"You'd better let one of the boys get you some medicine, if it don't get better," said her friend.
The widow smiled. She had little faith in medicine, and did not believe it would do her any good now.
"I'll get some herb-tea made to-morrow," she said, and resolved to pay no more heed to the troublesome pain in her side.
But something in her appearance made her friend far less easy about the matter. And as she was leaving, she contrived to draw Jack on one side and tell him her fears concerning his mother.
The boy started, and looked towards the bed through the open doorway. "Do you think she's ill?" he said anxiously.
"Hush! Don't let her hear what we are talking about. Yes, I am afraid she is ill, or going to be ill. If she does not seem better to-morrow, if she still has the pain in her side, send Bob down for me, and I'll come up and persuade her to have the doctor. Mind you send early," she added, as she turned up the little path leading from the sea-shore to the village.
Jack felt anxious and alarmed as the woman left him. But when he went back to the cottage and saw his mother's placid face, looking perhaps a trifle paler, but otherwise just the same as usual, his fears subsided, and he felt sure it was all a mistake—his mother was not going to be ill.
The boy was right too. The widow was not going to be ill, she was going to that land where there is neither sickness nor sorrow. She had even reached the borders of it, although she knew it not.
She was unusually cheerful that night, the pain in her side was better, she said, and she felt almost well enough to get up.
As a great treat, Milly was to sit up to supper that night, and, being very wakeful, she remained up until the usual chapter was read and prayer had been offered up by the widow.