THE FIRST DARK SHADOW OF WINTER
Prudence and Fairy stood in the bay window of the sitting-room, and
looked out at the thickly falling snow. Already the ground was whitely
carpeted, and the low-branched peach trees just outside the parsonage
windows were beginning to bow down beneath their burdens.
"Isn't it beautiful, Prudence?" whispered Fairy. "Isn't it beautiful?
Oh, I love it when it snows."
"Yes, and you love it when the sun shines, too," said Prudence, "and
when it rains, and when the wind is blowing. You have the soul of a
poet, that's what is the matter with you. You are a nature-fiend, as
Carol would say."
Fairy turned abruptly from the window. "Don't talk for a minute,
Prue,--I want to write."
So Prudence stood quietly in the window, listening to the pencil
scratching behind her.
"Listen now, Prue,--how is this?" Fairy had a clear expressive voice,
"a bright voice," Prudence called it. And as she read her simple lines
aloud, the heart of Prudence swelled with pride. To Prudence, Fairy
was a wonderful girl.
"Good night, little baby earth, going to sleep,
Tucked in your blankets, all woolly and deep.
Close your tired eyelids, droop your tired head,
Nestle down sweetly within your white bed.
Kind Mother Sky, bending softly above,
Is holding you close in her bosom of love.
Closely she draws the white coverlets warm,
She will be near you to shield you from harm.
Soon she will set all her candles alight,
To scatter the darkness, and save you from fright.
Then she will leave her cloud-doorway ajar,
To watch you, that nothing your slumbers may mar.
Rest, little baby earth, rest and sleep tight,
The winter has come, and we bid you good night."
Fairy laughed, but her face was flushed. "How is that?" she demanded.
"Oh, Fairy," cried Prudence, "it is wonderful! How can you think of
such sweet little things? May I have it? May I keep it? Oh, I think
it is perfectly dear--I wish I could do that! I never in the world
would have thought of baby earth going to sleep and Mother Sky tucking
her in white blankets.--I think you are just wonderful, Fairy!"
Fairy's eyes were bright at the praise, but she laughed as she
answered. "You always think me and my scribbles perfection,
Prue,--even the love verses that shocked the Ladies' Aid. You are a
bad critic. But doesn't the snow make you think--pretty things,
Prudence? Come now, as you stood at the window there, what were you
thinking?"
"I was just wondering if Connie wore her rubbers to school, and if
father remembered to take his muffler."
Fairy burst into renewed laughter. "Oh, you precious, old, practical
Prudence," she gurgled. "Rubbers and mufflers, with such a delicious
snowfall as this! Oh, Prudence, shame upon you."
Prudence was ashamed. "Oh, I know I am a perfect idiot, Fairy," she
said. "I know it better than anybody else. I am so ashamed of myself,
all the time." Then she added rather shyly, "Fairy, are you ashamed of
me sometimes? When the college girls are here, and you are all talking
so brilliantly, aren't you kind of mortified that I am so stupid and
dull? I do not care if outsiders do think I am inferior to the rest of
you, but--really I do not want you to be ashamed of me! I--oh, I know
it myself,--that I do not amount to anything, and never will, but--it
would hurt if I thought you and the twins were going to find
me--humiliating." Prudence was looking at her sister hungrily, her
lips drooping, her eyes dark.
For a long instant Fairy stared at her incredulously. Then she sprang
to her feet, her face white, her eyes blazing.
"Prudence Starr," she cried furiously, "how dare you say such things of
us? Do you think we are as despicable as all that? Oh, Prudence, I
never was so insulted in all my life! Ashamed of you! Ashamed--Why,
we are proud of you, every one of us, daddy, too! We think you are the
finest and dearest girl that ever lived. We think--Oh, I think God
Himself must be proud of a girl like you, Prudence Starr! Ashamed of
you!"
And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room. For all
her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm. Only
twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed,
and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the passionate avowals, she
hurried away in search of her sister. She needed no more assurance of
her attitude.
So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to
themselves abstractedly for an hour. Then Prudence came down.
Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question:
"Are your feet wet?"
Connie solemnly took three steps across the room. "Hear me sqush," she
said proudly. She did sqush, too!
