At that moment his son George coming in exclaimed: “Why, is this you, Blanche? I have not seen you for months; and how you have grown, child!” and he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Why, you have been crying! Is anything wrong with you or the others?” he asked. “I hope not, I am sure. I was thinking only this morning that I must hunt you up and see how you were getting along.”
“Thank you, Cousin George,” returned the little girl in tremulous tones; “we were doing right nicely till—till now that Ethel has broken down because—the doctor says it is because she’s been working too constantly and hard.”
“Ah! why, she shouldn’t do that when we’re all able and willing to help her. But don’t fret, little coz; she’ll probably be all right in a few days, and we’ll tell her she must not work so hard any more.”
“You’re very kind, Cousin George,” returned Blanche, smiling through her tears, “and so are my uncles, but we don’t like to be a burden to them when they have so many children of their own to provide for, and it has seemed very pleasant for us to be all together in a little home of our own, even though it is very plain and humble.”
“Well, yes, that’s a very right sort of feeling,” he said, “and makes one all the more willing to help you.”
“There, that must do for the present, George,” said his father. “You can call round to see Ethel and the rest any time after business hours, but your uncle is going to take Blanche home now and see what is needed. Good-by, child,” taking her hand for a moment and giving her a parting caress, “and don’t ever be afraid to come to your Uncle George for help when you are in trouble.”
“Good-by and thank you, uncle. Good-by, Cousin George, and do come to see us,” she said, and slipping her hand into that of her Uncle Albert, they went out together.
Ethel had just waked from a comfortable nap when Blanche returned bringing their Uncle Albert with her.
The interview was a pleasant one, for Mr. Eldon was very kind, sympathetic and appreciative of the efforts his young niece had put forth in order to earn a living for herself and her sisters and brother; he praised her for it, yet added: “But now you see, Ethel, that you are too young and feeble for so great an undertaking. However,” noting with concern the cloud of care and disappointment his words called to her tell-tale countenance, “we will not talk any more of that to-day. Try, my dear child, just to dismiss all vexing thoughts; trust to your uncles to ward off from you, your brother, and sisters, all danger from want of means, and with a mind at ease get well and strong again as soon as possible. When you have accomplished that it will be time enough to think of those other matters.”
“You are very, very kind, uncle,” she returned with tears shining in her eyes. “I will try to put away anxious and vexing thoughts and trust in you—but still more in the Lord—till I’m able to work again.”