[CHAPTER XI.]
DOWN IN A VALLEY.
I HARDLY know how we got through the next month.
A doctor had to be called in, and Maimie’s attack proved to be, as she had expected, one of severe inflammation. She was very very ill, though by her own account not so ill as the former time.
A more patient and gentle invalid could hardly have been found. From the moment when she was acknowledged to be really ill, excitement and wilfulness were at an end. She did as she was told, submitted to painful remedies without a murmur, took the most unpleasant medicines smilingly, and smothered the faintest approach to complaint. “Maimie, I do wish you would indulge in a grumble now and then,” Cherry said one day; and she answered, “How can I, when you are all so sweet to me?”
Through two or three days, at the worst, we did not think Maimie would ever be up and about again. We were all very sad and grieved. Even Cress shed a few tears, though much ashamed of doing so. Poor Jack’s misery was touching to see. He spent hours on the stairs, outside the sick-room, watching for news. Still, in trouble he turned to his mother for comfort; and I was content.
Then the worst was past; and Maimie came slowly back to everyday life. As she improved, many little delicacies in the way of food were needed, and somehow we procured them, I hardly know how. Day by day we were just able to get on. The fog which lay ahead cleared away for us step by step, never more than one step in advance. Often I felt afraid as to the next step; yet, when it had to be taken it could be taken.
My children all put their shoulders to the wheel, and did their best to help. The younger boys had never been so quiet, so thoughtful, so ready in every way to assist Cherry and me with household work. Cress had never been so careful of his clothes, had never wanted so few things mended or bought. What little pocket-money they had was spent in delicacies for Maimie’s capricious appetite.
Kind help came too, in our time of need, from other quarters. The doctor, though a Parish doctor only, with a large family, himself an elderly and poor man, brought many a little gift to his winning patient.
Jack’s employers, hearing of our trouble, not only passed over various blunders committed by him under distress of mind, but sent eggs and fowls fresh from the country, and bottles of wine from their own cellars. And one day, when anxieties pressed with especial heaviness, the post brought an unexpected letter from Aunt Briscoe, enclosing a five pound note.