Part 34 (2/2)

”She shan't misuse d.i.c.k,” she declared, over and over again. ”She shan't harm him.”

d.i.c.k was carried carefully into a large room and placed in a clean white bed. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth and its heat was very welcome after the ride in the chill November air.

The boy, exhausted from his suffering and weak from loss of blood, fainted as they placed him on the couch and Mr. Vance hurriedly summoned a physician. Jeanne found herself pushed to one side while Mr. and Madame Vance worked over the unconscious lad, but when she saw that their ministrations were for his benefit she was content that it should be so.

The most unremitting attention and constant care were what the boy required declared the physician when he had made an examination. The long ride in the rough car and exposure to chill, rendered the best of nursing imperative.

”If he does not have it he will die,” he said. ”Or if his wound breaks out afresh it will be fatal.”

”He shall not die,” cried Madame, with an adorable air of concern. ”I will care for him myself, doctor. He shall have the best of care.”

”I do not doubt it, Madame, with you for his attendant,” said the physician, gallantly. ”I leave him in good hands.”

Jeanne saw with grat.i.tude that Madame Vance did really give the best of care to her brother, and she gladly forgave the treatment to which she had been subjected. Occasionally she even forgot her intention of calling her aunt ”Aunt Clarisse,” and the old ”Cherie,” came to her lips.

”Ole missus done got huh claws on yer ergain,” s...o...b..ll said to Jeanne one morning. The negro girl had been enthusiastic in her greetings. ”I wuz moughty sorry ter see yer k.u.m back ter huh ergain.”

”I could not help it, s...o...b..ll. I know that she does not like me any better than she used to, but she is certainly kind to d.i.c.k and he needs that now. Even mother could not nurse him more tenderly.”

”She done got sum crotchet in huh haid,” grumbled s...o...b..ll. ”Done yer be tuk in, lill' missy. She up ter sumthing.”

The girl's words filled Jeanne with alarm. She had sometimes had the same thought, but when she saw Madame's devotion to her brother, she dismissed the idea from her mind.

One day she sat by d.i.c.k's bedside alone. Madame had lain down for a little rest, although the boy was not yet out of danger.

”Jeanne,” said the weak voice of her brother presently.

”Yes, d.i.c.k,” and the girl hastened to his side. ”What is it?”

”I wonder and wonder,” said the boy, in a far away voice, ”why you told me what you did about Cherie. She is so good, so kind. The sweetest woman that I ever knew besides my mother! Why, why did you tell me such awful things of her, Jeanne? They are not true.”

Jeanne was aghast at the question. She stood, unable to answer, fearing to excite him by telling the truth and yet unwilling for him to be under the impression that her story was false.

”Tell me,” said d.i.c.k, weakly. ”Why did you do it? I think of it always.

It was not like you, Jeanne.”

”Don't ask me, d.i.c.k,” pleaded Jeanne, falling on her knees beside him.

”Wait until you are well and then we can talk it over.”

”You dally,” cried d.i.c.k, his eyes bright with fever. ”I see how it is!

You fibbed to me, Jeanne. I know you did.”

”No, d.i.c.k, I did not,” cried Jeanne, heartbroken at the thought that d.i.c.k could believe such a thing of her. ”Listen, and I will tell you all about it. s...o...b..ll can tell you too, if you do not believe me. But you will be quiet, d.i.c.k, won't you? You will be very, very quiet.”

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