A Girl in Ten Thousand

  CHAPTER II.

  Dorothy Fraser was sound asleep when Effie rushed into her little room.

  "Get up!" said Effie, shaking her friend by the shoulder.

  As a nurse Miss Fraser was accustomed to unexpected disturbances. Sheopened her eyes now and gazed at Effie for a bewildered moment, then shesat up in bed and pushed back her heavy hair.

  "Why, Effie," she exclaimed, "what do you want? I fancied I was back atSt. Joseph's and that one of the nurses had got into trouble and hadcome to me, but I find I am at home for the holidays. Surely it is nottime to get up yet?"

  "It is only five o'clock," said Effie. "It is not the usual time to getup; but, Dorothy, father wants you. There is a bad case of illness atThe Grange--very bad indeed, and father is nearly distracted, and hewants to know if you will help him just for a bit."

  "Why, of course," cried Dorothy. "I shall be delighted."

  "I knew you would; I knew you were just that splendid sort of a girl."

  Miss Fraser knit her brows in some perplexity "Don't, Effie," she said."I wish you would not go into such ecstasies over me; I am only just anurse. A nurse is, and ought to be, at the beck and call of everyone whois in trouble. Now run away, dear; I won't be any time in gettingdressed. I will join you and your father in a minute."

  "Father will see you in the street," said Effie. "The fact is----"

  "Oh, do run away," exclaimed Dorothy. "I cannot dress while you standhere talking. Whatever it is, I will be with your father in two or threeminutes."

  Effie ran downstairs again. Mrs. Fraser, who had let her in, had goneback to bed. Effie shut the Frasers' hall door as quietly as she could.She then went across the sunlit and empty street to where her fatherstood on the steps at his own door. The groom who had driven the doctorover was standing by the horse's head at a little distance.

  "Well," said Dr. Staunton, "she has fought shy of it, has she?"

  "No; she is dressing," said Effie. "She will be down in a minute ortwo."

  "Good girl!" said Dr. Staunton. "You didn't happen to mention the natureof the case?"

  "No, no," answered Effie; "but the nature of the case won't make anydifference to her."

  The doctor pursed up his mouth as if he meant to whistle; he restrainedhimself, however, and stood looking down the street. After a time heturned and glanced at his daughter.

  "Now, Effie," he said, "you must do all you can for your mother. Don'tlet her get anxious. There is nothing to be frightened about as far as Iam concerned. If mortal man can pull the child through, I will do it,but I must have no home cares as well. You will take up that burden--eh,little woman?"

  "I will try, father," said Effie.

  Just then Dorothy appeared. She had dressed herself in her nurse'scostume--gray dress, gray cloak, gray bonnet. The dress suited herearnest and reposeful face. She crossed the road with a firm step,carrying a little bag in her hand.

  "Well, Dr. Staunton," she said, "I hear you have got a case for me."

  The doctor gazed at her for a moment without speaking.

  "Bless me," he exclaimed; "it is a comfort to see a steady-lookingperson like you in the place. And so you are really willing to help mein this emergency?"

  "Why, of course," said Dorothy. "I am a nurse."

  "But you don't know the nature of the case yet!"

  "I don't see that that makes any difference; but will you tell me?"

  "And it is your holiday," pursued the doctor, gazing at her. "You don'ttake many holidays in the year I presume?"

  "I have had a week, and I am quite rested," said Dorothy. "I always holdmy life in readiness," she continued, looking up at him with a flash outof her dark blue eyes. "Anywhere at any time, when I am called, I amready. But what is the matter? What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to help me to pull a child back from the borders of death."

  "A child! I love children," said Dorothy. "What ails the child?"

  "She has acute scarlet fever and diphtheria. No precautions have beentaken with regard to sanitation. She is the child of rich people, butthey have been wantonly neglectful, almost cruel in their negligence andignorance. The mother, a young woman, is nearly certain to take thecomplaint and, to complicate everything, there is another baby expectedbefore long. Now you understand. If you get into that house you arescarcely likely to go out of it again for some time."

  Dorothy stood grave and silent.

  "Oh, Dorothy, is it right for you to go?" exclaimed Effie, who waswatching her friend anxiously.

  "Yes," said Dorothy, "it is right. They may possibly be obliged to fillmy place at St. Joseph's. I was only considering that point for amoment. After all, it is not worth troubling about. I am at yourservice, Dr. Staunton. We may require one or two other nurses to help usif things are as bad as you fear."

  "God bless you!" said the doctor. Something very like moisture came intohis eyes. He began to blow his nose violently. "Now, Effie, you will doyour best at home," he said, turning to his daughter. "This way, please,Miss Fraser."

  "Good-by, Effie, dear," said Dorothy. She kissed her friend. The doctorand the nurse walked toward the dog-cart; he helped her to mount, andthen drove rapidly down the street. The vehicle was soon out of sight.