"Constance Starr, I am ashamed of you! This is positively wicked. You
know it is a law of the Medes and Persians that you change your shoes
and stockings as soon as you come in when your feet are wet. Do it at
once. I'll get some hot water so you can soak your feet, too. And you
shall drink some good hot peppermint tea, into the bargain. I'll teach
you to sit around in wet clothes! Do you think I want an invalid on my
hands?"
"Oh, don't be so fussy," said Connie fretfully, "wet feet don't do any
harm." But she obligingly soaked her feet, and drank the peppermint.
"Are your feet wet, twins?"
"No," said Lark, "we have better judgment than to go splashing through
the wet old snow.--What's the matter with you, Carol? Why don't you
sit still? Are your feet wet?"
"No, but it's too hot in this room. My clothes feel sticky. May I
open the door, Prudence?"
"Mercy, no! The snow is blowing a hurricane now. It isn't very hot in
here, Carol. You've been running outdoors in the cold, and that makes
it seem hot. You must peel the potatoes now, twins, it's time to get
supper. Carol, you run up-stairs and ask papa if he got his feet wet.
Between him and Connie, I do not have a minute's peace in the winter
time!"
"You go, Lark," said Carol. "My head aches."
"Do you want me to rub it?" asked Prudence, as Lark skipped up-stairs
for her twin.
"No, it's just the closeness in here. It doesn't ache very bad. If we
don't have more fresh air, we'll all get something and die,
Prudence.--I tell you that. This room is perfectly stuffy.--I do not
want to talk any more." And Carol got up from her chair and walked
restlessly about the room.
But Carol was sometimes given to moods, and so, without concern,
Prudence went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal.
"Papa says his feet are not wet, and that you are a big simpleton,
and--Oh, did you make cinnamon rolls to-day, Prue? Oh, goody! Carrie,
come on out! Look,--she made cinnamon rolls."
Connie, too, hastened out to the kitchen in her bare feet, and was
promptly driven back by the watchful Prudence.
"I just know you are going to be sick, Connie,--I feel it in my bones.
And walking out in that cold kitchen in your bare feet! You can just
drink some more peppermint tea for that, now."
"Well, give me a cinnamon roll to go with it," urged Connie.
"Peppermint is awfully dry, taken by itself."
Lark hooted gaily at this sentiment, but joined her sister in pleading
for cinnamon rolls.
"No, wait until supper is ready. You do not need to help peel the
potatoes to-night, Carol. Run back where it is warm, and you must not
read if your head aches. You read too much anyhow. I'll help Lark
with the potatoes. No, do not take the paper, Carol,--I said you must
not read."
Then Lark and Prudence, working together, and talking much, prepared
the supper for the family. When they gathered about the table,
Prudence looked critically at Connie.
"Are you beginning to feel sick? Do you feel like sneezing, or any
thing?--Connie's awfully naughty, papa. Her feet were just oozing
water, and she sat there in her wet shoes and stockings, just like a
stupid child.--Aren't you going to eat any supper, Carol? Are you
sick? What is the matter? Does your head still ache?"
"Oh, it doesn't ache exactly, but I do not feel hungry. No, I am not
sick, Prudence, so don't stew about it. I'm just not hungry. The meat
is too greasy, and the potatoes are lumpy. I think I'll take a
cinnamon roll." But she only picked it to pieces idly. Prudence
watched her with the intense suspicious gaze of a frightened mother
bird.
"There are some canned oysters out there, Carol. If I make you some
soup, will you eat it?"
This was a great concession, for the canned oysters were kept in
anticipation of unexpected company. But Carol shook her head
impatiently. "I am not hungry at all," she said.
"I'll open some pineapple, or those beautiful pickled peaches Mrs.
Adams gave us, or--or anything, if you'll just eat something, Carrie."
Still Carol shook her head. "I said I wasn't hungry, Prudence." But
her face was growing very red, and her eyes were strangely bright. She
moved her hands with unnatural restless motions, and frequently lifted
her shoulders in a peculiar manner.
"Do your shoulders hurt, Carol?" asked her father, who was also
watching her anxiously.
