Part 5 (1/2)

The boys s.h.i.+vered as Mary Jane, lifting up the tray, significantly nodded.

It was quite an hour after. Mary Jane, loyal to the core, had kept her ailing mistress in perfect ignorance of the terrible calamity, and the little boys still crowded round the kitchen fire waiting.

Suddenly every head was raised. ”That's Peter's trot; don't you hear?

Father's coming home!”

Each of the boys stood up. Who was to go out to meet the gig and tell the dreadful news to Doctor John?

”Perhaps I ought to do it!” said Mark, in a strangled voice. ”I started the train, y' know! So I'll take all the blame on myself!”

Somehow the other boys thought poor Mark, for all his shock of red hair, looked exactly like one of the brave knights of old setting forth to battle. Old Peter, the doctor's horse, eager for his stable comforts and shelter, brought the gig round in fine style, and Doctor John alighted quickly, with the upward glance at Mother's window which he never forgot.

”Why, sonny,” he began cheerily, then halted as, with a tweak at his Father's sleeve, Mark beckoned him indoors. ”Is there anything the matter with Mother? Quick; speak, boy!” The doctor's voice was sharp with fear. But Mark could not speak, and Doctor John, with a heart of lead, followed the boy into the house.

”In there, Father! It's Clary, and it's all my fault!” Mark's voice had come back, but it was a mere whisper, and he pointed to the close-shut door.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Doctor John was on his knees beside the bed_]

Turning the door-handle quickly, Doctor John nearly fell backwards. Over the bed, on which lay a little figure, bent the brother to whom he had not spoken for three years, with his ear laid close to the little heart, listening to its fluttering beats, and one hand raised warningly at the sound of the opening door. The next moment the wonder-shock had pa.s.sed.

Without a word Doctor John was on his knees beside the bed, and Doctor George, glancing up, saw that it was Clary's Father who had entered.

Then he stood up straight, and would have retreated hastily, but his forefinger was tight in the clutch of a weak, small hand. Doctor George was chained to the spot; he dared not move.

”She opened her eyes once, and gripped my finger like that!” he whispered awkwardly.

The Father did not speak, nor even look away from the white, still face.

But, stretching across the bed, he laid a detaining hand on his brother's coat-sleeve.

It was quite late in the afternoon when the two doctors came out into the hall. The boys crept to the half-open kitchen door to listen eagerly.

”Thank G.o.d, and thank you, George, she will live!”

It was a strained harsh voice, but it was Father's, and the boys all pressed forward.

Then they hastily retreated, for, while the two doctors stood side by side, Father's head was bent on Uncle George's shoulder and their hands were clasped hard.

”They must be making it up!” whispered Oliver to his awestruck brothers.

And it was so. The breach of years was healed in a single afternoon. The brothers were once again friends. Whatever their quarrel had been--and neither the children of the Tile House nor the other Carews ever knew what it was about--it fled away like a morning mist in the face of a great peril, for death had come very close to little Clary that rainy Sat.u.r.day.

It was many weeks before she left her bed, but when her own birthday came round Father carried her, covered with shawls, in to tea, and Clary could not believe her blue eyes.

On the table was a huge frosted white cake, with flags flying and ”CLARE” in great letters upon it, while Mother, who had grown pounds better lately, smiled behind the army of cups and saucers.

But wonder of wonders, round and round the table, the guests were all Carews!

”'A motley crew' we are!” cheerfully announced Doctor George, and all the children radiantly clapped their hands at his joke. Even the White House baby, which had been carried to the feast, gurgled and crowed loudly on its Mother's lap.