Only, everything depended on proper care now. Pattie felt that her work was cut out for her. She also knew that her worst difficulties might lie in the future.
The hospital nurse remained at her post, taking all night duty; but in a few days her presence would be unnecessary.
"When she goes, I shall sleep, of course, in Dot's room," Pattie said quietly, and Cragg tried to express his gratitude. But for Pattie, what they could have done at this juncture was an enigma to him. Mrs. Cragg expressed little gratitude, for she felt none. She was still jealous of Pattie's position in the sick-room, still offended at having been compelled to submit.
With Dot's rally came, as was to be expected, a spirit of fractiousness; no bad sign, the nurse said. Children getting better from an illness were always fractious. The little one was not old enough to exercise self-control, as a grown person might have done; though in truth grown persons often fail egregiously in this matter.
Dot wanted everything that she could not have, and she disliked everything that she might have, alike in the way of food and of amusement. She could hardly endure to have Pattie out of her sight, and the cry for "Dadda" was only second in frequency to the cry for "Pattie."
It was noticeable that Dot did not cry for her "Ma-ma." She had received too many snubs in that direction to turn thither in weakness and pain, with any confidence. Mrs. Cragg could not but observe this fact. It made her unhappy, and even more jealous of Pattie than before. Instead of reproaching herself, as she ought to have done, she reproached Pattie, and looked upon herself as a wronged individual.
This feeling, given way to without restraint, at last bore fruit. Mrs. Cragg, though she had uttered threats to Pattie, had not made up her mind that she would break her own promises of silence, or that she would deliberately injure the girl. But when temptation came, it round her powerless to resist. A habit of ill-temper is weakening to the moral fibre.
Mrs. Cragg's particular crony walked in to see her one certain morning—Mrs. Smithers, the chemist's wife, a smart young woman, and one of the greatest gossips in the place. A matter revealed to Mrs. Smithers was revealed to the country round. Mrs. Cragg knew this,— not that it made much difference in what she said or did not say to the woman in question.
"So you've had no end of bother about Dot," Mrs. Smithers remarked. "And she's getting on all right, I'm told."
Mrs. Cragg gave her own version of affairs. It was all Cragg's fault, according to her. He had been in "a fuss," and had scolded the child for being in the room, and Dot had run away and tumbled downstairs. This was not exactly an accurate report.