The boy's sweet, confident tone touched her. She did not dare open her eyes, lest she should cry, she was so weak. Then he said, "Good-morning," and went softly out of the room, feeling that he was glad in every pulse of his being that God had given her back to them.
Doctor Joe had a good deal of credit for the case. Dr. Fitch admitted that it had been very severe, and required the utmost watchfulness. Mrs. Underhill was very proud of her son's success "in his own country," as she termed it. And she said when Mrs. Reed was well enough to see visitors, she would go over and call. Indeed, it had created a good deal of interest in the neighbourhood, and Charles found himself treated with a peculiar deference among the children.
Mrs. Reed's recovery was very slow, however. Mrs. Bond went away when she could begin to go about the room and help herself. Cousin Jane was a good nurse, and she declared, "There wasn't work enough to keep her half busy." She did the mending and the ironing; Mr. Reed insisted they should have a washerwoman. Mrs. Reed sighed when she thought of the expense. It had been the pride of her life that she never had a fit of illness, and had never hired a day's work done except when Charles was born.
She was sure now that the house must be in an awful plight. She never found time to sit down in the morning and read a book or paper. Cousin Jane changed her gown every afternoon, and wore lace ruffles at the neck, just plain strips of what was called footing, that she pleated up herself. Then, too, she wore white muslin aprons,—a very old fashion that was coming back. And though Mrs. Reed couldn't find fault when she saw Charles and his father always as neat as a pin, still she was sure there must be a great need of thoroughness somewhere. She prided herself upon being "thorough."
Mrs. Underhill came over one day with the Doctor, and they had a really nice call. Of course Mrs. Reed couldn't understand how she ever managed with such a houseful of boys. Yet she was fresh and fair, and seemed to take life very comfortably. Then they were always having so much company at the Underhills.
"Yes," said Mrs. Underhill, with a mellow sort of laugh that agreed capitally with her ample person,—"yes, we have such a host of cousins,—not all own ones, but second and third. And since my daughter was married, the house seems lonesome at times. All the boys are away at work but Jim; and Hanny has so many places to go, that, what with lessons and all, I don't seem to get much good of her. But I've a nice kitchen-girl. She was a great trial when she first came, with her not knowing much English, and her German ways of cooking. But she's quite like folks now, and very trusty. How fortunate you found a relative to come in and do for you! And the Doctor says you must give up hard work for a long while to come."
Mrs. Reed sighed, and said she should be glad enough to get about again.
The Deans came over, and some of the other neighbours; and Mrs. Reed found it very pleasant. One afternoon late in March, Mr. Reed came home quite early, and carried his wife down into the dining-room. He had asked the Deans over to tea, and Doctor Joe. And there was the table, spick and span, the silver shining, the windows so clean you couldn't see there was any glass in them, the curtains fresh, the tablecloth ironed so that every flower and leaf in it stood out. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere!
The kitchen was in nice order; the range black and speckless, the closets sweet with their fresh white paper. And Cousin Jane's bread and biscuit were as good as anybody's, her ham tender and a luscious pink, her two kinds of cake perfection.
Charles sat next to his mother, a tall, smiling boy with a clean collar and his best roundabout. It was the first tea-party he ever remembered, and he was delighted. He was so polite and watchful of his mother that it really went to her heart.