Dr. Alec had not arrived, but bad tidings had, as Rose guessed the
instant her eyes fell upon Aunt Plenty, hobbling downstairs with her
cap awry, her face pale, and a letter flapping wildly in her hand as she
cried distractedly: “Oh, my boy! My boy! Sick, and I not there to nurse
him! Malignant fever, so far away. What can those children do? Why did I
let Alec go?”
Rose got her into the parlor, and while the poor old lady lamented, she
read the letter which Phebe had sent to her that she might “break the
news carefully to Rose.”
DEAR MISS PLENTY, Please read this to yourself first, and tell my little
mistress as you think best. The dear doctor is very ill, but I am with
him, and shall not leave him day or night till he is safe. So trust me,
and do not be anxious, for everything shall be done that care and skill
and entire devotion can do. He would not let us tell you before, fearing
you would try to come at the risk of your health. Indeed it would be
useless, for only one nurse is needed, and I came first, so do not let
Rose or anybody else rob me of my right to the danger and the duty. Mac
has written to his father, for Dr. Alec is now too ill to know what we
do, and we both felt that you ought to be told without further delay. He
has a bad malignant fever, caught no one can tell how, unless among some
poor emigrants whom he met wandering about quite forlorn in a strange
city. He understood Portuguese and sent them to a proper place when they
had told their story. But I fear he has suffered for his kindness, for
this fever came on rapidly, and before he knew what it was I was there,
and it was too late to send me away.
Now I can show you how grateful I am, and if need be give my life so
gladly for this friend who has been a father to me. Tell Rose his last
conscious word and thought were for her. “Don't let her come; keep my
darling safe.” Oh, do obey him! Stay safely at home and, God helping me,
I'll bring Uncle Alec back in time. Mac does all I will let him. We have
the best physicians, and everything is going as well as can be hoped
till the fever turns.
Dear Miss Plenty, pray for him and for me, that I may do this one happy
thing for those who have done so much for Your ever dutiful and loving
PHEBE
As Rose looked up from the letter, half stunned by the sudden news
and the great danger, she found that the old lady had already stopped
useless bewailing and was praying heartily, like one who knew well where
help was to be found. Rose went and knelt down at her knee, laying her
face on the clasped hands in her lap, and for a few minutes neither
wept nor spoke. Then a stifled sob broke from the girl, and Aunt Plenty
gathered the young head in her arms, saying, with the slow tears of age
trickling down her own withered cheeks: “Bear up, my lamb, bear up. The
good Lord won't take him from us I am sure and that brave child will be
allowed to pay her debt to him. I feel she will.”
“But I want to help. I must go, Aunty, I must no matter what the danger
is,” cried Rose, full of a tender jealousy of Phebe for being first to
brave peril for the sake of him who had been a father to them both.
“You can't go, dear, it's no use now, and she is right to say, 'Keep
away.' I know those fevers, and the ones who nurse often take it, and
fare worse for the strain they've been through. Good girl to stand by so
bravely, to be so sensible, and not let Mac go too near! She's a grand
nurse Alec couldn't have a better, and she'll never leave him till he's
safe,” said Miss Plenty excitedly.
“Ah, you begin to know her now, and value her as you ought. I think few
would have done as she has, and if she does get ill and die, it will be
our fault partly, because she'd go through fire and water to make us
do her justice and receive her as we ought,” cried Rose, proud of an
example which she longed to follow.
“If she brings my boy home, I'll never say another word. She may marry
every nephew I've got, if she likes, and I'll give her my blessing,”
exclaimed Aunt Plenty, feeling that no price would be too much to pay
for such a deed.
Rose was going to clap her hands, but wrung them instead, remembering
with a sudden pang that the battle was not over yet, and it was much too
soon to award the honors.
Before she could speak Uncle Mac and Aunt Jane hurried in, for Mac's
letter had come with the other, and dismay fell upon the family at the
thought of danger to the well-beloved Uncle Alec. His brother decided
to go at once, and Aunt Jane insisted on accompanying him, though all
agreed that nothing could be done but wait, and leave Phebe at her post
as long as she held out, since it was too late to save her from danger
now and Mac reported her quite equal to the task.
Great was the hurry and confusion till the relief party was off. Aunt
Plenty was heartbroken that she could not go with them, but felt that
she was too infirm to be useful and, like a sensible old soul, tried to
content herself with preparing all sorts of comforts for the invalid.
Rose was less patient, and at first had wild ideas of setting off alone
and forcing her way to the spot where all her thoughts now centered. But
before she could carry out any rash project, Aunt Myra's palpitations
set in so alarmingly that they did good service for once and kept Rose
busy taking her last directions and trying to soothe her dying bed, for
each attack was declared fatal till the patient demanded toast and tea,
when hope was again allowable and the rally began.
