A Girl in Ten Thousand | Page 9

care of him while you see about breakfast."
"How are you this morning, mother?" asked Effie. "Have you had a good night?"
"Yes, pretty well. I had one or two bad dreams. I could not help thinking of poor Mrs. Watson and that heart-trouble your father spoke about. I wonder how she is this morning."
"Now, mother dear," said Effie, "you know father said you were not to dwell upon that--you must turn your thoughts away from illness of every sort. I thought we might go for a little drive in the gig this morning."
"But your father will want the gig."
"No, that's just it, he won't."
"What do you mean? Surely he will go out as early as he can to see Mrs. Watson?"
"No, mother," said Effie, "he won't--not to-day. I have something to tell you. Now, please don't be frightened; there is nothing to be frightened about."
Mrs. Staunton was half sitting up in bed; she had thrown a little pale blue shawl round her shoulders, and held the pretty baby in her arms. She was a remarkably good-looking woman, a really young-looking woman for her age, but weakness was written all over her--the weakness of a frail although loving spirit, and the weakness of extreme bodily illness, for she was ill, far more ill than her children knew. The greatest anxiety of the honest doctor's life was connected with his wife's physical condition. Effie looked at her mother now, and something of the fear which dwelt in her father's heart seemed to visit her.
"I have something to tell you," she said, "but it is nothing that need make you the least bit afraid. Father has left you in my charge. He says I am to look after you, and to do all in my power to help you."
"But what can you mean, Effie? Has your father gone away?"
"Not really away," replied Effie, "for he is close to us, and can come back if necessary at any moment; but the fact is this: If all is well, father is not coming home for two or three days. In one way you will be pleased to hear this, mother. You know how you have wished him to be called in at The Grange."
"At The Grange!" exclaimed Mrs. Staunton, starting up. "You don't mean to tell me that the Harveys have sent for your father?"
"Yes, mother, I do; and is not that good news? The little girl is very ill, and Squire Harvey came over to fetch father last night--that time when the bell rang so suddenly."
"I remember," said Mrs. Staunton. "I made sure that someone came from the Watsons'."
"No; it was the Squire who called--Squire Harvey. Father went there and found the little girl very ill. He came back again this morning, and took Dorothy Fraser out with him as nurse, and he saw me, and he asked me to tell you that he would stay at The Grange for a couple of days until he could pull the child through, and you are on no account to expect him home, but you are to keep as well and cheerful as possible for his sake; and Dr. Edwards from Boltonville is to take father's work for the time. So you see," continued Effie in conclusion, "that the horse and gig will be at liberty, and we can go for a drive. I thought we might go to Boltonville, and take baby, and buy some fruit for preserving. There are sure to be heaps of strawberries at the Bolton Farm if we drive over early."
All the time Effie was speaking, Mrs. Staunton kept gazing at her. As the eager words flowed from the young girl's lips, the heart of the mother seemed to faint within her.
"You," she said, after a pause; her voice trembled, no words could come for an instant,--"you," she went on,--"Effie, you have not told me what ails the child?"
"She is very ill, mother; that goes without saying."
"But what ails her? Why should not your father come home?"
Effie thought for a moment. "I will tell about the scarlet fever, but not about the diphtheria," she said to herself. "Mother is always so terrified about diphtheria ever since poor little Johnny died of it, long, long ago. She won't mind scarlet fever so much."
"Why don't you speak, Effie?" exclaimed her mother. "You terrify me with your grave and silent way."
"There is nothing to be terrified about, mother, but you are weak, and therefore you get unduly nervous. I was only thinking for a moment whether you had better know; but of course, if you wish it, you must be told. The child at The Grange is suffering from scarlet fever."
"Do you think it will spread?"
"Father is very anxious. I heard him telling Dorothy that Mrs. Harvey had been very imprudent. You know how young