“At any rate, there is no good in being vexed about it,” she said to herself. “I must try and be content at home, if I canna go.”
It was an easier matter to content herself than to her first waking thought seemed possible. She was soon busy with the little ones, quieting their noise as she washed and dressed them, partly for little Harry’s sake, and partly because it was the Sabbath-day. So earnest was she in all this that she had no time to think of her disappointment till the boys were down-stairs at breakfast with their mother. Then little Harry seemed feverish and fretful and “ill to do with,” as Mrs Greenly, who visited the attic-nursery with the baby in her arms, declared. Christie strove to soothe her fretful pet, and took him in her arms to carry him down-stairs. A gleam of sunshine met her on the way.
“It is going to be fine weather, after all,” she said to Nurse Greenly, turning round on the first landing.
But nurse seemed inclined this morning to look on the dark side of things, and shook her head.
“I’m not so sure of that,” said she. “That’s but a single gleam; and I dare say the sky is black enough, if we could see it. And hearken, child, to the wind! The streets will be in a puddle; and with those pains in your ankles you’ll never, surely, think of going out to-day?”
Christie’s face clouded again; and so did the sky, for the gleam of sunshine vanished.
“I should like to go, indeed,” said she; “and it’s only when I am very tired that my ankles pain me.”
“Tired!” repeated nurse. “Yes, and no wonder; and yet you will persist in carrying that great boy, who is far better able to carry himself. I don’t wonder that you want to go even to the church, to be out of the reach of trouble for a while.”
Christie laughed a little—she could not help it—at nurse’s energy.
“I am afraid it is partly for the quiet that I want to go,” said she, looking grave enough for a minute.