Friends came in to sit with her and brought their work. Sometimes she sewed a little, but drawing out her needle hurt her back after a while. She read her Bible and Baxter's "Saints' Rest" And she wondered a little what the other world would be like. She had never thought of heaven with joy—there was the judgment first. And now that she could begin to sit up it did prefigure recovery.
Most schools had kept open all the year round, but now the higher ones were giving a month's vacation. Altogether it had been a happy year to Cynthia. She had really been adored at school. Her frocks were admired, she let the girls curl her hair, usually she wore it tied in a bunch behind—not unlike the queue. Then she had some rings that she coaxed Rachel to let her wear, it was such a pleasure to lend them to the girls. She was learning what was considered necessary for a girl in those days; a good deal more with Cousin Chilian. She kept her love for the Latin and often read to him. She began to draw and paint flowers, she joined the dancing-class, which was a delight to her; but Chilian suggested she should not mention it to Elizabeth. She pirouetted up and down the path like a fairy, and he loved to watch her.
There had been parties among the girls, but he would rather not have her go, it was a bad thing for children to be up so late. She went to take tea now and then. The Turners were very fond of her and the Uphams wanted her once a week. She wondered if she might ever ask any one to tea.
Then they planned what they would do in this wonderful vacation. Go off for day's rides, take sails up and down, there were so many places. She was brimming over with joy.
Chilian was called up in the night by Mother Taft.
"She's had a stroke. And she seemed so smart yesterday. She even laughed over some school stories Cynthia told. That child's brought her flowers every morning, and she's softened so much to her. I really think she's been getting religion, as one may say, and being prepared."
Chilian heard the stertorous breathing. The eyes were half open and rolled up, her face was drawn. He took the hand. It was cold and heavy.
"I'll go for the doctor. I think the end has come."
Dr. Prescott said the same thing, adding with a slow turn of the head, "She will not last long."
What should he do with Cynthia? He remembered how careful her father had been to shield her. She must not see Elizabeth, she must not confront death in this awesome fashion.