“The doctor was afraid of fever,” Miss Armitage said to Jane, “and it has come.”
But the doctor was in early. There would be so many calls on him, by and by.
“Yes, it is fever. She seemed better yesterday. And she can’t spare any strength to be burned up, so we must do our best. I don’t dare treat her as you would a robust child, but I’ll give her something every hour, and get in again before night. Oh, no, I think it is 78 hardly critical,” in answer to the lady’s anxious look.
Marilla did not seem to know any one. She muttered little catches of talk about the babies and Jack, always pleading with him not to do this or that. Once she laughed and waved her hand to and fro as if in response to music and said—“All the Cinderellas! How beautiful!”
A tall, plain-looking Irish woman came in at midafternoon.
“Tell her it’s Bridget,” she said. “Can’t I see her?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Miss Armitage, “But I am afraid she will not recognize you.”
So she led the way upstairs. Marilla lay on the cot now and was moving her hands as if acting something.
“Ah, the dear!” Bridget knelt down by the side of the bed. “Don’t you remember Bridget whose come to care for you so much? Ah dear! It’s meself that sorry enough to see ye lyin’ this way, thin as a ghost.”
She opened her eyes, “Bridget! Oh, you know the night I went to the ball and fairy godmother turned my old frock into the beautifullest 79 frock, all lace and ribbons. And I danced with the Prince and had such a lovely time!”