The news flew fast, as such tidings always do, and Aunt Plenty was
constantly employed in answering inquiries, for her knocker kept up a
steady tattoo for several days. All sorts of people came: gentlefolk
and paupers, children with anxious little faces, old people full of
sympathy, pretty girls sobbing as they went away, and young men who
relieved their feelings by swearing at all emigrants in general and
Portuguese in particular. It was touching and comforting to see how many
loved the good man who was known only by his benefactions and now lay
suffering far away, quite unconscious how many unsuspected charities
were brought to light by this grateful solicitude as hidden flowers
spring up when warm rains fall.
If Rose had ever felt that the gift of living for others was a poor one,
she saw now how beautiful and blessed it was how rich the returns, how
wide the influence, how much more precious the tender tie which knit so
many hearts together than any breath of fame or brilliant talent that
dazzled but did not win and warm. In after years she found how true her
uncle's words had been and, listening to eulogies of great men, felt
less moved and inspired by praises of their splendid gifts than by the
sight of some good man's patient labor for the poorest of his kind. Her
heroes ceased to be the world's favorites and became such as Garrison
fighting for his chosen people; Howe restoring lost senses to the deaf,
the dumb, and blind; Sumner unbribable, when other men were bought and
sold and many a large-hearted woman working as quietly as Abby Gibbons,
who for thirty years had made Christmas merry for two hundred little
paupers in a city almshouse, besides saving Magdalens and teaching
convicts.
The lesson came to Rose when she was ready for it, and showed her what
a noble profession philanthropy is, made her glad of her choice, and
helped fit her for a long life full of the loving labor and sweet
satisfaction unostentatious charity brings to those who ask no reward
and are content if “only God knows.”
Several anxious weeks went by with wearing fluctuations of hope and
fear, for Life and Death fought over the prize each wanted, and more
than once Death seemed to have won. But Phebe stood at her post, defying
both danger and Death with the courage and devotion women often show.
All her soul and strength were in her work, and when it seemed most
hopeless, she cried out with the passionate energy which seems to send
such appeals straight up to heaven: “Grant me this one boon, dear Lord,
and I will never ask another for myself!”
Such prayers avail much, and such entire devotion often seems to work
miracles when other aids are in vain. Phebe's cry was answered, her
self-forgetful task accomplished, and her long vigil rewarded with a
happy dawn. Dr. Alec always said that she kept him alive by the force of
her will, and that, during the hours when he seemed to lie unconscious,
he felt a strong, warm hand holding his, as if keeping him away from
the swift current trying to sweep him away. The happiest hour of all her
life was that in which he knew her, looked up with the shadow of a smile
in his hollow eyes, and tried to say in his old cheery way: “Tell Rose
I've turned the corner, thanks to you, my child.”
She answered very quietly, smoothed the pillow, and saw him drop asleep
again before she stole away into the other room, meaning to write the
good news, but could only throw herself down and find relief for a full
heart in the first tears she had shed for weeks. Mac found her there,
and took such care of her that she was ready to go back to her place now
indeed a post of honor while he ran off to send home a telegram which
made many hearts sing for joy and caused Jamie, in his first burst of
delight, to propose to ring all the city bells and order out the cannon:
“Saved thanks to God and Phebe.”
That was all, but everyone was satisfied, and everyone fell a-crying,
as if hope needed much salty water to strengthen it. That was soon over,
however, and then people went about smiling and saying to one another,
with handshakes or embraces, “He is better no doubt of it now!” A
general desire to rush away and assure themselves of the truth pervaded
the family for some days, and nothing but awful threats from Mac, stern
mandates from the doctor, and entreaties from Phebe not to undo her work
kept Miss Plenty, Rose, and Aunt Jessie at home.
As the only way in which they could ease their minds and bear the delay,
they set about spring cleaning with an energy which scared the spiders
and drove charwomen distracted. If the old house had been infected with
smallpox, it could not have been more vigorously scrubbed, aired, and
refreshed. Early as it was, every carpet was routed up, curtains pulled
down, cushions banged, and glory holes turned out till not a speck of
dust, a last year's fly, or stray straw could be found. Then they all
sat down and rested in such an immaculate mansion that one hardly dared
to move for fear of destroying the shining order everywhere visible.
It was late in April before this was accomplished, and the necessary
quarantine of the absentees well over. The first mild days seemed to
come early, so that Dr. Alec might return with safety from the journey
which had so nearly been his last. It was perfectly impossible to keep
any member of the family away on that great occasion. They came from all
quarters in spite of express directions to the contrary, for the invalid
was still very feeble and no excitement must be allowed. As if the wind
carried the glad news, Uncle Jem came into port the night before; Will
and Geordie got a leave on their own responsibility; Steve would have
defied the entire faculty, had it been necessary; and Uncle Mac and
Archie said simultaneously, “Business be hanged today.”
