"No home, and no one belonging to me! All are gone. Phil and little Lou were the last."
"Well, well, I wouldn't think about it now. You've got to get well first," said Miss Perkins, her duty as nurse rising uppermost.
[CHAPTER IX]
WHAT WAS TO BE DONE NEXT
THOUGH Miss Perkins might say to Mildred, "Don't think," with reference to her isolation in the world, Miss Perkins made no effort herself to refrain from thinking. Without friends, and without a home. Did that also mean, without any means of livelihood?
It might easily do so. Miss Perkins was greatly exercised in spirit on this question. She had offered, under a sudden gust of pity, to take the shipwrecked wanderer for a few days, looking upon the arrangement as a transitory one; and when Millie, instead of rallying quickly, became worse, needing constant attention, she had buckled bravely to the task, devoting her time and her energies, with really few complaints.
She had received a cheque for five guineas from Mr. Gilbert, given out of his own slender resources; but five guineas would not cover the additional outlay in which she was involved; and though she know that others might come forward, she knew also that such coming forward was doubtful. People in general are glad enough to put off trouble and expense upon another. Money in Old Maxham could not be regarded as a plentiful commodity; and those who possessed any considerable amount of it—Mr. Mokes, for example, was credited with large savings—were by no means too fond of parting with the same.
For a few days, or for two or three weeks, Miss Perkins had met her responsibilities pluckily. But Mildred's words had now opened out a new vista. If Mildred had no home, no friends, no money, no means of livelihood, would Miss Perkins be expected to make her a permanent inmate of Periwinkle Cottage, without remuneration? That was the question.
Miss Perkins had begun to view her own action in the matter as foolish and impulsive; though she would have been the last to acknowledge as much to anybody else; and though, it is to be hoped, she would have done precisely the same over again, had the condition of affairs been repeated.
For a while these doubts only troubled her when she was away from Millie. In Mildred's presence such sensations had no weight. But as days went on, a feeling of provocation even there sometimes assailed Miss Perkins. Mildred was very feeble still, with no energy to arouse herself, or to think of plans and ways and means; and day after day she lay, spiritless and pale, just moving from the bed to an easy-chair, apparently content with her shelter and not in the least degree anxious as to how or by whom her needs were supplied. She was too utterly saddened to have room in her mind for personal cares. Miss Perkins began to think that the time was come when Mildred ought to bestir herself and ought to be troubled.