“Why, Aunt Emma, always in stories, you know, it’s the bad people get hurt and die. And now it’s poor little Becky that’s hurt. And she’s such a dear little girl, and helps her mother so. I don’t think she ought to have been hurt.”
“We don’t know anything about ‘oughts,’ Milly, darling, you and I. God knows, we trust, and that helps many people who love God to be patient when they are in trouble or pain. But think if it had been poor mischievous little Tiza who had been hurt, how she would have fretted. And now very likely Becky will bear it beautifully, and so, without knowing it, she will be teaching Tiza to be patient, and it will do Tiza good to have to help Becky and take care of her for a bit, instead of letting Becky always look after her and get her out of scrapes.”
“Oh, and Aunt Emma, can’t we all take care of Becky? What can Olly and I do?” said Milly, imploringly.
“I can go and sing all my songs to Becky,” said Olly, looking up brightly.
“By-and-by, perhaps,” said Aunt Emma, smiling and patting his head. “But hark! isn’t that father’s step?”
It had grown so dark that they could hardly see who it was opening the gate.
“Oh yes, it is,” cried Milly. “It’s father and mother.” Away they ran to meet them, and Mrs. Norton took Milly’s little pale face in both her hands and kissed it.
“She’s not very badly hurt, darling. The doctor says she must lie quite quiet for two or three weeks, and then he hopes she’ll be all right. The wheel gave her a squeeze, which jarred her poor little back and head very much, but it didn’t break anything, and if she lies very quite the doctor thinks she’ll get quite well again.” “Oh mother! and does Tiza know?”
“Yes, we have just been to tell her. Mrs. Wheeler had put her to bed, but she went up to give her our message, and she said poor little Tiza began to cry again, and wanted us to tell her mother she would be so quiet if only they would let her come back to Becky.”
“Will they, mother?”