The telling Jerry was more easily managed than she had anticipated. The boy’s instincts were sharpened by illness, and he had never forgotten the impression of his strange experiences at Silverthorns.
“I knew it, Charlotte,” he exclaimed, his blue eyes gleaming, “I knew it. When I was told that, about the ghost only coming to some of the family, and I remembered papa’s having heard it too, something seemed to tell me that we had to do with Silverthorns, and that more would come: I knew it, Charlotte. And she will be so pleased—Claudia, I mean.”
“You think she will be?” Charlotte said, rather surprised.
“Of course; I know she will be,” he said confidently; “you’ll see. And, of course, it will be ever so much nicer for her when she’s there, to have us living near. I’ll get to know her so well this winter, staying with them at that place. Oh, I say, I’m awfully glad to think of going there, and to know it won’t cost papa and mamma anything. I do so want to get well, Charlotte. I may say it now—I’ve really felt as if I never would lately, and almost as if I didn’t somehow much care.”
“Jerry!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“Yes; and that’s the queerest feeling of all. I suppose people have it when they’re really going to die, and that it’s a good thing. It must make it not so bad,” the boy went on.
“But you don’t feel that way now?” Charlotte asked anxiously.
“No, I feel quite different. It was partly, you know—” and Jerry hesitated—“the horrible feeling of being such a worry and such an expense to papa and mamma. I’ve thought often lately,” and the boy looked before him wistfully—“Charlotte,” he broke off, “isn’t it queer how things bring things to your mind? There’s a corner of one of the window-panes there that’s cracked; I see it every morning when I wake, and I always wonder when it will break away, and there’ll have to be a new pane. And then some proverb about cracked things lasting the longest comes into my mind, and I begin thinking perhaps I shall last an awfully long time, and then I worry about what a lot I shall cost them, and perhaps never be able to earn anything. And that’s what’s made me think sometimes lately that it would be better if I died.”
“But, Jerry,” Charlotte repeated; she spoke very quietly, for she was dreadfully afraid of beginning to cry; “you don’t need to feel that now. Now you can try to take advantage of all your chances for getting well without any worry to spoil it.”
“Yes; that’s what I’m so thankful for. Oh, I am so thankful!” he said fervently. “And, Charlotte,” he added very gravely, “there’s another thing I’m glad of, very glad of—the poor ghost will be able to rest now.”