“Yes, it is.” Hester gave herself a shake. “I cannot seem to take it all in yet, Julie—what it all means. It seems to me we must be some other girls talking, not ourselves at all. Somehow it never entered my mind that dreadful things could happen to us—not while we had Dad to take care of us.”
“But that is just it now, Hester dear; we haven’t Dad to take care of us—it is we who must take care of him.”
“We’ll do it, too,” said Hester, with a ring in her voice. “I’m going down now to the kitchen to see about making him some wine jelly. Bridget said she did not believe Dr. Ware would let him eat it, but I feel as if I must be doing something. Come, Peter Snooks,” to the dog that was never far out of sight, “we’ll at least make a pretense of being useful. Now don’t you sit there and cry,” she said from the door to her sister. “You just hold tight on to yourself, and think out something clever—I’m sure you can,” convincingly.
Julie acknowledged this flattery by a wan little smile, and following Hester out of the room, went in to see her father. The nurse was sitting near the bed, but moved aside as she entered.
Mr. Dale partially opened his eyes as his daughter drew near, but closed them again instantly. His drawn, haggard face showed the strain he had undergone in the months before the final collapse of his business had stricken him down. A look of tender pity came into Julie’s face as she knelt by the bed and laid her hand over his. He was breathing heavily, as if asleep, and she dared not speak. It seemed to her inconceivable that her bright, energetic father could be lying there as helpless as a little child! She put her head down on the bed, while her mind reverted to their recent conversation with Dr. Ware and the subsequent talk which had half stunned their senses. They must think, Hester said, and she was right; but it almost seemed to her it would be a relief to stop thinking for a moment, so rapidly had the events of the past two days been crowded in upon them.
All this passed through her mind in a tumult of confused ideas, through which ran the predominating thought of work, in obtaining which she knew Dr. Ware would help them. But how, and what and where? In the first shock of their trouble it was not possible to see the way clearly, nor, indeed, to half understand the problems confronting them. Julie felt this and knew she must be patient, though inwardly a wave of resentment that such things should be, surged in her heart rebelliously. The next instant she thrust down this feeling with a fierce determination to control herself, and spreading out her hands, for the first time in her life regarded them critically. They were not beautiful, like Hester’s, but they were slender and white, and she suddenly felt a contempt for their delicacy, while a consciousness that she had never exacted anything from them caused her to view them in a new light. Why not work with her hands! Why not put her fingers to some use and see what they were capable of, making each one a vital thing full of strength and character. The idea delighted her, and she closed her fingers in a tight grip as if testing their possibilities. “Oh, Daddy, dear!” she half whispered, with her head pressed close against him, “we will amount to something.” Then rising from the bed, she stooped to kiss him, and went in search of Hester.
When Dr. Ware came again they convinced him of their determination to work, and he promised to look about and see what opening could be found for them. He had only a moment to give them that morning, but said he should return in the evening to have a long talk. When Hester kept him a second longer to display, with considerable pride, the wine jelly she had made for her father, he shook his head.
“Not just yet, my dear,” he said, kindly. Her disappointment was so evident that the good Doctor felt inclined to eat it himself by way of proving his admiration of her culinary skill, and then—he had an inspiration.
“Hester,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”
“Indeed, I will.”