"It will do you
good, poor child!"
She cried with me, till at last I could lie down and try to sleep.
Well, the days and the weeks were very long after that.
Dear mother had a hard time, what with her anxiety about Emma, and my
crossness and unreasonableness.
Dr. Elliott came and went, came and went. At last he said all danger
was over, and that our patient little darling would get well. But his
visits did not diminish; he came twice and three times every day.
Sometimes I hoped he would tell us about his new flame, and sometimes
I felt that I could not hear her mentioned. One day mother was so
unwell that I had to help him dress Emma's burns, and I could not
help saying:
"Even a mother's gentlest touch, full of love as it is, is almost
rough compared with that of one trained to such careful handling as
you are."
He looked gratified, but said:
"I am glad you begin to find that even stones feel, sometimes."
Another time something was said about the fickleness of women. Mrs.
Embury began it. I fired up, of course.
He seemed astonished at my attack.
"I said nothing," he declared.
"No, but you looked a good many things. Now the fact is, women are
not fickle. When they lose what they value most, they find it
impossible to re place it. But men console themselves with the first
good thing that comes along.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141