Poor Bess! she could not eat, and she was so restless. The pears and the oranges were gone, and, saddest of all, their bank was empty. If Patsey would only come!
Dil took Bess up and laid her down, gave her sips of water, caressed her tenderly, bathed her head with cologne, and even that was running low. The babies were left on the floor to cry, if Dil caught the faintest sound that was like desire. Bess often just held up her spindling arms and, drawing Dil down, kissed her with eager fervor.
She was so glad to have night come and see the last baby taken away. Mrs. Quinn was working at a grand house where they were to have a Christmas feast. She was to go again to-morrow; and, as it was late, she did not go out, but just tumbled into bed, with not an anxiety on her mind.
Dil sat and crooned to her little sister, who seemed a part of her very life. When Mrs. Quinn snored, it was safe to indulge in a little freedom. And though Dil was so worn and weary, she ministered as only love can. Everybody had been so used to Bess’s weakness, and they thought that the end would be a great relief. But Dil never dreamed of the end they saw so plainly.
It was past midnight when Dil laid her down for the last time.
“O Dil, I feel so nice an’ easy all of a suddent,” she cried, with an eager joyousness that thrilled the heavy heart. “Nothin’ pains me. I’m quite sure I’ll be better to-morrow. An’ when Patsey comes, we’ll just ast him to help us get that nice medicine. He’s so good to us, Dil; ’n’ if he had lots of money he’d give us anything.”
“He just would,” said Dil. “An’ if Owny’s gone to him, he’ll be all right.”
The thought comforted her immeasurably.
“O Dil, dear,” murmured the plaintive voice, “do you remember the big bowl of wild roses, an’ how sweet they were, an’ how pritty, with their soft pink leaves an’ baby buds? I can almost smell them. It’s so sweet all around. Dil, are there any wild roses?”
“No, dear,” said the gentle, tired voice.