“No, but I knew she had heart trouble likely to carry her off should she be subjected to any great or sudden shock.”
“And he’s been took that suddent! and she so fond o’ him,” groaned Betty. “Well, well, well! we’ve all got to die, but when my time comes I ’ope I’ll go a bit slower; that I do!”
The doctor was looking at his watch. “I must be going,” he said, “for I have other patients needing attention; but I’ll drive to the vicarage and ask Mrs. Rogers to come and oversee matters here. By the way, can either of you tell me where any relatives are to be found?”
“No, sir, that we can’t,” replied the cook, sighing heavily. “Leastways I don’t remember so much as oncet hearing the capting nor Mrs. Eldon mention no relations ’cept it might be some o’ her folks ’way acrost the sea somewheres.”
“Too far away to be of any use in this extremity,” muttered the physician meditatively. Then a little louder, “Well,” he said, “I’ll go for the vicar’s wife, and she’ll see to all the necessary arrangements. Where are the children?”
“Out walkin’ in the fields, sir,” answered Myra. “Oh, dear, the poor little things! Whatever will they do? What’s to become o’ them without no father nor no mother?”
“I dare say there are relations somewhere,” returned the doctor, then hurried out to his gig, and in another minute was driving rapidly in the direction of the parsonage.
Not far from the house he came upon the little group of children returning from their walk.
“Oh, doctor,” cried Ethel, and perceiving that she wanted to speak to him, he reined in his horse for a moment, “have you been to our house? and did you find papa better? Oh, I hope—I think he is very much better, and will soon be well.”
“Yes, my dear,” returned the kind-hearted physician after a moment’s pause, as if considering the question and the best reply to make. “I found him entirely free from the pain from which he has been so long suffering; and I am sure you and your little brother and sisters will be glad of it.”