“Oh, Ernie,” I answered. “I’m so unhappy! I’ve been thinking that perhaps Bobsie is going to die.”
“Well, of course we’re all going to some day,” answered Ernie, sleepily. But she slipped her hand into mine like a cuddlesome kitten, and somehow I felt comforted.
Dr. Porter says that what Robin needs is “all the luxuries.” That is, to go away in the summer to the seashore or mountains, to have good nourishing food, proper clothing, and plenty of fresh air all the year round, and neither to be overstimulated nor worried. Nice possible prescription, that! Uncle George means to do what is right, I am sure; but, oh, why can’t he say,—
“Here is $5,000. Take it, and make Robin well.” If it were Georgie who was ill!
That reminds me that Geof was in this afternoon, quite sulky and injured because he had to go to the opera this evening.
“Meta has a friend staying with her,” he explained. “And they prance round and see everything. That’s all right; but why do they have to lug me along?”
“Poor Geof,” purred Ernie, who is always sympathetic. “What is it going to be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Geoffrey. “They’re all the same. A fellow in pink pants gets up and bellows at the top of his lungs,—‘Ish leap a dish!’ The lady answers to the same tune, only shriller, and then they both die. Giddy show that!”
We could not help laughing; but how I wish I were going in Geof’s place!
Mother would be sorry if she could see what I have written to-day. I think she would call it cowardly. She always faces things so bravely, dear mother!—and if she can be cheerful and light-hearted I am sure the rest of us should be. I’ll try,—I will,—I will,—whatever comes!