A pang, like a pain, shot through the listener’s heart. “If I live.” She had not for one moment thought that her dear, dear friend might die. She was relieved to hear the other girl add in a brighter manner, as though she felt stronger after her brief rest: “I believe now that I shall live, but truly, Jenny, I didn’t care much when I lay all day up there in that cold, dreary seminary with no one near to mind whether I stayed or went. But now that I am here with you in this lovely, cheerful room, somehow I feel sure that I shall live.” Before her companion could reply, she asked: “Where is brother Charles?”
Jenny glanced out of the window. “Oh, there he is, standing on that high rock on the point, the one that canopies over our seat, you know, where we sat the last time you were at the farm. Shall I call him, dear?”
Lenora nodded and so Jenny, bareheaded, ran out toward the point of rocks. Charles, turning, saw her and went to meet her. “Has my sister rested?” he asked. Jenny said that she had, then anxiously she inquired: “Mr. Gale, what does the nurse think? Lenora is not seriously ill, is she?”
There was a sudden shadowing of the eyes that looked down at her. “I don’t know, Miss Jenny. I sincerely hope not. At my request Miss Wells will send me a daily report of my sister’s condition. The nurse takes a walk every afternoon, and, if your grandmother is willing, she will stop here until our little Lenora is much better.”
“I think that a splendid plan. It will be better than having a doctor call every day.” Then brightening: “Oh, Mr. Gale, I am sure Lenora will get well. She is better, come and see for yourself.” And so together they went indoors.
CHAPTER XX.
INGRATITUDE PERSONIFIED
“What do you suppose is the matter with Gwyn? Ever since Jenny Warner delivered a note from her mother Saturday afternoon, she has been as glum as a—well, what is glum, anyway?” Patricia looked up from the book she was studying to make this comment.
Beulah mumbled some reply which was unintelligible, nor did she cease trying to solve the problem she was intent upon. Pat continued: “I have it figured out that Gwyn’s mother wrote something which greatly upset our never-too-amiable friend. She kept shut in her room yesterday, tight as a clam in its shell. I rapped several times and asked if she had a headache and if she wished me to bring tea or anything, but she did not reply.”
“Take it from me, Pat, you waste your good Samaritan impulses on a person like Gwyn. She is simply superlatively selfish.”
Pat leaped up and put a hand over her friend’s mouth. “I heard the knob turn. I think we are about to be honored with a visit. Don’t be sarcastic, Beulah. Maybe Gwyn has a real trouble.”