"Oh, it feels kind of--well--tight, I guess, in my chest. But it
doesn't hurt. It hurts a little when I breathe deep."
"Is your throat still sore, Carol?" inquired Lark. "Don't you remember
saying you couldn't swallow when we were coming home from school?"
"It isn't sore now," said Carol. And as though intolerant of further
questioning, she left the dining-room quickly.
"Shall I put flannel on her chest and throat, father?" asked Prudence
nervously.
"Yes, and if she gets worse we will call the doctor. It's probably
just a cold, but we must----"
"It isn't diphtheria, papa, you know that," cried Prudence passionately.
For there were four reported cases of that dread disease in Mount Mark.
But the pain in Carol's chest did grow worse, and she became so
feverish that she began talking in quick broken sentences.
"It was too hot!--Don't go away, Larkie!--Her feet were wet, and it
kept squshing out.--I guess I'm kind of sick, Prue.--Don't put that
thing on my head, it is strangling me!--Oh, I can't get my breath!"
And she flung her hand out sharply, as though to push something away
from her face.
Then Mr. Starr went to the telephone and hurriedly called the doctor.
Prudence meanwhile had undressed Carol, and put on her little pink
flannel nightgown.
"Go out in the kitchen, girls, and shut the door," she said to her
sisters, who stood close around the precious twin, so suddenly
stricken. "Fairy!" she cried. "Go at once. It may be catching. Take
the others with you. And keep the door shut."
But Lark flung herself on her knees beside her twin, and burst into
choking sobs. "I won't go," she cried. "I won't leave Carrie. I will
not, Prudence!"
"Oh, it is too hot," moaned Carol. "Oh, give me a drink! Give me some
snow, Prudence. Oh, it hurts!" And she pressed her burning hands
against her chest.
"Lark," said her father, stepping quickly to her side, "go out to the
kitchen at once. Do you want to make Carrie worse?" And Lark, cowed
and quivering, rushed into the kitchen and closed the door.
"I'll carry her up-stairs to bed, Prue," said her father, striving to
render his voice natural for the sake of the suffering oldest daughter,
whose tense white face was frightening.
Together they carried the child up the stairs. "Put her in our bed,"
said Prudence. "I'll--I'll--if it's diphtheria, daddy, she and I will
stay upstairs here, and the rest of you must stay down. You can bring
our food up to the head of the stairs, and I'll come out and get it.
They can't take Carol away from the parsonage."
"We will get a nurse, Prudence. We couldn't let you run a risk like
that. It would not be right. If I could take care of her properly
myself, I----"
"You couldn't, father, and it would be wicked for you to take such
chances. What would the--others do without you? But it would not make
any difference about me. I'm not important. He can give me
anti-toxin, and I'm such a healthy girl there will be no danger. But
she must not be shut alone with a nurse. She would die!"
And Carol took up the words, screaming, "I will die! I will die!
Don't leave me, Prudence. Don't shut me up alone. Prudence!
Prudence!"
Down-stairs in the kitchen, three frightened girls clung to one
another, crying bitterly as they heard poor Carol's piercing screams.
"It is pneumonia," said the doctor, after an examination. And he
looked at Prudence critically. "I think we must have a nurse for a few
days. It may be a little severe, and you are not quite strong enough."
Then, as Prudence remonstrated, "Oh, yes," he granted, "you shall stay
with her, but if it is very serious a nurse will be of great service.
I will have one come at once." Then he paused, and listened to the
indistinct sobbing that floated up from the kitchen. "Can't you send
those girls away for the night,--to some of the neighbors? It will be
much better."
But this the younger girls stubbornly refused to do. "If you send me
out of the house when Carol is sick, I will kill myself," said Lark, in
such a strange voice that the doctor eyed her sharply.
"Well, if you will all stay down-stairs and keep quiet, so as not to
annoy your sister," he consented grudgingly. "The least sobbing, or
confusion, or excitement, may make her much worse. Fix up a bed on the
floor down here, all of you, and go to sleep."
"I won't go to bed," said Lark, looking up at the doctor with agonized
eyes. "I won't go to bed while Carol is sick."
"Give her a cup of something hot to drink," he said to Fairy curtly.
