CHAPTER XXI
The Passing of Ethel
AS SOON as Tommy realized that Ethel was really sick there came a revulsion of feeling such as all generous natures are subject to. He was no longer angry or sulky. He racked his brains to discover means by which he could make amends for his unkindness of the afternoon.
Tommy had one great treasure which no one was allowed to touch. This was a precious silver mug, a birthday present. He never used it except on some very extraordinary occasion. It was rarely taken from his mother's china-closet, where it occupied a place of honor. Now he thought of this mug, but first he took a pitcher out to the pump and used the handle vigorously until his arms ached. He then went to the cupboard and took out his great treasure, carrying it and the pitcher to where Ethel was lying.
“Sissie dear,” he said softly, “I'm awful sorry I've been mean to you 's afternoon. I didn't know you were sick, sure. If I had known that I'd got you a barrelful of water, sure I would.”
Ethel opened her eyes with a pleasant smile. She knew that Tommy loved her. He was trying to make amends. That was enough to make her happy.
“Here, Ethel, dear. I've brought you the coldest water I could get from the well, and here's my silver cup to drink it out of.”
The little sufferer was now too far gone to care for water. Wishing to respond to her brother's
kindness she took the mug and put it to her lips, as if drinking a long draught. But Tommy saw she was not drinking.
“Why, Ethel, you only make believe! Don't be afraid to drink. I'll keep on carrying in pitchers all night if you want 'em. 'Taint no trouble at all for me.”