“Yeou better go in an’ try nussin’ him, Janice Day,” said the old lady, nodding her head emphatically. “I jest come from there an’ Miz’ Beasely is a-flyin’ ’round like a hen with its head cut off. She never was no hand with sick folks and she can’t manage him wuth a cent.”
Miss ’Rill followed her out to the car and whispered: “I’ll let you know how he’s getting on, Janice. Of course, he isn’t as bad as mother makes out. She is always making a mountain out of a mole-hill.”
But Janice was very much worried. That evening she sent Marty over to Hopewell Drugg’s to get the latest news of the teacher’s illness, and the boy came back looking very serious indeed, for him.
“Doc Poole’s been there again this evening,” Marty reported. “They say he’s out of his head and the Doc is ’fraid it will turn into pneumonia. My goodness! it would be mighty tough if we lost Nelson Haley. He’s the best teacher we ever had in the Polktown school.”
Janice listened to the kindly comments of her uncle and aunt, but she had little to say herself. When she went to bed she added a petition for Nelson to her evening prayer; and it was a long time ere she got to sleep that night.
CHAPTER XXII
DARK DAYS
Early in the morning Janice went to Mrs. Beasely’s cottage. She was diffident about offering her services to the widow; but she was sure Aunt ’Mira would see nothing wrong in her doing so. She just couldn’t enter into any discussion of Nelson’s illness at home, that was all.
Not many people were astir on the side street; the front blinds of the widow’s home were closed, and that fact startled the girl. Mrs. Beasely was in her kitchen, clearing the breakfast table.
“It’s the first chance I’ve had to do ’em,” she said, referring to the dishes. “That poor boy’s an awful one ter care for. Out of his head most of the time; and when he ain’t, he’s fussin’. Dr. Poole says there’s something on his mind—his school work, like enough. Mr. Haley works awful hard. Some folks says he gads about with that Bowman gal too much; but I must say he spen’s enough time over his books. He’s the one that burns the midnight ile, if anybody does.”
“Is he better this morning?” asked Janice.