"I won't drink anything," said Lark. "I won't drink anything, and I
won't eat a bite of anything until Carol is well. I won't sleep,
either."
The doctor took her hand in his, and deftly pushed the sleeve above the
elbow.
"You can twist my arm if you like, but I won't eat, and I won't drink,
and I won't sleep."
The doctor smiled. Swiftly inserting the point of his needle in her
arm, he released her. "I won't hurt you, but I am pretty sure you will
be sleeping in a few minutes." He turned to Fairy. "Get her ready for
bed at once. The little one can wait."
An hour later, he came down-stairs again. "Is she sleeping?" he asked
of Fairy in a low voice. "That is good. You have your work cut out
for you, my girl. The little one here will be all right, but this twin
is in nearly as bad shape as the one up-stairs."
"Oh! Doctor! Larkie, too!"
"Oh, she is not sick. But she is too intense. She is taking this too
hard. Her system is not well enough developed to stand such a strain
very long. Something would give way,--maybe her brain. She must be
watched. She must eat and sleep. There is school to-morrow, isn't
there?"
"But I am sure Lark will not go, Doctor. She has never been to school
a day in her life without Carol. I am sure she will not go!"
"Let her stay at home, then. Don't get her excited. But make her
work. Keep her doing little tasks about the house, and send her on
errands. Talk to her a good deal. Prudence will have her hands full
with the other twin, and you'll have all you can do with this one. I'm
depending on you, my girl. You mustn't fail me."
That was the beginning of an anxious week. For two days Carol was in
delirium most of the time, calling out, crying, screaming affrightedly.
And Lark crouched at the foot of the stairs, hands clenched
passionately, her slender form tense and motionless.
It was four in the afternoon, as the doctor was coming down from the
sick room, that Fairy called him into the dining-room with a suggestive
glance.
"She won't eat," she said. "I have done everything possible, and I had
the nurse try. But she will not eat a bite. I--I'm sorry, Doctor, but
I can't make her."
"What has she been doing?"
"She's been at the foot of the stairs all day. She won't do a thing I
tell her. She won't mind the nurse. Father told her to keep away,
too, but she does not pay any attention. When I speak to her, she does
not answer. When she hears you coming down, she runs away and hides,
but she goes right back again."
"Can your father make her eat? If he commands her?"
"I do not know. I doubt it. But we can try. Here's some hot
soup,--I'll call father."
So Lark was brought into the dining-room, and her father came down the
stairs. The doctor whispered an explanation to him in the hall.
"Lark," said her father, gently but very firmly, "you must eat, or you
will be sick, too. We need all of our time to look after Carol to-day.
Do you want to keep us away from her to attend to you?"
"No, father, of course not. I wish you would all go right straight
back to Carrie this minute and leave me alone. I'm all right. But I
can't eat until Carol is well."
Her father drew a chair to the table and said, "Sit down and eat that
soup at once, Larkie."
Lark's face quivered, but she turned away. "I can't, father. You
don't understand. I can't eat,--I really can't. Carrie's my twin,
and--oh, father, don't you see how it is?"
He stood for a moment, frowning at her thoughtfully. Then he left the
room, signing for the doctor to follow. "I'll send Prudence down," he
said. "She'll manage some way."
"I must stay here until I see her eat it," said the doctor. "If she
won't do it, she must be kept under morphine for a few days. But it's
better not. Try Prudence, by all means."
So Prudence, white-faced, eyes black-circled, came down from the room
where she had served her sister many weary hours. The doctor was
standing in the center of the room. Fairy was hovering anxiously near
Lark, rigid at the window.
"Larkie," whispered Prudence, and with a bitter cry the young girl
leaped into her sister's arms.
Prudence caressed and soothed her tenderly. "Poor little Larkie," she
murmured, "poor little twinnie!--But Carol is resting pretty well now,
Lark. She's coming through all right. She was conscious several times
to-day. The first time she just looked up at me and smiled and
whispered, 'Hard luck, Prue.' Then a little later she said, 'Tell
Larkie I'm doing fine, and don't let her worry.' Pretty soon she spoke
again, 'You make Lark be sensible, Prue, or she'll be sick, too.' Once
again she started to say something about you, but she was too sick to
finish. 'Larkie is such a--,' but that was as far as she could go.
