“What is it, dear? You haven’t told me yet,” returned Dorothy in half tremulous tones. “You—you are not worse?”
“I shall never be any better,” faltered Nannette; “never till—till I reach that land where the inhabitants shall not say ‘I am sick.’”
“O Nan, you don’t know! I—I think you are getting better,” Dorothy returned, tears streaming from her eyes. “And how could we ever do without you? I have grown to love you very, very dearly since I have been with you so much, seeing how dear and good and patient you are in all your pain and weakness. Cheer up, for I do think you will be stronger when the warm weather comes.”
But Nannette shook her head. “No,” she said, “the doctors say I will not be here long; that I am going home to heaven to be with Jesus and the dear father and mother who went so long ago. O Dorothy, though the news was like a shock at first, I am very glad now, if—if only I did not have to leave Ethel and Blanche behind; Harry too, and you and my uncles and cousins. Oh, how sweet it would be if we could only all go together!”
“O Nan,” cried Dorothy, weeping, “I can’t help hoping the doctors are mistaken; you know they sometimes are, and perhaps you will get well yet. I’ll tell Uncle George, and perhaps he will take you south to Florida or the West Indies. I think it would do him good to go himself, for he has a cough of late.”
“You are very kind, Dorothy,” Nan said with a grateful look up into her eyes, “and so are my uncles. I believe they would do anything in their power to save my life; but I fear it is too late, and if I am to die I’d rather die here at home with all the dear ones about me.”
“But, O Nan, we can’t go with you!” exclaimed a voice half choked with grief; “and how can we let you go alone!” for Ethel had come in unperceived and dropped on her knees close by the bedside. “Oh, my darling, darling little sister, what can I ever do without you? You have been my special charge almost ever since you were born. I don’t know how I can live if you are taken from me!”
“You know the others will need you, dear,” said Nan, clinging about her neck, “and papa and mamma and I will be waiting for you all on the other side of the river; and oh, what a happy time it will be when we are all there together!”
“But oh, darling, it seems so long to wait!” groaned Ethel, holding her close, and weeping as if her heart would break; “so long to live without you!”
“Maybe it won’t be so long; perhaps He will soon let you follow me.”