Part 19 (1/2)

He left her house one afternoon, and went slowly down the walk with a very grave face. Polly called after him from the veranda that times were still very slow, but he did not hear, and he almost stumbled against Elsie Cameron as she came through the gateway carrying a covered bowl.

”Ah, you are the very person I want to consult,” he said, his face brightening. ”I wish you would do something for my patient in there.”

”Is her cold worse?”

”No, it isn't a cold that ails her; I confess I don't know what it is.

There seems to be some secret trouble weighing on her mind. I wish you could discover what it is, and see if you can help her. I am doing her no good, and there's no doubt that she is steadily growing weaker.”

His manner was very serious, and Elsie entered the little house with a foreboding at her heart. He was right. Some strange trouble had been pressing upon Arabella's mind all summer, she felt sure. She pa.s.sed through the house and placed the bowl on the kitchen table.

Mrs. Winters was there, and the place was dazzlingly clean. ”There!”

she exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction, ”I've polished the stove and scrubbed the floor, an' put up five quarts o' pickled pears, an'

to-morrow I'm goin' to house-clean the front part. Arabella always kept things kind of in order, but she was never anything of a manager.

If you were thinkin' o' stayin' a little, Elsie, I'd run over an' look after my bread, an' then give Hannah a hand with her sewing. It's a caution how them twins get through their clothes. They ought to be well whipped for it. Now, that soup's just awful nice, Elsie. It was good of your ma to send it, an' it's only slops like that Arabella'll take. No, she ain't a bit better, the doctor says; an' I say it jist looks like as if she was too stubborn to quit bein' sick, now she's started. If yous folks hadn't gone gallivantin' off down the crick that day this would never 'a' happened. Arabella's too old for such foolishness, anyhow. Well, I'll run home. Tell her I'll be back in an hour or so an' shake out the mats.”

Elsie went into the spare bedroom, where Miss Arabella lay, propped up on pillows. Her little, wan face brightened at the sight of her visitor.

”Oh, Elsie, is it you? It's good o' you to come.” She looked anxiously past her. ”Where's Susan?”

”She's gone home, and I'm going to sit with you till she comes back.”

Miss Arabella tried not to look relieved. ”D'ye think it would hurt me much to have the curtains put back, Elsie? I'd love to see out.”

”Of course not. You shall have the window taken right out if you want it.” The girl rolled up the green paper blind, pushed back the stiff lace curtains, and opened the window from the top. It was a perfect October day, and Miss Arabella felt the gentle breeze, and saw the sumach at her gate, a patch of vivid scarlet against the deep blue of the sky. At a corner of the window the boughs of an old apple-tree, still green, looked in and nodded in a friendly manner. The invalid looked bright and interested for a few minutes, then sighed and grew wan and listless again.

Elsie pulled her chair up close to the bedside.

”Arabella, dear,” she said earnestly, ”what is the matter with you?”

”I--I--guess it's jist that cold I caught, hangin' on. Susan says it is.”

”Dr. Allen doesn't think so. He says he doesn't know what is making you ill, and Susan doesn't know, and I don't know. But you do, Arabella, and, oh, I wish you'd tell me!”

She put her two strong, young hands over the thin little one lying on the coverlid. Her deep eyes were full of sympathy. A slow flush rose into Miss Arabella's face. She turned away from the girl's steady gaze.

”Elsie,” she whispered, ”he's right. There--there is something the matter with me, and I--I think--I'm pretty sure--I'm going to die.”

”No, no, Arabella! You mustn't say that--you really mustn't!”

The invalid was perfectly calm. ”I think I am, though,” she said quietly. ”It's about the best thing I can do now, since----” She paused and turned away her head again.

Elsie slipped to her knees by the bedside. ”Won't you tell me what is wrong, Arabella?” she whispered. ”Something's been troubling you all summer. I've noticed it ever since I came home.”

”Yes, it's jist about that time. But it can't be helped now. And it won't be long till it's all over. And, Elsie”--she glanced around, as though fearful of being overheard--”I'm goin' to leave you something!”

”Oh, Arabella! don't!” cried the girl, tears rising to her eyes. ”I can't bear to hear you talk like that. You'll be better in a day or two.”

Miss Arabella shook her head firmly. ”No, Susan says I've got stubborn, an' I guess she's right; because I don't seem to want to bother about getting better. But I'd like you to have something to remember me by, Elsie. You were always different from the other girls, an' never acted as if I was old an' queer, an' I'm goin' to leave you--something.”

She lay still for a few moments while her companion regarded her with sorrow-filled eyes. ”Elsie,” she whispered suddenly, ”if I tell you something--something awful, mind you, will you promise never, never to tell it to a living soul? Not even after I'm gone?”

Elsie looked at her half alarmed. ”Oh, Arabella!” she stammered, ”of course I wouldn't tell--if you--that is if you'd really like to tell me.”