Katie started. This, then, was the mystery; this was the secret thing that had been setting so many against her. She had never in all her speculations concerning the general avoidance thought of this as a cause. Bertie must have seen her find that fifty-dollar bill and put it in her pocket. But even if, from mere idleness, she had repeated the story to her companions, had she told simply what she really saw, could it be called stealing? And if Miss Eunice or Miss Etta had heard it they would naturally have spoken of it to their brother; he would have told the facts as he knew them, and that would have made matters all straight.
Bertie must have altered her tale in some way, exaggerated it, or suppressed a part. What for? Could her companion be so malicious as simply to desire to make her unpopular and to prevent the young ladies from looking upon her with approbation? She could not understand it. Of course she could not, for malice and jealousy were entirely foreign to Katie's nature, even if she had not been striving "in all her ways to acknowledge" her Saviour. She did wish, however, that she had thought of mentioning her good fortune and Mr. James's kindness at the time, that all this trouble might have been avoided.
Meanwhile Bertie began to moan and cry and call for Katie; and the latter, after speaking in vain again and again, turned to go.
"Oh, don't go away!" said Mrs. Sanderson, imperatively. "She'll know you by-and-by; and I can't stand her calling for you; besides, if you can just stay with Bertie and give her the medicine and drink, I might get a chance to see to Alf., who is most as bad as she is, and see what Nina's doing with those children; they've been screaming this half-hour. I don't believe she's given 'em a mite of dinner, and I guess there ain't anything in the house for supper. You just stay where you are."
Not a thought had selfish Mrs. Sanderson for the fact that she was exposing a neighbor's child to the same evil which had overtaken her own. Nor in Katie's inexperience did she think of it either; but she did feel very indignant at the tone of command and very much inclined to rebel.
Moreover, she did not want to stay and take care of a girl who had behaved so shamefully toward herself. One by one the bitter things she had been forced to endure through this girl's treachery and deceitfulness came to her remembrance—the avoidance of her companions, the disapprobation and suspicion of the overseer, the changed manner of her Sunday-school teacher, the tears she had shed in secret, and the discouragement she had felt in her efforts to be good; and a sense of indignation possessed her which for a moment made her feel almost glad that the girl had thus got her deserts.
But this feeling was not of long continuance. The Good Spirit, who was leading Katie along the paths of righteousness, would not allow her to turn aside from them because for the moment the way seemed unpleasant and opposed to her natural inclinations. Unheard by outward ears, but heard quite plainly in her heart, he whispered words that made the little girl pause and think a second time before she refused to do as she was commanded. Here was a good opportunity of being like Christ. He forgave his enemies. He was kind to the unthankful and the evil. He gave up his life that those who hated and persecuted and finally killed Him might be saved. This thought decided her.
"Let me speak a word to Tessa first," she said; "then I'll stay."
She then told her waiting companion how ill Bertie was, and how Mrs. Sanderson was overwhelmed with so many to see to, and wanted her to stay and help. She asked Tessa to get tea for the boys and send one of them for her at bedtime, all of which her friend promised faithfully to attend to, and went her way.
When Katie returned to the sick-room, Mrs. Sanderson actually thanked her, and then went off, glad to attend to other responsibilities, and the young nurse was left with the excited, tossing patient. Strangely to herself, she did not feel the least anger or bitterness toward her now, in spite of all her unkindness to herself. The words which had been in a recent Sunday-school lesson, "I was sick and ye visited me," came again and again to her mind, and it hardly seemed to be Bertie to whom she was called to minister. She had no experience in sickness, but to some people nursing is an intuitive gift, and Katie inherited it from her mother. Her touch was cool and light. She seemed to know by instinct when the patient needed drink or change of position. She smoothed the disordered bed, shook up the pillows, turned the cool side uppermost, closed the open blind through which the western sun was blazing into the sick girl's eyes, and finding a large newspaper lying on the floor, made a fan of it, keeping off the flies and creating a current of air, till by degrees the tossings and cries ceased, the wildly staring eyes closed, and Bertie fell into a light, though restless, sleep.