“I can’t; there’s too much to do,” groaned Ethel.
“You’ll have to have a doctor,” said Blanche, her eyes full of tears. “But you must; you shall,” in reply to Ethel’s mournful, dissenting shake of the head. “I’ll go this minute for that one round the corner—Dr. Jones; I’ve heard people say he’s a good one.”
“We can’t afford it,” sighed Ethel.
“We certainly can’t afford to let you die, or break down so that you can’t do anything; so I’m going for him now, this minute,” returned Blanche, snatching up her hat and putting it on as she went.
She was so fortunate as to find the doctor in and was back again in a very few minutes, bringing him with her. After examining and cross-questioning his patient, he pronounced the trouble utter exhaustion from overwork, and ordered entire rest for weeks to come. She must go at once to her bed and stay there, refraining from any exertion of mind or body.
He was very kind and sympathetic, half carried her up to her room himself, and saw her comfortably established there; then repeating his order to her to refrain from every kind of exertion of body or mind, and promising to call again the following day, he left her.
“Is there much the matter, doctor?” asked Carry, as he passed through the store on his way out.
“She is utterly worn out,” was the reply. “With absolute rest she may, and I hope will, recover completely in time; but it is very important that she should be relieved from all care and anxiety.”
“I don’t see how we are to manage that,” sighed Carry to herself, as he passed out, and she said the same thing to Blanche when she came into the room a few moments later.
“I don’t know either,” returned Blanche, tears filling her eyes, “unless—unless my uncles will help us a little.”