“Not going over to the library to work to-day?”
“Not this morning. Mother Nature says I’d better not.”
Dr. Helen put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Too tired?” she queried, with a note of anxiety in her voice. It had been only in the last year or so that Catherine had been well enough to do the things other girls did, and she was always on the lookout for indications of over-exertion.
“No,” answered Catherine, pulling her mother’s firm strong hand down to her lips and kissing it. “And I don’t intend to become so. Things can wait for a day, or the others can go on without me. I’m going to be a private citizen and stay at home and mend. Can’t you sit and sew too, Mother?”
“Perhaps I can for half an hour,” said Dr. Helen, “and you certainly need to give your clothes some attention. When you go up stairs to get your things, bring down that brown silk waist, and I’ll make the collar over for you.”
59In a few minutes the two were cozily settled in the little alcove off the big book-lined living-room, a pleasant breeze bringing morning freshness in by way of an open window.
“Mother,” said Catherine suddenly, “you and Father have brought me up very differently from most girls.”
“How?”
“Why, about taking care of myself. Some of the really nice girls seem to think it’s perfectly all right to be sick, even when it could have been avoided. And some of them think it’s rather fine to be ailing.”
“Do you mean they want to be petted? That’s natural enough.”