“It was there I first knew Hattie–Estelle. Her aunt’s house was next to my grandma’s. I used to think her the luckiest child that ever was born. Seemed to me she had just about everything–a gold locket and chain, bronze boots, and paper dolls by the dozen. We used to play together, day in day out, one of those plays that last all the time, where you pretend you’re some one else and act it out in all you do. We kept it up for years. I don’t see that we’ve changed much with growing up. Seems to me we were pretty near the same then as we are now, having our spats, but having lots of fun, and wanting to share everything. Estelle lived in East Boston, too, and 237was going to be a school-teacher. It seemed to me that to be a school-teacher was just about the finest thing anybody could do. That would have been my ambition, to be a school-teacher. But I never got beyond the grammar school, I was needed at home to help mother. Then my poor pa died–an accident down in the docks,”–Aurora, lowering her voice, began to hurry and condense,–“then Ben, then Joe, then–will you believe it?–Charlie, that I loved best. They all had the same delicate constitution as ma, it turned out, and a predisposition to the same trouble. Then finally, after going through with so much, my poor mother went, too, and for that I could only be thankful. And I had taken care of them all. I wasn’t twenty-three when I was the last left. Doesn’t it seem strange! I sometimes can’t believe it even now.”
This rapid enumeration of calamities so great robbed them of terror and pathos, yet Gerald had somewhat the startled, shocked feeling of a man who knows he has been struck by a bullet, though his nerves have not yet announced it by suffering.
Aurora, who after the passing of years could think of these things without tears, yet in speaking of them to a sympathetic hearer had obvious difficulty in keeping a stiff upper lip. Gerald turned away his eyes while with her hand she covered and tried to stop her mouth’s trembling.
“Poor child!” he said, with a sincerity which saved the words from insignificance.
“Yes,” she half laughed. “Wouldn’t one think it enough to sort of subdue anybody, take the starch out of them for some time? When I came out of that house of sickness I couldn’t think of anything else but sickness and death. It stuck to me like the smell of disinfectants 238after you’ve been in a hospital. I couldn’t think of anything but that it would take me next. I supposed I must be affected, too. But the doctor examined me, and do you know what he said? ‘Sound as a trout,’ he said. ‘You’re so sound,’ he said, ‘you’re so healthy, that we’ll have to shoot you to get you to the resurrection.’ Then I felt better. He was a new doctor that we’d called in toward the end. He knew how I was situated, and as he seemed to think I’d make a good nurse, he got me a chance in the City Hospital, where I could get my training. And Hattie, dear Hattie, what a friend she’s been! She and her ma and pa made me come and make my home with them. It’s since then that we’ve been like sisters.”
At the sound, appositely occurring, of a cough in the neighboring room, Aurora stopped and listened.
“Dear me!” she whispered. “D’you suppose she’s lying awake?”
“She may be coughing in her sleep,” he suggested.
“Yes,” Aurora said dubiously, after further listening, and hearing nothing more. “And if I should go in to see, I might wake her. The bell-rope is right at the head of her bed; all she has to do is pull it if she wants somebody to come. I was entertaining you with the story of my life, wasn’t I? Where had I got to? Oh, yes. There in the hospital I just loved it. Perhaps you can’t see how I could. I just did. I had lots of hard work. The training was sort of thrown in in my case with other duties, but there were the other nurses and the house-doctors, I grew chummy with them all. I had fun with the patients, too. You don’t know how much good it does you to watch anybody get well; the majority get well. It’s good for them, besides, to have you jolly.”
239“Your gaiety of heart makes me think of the grass, Aurora, the blessed ineradicable grass, that will grow anywhere, that you see pushing up between the paving-stones of the hard city, and finding a foothold on the blank of the rock, and fringing the top of the ruined castle, and hiding the new-made graves.”