THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.
Milly's birthday had arrived at last. The weather was beautiful. We
were all wildly excited. We girls ran about, helping, we said, but
Martha sent us off into the garden out of her way. Miss Cole was in
the big pantry, making ice-cream; she could make it splendidly. We
didn't eat much dinner, of course, and as soon as ever it was over we
went upstairs to get ready. Mother quickly came after us, and made
us all rest for an hour and a half.
Before the time was up we thought we had, as Milly said, "lived three
afternoons in one." Just as the clock struck three, mother and Mrs.
Emson came to help us; then our tongues ran along as though they
would never stop. Milly and I were dressed alike in our best party
dresses of cream nuns-veiling, with elbow sleeves edged with long
yellow lace, and lace gathered round the necks. Mrs. Emson said they
were sweet; and indeed they were pretty.
Maud wore a white muslin dress and pinafore, as she would be sure to
get some fruit-stains, or upset her tea. Jerry looked very nice in a
pale blue silk, and pale blue stockings and shoes. Our shoes and
stockings were tan; Percy called our legs mustard-pots.
When we were ready, we went down to the drawing-room to wait for our
company. They were twelve: six boys and six girls; so we were
eighteen altogether. We had such fun in the garden all the
afternoon. Milly had such a lot of presents. At five o'clock we
went to have our tea.
A very long table was spread, under the trees, with all sorts of nice
things. Mother and Miss Cole poured out tea; Mrs. Emson and father
passed the eatables. Father told us such funny tales all the time,
and kept us laughing. The ice-cream was delicious. Tea over, we had
games again; and the time fairly ran away. It seemed nine o'clock
almost directly. We were too excited to want to go to bed when our
friends had gone, but we had to go at once.
"You will all be knocked-up in the morning if you don't," said
father; "besides, remember that Jerry and Jim have a long journey
before them." So off we went. Maud was sleepy and cross. She had
upset a glass of raspberryade over her pinafore, and had a wide pink
stripe down the middle of her frock. What a lovely time we had had!
In comparison with the dark days that followed so soon after, that
one seemed to stand out clear, as one of the brightest and happiest
we had ever spent.
The following day, Mrs. Emson and her children went away. We were
really sorry to say good-bye to Jerry, for we had grown to like her
and understand her, but Jim--as Martha said, "we were not at all
sorry to see the back of him." He was sulky to the last. Milly was
rather tired and out of sorts that day: the effects of the party,
mother said. The next day she was no better, and did not go to
church. On Monday she seemed feverish, and mother thought she had a
bilious attack, and father gave her a powder.
She was a little better the next morning, but was so poorly again in
the evening that mother told me I had better sleep in Percy's room;
then I should not be disturbed by Milly's restlessness. Percy had
gone to visit a friend of his in Moultby. Milly continued poorly up
to Friday, sometimes better, sometimes worse. Father did not know
what to make of her; he was worried about her. He told me not to go
into her room more than I could help.
On Thursday, in the middle of the afternoon, I stopped at her door to
ask her how she was. She was much better, she said; so I went in and
sat down with her. Presently mother came up, delighted to see Milly
looking so bright. Then Martha opened the door and peeped in.
"Miss Addie, here's little Miss Townley asking to see you," she said.
"To see me?" I cried.
"Yes, she asked to see Miss Adelaide. She come with her governess.
I've showed 'em into the drawing-room."
"Mother, am I tidy? Oh, I wonder what she's come for!" I said
excitedly.
"Don't be so wild, dear. You look very well. Don't fall over the
stairs in your hurry to get down."
Eleanor was looking lovelier than ever, I thought. Her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes were sparkling. She said her aunt had sent her
to say that on Tuesday they intended driving to a beautiful seaside
town about twenty miles away, staying one night and returning on
Wednesday; would I like to accompany them? if so, Miss Townley would
be very pleased. "Do try and come, Addie; won't you? I shall be so
disappointed if you can't."
"Oh, I should like to," I said, feeling my cheeks get hot with
excitement. "How lovely it would be! Where should we sleep?"
Eleanor laughed; the "dear creature," as Percy called her governess,
smiled in a condescending way. "Why, at an hotel, of course. Did
you suppose we should sleep on the sand? Will you ask your mother
quickly? Miss Ashton says we must not stay long."
The "dear creature" murmured something in a low tone.
"Oh, I'll ask her now; she's upstairs. Milly isn't very well, and
mother is sitting with her," I said.
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Eleanor; "what is the matter with her?"
"Father thinks the party last week was rather too much for her. She
is upset by the excitement."
"I should so much like to see her," said she; "do you think I might?"
