Luke was beforehand with her, and even his strong physique was for an instant overcome by the pungency of the odor which filled his nostrils. He staggered for a step or two, and then, as the little girl was darting forward, he put her gently aside and stooped down to lift the small figure, which the light now made visible, from its resting-place upon the closet floor.
There was one brief word of command: “The doctor”; and Luke had flown to obey it. Then, forgetting utterly for that terrible moment the suffering boy upon the lounge, the housekeeper bore her inert burden straight out of doors, and to the old well in the garden.
She could not have done better; but she was still working and chafing the rounded little limbs, which had before seemed all too active, and praying over her task with the devout fervor of her warm, believing heart, when Luke reappeared with the doctor.
“Oh! how glad I am! I didn’t dream you would get here so quick!”
“I was just driving down the road. And well that I was,” added the physician gravely.
It was three hours after that when he went away, even then promising to return again before midnight; but, when he did leave The Snuggery for a brief time, it was with the hopeful assurance that “if nothing unforeseen occurred,” the little fellow would be none the worse for his dangerous experience.
“Such a world of joy or pain hangs on that little ‘if!’” exclaimed poor Paula, between her sobs.
For once, Content’s ready word of comfort failed her; and she could not utter that “it is all for the best,” which seemed such a truism in the presence of this anxiety. She could see no “best” which might be extracted from that afternoon’s misfortune; and she could only fold her sympathetic arms about the cousin whom, till now, she had thought so cold of heart, and let her tears mingle with Paula’s.
It was the wisest and kindest thing she could have done. Paula had nourished a mistaken notion that her “perfect Cousin Content” considered herself infinitely superior to the worldly and frivolous “Miss Pickel,” whose main interests in life appeared to be dress and the supervision of her neighbors’ manners.
The truth was simply that each girl was to the other a new and uncomprehended type. Octave had early nicknamed the one “Beauty,” the other “Duty”; and, unlike as they were, it took just such a sorrow to break away the outer form of habit and training, and show the warm, friendly hearts beneath.