Part 6 (2/2)
”Oh! I'se boun' to git to glory.
Hallelujah! Le' me go!”
The Little Colonel proudly marched up with Mom Beck's contribution, and then watched the others pa.s.s down the aisle. One young girl in a gorgeously trimmed dress paraded up to the table several times, singing at the top of her voice.
”Look at that good-fo'-nothin' Lize Richa'ds,” whispered Mom Beck's nearest neighbour, with a sniff. ”She done got a nickel changed into pennies so she could ma'ch up an' show herself five times.”
It was nearly sundown when they started home. A tall coloured man, wearing a high silk hat and carrying a gold-headed cane, joined them on the way out.
”Howdy, Sistah Po'tah,” he said, gravely shaking hands. ”That was a fine disco'se we had the pleasuah of listenin' to this evenin'.”
”'Deed it was, Brothah Fostah,” she answered. ”How's all up yo' way?”
The Little Colonel, running on after a couple of white b.u.t.terflies, paid no attention to the conversation until she heard her own name mentioned.
”Mistah Sherman came home last night, I heah.”
”Yes, but not to stay long, I'm afraid. He's a mighty sick man, if I'm any judge. He's down with fevah,--regulah typhoid. He doesn't look to me like he's long for this world. What's to become of poah Miss 'Lizabeth if that's the case, is moah'n I know.” ”We mustn't cross the bridge till we come to it, Sistah Po'tah,” he suggested.
”I know that; but a lookin'-gla.s.s broke yeste'day mawnin' when n.o.body had put fingah on it. An' his picture fell down off the wall while I was sweepin' the pa'lah. Pete said his dawg done howl all night last night, an' I've dremp three times hand runnin' 'bout muddy watah.”
Mom Beck felt a little hand clutch her skirts, and turned to see a frightened little face looking anxiously up at her.
”Now, what's the mattah with you, honey?” she asked. ”I'm only a-tellin'
Mistah Fostah about some silly old signs my mammy used to believe in.
But they don't mean nothin' at all.”
Lloyd couldn't have told why she was unhappy. She had not understood all that Mom Beck had said, but her sensitive little mind was shadowed by a foreboding of trouble.
The shadow deepened as the days pa.s.sed. Papa Jack got worse instead of better. There were times when he did not recognize any one, and talked wildly of things that had happened out at the mines.
All the long, beautiful October went by, and still he lay in the darkened room. Lloyd wandered listlessly from place to place, trying to keep out of the way, and to make as little trouble as possible.
”I'm a real little woman now,” she repeated, proudly, whenever she was allowed to pound ice or carry fresh water. ”I'm papa's little comfort.”
One cold, frosty evening she was standing in the hall, when the doctor came out of the room and began to put on his overcoat.
Her mother followed him to take his directions for the night.
He was an old friend of the family's. Elizabeth had climbed on his knees many a time when she was a child. She loved this faithful, white-haired old doctor almost as dearly as she had her father.
”My daughter,” he said, kindly, laying his hand on her shoulder, ”you are wearing yourself out, and will be down yourself if you are not careful. You must have a professional nurse. No telling how long this is going to last. As soon as Jack is able to travel you must have a change of climate.”
Her lips trembled. ”We can't afford it, doctor,” she said. ”Jack has been too sick from the very first to talk about business. He always said a woman should not be worried with such matters, anyway. I don't know what arrangements he has made out West. For all I know, the little I have in my purse now may be all that stands between us and the poorhouse.”
The doctor drew on his gloves.
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