"I'll see," said I; and ran upstairs, two at a time, arriving in
Milly's room out of breath. When I had managed to say all I wanted
to, mother said she thought Eleanor might come up if she liked. She
only stayed about ten minutes; mother said I might go on Tuesday.
She and father were both very pleased that Miss Townley had asked me
to go. The following afternoon, Eleanor called again, bringing with
her some flowers and fruit; father said she had better not see Milly,
who had been in bed all day. On Saturday, just after dinner, mother,
who was looking anxious to-day, said, "Addie, just run up and see if
Milly is awake yet. You need not go into the room. Stand at the
door and speak."
I went up and called her softly. Receiving no answer, I went in,
intending to look and go away. Milly was asleep, and I was turning
to leave the room when I caught sight of a book lying on the chest of
drawers. I took it up and turned over the pages to find the place
where I had left off. I had read about half a page when I heard
somebody say, in such a queer voice, "Addie jumped out of the apple
tree and rode up to heaven on my bubble."
My heart gave such a jump. Who was that? The funny harsh voice went
on, "Can't I drive now, Percy?" and then came such dreadful sobs; and
at the same time it broke upon my senses that it was Milly talking so
strangely. She was sitting up in bed, throwing her arms about
wildly; her cheeks were very red, and her eyes looked very bright, as
though she was frightened.
"Mother! mother!" I screamed, rushing out on the landing. "Mother,
come up quickly!" Mother hurried up. Milly was crying bitterly,
talking nonsense all the time.
"My darling, lie down," said mother in her sweet voice. "Tell me
what is the matter;" but she only went on crying in the same strange
way.
"Addie," said mother, "father is down at Mr. Gray's. Run down as
quickly as you can and ask him to come at once. Tell him Milly is
very ill. Call Martha as you go downstairs, and tell her to come up
to me."
I did not wait to be told twice. I flew down the stairs, seized my
hat, burst into the kitchen, sent Martha running upstairs nearly as
fast as I came down, and then was off to Mr. Gray's. Fortunately it
wasn't far, and in a very short time father was at home. He went to
Milly at once; but after a few minutes, came out and wrote a few
words on a slip of paper, gave it to me, and told me to take it down
to Dr. Lang.
"If Dr. Lang isn't at home, Addie, ask where he is, and if it is not
too far, go there with the note. I wish Percy hadn't gone away."
"Is Milly very ill, father?" I whispered.
"I hardly know yet, dear. I'm afraid she is. Don't be longer than
you can help."
I ran all the way to Dr. Lang's. He was just riding in as I rang the
bell. He read the note and went at once, I supposed, to our house.
I followed. I went in the back way. Martha was pushing thin pieces
of wood into the fire.
"How is Milly now, Martha? What is the matter with her?" I asked as
soon as I got inside.
"She's very bad, Miss Addie. The doctor 've ordered poultices, so
I'm making the kittle boil quick. Hand me out that there big knife,
my dear. What's the matter, d' you say? I don't know, but I'm
mortal feared 'tis fever."
"Fever?" I gasped. "Oh, Martha, no!"
"Hush, now hush, my dear; I don't say 'tis and I don't say 'tisn't.
Be quiet now. Don't say I said so for the world, will you? Wherever
is that Jane stoppin' to? Bother her! she never is where she's
wanted to be."
"Addie!" called father softly. "Martha, has Miss Addie got back yet?"
"Yes, father, here I am;" and I went out to the hall.
"Take this note down to the Hospital, Addie. It's asking for a nurse
to be sent up. Don't cry, my dear. It may not be so serious as we
fear."
Looking back on that night and the wretched days that followed, to me
it seems like a bad dream. How can I tell of the miserable time?
Father wrote to the friends with whom Percy was staying, asking if
they would mind keeping him for a week or two, as Milly had scarlet
fever. They were so kind. They came over the next day to see if
they could do anything more for us; they said Percy might stay as
long as he liked, and might they take either of the others?
I could not be spared; Maud had already gone to Dr. Lang's. He had
no children, his sister kept house for him, and we had been glad to
get Maud out of danger's way. Father thought I wasn't very likely to
take the fever now, as I had had it very badly when I was quite a
little girl. I hadn't to go near the room in which Milly was lying;
a great wet sheet flapped up and down outside the door all day and
night long.
Milly did not have the fever so very, very badly, though for several
days she was very ill. Of course my trip with Eleanor and Miss
Townley had been put off.
Three weeks passed, Milly was progressing very favourably, when one
day, as father and I were sitting alone in the parlour, mother being
upstairs with Milly, Tom came in from the surgery, saying one of the
grooms from the Court had been down, asking if Dr. Dixon would go up
as soon as possible.
"Did he say who was ill, Tom?" asked father.
