“I suppose so. Maybe you won’t want to come back. But you belong to us, you know and we can’t give you up.”
Then he turned to go.
“Will you kiss the babies for me and tell them how sorry I am, and ask Jack not to tease them, and—and—” she swallowed over a great lump in her throat—“I shall come back when I get well.” 112
“That’s a good girl. Good-bye. I shall be in town next week and will come in and see you.”
He gave the little hand a clasp. Miss Armitage went down with him. Marilla turned her face over on the pillow and cried as if her heart would break. Could she go back to the babies and Jack? And Bridget wasn’t as sweet as Jane, and there was sharp Aunt Hetty––
“My dear! My dear!” said the soft voice with its infinite pity, and the sweet lips kissed hers.
“Oh, Miss Armitage, won’t God take you to heaven if you pray very hard? I should hate to leave you and the dear, nice doctor, but I’m afraid I don’t want to go back to the babies and Jack. I’m tired of them, and I feel as if it was foolish to be funny when there are so many sweet things to think of and books to read and your beautiful music. But I must go away from all that, and somehow heaven looks nicer. And when you die doesn’t an angel come and take you in his arms and just carry you up and up to the other side of the sky where everything is 113 peace and loveliness, and no one will torment you––”
“Oh my child, perhaps God wants you to live here a little longer and do some work for him. The doctor would be very sorry not to have you get well. Some one might say—‘He let that little girl die when he might have saved her,’ but they wouldn’t know it was because she kept brooding over it all the time and would make no effort to get well. God knows what is best for us.”
“I didn’t mind about going back. But today it seemed to be—dreadful,” with a convulsive sob.
“Then we have spoiled you. Oh, I am sorry for that.”