“I think,” she said, “that you will be a man, Sam; take care of Susan, and be a comfort to your father.”
“I hope I shall,” said Sam; “but I don’t know how.”
“Nobody can tell how beforehand,” she said. “Only watch to see what he may seem to want to have done for him. Sit quietly by, and don’t get in the way.”
“Were you ever so unhappy, Miss Fosbrook?” asked Susan.
“Yes, once I was, when my father was knocked down by an omnibus, and was very ill.”
“Tell us about it?” said Susan.
She did tell them of her week of sorrow and anxious care of the younger children, and the brightening ray of hope at last. It seemed to freshen both up, and give them hopes, for each drew a long sigh of relief; and then Sam said, “Papa wrote to Mr. Carey. She is to be prayed for in church to-morrow.”
“Oh,” said Susan, with a sound as of dismay, which made Christabel ask in wonder why she was sorry, when, from Susan’s half-uttered words, she found that the little girl fancied that a “happy issue out of all her afflictions” meant death.
“Oh no, my dear,” she said. “What it means is, that the afflictions may end happily in whatever way God may see to be best; it may be in getting well; it may be the other way: at any rate, it is asking that the distress may be over, not saying how.”
“Isn’t there some other prayer in the Prayer-book about it?” said Sam, looking straight before him.