"Yes, sir. He said he thought it was Miss Eleanor, as she has been
poorly for a day or two. He said, would you please step up at once,
sir."
"Oh, father," I said, "suppose Eleanor has the fever too?"
"Hush, Addie! Don't tell your mother I have gone out."
How anxiously I waited for his return, and then I was almost afraid
to hear what he had to say. He told me he was afraid she was going
to be very, very ill; he had telegraphed to London for two trained
nurses. They arrived by the midnight express. Father was up at the
Court the first thing in the morning. He came home with a very grave
face. It was fever.
"She will need all our prayers, Helen, and her aunt will too," he
said to mother.
"Is Miss Townley very grieved?" I asked, with the tears running down
over my face.
"Yes, dear, she is, very much so." And father turned to go and see
Milly.
That afternoon father came home looking quite worn out. I poured out
his tea and did several little things for him; he was very quiet, and
let his tea grow quite cold before he drank it, and did not eat
anything. At last he spoke--
"Where is mother, Addie?"
"She is lying down, I think. Shall I call her?"
"No, no. Let her rest while she may. Run and send Tom to tell
Masters to bring round the brougham."
"The brougham, father! Isn't it too hot?"
"I am going to fetch Maud. Lang says she has the fever coming on. I
was afraid of it yesterday. I don't want her to be ill there, so I
must fetch her now, before she gets worse."
I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. I did not feel at all
inclined to cry, yet I felt my lips tremble, and something queer in
my throat as though it were breaking. Father came over and put his
arm round me.
"Don't you give way, Addie. We must have somebody to look after us
and comfort us. You go and lie down in the parlour. I'll go and
tell Masters myself. And, Addie, don't say a word to mother to alarm
her. I'll tell her myself when I come back."
I went slowly into the parlour, trying to realise what it all meant.
Milly was slowly recovering; Eleanor was very ill; Maud was going to
be ill; where and what would the end be? Milly and Eleanor both had
scarlet fever. Suppose Eleanor had caught it from Milly? suppose
mother should take it too? suppose she should be ill, and oh! the
horrible thought flashed across my mind--what if mother, our dear
sweet mother, should die? What--but I couldn't get any further in my
supposings.
I remember getting up from the couch, and kneeling down and trying to
pray that mother might not be ill; I know I could not say any words.
I felt as though my breath were all going away, and as if everything
in the room were spinning round, and then--I was lying on the couch,
with Martha bending over me. I had fainted, she said, and coming to
look for me, she had found me lying on the floor, and had been rather
alarmed. However, there wasn't much the matter; but Martha made me
go straight to bed.
"But, Martha, you won't say a word to mother about it, will you?" I
asked in a voice I couldn't own for my own.
"You don't think I'm so silly as to go and worry your mother's life
right out of her, do you? 'Specially now, when she got enough else
to think on. You go and get to bed now. I'll tell your father
you've got a headache."
I went to bed, but couldn't go to sleep. I had a horrible feeling
that something was going to happen soon. I heard father come home
with Maud; I heard him carry her into the spare-room; then Martha
came up too. By and by, after what seemed hours to me, I heard
mother's voice outside my door, and I called to her. She came in.
"What is it, dear?"
"I only want to say good-night to you, mother. How is Maud? Do you
really think it is fever?"
"Yes, dear, it really is. Father has sent down for another nurse to
help look after her," said mother, seating herself on the edge of the
bed. "The fever isn't very high yet, so we must hope for the best;"
and dear mother tried to smile cheerfully, but she couldn't.
"Mother," I said as well as I could for a great lump in my throat,
"how did Milly get the fever in the first place?"
"We don't quite know, dear. Father says there are a good many cases
about, so I suppose Milly caught it when she was in the town from
someone."
"But, mother, Eleanor didn't take it from Milly, did she?"
"She may have, Addie, but we don't think so, as she has been going in
and out of the houses in the part where the fever is."
"Oh, mother! Why did Miss Townley let her go?"
"I'm not sure that she knew, dear. But I mustn't stay any longer.
Milly is going to get out of bed for a little while to-morrow. I
must go back to poor little Maud. You will pray to God to grant that
this illness of hers will not be more than she can bear, won't you,
dear?"
I put my arms round her neck; I couldn't speak. She kissed me ever
so many times and went away, and then I burst into tears and cried as
I never remembered crying before, or than I have since. I was lying
still, quite exhausted, when father came in with a glass in his hand.
"Here is some lemonade, Addie; sit up and drink it." As I lay down
again I had such a queer taste in my mouth; so I said--
"Father, I think that lemonade is gone off. It tastes very funny."
