Part 10 (1/2)

”I've had a letter from my mother, John,” said Mrs Macmichael to her husband. ”It's wonderful how well she manages to write, when she sees so badly.”

”She might see well enough--at least a great deal better--if she would submit to an operation, said the doctor.

”At _her_ age, John!” returned his wife in an expostulatory tone. ”Do you really think it worth while--for the few years that are left her?”

”Worth while to see well for a few years!” exclaimed the doctor.

”Indeed, I do.”

”But there's another thing I want to talk to you about now,” said Mrs Macmichael. ”Since old Ann's death, six months ago, she says she has been miserable, and if she goes on like this, it will shorten the few days that are left her. Effie, the only endurable servant she has had since Ann, is going to leave at the end of her half-year, and she says the thought of another makes her wretched. She may be a little hard to please, but after being used to one for so many years, it is no wonder if she be particular. I don't know what is to be done.”

”I don't know, either--except you make her a present of Tibby,” said her husband.

”John!” exclaimed Mrs Macmichael; and ”John” burst out laughing.

”You don't think they'd pull together?” he said.

”Two old people--each with her own ways, and without any memories in common to bind them together! I'm surprised at your dreaming of such a thing,” exclaimed his wife.

”But I didn't even dream of it; I only said it,” returned her husband.

”It's time you knew when I was joking, wifie.”

”You joke so dreadfully like earnest!” she answered.

”If only we had one more room in the house!” said the doctor, thoughtfully.

”Ah!” returned his wife, eagerly, ”that would be a blessing! And though Tibby would be a thorn in every inch of grandmamma's body, if they were alone together, I have no doubt they would get on very well with me between them.”

”I don't doubt it,” said her husband, still thoughtfully.

”Couldn't we manage it somehow, John?” said Mrs Macmichael, half timidly, after a pause of some duration.

”I can't say I see how--at this moment,” answered the doctor, ”much as I should like it. But there's time yet, and we'll think it over, and talk about it, and perhaps we may hit upon some plan or other. Most things _may_ be done; and everything necessary _can_ be done _some_how. So we won't bother our minds about it, but only our brains, and see what they can do for us.”

With this he rose and went to his laboratory.

Willie rose also and went straight to his own room. Having looked all round it thoughtfully several times, he went out again on the landing, whence a ladder led up into a garret running the whole length of the roof of the cottage.

”My room would do for grannie,” he said to himself; ”and I could sleep up there. A shake-down in the corner would do well enough for me.”

He climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap-door, crept half through, and surveyed the gloomy place.

”There's no window but a skylight!” he said; and his eyes smarted as if the tears were about to rush into them. ”What _shall_ I do? Wheelie will be useless!--Well, I can't help it; and if I can't help it, I can bear it. To have grannie comfortable will be better than to look out of the window ever so much.”

He drew in his head, came down the ladder with a rush, and hurried off to school.

At supper he laid his scheme before his father and mother.

They looked very much pleased with their boy. But his father said at once--

”No, no, Willie. It won't do. I'm glad you've been the first to think of something--only, unfortunately, your plan won't work. You can't sleep there.”