“You are right,” was the answer. “She will live.”
Swiftly as an electric message went the glad news from eye to eye, and “Thank God!” welled up from anxious hearts and lifted eyes overflowing with tears.
Margaret had been convalescent two weeks before she was permitted an answer to the wonder in her eyes. It was a disjointed answer at best. No one knew how the fire had originated, why it had been impossible to make connections with the water-mains, or why they had been so deplorably incapable of action. One fact alone stood out distinct and clear: Margaret’s insensibility and the subsequent hard fight for life. Now that Margaret was recovering, the misfortune seemed to lighten. In fact, the old sunshine had come back to their faces, albeit the unpicturesque side of poverty stared them in the face. They had not as yet gone hungry, for Eph with the generosity and sympathy of his race had kept the table supplied with game; but Lizzette’s slender resources were being daily lessened. Of this, however, she gave no intimation, but cheerfully bore her increased expense and labor, thankful above all else for the boon of Margaret’s life, and the opportunity to repay a debt which it had seemed to her a life’s devotion could never obliterate. Elsie was quick to see how the slender means were being strained to their utmost, but while Margaret was still so weak and needing such careful nursing she could make no effort to earn anything to help out the scanty purse. She could only bide her time until Margaret was able to wait upon herself, and then something must be done. She and Gilbert must be bread-winners now. Gilbert, in the mean time, had gone from door to door, shovelling coal here, sweeping walks there, running occasional errands, and doing odd jobs of tinkering, in the hopeful effort to eke out the scanty income. It was a miserable pittance at best that he earned, but it bought the beef for Margaret’s tea and occasional bits of fruit to tempt the tardy appetite. If Margaret surmised the severity of the struggle, she saw no evidence of it in the serene faces about her. If the old gayety of Elsie’s laugh was a trifle subdued and Antoine’s violin had a more than usual plaintiveness, there had come a tenderer sympathy, a sweeter note of love, and a closer bond of union that were even more grateful. By tacit consent the old evenings had been resumed as Margaret’s convalescence progressed, Elsie “serene presidentess pro tem.,” as she styled herself, and Margaret an honorary member, from whom nothing was permitted except smiles and occasional applause. It was a great delight to Margaret to watch her Protean sister. How admirably the versatile little witch fitted into every niche! How beautiful she was in face and form, and more than beautiful in character! “God shield her!” was Margaret’s inward prayer. “The world is full of danger for such as she, and I must hasten to get well, rebuild the home nest, and keep the home ties strong.”
But Margaret’s recovery was very slow. It seemed as if the red blood of renewed strength would never come, and it was with a bitter heart-pang that she listened to the doctor’s statement that she would not be fitted to resume work of any kind before spring. The golden cord had been well-nigh snapped in the indomitable determination to conquer self and circumstances, and nature was taking her revenge. Gradually, sitting helpless and empty-handed in her chair, she began to notice the little evidences of desperate need which the others tried in vain to keep from her, and one morning, determined to try her strength, she crawled feebly into the kitchen to surprise them at breakfast with nothing on the table but potatoes and salt!
“We are waiting for the cook to bring in breakfast,” exclaimed Elsie, noticing the pain in Margaret’s eyes.
“O Margaret!” cried Lizzette, “zis ees too much. Here, sit down, and see what good appetite we haf. Ze pomme de terre, ze sel, bof of a superieur kind and so well served we eat and eat like ze epicure.”
The humorous twinkle in Lizzette’s eyes was lost on Margaret, for weak and disheartened she sank into a seat, bowed her head on the table, and sobbed like a child. In a second Antoine was out of his chair and his arms were around her neck.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “The potatoes are done to a turn and you will spoil them.”
The lad’s keenness had touched the right chord. To stand in the way of another’s need or pleasure, even in little things, was an ingrained abhorrence of Margaret’s nature. Instantly she raised a half-smiling face. “It is a good deal better than starving, after all,” she said.
“Vastly,” responded Elsie. “Just watch Gilbert stow ’em away! I’m not going to tell the result of my tally this morning, for fear he’ll take revenge on me. We are growing to be experts on potatoes, and can tell how they taste with our eyes shut.”