Grandfathers Love Pie | Page 2

to see, and after the return the busy little wife immediately set about securing a couch for his office, for the invalid insisted that he was able to resume his duties. She explained that "the Captain might rest a little now and then from his labors," for the sturdy old soldier would not for a moment entertain the thought of giving up his work--the loved, chosen profession which he had followed so faithfully and successfully since he came out--a gallant young officer of twenty-three--from the Civil War, the sole survivor of the four members of his household who had gone forth to fight for what was to be the Lost Cause.
Everything at the office was made especially comfortable, for how willingly would every one have spared the quiet, kind professor, who combined so wonderfully strength and manliness with gentleness and lovableness of disposition.
The experiment lasted one week--he came home at the close of the sixth day and said quietly, "I must get a substitute until I am well enough to attend to my work as it should be done." So the substitute was secured and a consultation of doctors followed, with the result that a new line of treatment had been adopted. A few weeks failed to bring good results, so other treatments had been tried, until, a few weeks before, a skilled specialist had ordered him off to the infirmary for a period of several weeks.
The days spent here were days of great suffering, but grandfather was a man of monumental patience, and no word of complaint passed his lips. It was just at this time that a crushing blow had been dealt the hopeful, cheery little wifey, who had always been laughingly termed "boss of the ranch," "head of the house," and suchlike terms, but whose right to these titles had never been disputed by the indulgent husband or devoted sons and daughters, for her ready hand always carried with it relief, and her merry laugh brought cheer and sunshine.
Her only brother had been stricken, and died within a few days, but the brave little wife and mother had hidden her deep sorrow in her bosom, and after a few days, only a smiling face was presented about the house.
When the allotted time at the infirmary had expired, the young doctor, who had studied the case with such zeal and attended his patient with the tender care of a son, brought him back to his home.
After having put her father to bed, to rest from the weariness of the trip, Alice turned around to the waiting physician, a foreboding anxiety in her heart, and tried to make her question quite natural:
"Well, doctor, how soon can your friend, the specialist, have father well again?"
After a pause Dr. Emerson replied, "He will not continue on the case, Miss Gordon."
"O, doctor, what do you mean? He has not given it up? I can not relinquish hope--I won't."
"And I do not wish you to, Miss Gordon. Dr. Helm did not find your father's condition to be what he had expected, but we are going to begin at once a treatment that has been practiced with great success in Germany, in cases like his."
Nothing more was said at that time between them, but the memory of that conversation was indelibly printed on Alice's mind, and a long night of the keenest anguish she had ever experienced, followed.
She thought, and thought, and thought, until the sounds from the sick-chamber near by, would bring a flood of tender memories and her pillow would be wet with tears.
It was thus that most of the night was spent. Toward morning she sank into a deep slumber, but, when she wakened, a terrible leaden weight seemed to oppress her, and it was several hours before the buoyant cheerfulness, with which she was by nature endowed, could again assert itself.
After several days and nights spent thus, Alice came to the wise conclusion that the situation must be faced, for obvious reasons.
After this decision was reached, she became more calm, and the next day, without consulting any member of the family, slipped away to the doctor's downtown office, and waited patiently until he was at leisure to see her.
Dr. Emerson seemed a little surprised at her appearance, but said, "What is it, Miss Gordon--what can I do for you?"
"I only came, Dr. Emerson, to say to you that I am now ready to hear what you have to tell about my father. I want to know just how much we may hope for--or how little." Her voice faltered, but she continued, "I could not listen a few days ago when you suggested that Dr. Helm was not able to relieve him, but tell me all now."
Perhaps it was because the kind physician felt sorry for the sorrowing daughter, or perhaps