“Is that all? Oh, I thought that it was something bad that you had to tell me,” she said, then added, with a laugh, “Some of the wages are a solid reality, for a quarter of the amount due to Tom is paid every month to Grace through a Winnipeg Bank, and I believe that Eunice Long has something in the same way too.”
“Well, I am thankful to hear it, for she needs it, poor thing; she is almost too ill to keep about now, and every day I am afraid that she will break down. I suppose you know that they will not get a penny of their insurance money, and now, to make matters worse, the postal orders and stamps that were destroyed have got to be made good,” replied Dr. Benson, as he led his horse out of the stable.
“Poor Eunice, how I wish that I could help her!” exclaimed Bertha, and then she added, with a sigh, “But it seems to take all my time to help myself just now.”
“I should think so; at any rate, you can’t be dull for want of employment,” returned the doctor, with a laugh. “Don’t say anything about this rumour to Mrs. Ellis; she is not strong enough to bear worry very comfortably yet awhile. Of course, if the men hear that there is not enough money to carry the venture through, they will most likely throw up the job and return before the snow blocks them in.”
“That also I must keep from Mrs. Ellis,” said Bertha, whose heart had given a sudden throb of hope at hearing there was even a remote possibility of Tom returning before the winter.
“Of course; for if the poor thing even guessed that her husband might return, she would know no peace or rest, and her recovery would be put back in consequence,” the doctor went on, his voice dropping into a graver key. “The trouble is that in matters like this the men most concerned are usually the last to know that there is anything wrong, and they may get too far to return before autumn, in which case they will have to wait until the snow will let them out.”
Bertha nodded, and the hope that had sprung up that Tom would return died out again, for well she knew that he was not the sort of man to turn his back on a forlorn hope, nor would he be likely to leave his employers in the lurch, even though he knew that he would not get his money, and perhaps be half-starved into the bargain.
She watched the doctor ride away and then went into the house, her mind in a turmoil of mixed feelings—joy for Grace, anxiety for Tom, and for herself a determination to make the very best of the hard bit in front of her.
“Bertha, why did you send for the doctor?” Grace asked reproachfully, and then she went on, “My dear, it is no use for you to try to put me off, because you are so very transparent, that I always feel as if I can see right through you. I expect that you wrote a little private note when I was not looking, and asked him to come because you were anxious.”
Bertha sat down and laughed. “It is really of no use to try any underhand performances with you; but that is just what I did, and I am so very glad, because now he will watch your case carefully, and be ready to help you when you need it.”