Of course the aunts arrived in all their best, all cautioning everybody
else to keep quiet and all gabbling excitedly at the least provocation.
Jamie suffered the most during that day, so divided was he between the
desire to behave well and the frantic impulse to shout at the top of his
voice, turn somersaults, and race all over the house. Occasional bolts
into the barn, where he let off steam by roaring and dancing jigs, to
the great dismay of the fat old horses and two sedate cows, helped him
to get through that trying period.
But the heart that was fullest beat and fluttered in Rose's bosom as
she went about putting spring flowers everywhere; very silent, but so
radiant with happiness that the aunts watched her, saying softly to one
another, “Could an angel look sweeter?”
If angels ever wore pale green gowns and snowdrops in their hair, had
countenances full of serenest joy, and large eyes shining with an inward
light that made them very lovely, then Rose did look like one. But she
felt like a woman and well she might, for was not life very rich that
day, when Uncle, friend, and lover were coming back to her together?
Could she ask anything more, except the power to be to all of them the
creature they believed her, and to return the love they gave her with
one as faithful, pure, and deep? Among the portraits in the hall hung
one of Dr. Alec, done soon after his return by Charlie in one of his
brief fits of inspiration. Only a crayon, but wonderfully lifelike and
carefully finished, as few of the others were. This had been handsomely
framed and now held the place of honor, garlanded with green wreaths,
while the great Indian jar below blazed with a pyramid of hothouse
flowers sent by Kitty. Rose was giving these a last touch, with Dulce
close by, cooing over a handful of sweet “daffydowndillies,” when the
sound of wheels sent her flying to the door. She meant to have spoken
the first welcome and had the first embrace, but when she saw the
altered face in the carriage, the feeble figure being borne up the steps
by all the boys, she stood motionless till Phebe caught her in her arms,
whispering with a laugh and a cry struggling in her voice: “I did it for
you, my darling, all for you!”
“Oh, Phebe, never say again you owe me anything! I never can repay you
for this,” was all Rose had time to answer as they stood one instant
cheek to cheek, heart to heart, both too full of happiness for many
words.
Aunt Plenty had heard the wheels also and, as everybody rose en masse,
had said as impressively as extreme agitation would allow, while she
put her glasses on upside down and seized a lace tidy instead of her
handkerchief: “Stop! All stay here, and let me receive Alec. Remember
his weak state, and be calm, quite calm, as I am.'
“Yes, Aunt, certainly,” was the general murmur of assent, but it was
as impossible to obey as it would have been to keep feathers still in
a gale, and one irresistible impulse carried the whole roomful into the
hall to behold Aunt Plenty beautifully illustrating her own theory of
composure by waving the tidy wildly, rushing into Dr. Alec's arms, and
laughing and crying with a hysterical abandonment which even Aunt Myra
could not have surpassed.
The tearful jubilee was soon over, however, and no one seemed the
worse for it, for the instant his arms were at liberty, Dr. Alec forgot
himself and began to make other people happy by saying seriously, though
his thin face beamed paternally, as he drew Phebe forward: “Aunt Plenty,
but for this good daughter I never should have come back to be so
welcomed. Love her for my sake.”
Then the old lady came out splendidly and showed her mettle, for,
turning to Phebe, she bowed her gray head as if saluting an equal and,
offering her hand, answered with repentance, admiration, and tenderness
trembling in her voice: “I'm proud to do it for her own sake. I ask
pardon for my silly prejudices, and I'll prove that I'm sincere by
where's that boy?”
There were six boys present, but the right one was in exactly the right
place at the right moment, and, seizing Archie's hand, Aunt Plenty put
Phebe's into it, trying to say something appropriately solemn, but could
not, so hugged them both and sobbed out: “If I had a dozen nephews, I'd
give them all to you, my dear, and dance at the wedding, though I had
rheumatism in every limb.”
That was better than any oration, for it set them all to laughing, and
Dr. Alec was floated to the sofa on a gentle wave of merriment. Once
there, everyone but Rose and Aunt Plenty was ordered off by Mac, who was
in command now and seemed to have sunk the poet in the physician.
“The house must be perfectly quiet, and he must go to sleep as soon as
possible after the journey, so all say 'good-bye' now and call again
tomorrow,” he said, watching his uncle anxiously as he leaned in the
sofa corner, with four women taking off his wraps, three boys contending
for his overshoes, two brothers shaking hands at short intervals, and
Aunt Myra holding a bottle of strong salts under his devoted nose every
time there was an opening anywhere.
With difficulty the house was partially cleared, and then, while Aunt
Plenty mounted guard over her boy, Rose stole away to see if Mac had
gone with the rest, for as yet they had hardly spoken in the joyful
flurry, though eyes and hands had met.