Part 39 (2/2)

”And I sprained grandma's ankle, too. I ought to be put in prison,” went on Cricket, in a fresh deluge of remorse.

”n.o.body blamed you for that, dearie, though you _are_ rather a thoughtless little body. But the ankle was purely an accident. When it comes to the playing with fire, however, you really should have known better than to do such a dangerous thing. But you have learned your lesson, and now we must be thankful the consequences are no worse.”

Cricket raised a tear-stained face.

”Yes, only--my dear baby! If only I could take all his burns! I'd set fire to myself and burn myself up, if he could be well. I did the mischief, and he gets the worst of it.”

”Indeed, little Cricket,” said Auntie Jean, softly, almost to herself, as she bent and kissed her little niece, ”you will learn, as you grow older, that that's not the least hard part of all the harm we do--we do the mischief, and the one we love best often gets the burns.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

AFTER THE SACRIFICE.

The next few days were not very happy ones. Auntie Jean had her hands full. Grandma's ankle was much better, to be sure, but still it did not allow her to walk or stand on it but very little, so that she could not be of much a.s.sistance in the nursing that followed. Poor little Kenneth suffered greatly from his burns, and his fever ran high, and the very hot weather made it harder for him to bear. He cried continually for his mother. He had not fretted for her, especially, while he was well, but now that he was sick he wailed constantly for ”Mamma.”

Cricket was up and about, after a day or two. Her arms and hands were still bandaged, and she was very helpless about dressing and undressing herself, but she felt better to be up. She longed to do something for Kenneth, but this was impossible, with both arms in slings. These were rather dark days for the poor little girl, for, on account of the anxiety about Kenneth, she received less attention than she otherwise would have had. She was very grateful, however, that n.o.body reminded her that it was chiefly her fault.

Unfortunately, her right hand, with which she had first clasped Kenneth, was much more seriously burned than the other. The left hand came out of its sling at the end of three or four days, and while the arm remained bandaged, she could use her fingers.

”If it was only the other way,” she mourned, ”I could write a lot of stories and things for the 'Echo,' and my time would not be _all_ wasted.”

”Learn to write with your left hand,” suggested grandma.

”Could I?” said Cricket, brightening. ”Why, why not? It won't be like learning to write over again. I've often tried it, only my left-hand fingers don't seem to have any _push_ in them.”

”If you practise half an hour a day, you will soon do wonders,” said grandma, encouragingly. ”I had a brother, once, who was left-handed, and he learned to use his right hand equally well. He drew beautifully, and would often work with a pencil in each hand. Not only that, but I have often seen him write with one hand and draw with the other.”

”Isn't that wonderful?” exclaimed Cricket. ”I'll begin to practise this minute, Eunice, if you'll get me paper and pencil,” she added, eagerly.

She worked busily for a few minutes, in silence, after the materials were brought her.

”It looks exactly like Zaidee's writing,” she said, at length, in disgust, after her first few attempts. She wrote a firm, pretty hand for a girl of her age, and these shaky, disjointed letters, sprawling across the page, were very discouraging.

”It looks like the tracks of a crazy ant,” she said, half laughing.

”If you practise faithfully for a few days you will find they will look like the tracks of a very sane ant,” said grandma. ”And, besides, think how much easier it is to learn to write with your left hand than with your toes.”

”With your _toes_, grandma,” came in a united chorus.

”Yes, with your toes. I knew of a man, once, who was born without any arms, and--”

”No arms at all? Not one?”

”Not one,” answered grandma, smiling on her eager questioner. ”He was the son of a very poor woman here in the village. They lived in that little red cottage on the Bainbridge road, where you turn by the four oaks.”

”Without any arms! Did he have shoulders?” asked Cricket.

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