Effie left her mother standing by the raspberry plantation. She was pulling the ripe raspberries and dropping them into a large cabbage leaf which she held. Her slender but weak figure was drawn up to its full height. There was a look of nervous energy about her which Effie had not observed for many a long day. The curious phase into which her mother had entered had an alarming effect upon the young girl. It frightened her far more than her father's look of lassitude and the burning touch of his hands. She tried to turn her thoughts from it. After all, why should she become nervous herself, and meet trouble halfway?
She went across the village street, and entering the pretty dairy, asked for the cream.
"Is it true, Miss Staunton, that the doctor has come back again?" asked the woman of the shop, as she handed her the jug of cream across the counter.
"Yes, Mrs. Pattens, it is quite true," replied Effie. "There's good news now at The Grange. Mrs. Harvey is doing splendidly, and little Freda is nearly well again."
"Well, it is a good thing the doctor can be spared," said the woman; "we want him bad enough here, and it seemed cruel-like that he should have been sort of buried alive at The Grange."
"He is only able to be spared now," said Effie, "because he has secured the services of a very wonderful nurse."
"Oh, one of the Fraser girls," said the woman, in a tone of contempt—"those newcomers, who have not been settled in the place above a year. For my part, I don't hold with lady-nurses. I am told they are all stuck-up and full of airs, and that they need a sight more waiting on than the patients themselves. When you get a lady-nurse into the house you have to think more of the nurse than of the patient, that's what I am told."
"It is not true," replied Effie, her eyes flashing angrily—"at least," she continued, "it is not true in the case of Nurse Fraser. You must get my father to talk to you about her some day. I am afraid I haven't time to spare now. Good-evening, Mrs. Pattens."
Effie went home with her jug of cream. Mrs. Staunton was still in the larder making the raspberry tart. Effie went and watched her, as her long thin fingers dabbled in the flour, manipulated the roller, spread out the butter, and presently produced a light puff paste, which, as Effie expressed it, looked almost as if you could blow it away.
"That's the best raspberry tart I have ever made," said Mrs. Staunton. "Now we will put it in the oven."