Part 18 (1/2)
”Yes, once I was, when my father was knocked down by an omnibus, and was very ill.”
”Tell us about it?” said Susan.
She did tell them of her week of sorrow and anxious care of the younger children, and the brightening ray of hope at last. It seemed to freshen both up, and give them hopes, for each drew a long sigh of relief; and then Sam said, ”Papa wrote to Mr. Carey. She is to be prayed for in church to-morrow.”
”Oh,” said Susan, with a sound as of dismay, which made Christabel ask in wonder why she was sorry, when, from Susan's half-uttered words, she found that the little girl fancied that a ”happy issue out of all her afflictions” meant death.
”Oh no, my dear,” she said. ”What it means is, that the afflictions may end happily in whatever way G.o.d may see to be best; it may be in getting well; it may be the other way: at any rate, it is asking that the distress may be over, not saying how.”
”Isn't there some other prayer in the Prayer-book about it?” said Sam, looking straight before him.
”I will show you where to find it, in the Visitation of the Sick. I dare say it has often been read to her.”
The boy and girl came in with her, and brought their Prayer-books to her room, that she might mark them.
This had been a strange, long, sad day of waiting and watching for the telegram, and the children even fancied it might come in the middle of the night; but Miss Fosbrook thought this unlikely, and looked for the morrow's post. There was no letter. It was very disappointing, but Miss Fosbrook thought it a good sign, since at least the danger could not be more pressing, and delay always left room for hope.
The children readily believed her; they were too young to go on dwelling long on what was not in sight; and even Susan was cheerful, and able to think about other things after her night's rest, and the relief of not hearing a worse account.
The children might do as they pleased about going to church on saints' days, and on this day all the three girls wished to go, as soon as it had been made clear that even if the message should come before the short service would be over, there would be ample time to reach the station before the next train. Miss Fosbrook was glad to prove this, for not only did she wish to have them in church, but she thought the weary watching for the telegram was the worst thing possible for Susan. Sam was also going to church, but Henry hung back, after accompanying them to the end of the kitchen-garden. ”I wouldn't go, Sam; just suppose if the message came without anyone at home, and you had to set out at once!”
”We couldn't,” said Sam; ”there's no train.”
”Oh, but they always put on a special train whenever anyone is ill.”
”Then there would be plenty!”
”At least they did when Mr. Greville's mother was ill, so they will now; and then you may ride upon the engine, for there won't be any carriages, you know. I say, Sam, if you go to church, and the telegraph comes, I shall set off.”
”You'll do no such thing,” said Sam. ”You had much better come to church.”
”No, I sha'n't. It is like a girl to go to church on a week-day.”
”It is much more like a girl to mind what a couple of a.s.ses, like the Grevilles, say,” returned Sam, taking up his cap and running after his sisters and their governess.
”It is quite right,” observed Henry to John and David, who alone remained to listen to him, ”that one of us should stay in case the telegraph comes in, and there are any orders to give. I can catch the pony, you know, and ride off to Bonchamp, and if the special train is there, I shall get upon the engine.”
”But it is Sam and Susan who are going.”
”Oh, that's only because Sam is eldest. I know Mamma would like to have me much better, because I don't walk hard like Sam; and when I get there, she will be so much better already, and we shall be all right; and Admiral Penrose will be so delighted at my courage in riding on the engine and putting out the explosion, or something, that he will give me my appointment as naval cadet at once, and I shall have a dirk and a uniform, and a chest of my own, and be an officer, and get promoted for firing red-hot shot out of the batteries at Gibraltar.”
”Master Hal!” exclaimed Purday, ”don't throw them little apples about.”
”They are red-hot shot, Purday!”
”I'll red-hot shot you if you break my cuc.u.mber frames, young gentleman! Come, get out with you.”
Probably anxiety made Purday cross as well as everyone else, or else he distrusted Henry's discretion without Sam, for he hunted the little boys away wherever they went. Now they would break the cuc.u.mber frames; now they would meddle with the gooseberries, or trample on the beds; and at last he only relented so far as to let David stay with him on condition of being very good, and holding the little cabbages as he planted them out.