“I am,” replied Mrs. Tyler.
“You remember Emerson: ‘Give me health and a day and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous.’ Lucy, may I take this young lady out for a walk?”
“Surely, Henry.”
Hazel put on her hat and coat and raced off with her boon companion.
“She will need a warmer coat,” Mrs. Tyler said, and her brow puckered. “If she stays here she must have warm clothes and even then I shall have sometimes to keep her indoors. She was restless yesterday and naughty, and that isn’t like Hazel. Health. That is more than anything else in the world, isn’t it? What shall I do, Sarah?”
Her friend had risen and was looking at the picture of her little child.
“I can only say this Lucy,” she at length answered. “You will never cease to reproach yourself if anything happens and you haven’t done everything possible for Hazel. If a winter in the South will mean health for her, then if she is ill you will always regret that you did not send her away.”
“People are ill in the South,” said Mrs. Tyler, wanting to contradict the advice she sought.
“Of course. But you will have done all you could.”
Mrs. Tyler looked hard at the floor, for a minute. When she raised her eyes to her friend’s they were full of tears.