Part 22 (1/2)
”What is it?” she asked, yawning.
”My cheek. Can't you see? Toothache. It's all swollen up, and it hurts.”
Hannah roused herself a little more, then shut her eyes quickly. She didn't want to laugh at Catherine.
”Can't you do anything for it?”
”I suppose so, but it won't go down in time for Sunday-school, and who will take my cla.s.s?”
Hannah groaned. ”Who would ever get up in the middle of the night and worry about a Sunday-school cla.s.s, when they had a toothache? It's unnormal! Go back to bed, unless there is something I can do for you.
Can't I call your mother?”
”No, there's no use bothering her. I know what to do well enough, but I am so worried about the cla.s.s.”
”O, go along to sleep. I'll take your old cla.s.s.”
Hannah was asleep herself before Catherine had finished sighing with grateful relief and returned to her own room.
An hour later, Hannah woke with a start to the consciousness that something unpleasant had happened. Almost immediately that vagueness gave way to irritating clearness. She got up and peeped into Catherine's room. She was sleeping, but the swollen cheek left no room for hope that the whole episode was a nightmare. Hannah dressed quietly, frowning the while at her unconsidered offer of the early morning.
”I do think this town would be twice as nice if there weren't any children in it. They spoil everything. I never taught anybody anything in all my life. And I never went to Sunday-school either, except in Germany. She will just have to get some one else,” she fussed. ”A promise like that doesn't count. I was so sleepy I didn't know what I was saying.”
With unwelcome plainness she recalled the facts that Dorcas and Polly had cla.s.ses of their own, Bertha and Agnes were out of town, and Dot and Win and Bess belonged to another denomination.
”Why couldn't she have waited till Alice came? She's always ready for things like that. O, dear. I suppose I'll have to try. Catherine would keep a promise herself, if she made it in delirium tremens!”
She stole down stairs before any one was stirring, save Inga in the kitchen, found a Bible and took it over to the window-seat, where she opened it gingerly.
”I wonder where they begin,” she thought. ”Might as well look Genesis over first, to refresh my memory.” She spread the thin pages open, and began to read. Outside the open window the birds were noisily celebrating the sunny morning. Inga ground the coffee. A bell rang for early service somewhere. Hannah's eyes wandered from the page.
”'And there was evening and there was morning, a second day.' It sounds just like poetry,” she thought. ”But what could I tell youngsters about it? They would be sure to want to know just how the waters were kept off the firmaments. I hope--no, I know, Elsmere _is_ in that cla.s.s!” In silent horror, Hannah sat staring out of the window. Memories of Catherine's Sunday dinner talk swarmed back into her mind. She had thought the stories amusing: how Elsmere had chewed gum and put it into the collection envelope; how Perdita Osgood had described in vivid detail her seasickness of a summer before; how the little Hamilton girl had asked personal and embarra.s.sing questions of Catherine herself. It had sounded funny, when Catherine told the tales in her quiet way,--but to be alone with them for an hour! Hannah's heart failed her entirely.
She shut the Bible and marched up to Catherine's room. Catherine was dressing, as far away from the mirror as possible.
”Hannah, dear,” she called, seeing the brown hair and blue eyes through a crack in the door. ”Do come in. You don't know what a dear you were to take that cla.s.s. I went straight to sleep, and didn't mind the pain nearly so much after that. It worried me so. You see, the Sunday-school is so small and I had been over and over it in my mind, and couldn't think of any one who would do. It's the last cla.s.s any one is ever willing to take.”
”Why?” asked Hannah, her prepared refusal suspended.
”O, because it's so big, and there are all ages of little people in it.
But you'll do beautifully. Children always love you. Do you know what the lesson is?”
Hannah hesitated. Then a glance at Catherine's distorted face made her ashamed of herself, and she answered bravely:
”No. What is it? I'll have to study up a lot.”
”You'll find plenty of material in those leaflets and books in the pile there on the table by my Bible. It's about the Good Shepherd. And if you're going down, will you ask mother to come in before breakfast? I don't believe I've been doing the right things.”
So Hannah, laden with Helps and Hints, went slowly down stairs again, and after having sent Dr. Helen up to see her afflicted daughter, resumed her place in the window-seat and put her mind resolutely on the subject of the lesson.
”'Bring in the 23rd Psalm,'” she read in one suggestion. ”That's good. I know that much and I can make them repeat it the whole hour, if nothing else comes into my head. How is she, Dr. Helen?”