Part 2 (1/2)
”Have I been in bed more than a day?”
”You've been in bed a week,” said Nurse. ”But you'll get along finely now, and be up and about again in no time.”
Ruth drank her beef-tea and thought it over. Suddenly she dropped her spoon into the cup. The kitchen cat! How it must have missed her if she had been in bed a week. Unable to bear the idea in silence, she sat up in bed with a flushed face and asked eagerly:
”Have you seen the cat?”
Nurse instantly rose with a concerned expression, and patted her soothingly on the shoulder.
”There now, my dear, we won't have any more fancies about cats and such.
You drink your beef-tea up and I'll tell you something pretty.”
Ruth took up her spoon again. It was of no use to talk to Nurse about it, but it was dreadful to think how disappointed the cat must have been evening after evening. Meanwhile Nurse went on in a coaxing tone:
”If so be as you make haste and get well, you're to go alonger me and stay with your Aunt Clarkson in the country. There now!”
Ruth received the news calmly. It did not seem a very pleasant prospect, or even a very real one to her.
”There'll be little boys and girls to play with,” pursued Nurse, trying to heighten the picture; ”and flowers--and birds and such--and medders, and a garding, and all manner.”
But nothing could rouse Ruth to more than a very languid interest in these delights. Her thoughts were all with her little friend downstairs; and she felt certain that it had often been hungry, and no doubt thought very badly of her for her neglect. If she could only see it and explain that it had not been her fault!
The next day Aunt Clarkson herself came. She always had a great deal on her mind when she came up to town, and liked to get through her shopping in time to go back in the afternoon, so she could never stay long with Ruth. She came bustling in, looking very strong, and speaking in a loud cheerful voice, and all the while she was there she gave quick glances round her at everything in the room. Ruth was well enough to be up, and was sitting in a big chair by the nursery fire, with picture-books and toys near; but she was not looking at them. Her eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the fire, and her mind was full of the kitchen cat. She had tried to write to it, but the words would not come, and her fingers trembled so much that she could not hold the pencil straight. The vexation and disappointment of this had made her head ache, and altogether she presented rather a mournful little figure.
”Well, Nurse, and how are we going on?” said Aunt Clarkson, sitting down in the chair Nurse placed for her. Remembering her dream, Ruth could not help giving a glance at Aunt Clarkson's hands. They were fat, round hands, and she kept them doubled up, so that they really looked rather like a cat's paws.
”Well, ma'am,” replied Nurse, ”Miss Ruth's better; but she's not, so to say, as cheerful as I could wish. Still a few _fancies_, ma'am,” she added in an undertone which Ruth heard perfectly.
”Fancies, eh?” repeated Aunt Clarkson in her most cheerful voice. ”Oh, we shall get rid of them at Summerford. You'll have real things to play with there, Ruth, you know. Lucy, and Cissie, and Bobbie will be better than fancies, won't they?”
Ruth gave a faint little nod. She did not know what her aunt meant by ”fancies.” The cat was quite as real as Lucy, or Cissie, or Bobbie.
Should she ask her about it, or did she hate cats like Nurse Smith? She gazed wistfully at Mrs Clarkson's face, who had now drawn a list from her pocket, and was running through the details half aloud with an absorbed frown.
”I shall wait and see the doctor, Nurse,” she said presently; ”and if he comes soon I shall _just_ get through my business, and catch the three o'clock express.”
No, it would be of no use, Ruth concluded, as she let her head fall languidly back against the pillow--Aunt Clarkson was far too busy to think about the cat.
Fortunately for her business, the doctor did not keep her waiting long.
Ruth was better, he said, and all she wanted now was cheering up a little--she looked dull and moped. ”If she could have a little friend, now, to see her, or a cheerful companion,” glancing at Nurse Smith, ”it would have a good effect.”
He withdrew with Mrs Clarkson to the door, and they continued the conversation in low tones, so that only sc.r.a.ps of it reached Ruth:
”--Excitable--fanciful--too much alone--children of her own age--”
Aunt Clarkson's last remark came loud and clear:
”We shall cure that at Summerford, Dr Short. We're not dull people there, and we've no time for fancies.”
She smiled, the doctor smiled, they shook hands and both soon went away.