Part 6 (1/2)
”Speak out; they cannot understand us,” he answered, alluding to the fact that they were using their own language.
”Yes, but I don't want Nick to know what I say.”
The husband thereupon fell back beside her, and in a tremulous voice she said:
”Do you remember when Nellie was three years old?”
”Of course I remember further back than that: why do you ask?”
”When she had the fever and was getting well?”
”Yes, I cannot forget it; poor girl, her cheeks were so hot I could almost light a match by them; but, thank G.o.d, she got over it.”
”You remember, Gustav, how cross she was and how hard it was to please her?”
”But that was because she was sick; when she was well, then she laughed all the time, just like Nick when he don't feel bad.”
”But--but,” and there was an unmistakable tremor in the voice, ”one day when she was cross she asked for a drink of water; Nick was sitting in the room and jumped up and brought it to her, but she was so out of humor she shook her head and would not take it from him; she was determined I should hand it to her. I thought she was unreasonable and I told Nick to set it on the bureau, and I let Nellie know she shouldn't have it unless she took it from him; I meant that I wouldn't hand it to her and thereby humor her impatience. She cried, but she was too stubborn to give in, and I refused to hand her the water. Nick felt so bad he left the room, and I was sorry; but Nellie was getting well, and I was resolved to be firm with her. She was very thirsty, for her fever was a terrible one. I was tired and dropped into a doze. By-and-by I heard Nellie's bare feet pattering on the floor, and softly opening my eyes, without stirring I saw her walk hastily to the bureau, catch hold of the tumbler and she drank every drop of water in it. She was so weak and dizzy that she staggered back and threw herself on the bed like one almost dead. The next day she was worse, and we thought we were going to lose her. You saw how hard I cried, but most of my tears were caused by the remembrance of my cruelty to her the night before.”
”But, Katrina, you did right,” said the father, who heard the affecting incident for the first time. ”It won't do to humor children so much: it will spoil them.”
”That may be, but I cannot help thinking of that all the time; it would have done no harm to humor Nellie that time, for she was a good girl.”
”You speak truth, but--”
The poor father, who tried so bravely to keep up, broke down and was unable to speak. The story touched him as much as it did the mother.
”Never mind, Katrina--”
At that moment Nick called out:
”Here's the bridge!”
The structure loomed through the gloom as it was dimly lighted by the lanterns, and all walked rapidly forward until they stood upon the rough planking.
Suddenly the mother uttered a cry, and stooping down s.n.a.t.c.hed up something from the ground close to the planks.
The startled friends looked affrightedly toward her, and saw that she held the lunch basket of her little daughter in her hand.
CHAPTER VIII.
STARTLING FOOTPRINTS.
On the very edge of the bridge over Shark Creek, the mother of Nellie Ribsam picked up the lunch basket which her daughter had taken to school that morning. It lay on its side, with the snowy napkin partly out, and within it was a piece of brown bread which the parent had spread with golden b.u.t.ter, and which was partly eaten.
No wonder the afflicted woman uttered a half-suppressed scream when she picked up what seemed a memento of her dead child.
While the lanterns were held in a circle around the basket, which the father took from his wife, Mr. Ribsam lifted the piece of bread in his hand. There were the prints made by the strong white teeth of little Nellie, and there was not a dry eye when all gazed upon the food, which the father softly returned to the basket and reverently covered with the napkin.