She knew that this meant many things that the doctor did not say.
It meant that she could not go to Aunt Cornelia’s; that she must spend the winter at home; that she must be the one who must constantly wait on the sick woman. She could even now hear the irritable words which she imagined her step-mother would use to her when she didn’t do everything just right.
Then a great rebellion arose in her heart.
SHE HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN HER RESOLVES.
“God hasn’t answered my prayer at all,” she said to herself, and the great disappointment made her hand shake as she set the water-pitcher down before the doctor.
Mr. Moore didn’t think his little girl had heard the doctor’s words, and he looked after her with a troubled sigh as she went back to the kitchen. How should he tell her? Would she storm and cry as she had been wont to do when her will was crossed? He decided that he would not tell her that day.
The breakfast dishes washed, Johnnie at school, and her father up-stairs, Margaret betook herself to the kitchen to wail out her sorrow and pity herself. She dared not go to her own room, lest she should be heard. Rebellion was in her soul, and the more she cried the more she pitied herself and cried again. Mr. Wakefield, coming to the kitchen to ask for some warm water, found Margaret with her arms on the table, and her head on her arms, sobbing great angry, disappointed sobs. He stopped in dismay.
“Why, Margaret, what is the matter? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, there isn’t! God hasn’t answered my prayer! You said he would! Now I’ve got to stay at home and wait on her! I don’t believe he heard me at all!”