She was thinking of you all the time, Lark. She is so afraid you'll
worry and make yourself sick, too. She would be heartbroken if she was
able to see you, and you were too sick to come to her. You must keep
up your strength for Carol's sake. If she is conscious to-morrow,
we're going to bring you up a while to see her. She can hardly stand
being away from you, I know. But you must get out-of-doors, and bring
some color to your cheeks, first. It would make her miserable to see
you like this."
Lark was still sobbing, but more gently now, and she still clung to her
sister.
"To-morrow, Prudence? Honestly, may I go up to-morrow? You're not
just fooling me, are you? You wouldn't do that!"
"Of course I wouldn't. Yes, you really may, if you'll be good and make
yourself look better. It would be very bad for Carrie to see you so
white and wan. She would worry. Have you been eating? You must eat
lots, and then take a good run out-of-doors toward bedtime, so you will
sleep well. It will be a good tonic for Carol to see you bright and
fresh and rosy."
"Oh, I can't bear to be fresh and rosy when Carrie is sick!"
"It hurts,--but you are willing to be hurt for Carol's sake! You will
do it on her account. It will do her so much good. Now sit down and
eat your soup, and I'll stay here a while and tell you all about her.
I gave her the pansies you bought her,--it was so sweet of you, too,
Larkie. It must have taken every cent of your money, didn't it? I
suppose you ordered them over the telephone, since you wouldn't leave
the house. When I told Carol you got them for her, she took them in
her hand and held them under the covers. Of course, they wilted right
away, but I knew you would like Carrie to have them close to her.'--Oh,
you must eat it all, Lark. It looks very good. I must take a little
of it up to Carol,--maybe she can eat some.--And you will do your very
best to be strong and bright and rosy--for Carol--won't you?"
"Yes, I will,--I'll go and run across the field a few times before I go
to bed. Yes, I'll try my very best." Then she looked up at the
doctor, and added: "But I wouldn't do it for you, or anybody else,
either."
But the doctor only smiled oddly, and went away up-stairs again,
wondering at the wisdom that God has placed in the hearts of women!
Dreary miserable days and nights followed after that. And Prudence, to
whom Carol, even in delirium, clung with such wildness that they dare
not deny her, grew weary-eyed and wan. But when the doctor, putting
his hand on her shoulder, said, "It's all right now, my dear. She'll
soon be as well as ever,"--then Prudence dropped limply to the floor,
trembling weakly with the great happiness.
Good Methodist friends from all over Mount Mark came to the assistance
of the parsonage family, and many gifts and delicacies and knick-knacks
were sent in to tempt the appetite of the invalid, and the others as
well.
"You all need toning up," said Mrs. Adams crossly, "you've all gone
clear under. A body would think the whole family had been down with
something!"
Carol's friends at the high school, and the members of the faculty
also, took advantage of this opportunity to show their love for her.
And Professor Duke sent clear to Burlington for a great basket of
violets and lilies-of-the-valley, "For our little high-school
song-bird," as he wrote on the card. And Carol dimpled with delight as
she read it.
"Now you see for yourself, Prudence," she declared. "Isn't he a duck?"
When the little parsonage group, entire, gathered once more around the
table in the "real dining-room," they were joyful indeed. It was a
gala occasion! The very best china and silverware were brought out in
Carol's honor. The supper was one that would have gratified the heart
of a bishop, at the very least!
"Apple pie, with pure cream, Carol," said Lark ecstatically, for apple
pie with pure cream was the favorite dessert of the sweet-toothed
twins. And Lark added earnestly, "And I don't seem to be very hungry
to-night, Carol,--I don't want any pie. You shall have my piece, too!"
"I said I felt it in my bones, you remember," said Prudence, smiling at
Carol, "but my mental compass indicated Connie when it should have
pointed to Carol! And I do hope, Connie dear, that this will be a
lesson to you, and impress upon you that you must always change your
shoes and stockings when your feet are wet!"
And for the first time in many days, clear, happy-hearted laughter rang
out in the parsonage.