for that beautiful
wax doll.
"It is as good as new now," she said. "Nelly keeps it rolled in
tissue paper, in the box. She does not play with dolls any more, but
it is still her chief treasure."
"Not play with dolls!" exclaimed Mrs. Cook: "why, she is not
fifteen."
"I know it," replied Mrs. March, "but our hardworking life here has
made both the children old for their years: especially Nelly. She
was naturally a thoughtful, care-taking child. Rob is of a more
mirthful, adventurous temperament. He has taken the jolly side of
the life here; but Nelly has grown almost too sober and wise. She is
a blessed child."
"Yes, indeed, she is," replied Mrs. Cook; "and she was so when I
first knew her. I never could forget her earnest face. I want you to
let her and Rob too be with us just as much as possible while we are
here. We shall stay a month: perhaps six weeks, if it does not grow
too cold. We find it is much better for Arthur to stay quietly in
one place than it is to move about. He gains much more. Travelling
tires him dreadfully."
"I shall be more than glad to have the children with you as much as
possible," replied Mrs. March; "but that will not be so much as I
could wish: for we are all working very hard now; and two days each
week the children go to Rosita, to sell eggs and butter. That is the
greater part of our income this summer."
Mrs. March said this in a cheerful tone, and as if it were nothing
worth dwelling upon, and Mrs. Cook did not express any surprise; but
in her heart she was much grieved and shocked to find that the
Marches were so poor, and as soon as she was alone with her husband
she told him of it with tears in her eyes.
"Only think, Edward," she said, "of those sweet children going about
selling eggs and butter in the town."
Mr. Cook was a very rich man; but his father and his grandfather
had been farmers; and in Mr. Cook's early years he had driven the
market-wagon into town many a time and sold potatoes and corn in the
market. It did not, therefore, seem so dreadful to him as it did to
his wife that Rob and Nelly should carry about eggs and butter to
sell in Rosita. Still, he was sorry to hear it, and exclaimed:--
"Do they really? The plucky little toads! That's too bad--for the
girl: it won't hurt the boy any!"
"Oh, Edward!" said Mrs. Cook, "you wouldn't like to have Arthur do
it."
"No, I wouldn't like to have him do it," replied Mr. Cook: "most
certainly I wouldn't like to have him; but that wouldn't prove that
it mightn't be better for him in the end if he had to. But fate has
taken all such questions as that out of our hands, so far as poor
Arthur is concerned." And Mr. Cook sighed heavily. Arthur's
condition was a terrible grief to his father. All the more because
he was so well and strong himself, Mr. Cook had a dread of physical
pain or weakness. Many times a day he looked at his helpless son,
and said in his inmost heart:--
"Rather than be like that, I would die any death that could be
invented."
It was a mercy that Arthur did not inherit his father's temperament.
He was much more like his mother: so long as he could be amused, and
did not suffer severe pain, he did not so much mind having to lie
still. When Rob said to him, one day:--
"Oh, Arthur, doesn't it tire you horribly to stay in that chair?"
Arthur answered:--
"Why, no: it's the easiest chair you ever sat in. You just try it
some day. I had one before this that did tire me, though: it was a
horrid chair. It wasn't made right; but this is a jolly chair. It's
better than the bed."
Rob, who had felt guilty the moment he had asked the question,
thinking it was not kind, was much relieved at this answer, and
thought to himself:--
"Well, that's lucky. He didn't mind my asking him one bit. I guess
it's because he's been sick so long he doesn't remember how it felt
to run about."