Aunt Nyna, who had taken upon herself the responsibility of being his nurse, told him all, with the greatest precision.
“That is right,” he said, “I could not have done better myself. But,” he continued, “I must be frank with you. I fear the poor child is beyond the reach of medicine. His head has been affected from his birth, and he has not sufficient vital energy to meet the trying crisis.”
“Indeed sir!” said Hesper, with a faltering voice and a face white as the drifted snow—“I can’t have our Johnny die.”
“Hesper! Hesper my dear girl!” said aunt Nyna, as she drew her close to her bosom, “be patient, and let the Lord’s will be done.”
“Poor little fellow,” said the doctor, in a soft, sympathizing tone—“it would indeed be a sad loss to those who love him, but to him it would be a most blissful change.”
“Yes,” said aunt Betsey, who had just arrived, and entered the room in time to hear the doctor’s words—“I think so too—you oughtn’t to cry, Hesper—nobody ought to. Though it seems a hard thing to say, yet it would be a mercy to you all if he should be taken away; for if he should live to grow up, he would always be a poor miserable creature.”
Just then, Hesper wished that aunt Betsey was dead herself, or that she never could hear her speak again. He “a poor miserable creature!” Wouldn’t he always be a comfort and consolation to those who loved him, if he should live a hundred years? So she reasoned, and she could not see it otherwise; though when the first gush of sorrow was over, she felt that the doctor had spoken truly, and that the better world would give to the poor child, blessings and powers he never could enjoy below. She was soon able to restrain her emotions, and then sat down by his bed as quietly as before.
After the doctor had given the poor child a soothing draught—under the influence of which he soon fell asleep—he went out, and began to talk with Hesper’s father and mother. He stayed a long time, conversing in a very friendly and encouraging manner, and offered to do whatever he could for both of them. Mr. Greyson informed him, however, with a most melancholy expression of countenance, that he would never get his pay. The doctor’s only answer was a good-natured laugh, and when he left, he promised to call again next morning.
Hesper did not close her eyes to sleep that night. She sat by Johnny’s bed-side, carefully administering his medicines—soothing him in his restlessness, and praying that a blessing of healing might descend upon him from above. The night seemed very long, and as the clock slowly struck each passing hour, Hesper grew faint with weariness, yet she could not be persuaded to leave her post of duty. Towards morning, however, she was rejoiced to see that Johnny rested more quietly upon his pillow—the fever flush had faded from his cheek—his hands grew cool and as he turned his eyes towards her, he seemed to recognize her with an almost imperceptible smile, Her heart was so full of this happy change, that she could have wept for joy. She longed to speak to aunt Nyna, but the good old lady was dozing so peacefully in her chair, that she was not willing to disturb her. So she stole quietly to the window and looked out, to see if there were any signs of morning. The eastern sky was already crimson with the early light, and the beautiful day-star was shining clear and bright over the distant hill-tops. It seemed to Hesper that it was like the great, cheerful hope which had arisen in her heart, and she turned from the window with a joyful countenance.