“But I shall grow strong here in the country. I am better already since I came. Do you really think that little Master Claude will never be strong and well again?”
“I don’t know. I cannot tell. But Aunt Barbara says the doctor is not at all hopeful about it, though he speaks hopefully to mother. Aunt Barbara thinks if the poor little fellow should live, he may be deformed, or lame for life. I think it would be much better for him to die now, than to live to be deformed or a cripple.”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell,” said Christie, looking with a vague wonder from the sleeping child to the sister who spoke so quietly about his great misfortune. “It is well we have not to decide about these things. God knows best.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It is in vain to murmur, whatever may happen. But there is a deal of trouble in the world.” And the young lady sighed, as though she had her share of it to bear.
Christie’s astonishment increased. Looking at the young lady, she said to herself that it was doubtful whether she knew in the least what she was talking about.
“Troubles in the world? Yes, doubtless there are—plenty of them! But what could she know of them?”
“Are you fond of reading?” asked Gertrude, after a little time, her eye falling on the book which Christie still held.
“Yes,” said Christie; “I like to read. This is the book you left the other day. I only found it a little while ago.”
“Have you read much of it? There are some pretty stories in it, I think.”
“Oh, yes; I read the book long ago. It was one of our favourites at home. I like to read anything about home—about Scotland, I mean.”