“But what makes you think that she is getting better?” asked Bertha, who had seen no improvement.
“Her hands are not quite so helpless as they were, and she can move her head a little. Oh, there is a decided improvement, and though it may take a couple of years for the paralysis to wear off, just think how the knowledge that she is getting better will help her.”
Bertha drew a long breath. “It seems too good to be true. Why, to see Grace getting better would be like—like——”
“Like seeing the prison door come open at the end of a long term of imprisonment, I think you mean,” said Eunice, with that rare sympathy which seemed to divine the thoughts without any necessity for words.
“I am afraid that it has been dreadfully wicked to feel like that,” said Bertha ruefully.
“I think it is very human. After all, we are human at the bottom, you know, and what is in us will show out under stress of circumstances,” Eunice answered, with a little laugh, and then the first batch of men came trooping in for a meal, and for the next two hours there seemed to be work enough for four people.
The men were desperately hungry, and they fed with the same zest of endeavour with which they did their work, while Eunice and Bertha flitted to and fro waiting upon them, filling jugs, dishing vegetables, and bringing fresh provisions from the pantry, until they could eat no more. Then in came another batch, the same process was repeated, and so the long day went on.
The next day brought almost as great a rush, but with no Eunice to help with the heavy end of the burden. Bertha, however, had got a tiny germ of hope in her heart now, and it proved a plant of vigorous growth too. If there was any likelihood of Grace recovering, why, immediately there was a time limit to her bondage, and she could cheer her heart with looking forward.
The third day brought Eunice over again, to the great relief of all concerned; for there was another thresher at work, which meant another set of hungry men to feed. Then Mrs. Smith, with real neighbourly kindness, drove over from Blow End and carried off the five children, a huge relief to Bertha, as with two threshing machines at work it was extraordinarily difficult to keep the children out of danger.
While Mrs. Smith was loading up the children into her little one-horse wagon, Bertha put the question which had been on her mind ever since the day when the standing corn fired and they had to work so hard to put it out.