“Or at least not so poor,” his mother agreed with a rather wintry smile. “I can’t help wishing it when it is anything any of my darlings seem to want that I can’t give them, especially my poor old Jerry, who has had suffering enough in his life.”
“Mamma, dear, sweet mamma, don’t speak like that,” said Jerry, softly stroking her cheek with his little thin hand. “I mustn’t grumble, I haven’t anything to grumble about, when I have you and Charlotte and papa and them all. And it isn’t grumbling to wish for the spring, is it? It is so nice even to think of the woods out at Gretham, with the primroses and violets all coming out. Oh, I do hope I shall be quite well by then, so that I can often walk out there on half-holidays!”
Mrs Waldron tried to answer cheerfully, but it was not easy. There was a cold misgiving at her heart, which she dared not, would not give words to. What would the sunshine or the spring-time, or primroses or violets, or anything sweet and lovely be to her, be to them all, without their quiet, patient little lame boy? How poorly do those understand a mother’s love who speak of one of several children as less precious than an only child! In a sense the intertwining bonds seem indeed but to make the whole affections stronger where a large circle is included by them.
Jerry seemed to have some notion of the thoughts in his mother’s mind.
“You are sure it would make me quite well to go to one of those warm places?” he said again, after a little pause.
“Dr Lewis thinks so,” said Mrs Waldron.
She had not meant to tell him so much, but she was feeling in a way, reckless.
“He must go abroad,” she said to herself. “He must and he shall. I will tell Edward so this evening, and at whatever cost and sacrifice it shall be done.”
And though the resolve seemed a wild one, though she had no faintest idea how it was to be carried out, her heart felt curiously lighter when she had made it.