Part 13 (2/2)

”Can't you do nothin' to cheer her up a bit, darlin',” she whispered, when Betty joined her in the kitchen. ”Not a mouthful of anything has she touched this whole blessed day, and it's awful to see her sittin'

lookin' like that, her that's just off a sick bed too.”

”She's thinking about Jack,” said Betty sadly; ”she can't eat till she knows; I couldn't eat either, Mrs. Flynn.”

Mrs. Flynn sighed again, and set down the teacup.

”Well, you'll hear pretty soon now, I guess,” she said, with an air of resignation, ”and I've got some nice strong chicken soup on the stove. A cup of that'll do yez both good by and by.”

”Oh, Mrs. Flynn,” whispered Betty, drawing close to the kind-hearted Irish-woman, ”I'm so frightened. I don't know why, but I am. You don't think, do you, that anything dreadful is going to happen?”

”Not a bit of it, darlin',” said Mrs. Flynn rea.s.suringly. ”Jack'll be all right, the little angel, and we'll have him back, and runnin' about like any one else in just no time at all. Why, I shouldn't wonder if we'd see him ridin' one of them bicycles on Fifth Avenue next month.”

”But people don't always get over operations, you know, Mrs. Flynn,”

said Betty, with a choke in her voice.

”Nonsense,” retorted Mrs. Flynn, with an indignant toss of her head.

”Sure, didn't me brother-in-law's first cousin have the two legs of him took off wid a trolley-car on Lexington Avenue, and ain't he walkin'

around now 'most as good as ever on two cork stumps, as they give him at the hospital? There ain't nothin' them doctors can't do, barrin'

raisin' the dead.”

A ring at the door bell at this moment put an end to the Irish-woman's hopeful predictions. Betty uttered a little half-frightened cry, and Mrs. Flynn flew to open the door. Mrs. Randall sprang from her chair, and was in the hall before Mrs. Flynn had left the kitchen. Next moment, however, there was a little sigh of disappointment from every one; the visitor was only Winifred.

”I thought I'd come to see you for a little while,” she explained to Betty, who was trying to smile, and not show the disappointment she felt. ”It's lonely downstairs without mother, and I've done all my lessons. I've brought Miss Mollie; I thought you might like to have her.”

”I am very glad to have her,” said Betty, taking the doll in her arms.

She was not very fond of dolls, but she wanted to show Winifred that she appreciated her kindness. ”Let's go into my room, where we can talk and not disturb mother.”

They were moving away, but Mrs. Randall called them back.

”Stay here, children,” she said, and her voice sounded sharp from anxiety. ”I like to hear you talk, and you don't disturb me.”

So the two little girls went into the parlor, and sat down side by side on Jack's sofa, Betty still holding Miss Mollie in her arms. They were both very silent at first, and Winifred kept casting sympathetic glances towards Mrs. Randall, who had now left her seat, and was standing with her back to them, looking out of the window. But after a little while they began to talk in whispers.

”I guess mother will be back pretty soon now,” said Winifred, giving Betty's cold little hand an encouraging squeeze. ”She'll be sure to come and tell you about Jack the very first thing.”

Betty said nothing, and after a little pause Winifred went on.

”Won't it be lovely when Jack gets well? Just think, he may be a soldier after all when he grows up. You know Dr. Bell always calls him a little soldier boy.”

”He'd like to be one,” said Betty, brightening at the thought; ”our grandfather was a general, you know.”

”Yes, and even if he never goes to war, I think he is much braver now than a great many real soldiers are. Father says there are not many little boys only nine years old who would be willing to go away and stay all by themselves in a big, strange hospital.”

”Don't let's talk about that,” said Betty, beginning to cry. ”I can't bear to think of his being all by himself.”

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