Poor Mrs. Tibby looked at death’s door, but I believe she had a lurking instinct that it would be as much as her place in bed was worth if she were not found to be getting on nicely, so she made a weak profession of well-being, and lay patiently awaiting what might come.
“That’s capital!” said Mrs. Bushytail. “Capital! Such a pleasant day, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Tibby, who, by the way, had been taken to pieces like a clock only a day or two before, would, I think, have privately described the day as something a little short of pleasant; but you never know. I have met before now Mrs. Tibbys who found pleasure in sermons, in strong tea with sugar in it, in a visit from a lady, in a crochet petticoat, in all sorts of queer things, in fact, so perhaps she found disintegration pleasant.
“We all have to be thankful if we have our health, ma’am,” she observed.
“Quite so,” agreed Mrs. Bushytail. “And you are going to have yours now, Mrs. Tibby, and go back to your dear husband, and be able to take up all your duties again as fresh as ever. I never feel half myself if I can’t get about and attend to my house, and I’m sure you feel the same.”
I had a private vision of Mr. Tibby as the forlorn husband trying to decide whether the herring should be made into a soufflé, or served on toast as a savoury in the evening, or, perhaps, remembering to speak to the milkman, and write to the rent-collector. It would be a nice little occupation for Mrs. Tibby to take over the household again. These little tasks prevent us from dwelling on ourselves.
“And what are you going to do when you come out?” my fat friend asked a young girl with a deformed body and a face like clay. “You must look on the bright side, and not think of yourself, you know, or you will never get well.”
The girl smiled a feeble smile and twiddled the bedclothes.
“There’s plenty of work to be got,” the excellent lady continued, “if you apply in the right quarter. Everything is so splendidly managed nowadays that nobody need be out of work if they don’t want to. And it will be delightful—won’t it?—to think you are earning your own living and putting by a little for a rainy day. The great thing is to be thrifty and avoid spending money on things you don’t want. I am sure you must be very grateful for all the care that has been taken of you in this terrible illness. Yes, I am sure you are; that’s right. Always be grateful and happy, and you will never want. Now I am going to leave these flowers just where you can see them, and then I must be off. There are so many poor things like you, you know, who have to be cheered up. Good-bye—good-bye, Mrs. Tibby. Hope you will have a splendid night and be about again directly.”