CHAPTER XVII
THE FINDING OF ANTONIO
For Jessica Trent there followed weeks of a quieter life than she had lived even at isolated Sobrante. “The behavior,” which was to be a test of her stay, proved so pleasing to the hospital residents that some of them wondered how they had ever gotten along without her helpful, happy presence.
Very quickly she lost her first vague fear of the place and learned to hear in the once alarming ambulance gong the signal of relief to somebody. She modulated her voice to the prevailing quietude of the house and her footfalls were as light as the nurses themselves. To many a sufferer, coming there in dread and foreboding, the sight of a child familiar and happy about the great building brought a feeling of comfort and homelikeness which nothing else could have given. She was so apt and imitative that Ephraim often declared:
“All you need, Lady Jess, is a cap and apron to make you a regular professional. Take care of me better’n any of ’em, you do; and I’ll be a prime experience for you, that’s a fact. Another of the good things come out of my fool riding, I s’pose. You’ll be able to nurse the whole parcel of us, when you get back to Sobrante. Beat Aunt Sally all hollow, ’cause you trust a bit to nature and not all to–picra.”
“But you’re not ill, Ephraim Marsh. You’re just broken. So you don’t need medicine. All you need is patience. And your nourishments, regular.”
“I get them all right; but–patience! Atlantic!”
The old man sighed. It was weary work for him, the hardest he had ever done, to lie so motionless while he was so anxious to be active. He really suffered little and he had the best of care. Still, he sighed again, and, unfortunately, Jessica echoed the sigh. Then he looked at her keenly and spoke the thought which had been in his mind for a long time:
“Captain, you must go home. There’s twenty to need bossing there and only one poor old carcass here.”
Poor Lady Jess! She tried to answer brightly as was her habit, but that day homesickness was strong upon her, and at mention of Sobrante her courage failed. She forgot that she was a “nurse”; forgot the good “behavior,” forgot everything, indeed, but her mother’s face and Ned’s mischievous affection. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in the old man’s pillow while she sobbed aloud:
“Oh, ‘Forty-niner,’ shall we ever see that home again?”