Part 7 (1/2)

I saw she was feverish and I knew what it means to get one good refres.h.i.+ng night without crying, and so I said, ”Of course I will, ma'am; see, I'll open the door into the next room and you can fancy them in their cribs, and I'll sleep in there as if it was to look after them, like.”

Well, she was naught but a child herself, the poor dear, and she let me get her into bed like a lamb and put her cheek into her hand and went off like a baby. It almost scared me, to see how easy she was to manage, if one did but get hold of the right way. She looked brighter in the morning and as Hodges had told me that s.h.i.+pman used to do for her, I went in and dressed her--not that I was ever a lady's maid, mind you, but I've always been one to turn my hand easily to anything I had a mind to, and I was growing very fond of my poor lady--and then, I was a little proud, I'll own, of being able to do more for her than her own medical man, who couldn't trust a sensible woman with the truth!

She clung to me all the morning, and after my work was done, I persuaded her to come out for the air. The doctor had ordered it long ago, but she was obstinate, and would scarcely go at all. That day, however, she took a good stroll with me and it brought a bit of colour into her cheeks. Just as we turned toward the house she sat down on a big rock to rest herself, and I saw her lip quiver and her eyes begin to fill. I followed her look and there was a child's swing, hung from two ropes to a low bough. It must have been rotted with the rains, for it looked very old and the board seat was cracked and worn. All around--it hung in a sort of little glade--were small piles of stones and bits of oddments that only children get together, like the little magpies they are.

There's no use to expect any one but a mother or one who's had the constant care of little ones to understand the tears that come to your eyes at a sight like that. What they leave behind is worse than what they take with them; their curls and their fat legs and the kisses they gave you are all shut into the grave, but what they used to play with stays there and mourns them with you.

I saw a wild look come into her eyes, and I determined to quiet her at any cost.

”There, there, ma'am,” I said quickly, ”'tis only their playthings.

Supposing they were there, now, and enjoying them! You go in and take your nap, as the doctor ordered, and leave me behind...”

She saw what I meant in a twinkling and the colour jumped into her face again. She turned and hurried in and just as she went out of sight she looked over her shoulder, timid like, and waved her hand--only a bit of a wave, but I saw it.

Under a big stone in front of me, for that part of the grounds was left wild, like a little grove, I saw a rusty tin biscuit box, and as I opened it, curiously, to pa.s.s the time, I found it full of little tin platters and cups. Hardly thinking what I did, I arranged them as if laid out for tea, on a flat stone, and left them there. When I went to awaken her for lunch, I started, for some more of those platters were on the table by her bed and a white woolly rabbit and a picture book!

She blushed, but I took no notice, and after her luncheon I spied her going quickly back to the little grove.

”Madam's taking a turn for the better, surely,” Hodges said to me that afternoon. ”She's eating like a Christian now. What have you done to her, Miss Umbleby?” (I went as ”Miss” for it's much easier to get a place so.)

”Mr. Hodges,” I said, facing him squarely, ”the doctors don't know everything. You know as well as I that it's out of nature not to mention children, where they're missed every hour of the day and every day of the month. It's easing the heart that's wanted--not smothering it.”

”What d'you mean?” he says, staring at me.

”I mean toys and such like,” I answered him, very firm, ”and talk of them that's not here to use them, and even pretending that they are, if that will bring peace of mind, Mr. Hodges.”

He rubbed his clean shaven chin with his hand.

”Well, well!” he said at last. ”Well, well, well! You're a good girl, Miss Umbleby, and a kind one, that's certain. I never thought o' such a thing. Maybe it's all right, though. But who could understand a woman, anyway?”

”That's not much to understand,” said I, shortly, and left him staring at me.

She came in late in the afternoon with the rabbit under her arm and there was Mr. Hodges in the drawing-room laying out the tea--we always had everything done as if the master was there, and guests, for the matter of that; she insisted on it. He knew his place as well as any man, but his eye fell on the rabbit and he looked very queer and nearly dropped a cup. She saw it and began to tremble and go white, and it came over me then that now or never was the time to clinch matters or she'd nearly die from shame and I couldn't soothe her any more.

”Perhaps Hodges had better go out and bring in the rest of the toys, ma'am,” I says, very careless, not looking at her. ”It's coming on for rain. And he can take an umbrella ... shall he?”

She stiffened up and gave a sort of nod to him.

”Yes, Hodges, go,” she said, half in a whisper, and he bit his lip, and swallowed hard and said, ”Very good, madam,” and went.

Well, after that, you can see how it would be, can't you? One thing led to another, and one time when she was not well for a few days and rather low, I actually got the two little cribs down from the garret and ran up some white draperies for them. She'd hardly let me leave her, and indeed there was not so much work that I couldn't manage very well. She gave all her orders through me and I was well pleased to do for her and let Mr. Hodges manage things, which he did better than poor old s.h.i.+pman, I'll be bound. By the time we told her about s.h.i.+pman's death, she took it very easy--indeed, I think, she'd have minded nothing by that time, she had grown so calm and almost healthy.

Mr. Hodges would never catch my eye and I never talked private any more with him, but that was the only sign he didn't approve, and he never spoke for about a month, but joined in with me by little and little and never said a word but to shrug his shoulders when I ordered up a tray with porringers on it for the nursery (she had a bad cold and got restless and grieving). I left her in the nursery with the tray and went out to him, for I saw he wished to speak to me at last.

”Dr. Stanchon would think well of this, if he was here. Is that your idea, Miss Umbleby?” he said to me, very dry. (The doctor had never come back, but gone to be head of a big asylum out in the west.)

”I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Hodges,” I answered. ”I think any doctor couldn't but be glad to see her gaining every day, and when she feels up to it and guests begin to come again, she'll get willing to see them and forget the loss of the poor little things.”

”The loss of _what_?” says he, frowning at me.

”Why, the children,” I answered.