"Never mind, go to sleep," was all he said; and I did go to sleep in
earnest, sleeping soundly until late the next morning. As I went
down, the kitchen clock struck eleven.
"How is Maud this morning, and Milly?" I asked of Martha, who was
washing dishes.
"Miss Milly's getting on first-rate. Miss Maud's very bad; your
mother has been up with her all night. There's two nurses here now.
Your father's dreadful anxious about Maud for one thing, and little
Miss Townley for another. She isn't expected to live; but there!
talking won't do no good. Sit right down here and have your
breakfast this morning, Miss Addie; I can't stop to take it inside.
I was only thinking what a good thing it is Mrs. Emson went away
before this came. Now eat away, my dear, and try and make a good
breakfast."
I can only give a confused account of what happened during the next
few days. Maud grew worse rapidly, and in two days was in great
danger. Eleanor was in a critical condition: her fever had not
"turned" at the right day, and now they were very much afraid she
would die from weakness, if she got over the fever itself.
In the week that followed Maud's return from Dr. Lang's I saw Milly
twice for a few minutes. She was getting better, but was fretful:
wanting mother to stay with her all the time; and not understanding
why she could not, as we had not told her that Maud was ill. She
never mentioned Eleanor's name; she did not seem to think of her, and
we were very glad, as we knew how grieved she would be to hear of her
illness.
One dreadfully hot afternoon, passing quietly through the hall I
overheard Martha say to the woman who came in to help during this
time of sickness--
"Dear lamb! the crisis will be to-night. We shall see how 'tis to be
with her then. 'Tis pitiful to watch her. She was a bit delirious
again just now, nearly throwing herself out over the bed. Her father
and the nurse held her down till the fit like passed. Poor missis
nearly broke down then. The doctor took her away and gave her
something to keep her strength up till to-night, anyhow. Dear, dear."
"Which way do you think it'll turn?" the woman asked; but I ran
quickly upstairs, not daring to stay to hear Martha's answer.
Looking into Milly's room, I saw she had been crying. "What is it,
Milly?" I said, going over to her chair.
"Oh, Addie," she said, with a weak kind of sob; "it's so hot, and I'm
tired, and I want mother. She never hardly comes in to see me now.
Why is it, Addie?"
"Maud isn't very well, and as she's the baby, she wants most
attention, you see."
"She hasn't got the fever, has she?"
"I--I--I think she has a touch of it," I answered, all in confusion
at her sudden question.
"I hope she won't be very bad," went on Milly innocently.
"I'll run down and see if that is anyone calling," I said hurriedly;
and left the room, because I was afraid of what she might say next.
Father was crossing the landing from Maud's room to his own. I told
him what Milly had been saying, and he turned into her room instead.
One of the nurses was coming up as I went down; I asked how Maud was.
"There is no change, dear; we are hoping for the best."
A little later on I was in the parlour, looking for my thimble, which
I had mislaid, and now wanted in a great hurry, to make a doll's hat
for Milly. I did not notice father was in the room until he said--
"Addie, Eleanor asked for you this afternoon."
"Did she, father? How is she to-day?"
"The fever has gone, but it has left her very weak, very weak indeed.
I telegraphed to-day for Dr. Martin from London. Miss Townley said
she would like to have him sent for, as he has attended Eleanor in
London and knows her constitution. I thought I should like him to
see Maud while he is here."
I glanced up at father as he said this, and I was struck by the worn,
sad look on his face. How he had changed in the last few days! And
mother too--all her pretty colour had gone; the trouble and grief had
made them both look ever so much older.
Just then Martha opened the door and asked father if he could spare
Tom to go to Mrs. Day's for some eggs she wanted. Father said to me--
"Mrs. Day said she would like to see you, Addie. She isn't afraid
you will carry any infection. Would you like to go for the eggs? If
so, put on your hat and run along."
I hadn't gone far before I met Miss Cole. She had been obliged to go
away a fortnight before. Her sister, who lived in Oxford, was ill,
and she had gone to see her. Miss Cole said she had only just
returned, leaving her sister much better. She was so grieved to hear
about poor little Maud. She was then going up to our house, to see
if she could be of any use.
I hurried on to Mrs. Day's, longing yet dreading for the night to be
passed and the next day come. What would it bring? joy or sorrow?
death or life? Dear little Maud! Would Jesus, Who loved little
children, see fit to take her away from this beautiful earth, which
grown-up people said was so sinful and wicked, to the still more
beautiful heaven, where everything was bright and glorious, and where
He lived, and His Father, and our dear baby brother; or would He
spare her to us, who loved her so dearly? I did not know; I could
only pray that God would teach us that His will was best, whatever He
did.
[Illustration: Chapter V tailpiece]
[Illustration: Chapter VI headpiece]