Miss Phoebe was in bed, too, and suffering very considerable discomfort. Erysipelas is not a thing to speak lightly of; and if it got into Miss Phoebe's temper as well as into her eyes, this was not to be wondered at.
Miss Vesta murmured some soothing words, and bathed the angry red places gently; but Miss Phoebe was not to be soothed.
"It is all very well for you, Vesta," said the poor lady, "you have never had any responsibility; of course it is not to be supposed that you should have, with what you have gone through. But with all I have on my shoulders, to be laid up in this way is—really, I must say!"
This last remark was the sternest censure that Miss Phoebe was ever known to bestow upon the Orderings of Providence.
"Has Doctor Pottle attended to the doctor's arm this morning?"
This was the question Miss Vesta had been dreading. She pretended not to hear it; but it was repeated with incisive severity.
"You are getting a little hard of hearing, Vesta. I asked you, has
Doctor Strong's arm been attended to this morning?"
"Yes! oh, yes, Sister Phoebe, it has. And—it is healing finely, and so is his head. She says—I mean—"
"You mean he says!" said Miss Phoebe, with a superior air. "This excitement is too much for you, Vesta. We shall have you breaking down next. I do not know that I care to hear precisely what Doctor Pottle says. In such an emergency as this we were forced to call him in, but I have a poor opinion of his skill, and none of his intelligence. If our dear Doctor Strong is doing well, that is all I need to know."
"Yes, Sister Phoebe," acquiesced Miss Vesta, with silent thanksgiving.