Then she went away to take up her post with the nurse. And Nellie, with that unutterable ache at her heart; had to go and collect the clothes they would all need, the books, playthings,—everything.
She and Poppet, with Bunty’s help, were to do the work of the cottage between them. At first, Meg had thought of letting Martha go with them, but afterwards it occurred to her it might be better to let Nellie cook, wash up, and see to everything, just to keep her time occupied.
Bunty was to go to school daily, but Miss Monson relinquished her duties for a time. She had two little sisters and a baby brother at home; no one could say that Peter or Poppet would not sicken personally, and she dare not run the risk. “But Nellie can easily manage the little ones,” she said, [236] ]“and even keep up her own studies; she will have plenty of time.”
The little sick child was put into Esther’s room, and a bed made up on the sofa for Meg or the nurse. The window looked straight to the gate, and could be seen through a gap in the acacias. They arranged a code of signals to be waved by Meg through it three times a day. She kept a walking-stick of the Captain’s just near the window, and with it a white towel, an old red dressing-gown of Poppet’s, and a black wool shawl belonging to Martha. The black signal meant “Better,”—not for worlds would they have used the black for “Worse”; the white meant “No change”; the red, “Not so well.”
And when that was settled, and every other little matter, and the dogcart filled and sent off with the luggage, then the four sorrowful little figures walked slowly down the drive, waved with wet eyes to Meg at the window, and disappeared round the bend in the road.
And Misrule, strangely quiet for days and days, saw only the silent-footed nurse in her grey dress and cap, and poor Meg with her young shoulders weighed down with the responsibility; the two doctors, Alan and the old one, on occasion, and the maids. Nobody shouted in the nursery or quarrelled and laughed along the passages; no little girls ran [237] ]lightly down the stairs; no boys tramped up with muddy boots. No ringing voices floated from the grounds through the open windows; no flying figures and yelping dogs went down the drive.
Meg’s face grew grave and old-looking those long, slow, silent days when there was so little to be done and so much to fight for. She lost her old trick of dimpling when she smiled—she almost lost the trick of smiling at all. Always there was a picture before her eyes,—Esther coming towards her, radiant with the happiness of home-coming, Esther with outstretched arms and bright eyes with no shadow of suspicion in them.
Always the picture was speaking—
“Meg, where is Essie?—what have you done with my baby, Meg?”