“Just now it is, perhaps,” interrupted Christie; “but Mr Lee is better, and we’ll soon get into our old way again.”
“But what I want is this,” said Annie; “I want Sarah to come and take my place at Mrs Vinton’s. I have told her about Sarah. And then you could go home and be with Effie.”
“But I never could do what Sarah does at home,” said Christie; “taking care of Aunt Elsie and all. It would be far harder than what I have to do now.”
“But you would be at home, and you would have some one to look after you. I could never think of such a thing as leaving you here alone.”
“But, Annie, Sarah would be alone,” remonstrated Christie.
“Yes, I know; but it’s quite different with Sarah. She’s strong and healthy, and will hold her own with anybody; and besides, I’m sure Effie will never hear of your staying here alone. But there’s time enough to think about it. If I go, I shall spend a week at home first. No; I can’t go in,” said Annie, as they came to Mrs Lee’s door. “I must go home. I shall write to Effie. Now, don’t fret about this, or I shall wish I hadna told you;” for Christie looked very grave indeed.
“We’ll wait and see what Effie thinks,” said she, sadly.
“Well, you have her letter; and I’ll come down to-night, if I can, and we’ll talk it over. But, for any sake, dinna look so glum, as Aunt Elsie would say.”
Christie laughed a little at her sister’s excitement, but it was a very grave face that bent over the baby’s cot that afternoon. The south wind had brought rain, and when night came, the drops dashed drearily against the window-panes. Listening to it, as she sat with the baby in her arms and the others sleeping quietly about her, Christie said to herself, many times, that Annie could never venture out in such a night. Yet she started at every sound, and listened eagerly till it had died away again. Effie’s letter had told her nothing new. They were all well and happy, and the old question was asked, “When is Christie coming home again?” But the letter, and even the little note, more precious still, could not banish from her mind the thought of what Annie had said to her; and it seemed to her that she could not possibly wait for another week to hear more. The baby was restless, its mother was detained down-stairs, and Christie walked about and murmured softly to still the little creature’s cries. But it was all done mechanically, and wearily enough. Through the baby’s cries and her own half-forced song, and through the dreary sounds of the wind and rain, she listened for her sister’s foot upon the stairs. She could not have told why she was so impatient to see her. Annie could tell her no more than she had already told her during their walk from church. But since the possibility of getting home had been suggested, the old feelings had started within her. A sudden rush of home-sickness had come over her, and with it the old unwillingness to go home and be a burden. She could fix her thoughts on nothing else. Even after the baby had fallen into an uneasy slumber, she wandered up and down the room, hushing it in her arms as before.
There was a step on the stairs at last. It was not Annie, however, but Mrs Lee.