"No, no," she said impatiently, "I can't afford to have a doctor; I will lie here for a while, and perhaps I shall feel better. What day is it?"
"Thursday," said Betty, trying to control the sudden trembling of her knees.
"That's too bad; Mrs. Flynn is always engaged on Thursdays, I know. I thought she might be able to come in and help. Well, you'll have to manage about breakfast as well as you can. I don't want anything myself, but you must prepare some oatmeal, and boil some eggs for Jack and yourself. Tell Jack he must stay in bed a little while longer, but that just as soon as I can I will come and dress him."
That was the strangest morning Betty and Jack had ever spent. Never before in their remembrance had their mother failed to be up and about by seven o'clock. Even in those sad days, which Betty could just remember, after their father's death, her own grief had never prevented her from fulfilling the little household duties. Now she lay still, with closed eyes, scarcely noticing what went on about her. Betty brought her some tea, and she drank it thirstily, but refused to touch any food. Once she roused herself sufficiently to say that she thought a mustard plaster on her chest might ease the pain, but when Betty inquired anxiously how to make one, she did not answer, and seemed to have forgotten all about the matter.
Jack was very good and patient, but he was, if anything, more frightened than Betty, and his white, drawn little face was pitiful to see. Betty made him as tidy as she could, gave him his breakfast, and brought him his new story book to read, but he shook his head mournfully.
"I don't want to read this morning," he said; "I'd rather just lie still."
"Oh, Jack, you're not going to be ill too, are you?" cried Betty, the tears starting to her eyes.
"No, I'm not ill, only I can't read; I wish I could see how mother looks."
"She looks all right," said Betty encouragingly; "she's got a lovely color in her cheeks, only I wish she'd wake up and talk about things. I don't know what to do about going to market, and I suppose we ought to tell her pupils she can't give them any lessons to-day."
"She's talking now, I hear her," said Jack in a tone of relief. "Oh, Betty, she's calling me. Yes, mother, dear, I'm all right; I'm so glad you're better."