“No, ma’am. Papa he comed home an’ Mamma she tol’ him how Sa—Saint Augustine had run away and he frew down his gun an’ all them games, an’—an’—just hollered out loud! ‘Oh! my God’! an’ run off, too. Mamma was gone all night, lookin’ after little brother an’ when she heard papa say that she fell right down there and she don’t speak when we call her. Where’d you find him, our little brother? Was he down in Tony’s Eddy?”
Well, Gerald felt in that state when “anybody could knock him down with a feather.” He was obeying Elsa implicitly, already “proving” he had meant his promise. He felt such an access of manly strength that it was almost unaided he lifted Lucetta and laid her on the bed. In reality, she was already regaining consciousness, and slightly aided him herself. Then he ran to the spring and brought the “cold water—coldest you can find” which Elsa ordered, and lifted Mrs. Stillwell’s shoulders while the girl held the tin cup to her lips; and indeed did so many little things so deftly that he didn’t recognize himself.
Even in her half-stupor Lucetta was her own sweet self, for when she had swallowed the water she smiled upon her nurse and tried to speak. Elsa anticipated what she knew would be the one great longing of that mother’s heart, and said with an answering smile:
“We’ve brought your little son safe home. If you can turn your head you’ll see. Right yonder on that bench. He’s tired out and, maybe, a little sick but he’s safe. Do you mean you want him right beside you?”
Lucetta made an effort to sit up and opened her arms.
“Lie right still. Don’t you fret for one moment. Here’s your baby. Now I’m going home and we’ll get a doctor some way and quick. But you won’t be alone. Gerald, whom you took care of when he was ill, is here. He’ll stay and take care of you in turn now. Good-bye. Don’t worry.”
She was gone before Gerald could even protest, calling the monkeys to follow her and limping away faster than anybody else, with two sound feet, could run. She had taken him at his word, indeed!