“Well, well,” she said kindly, “I would not worry about that. Jan has his naughty fits just like other boys; and besides, if all the children were to die whose mothers consider them ‘almost too good’ for this world, there would not be many left.”
Seeing how nervous Jo got, and how the event generally proved her fears groundless, Max was always making resolutions not to yield to such exaggerated anxiety another time. So when he came home at mid-day and found his wife still occupied with the child, he coolly carried her off to another room, and gently but firmly forbade her to leave it until she had rested for a few hours.
Jo was too tired to resist, and soon fell asleep. She did not awake till late in the afternoon, for which she could not forgive herself, though it was, in fact, the best thing that could have happened, considering the disturbed night she was to have. It did not need much persuasion to induce Max to send for the doctor next morning.
Emily took care to be in the verandah when he stopped to say a few words to Mrs Van Elst after his visit to the little patient.
“There’s not much the matter is there, doctor?” she asked.
“No—at least I think not,” was his reply. “It’s not easy to predict in a case of illness, but, as far as appearances go, it seems to me an ordinary cold.”
“There, you see, Jo, what did we all tell you? You do get anxious so soon!”
“Well, you see, I have so much to lose,” said Jo deprecatingly.
“If it gives you any pleasure to worry,” said the doctor, “you had better do so about yourself, and not about that sturdy little chap,”—and with a compassionate glance at the young wife, who had already been so often a patient of his, he took her hand in his own. “You’re not looking so well as you did, Mrs Van Elst,” he said. “You wear yourself out, and don’t do enough to get up your strength. I shall have to scold in good earnest—or speak to Van Elst.”
“Oh, no, for goodness’ sake, don’t do that!” exclaimed Jo, glad that Max was safe in his office. “How angry he would be!”