That was what Mrs. Erskine said, when Ruth told her the news. You may have observed that those three words constituted a favorite expression of hers—one which she was apt to use on all occasions, greatly to her stepdaughter’s discomfiture. She winced under it now, it seemed so ridiculously inappropriate to the disaster that had come into their midst. While she was trying to impress the situation on the mother and Susan, Dr. Bacon returned. He came directly into the library, as one who had laid aside all the ceremonies of private life, and adopted the business style. He hurried into the midst of the difficulties, being one who, while capable of feeling the most intense and practical sympathy for others, had never learned the art of expressing it other than by actions.
“Miss Ruth, I am afraid it is going to be almost impossible to get a proper nurse for your father. There is a good deal of this abominable disease in the city, now, and the nurses are taxed to the utmost. Ordinary nurses, you know, will not come, and would not do, anyway. So we shall have to manage as well as we can, for a little, until I can look around me and get somebody.”
Then Mrs. Erskine came to the front.
“What are you talking about—nurses? Who wants one of ’em? miserable, half-awake creatures; not but what I’ve seen some good ones in my day, but I could beat any of ’em, when it come to a real up-and-down case of sickness; and I can nurse my own husband, you’ll find, better than the best of ’em. I brought him back from death’s door once, and I will try hard to do it again. A nurse is the last kind of a creature that I want to help me.”
“But, Mrs. Erskine, I ought not to conceal from you that this is going to be a very decided case of small-pox. The chances of infection, to one who nurses him, will be very great.”
“I can’t help that, you know,” she said, determinedly; “I’ve got to be with him, of course. Who would, if his wife wasn’t? I don’t believe I’ll take it. I never was one of them kind that always took things. I have the sick-headache, and that’s every blessed thing I do have, except a touch of the rheumatism, now and then; but I never did have a bit of headache, nor nothing, when there was any real sickness on my hands. All the time Susan had the fever I sot up nights, or stood up—a good deal of the time she was that sick that I didn’t set down; I jest kept on the trot all night, doing one thing and another. But, all the while, I never had an ache nor a pain about me; and, if I do take it, I might as well as the next one. I ain’t a mite afraid of it; not that I’d run into it any quicker than you would, but, when it runs into your own house, and gets hold of your own flesh and blood, or your husband—which is the next thing to that—why, then, I’m one of them kind that has to be on hand. There’s no use talkin’—I’m a going to nurse him, and all the doctor’s in the city can’t stop me.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Erskine, I haven’t the least desire to do so. On the contrary, I appreciate your devotion.”
The doctor’s tone was earnest—his manner respectful. Mrs. Judge Erskine had evidently risen several degrees in his esteem. She was not a piece of putty, to be gotten out of the way in the least troublesome manner; but a live and very energetic factor in this business. A woman who not only was not afraid of small-pox, but could calmly insist on her right to attend a very bad case of it, was deserving of all respect from him; and he did not, in the least, care how many grammatical errors she made in expressing her determination. In less time than it takes me to tell you of it, the question of attendant on the sick man was settled, and Mrs. Erskine installed as nurse by the relieved doctor, to the satisfaction of all but Ruth. She thought, in dismay, of the misery which her father would be called to endure. How was he, sick and nervous—and she knew he could be fearfully nervous, when only a little ill—to bear the strain of that woman’s tongue, when, in health, it was more than he could endure? What would he say to the plan? Would he feel that she might have shielded him from it? Yet how could she help it? and, indeed, what else could be done? She had been very nervous over his being left alone. It had seemed to her that she must disregard his positive command and go to him; and it had been such a source of relief and comfort when Judge Burnham announced his intention of going, that she felt she could never forget it. Certainly it would not do to leave him without an attendant. Yet she could not be grateful to the wife for proposing it.
“He can never endure it!” she murmured; and she looked her distress so completely that the doctor was moved to soothe her, when he came back from installing Mrs. Erskine, and giving her directions.