“Perhaps you might make me so,” said Margaret, “or I should let you alone, and leave you a slattern. We should both hate it so! No, don’t make me your mistress, Ethel dear—let me be your sister and play-fellow still, as well as I can.”
“You are, you are. I don’t care half so much when I have got you.”
“And will you try to bear with her, and remember it is right in the main, though it is troublesome?”
“That I will. I won’t plague you again. I know it is bad for you, you look tired.”
“Pray don’t leave off telling me,” said Margaret—“it is just what I wish on my own account, and I know it is comfortable to have a good grumble.”
“If it does not hurt you, but I am sure you are not easy now—are you?”
“Only my back,” said Margaret. “I have been sitting up longer than usual, and it is tired. Will you call nurse to lay me flat again?”
The nursery was deserted—all were out, and Ethel came back in trepidation at the notion of having to do it herself, though she knew it was only to put one arm to support her sister, while, with the other, she removed the pillows; but Ethel was conscious of her own awkwardness and want of observation, nor had Margaret entire trust in her. Still she was too much fatigued to wait, so Ethel was obliged to do her best. She was careful and frightened, and therefore slow and unsteady. She trusted that all was right, and Margaret tried to believe so, though still uneasy.
Ethel began to read to her, and Dr. May came home. She looked up smiling, and asked where he had been, but it was vain to try to keep him from reading her face. He saw in an instant that something was amiss, and drew from her a confession that her back was aching a little. He knew she might have said a great deal—she was not in a comfortable position—she must be moved. She shook her head—she had rather wait—there was a dread of being again lifted by Ethel that she could not entirely hide. Ethel was distressed, Dr. May was angry, and, no wonder, when he saw Margaret suffer, felt his own inability to help, missed her who had been wont to take all care from his hands, and was vexed to see a tall strong girl of fifteen, with the full use of both arms, and plenty of sense, incapable of giving any assistance, and only doing harm by trying.
“It is of no use,” said he. “Ethel will give no attention to anything but her books! I’ve a great mind to put an end to all the Latin and Greek! She cares for nothing else.”