“I am waiting to know, not what you can stand, or what you cannot, but which of you will look after mother this afternoon? You won’t have a very hard time; her room is in perfect order, and her meals for the entire day are arranged. You have but to sit with her and chat, and amuse her.”
“We’re none of us fit to go near her, you know that perfectly well,” said Molly.
“Very well,” replied Marcia in a resolute tone. “You all know my firm resolve. You have got to face this thing, girls, and the more cheerfully you do it the better.”
In the end it was Molly who was induced to undertake the unwelcome task. She shrugged her shoulders and prepared to leave the room, her head drooping.
“Come, Molly,” said Marcia, following her. “You mustn’t go to mother in that spirit.”
She took Molly’s hand when they got into the hall.
“Can you not remember, dear, that she is your mother?”
“Oh, don’t I remember it. Isn’t it dinned into me morning, noon, and night? I often wish—”
“Don’t say the dreadful words, Molly, even if you have the thought. Don’t utter the words, for she is your mother. She tended you when you could not help yourself. She brought you into the world in pain and sorrow. She is your mother. No one else could ever take her place.”
“If you would only take her to-day, Marcia, we would try to behave to-morrow. If you would only take her this one day; it is such a blow to us all, you know,” said Molly.