“I was just helpin’. I helps Mamma, lots of times.”
Saint Augustine was the second son of Lucetta Stillwell and certainly misnamed. There was nothing saintly about him except his wonderful blue eyes and his curly, golden hair. This, blowing in the wind, formed a sort of halo about his head and emphasized the beauty of the thin little face beneath.
Ten days had passed since Jim and his mates had come to Corny Stillwell’s cabin and Gerald still lay on his bed there. He was almost well now, Dr. Jabb said, and to-morrow might try his strength in a short walk about the yard. His illness had been a severe attack of measles, which he had doubtless contracted before his leaving home, and lest he should carry the contagion to the “Lilies,” Jim hadn’t been near the house-boat all this time. He had been worried about the children of his hosts but the mother had calmly assured him:
“They won’t take it. They’ve had it. They’ve had everything they could in the way of diseases, but they always get well. I suppose that’s because they are never pampered nor overfed.”
“I should think they weren’t!” Jim had burst out, impulsively, remembering the extremely meagre diet upon which they subsisted. In his heart he wished they might have the chance of “pampering” for a time, till their gaunt little faces filled out and grew rosy. He had thought he knew what poverty was but he hadn’t, really; until he became an inmate of this cabin in the fields. To him it seemed pitiful, when at meal time the scant portions of food were distributed among the little brood, to see the eagerness of their eyes and the almost ravenous clutch of the little tin plates as they were given out. Even yet he had never seen his hostess eat. That she did so was of course a fact, else she would have died; but the more generous portions of the meal-pudding which were placed before him made him feel that he was, indeed, “taking bread from the children’s mouths,” and from the mother’s, as well.
Dr. Jabb had gone to the Water Lily, now peacefully moored in “the loveliest spot on the earth,” as Farmer “Wicky” had described it, and reported Gerald’s condition. He had also added:
“He won’t need much nourishment till his fever goes down; then, Madam, if you can manage it you’d best send food across to the cabin for him. Let a messenger carry it to the entrance of the field and leave it there, where the lad, Jim, can get it. May not be need for such extreme precaution; but ‘an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’ Lucetta Stillwell is a noble woman, tied to a worthless husband whom she adores. They must be terribly poor, though she’s so proud you’d never guess it from her manner. I gave it to Corny hot and heavy, the other night, and at the time I felt every word I said. I don’t know. He’s no more capable of doing a man’s part in the world than that young pickaninny yonder,” pointing to Metty on the ground, fascinated by the jabbering monkeys in their cage near-by.
The doctor had said this to Mrs. Calvert very soon after Gerald was stricken, and had added a parting injunction:
“Don’t over-feed the sick boy and don’t begin too soon.”
Then he had ridden away and promptly forgot all about the case. So Mrs. Calvert delayed the shipment of food for several days, during which Jim had ample time to grow mortally sick of hasty-pudding, on his own account, and anxious on that of Lucetta. But gradually he had won her to speak more freely of her affairs.