  "I wonder what father will think of Dorothy after this?" thought Effieto herself. The feeling that her father would really approve of herfriend gave her much consolation. She went back into the house, and asit was now half-past five, decided that it was not worth while to returnto bed. There was always plenty to be done in this little house with itsoverflowing inhabitants, and Effie found heaps to occupy her until itwas time to go into the nursery to help the little nursemaid with hervarious duties.

  The children always hailed Effie with a scream of delight; they were nota bit afraid of her, for she was the most indulgent elder sister in theworld, but all the same she managed to make them obey her.

  Susan was sent downstairs to get her breakfast, while Effie saw theelder ones safely through the process of dressing. She took the baby onher knee, and, removing his night-clothes, put him into his bath, anddressed him herself quickly and expeditiously. She then carried him intoher mother's room.

  Mrs. Staunton had spent a troubled night.

  "Is that you, Effie?" she exclaimed, looking at her daughter; "and oh,there is baby--how sweet he looks! What a splendid nurse you are, mydarling, and what a wonderful comfort to me! Give me my dear little man.I will take care of him while you see about breakfast."

  "How are you this morning, mother?" asked Effie. "Have you had a goodnight?"

  "Yes, pretty well. I had one or two bad dreams. I could not helpthinking of poor Mrs. Watson and that heart-trouble your father spokeabout. I wonder how she is this morning."

  "Now, mother dear," said Effie, "you know father said you were not todwell upon that--you must turn your thoughts away from illness of everysort. I thought we might go for a little drive in the gig this morning."

  "But your father will want the gig."

  "No, that's just it, he won't."

  "What do you mean? Surely he will go out as early as he can to see Mrs.Watson?"

  "No, mother," said Effie, "he won't--not to-day. I have something totell you. Now, please don't be frightened; there is nothing to befrightened about."

  Mrs. Staunton was half sitting up in bed; she had thrown a little paleblue shawl round her shoulders, and held the pretty baby in her arms.She was a remarkably good-looking woman, a really young-looking womanfor her age, but weakness was written all over her--the weakness of afrail although loving spirit, and the weakness of extreme bodilyillness, for she was ill, far more ill than her children knew. Thegreatest anxiety of the honest doctor's life was connected with hiswife's physical condition. Effie looked at her mother now, and somethingof the fear which dwelt in her father's heart seemed to visit her.

  "I have something to tell you," she said, "but it is nothing that needmake you the least bit afraid. Father has left you in my charge. He saysI am to look af
ter you, and to do all in my power to help you."

  "But what can you mean, Effie? Has your father gone away?"

  "Not really away," replied Effie, "for he is close to us, and can comeback if necessary at any moment; but the fact is this: If all is well,father is not coming home for two or three days. In one way you will bepleased to hear this, mother. You know how you have wished him to becalled in at The Grange."

  "At The Grange!" exclaimed Mrs. Staunton, starting up. "You don't meanto tell me that the Harveys have sent for your father?"

  "Yes, mother, I do; and is not that good news? The little girl is veryill, and Squire Harvey came over to fetch father last night--that timewhen the bell rang so suddenly."

  "I remember," said Mrs. Staunton. "I made sure that someone came fromthe Watsons'."

  "No; it was the Squire who called--Squire Harvey. Father went there andfound the little girl very ill. He came back again this morning, andtook Dorothy Fraser out with him as nurse, and he saw me, and he askedme to tell you that he would stay at The Grange for a couple of daysuntil he could pull the child through, and you are on no account toexpect him home, but you are to keep as well and cheerful as possiblefor his sake; and Dr. Edwards from Boltonville is to take father's workfor the time. So you see," continued Effie in conclusion, "that thehorse and gig will be at liberty, and we can go for a drive. I thoughtwe might go to Boltonville, and take baby, and buy some fruit forpreserving. There are sure to be heaps of strawberries at the BoltonFarm if we drive over early."

  All the time Effie was speaking, Mrs. Staunton kept gazing at her. Asthe eager words flowed from the young girl's lips, the heart of themother seemed to faint within her.

  "You," she said, after a pause; her voice trembled, no words could comefor an instant,--"you," she went on,--"Effie, you have not told me whatails the child?"

  "She is very ill, mother; that goes without saying."

  "But what ails her? Why should not your father come home?"

  Effie thought for a moment. "I will tell about the scarlet fever, butnot about the diphtheria," she said to herself. "Mother is always soterrified about diphtheria ever since poor little Johnny died of it,long, long ago. She won't mind scarlet fever so much."

  "Why don't you speak, Effie?" exclaimed her mother. "You terrify me withyour grave and silent way."

  "There is nothing to be terrified about, mother, but you are weak, andtherefore you get unduly nervous. I was only thinking for a momentwhether you had better know; but of course, if you wish it, you must betold. The child at The Grange is suffering from scarlet fever."

  "Do you think it will spread?"

  "Father is very anxious. I heard him telling Dorothy that Mrs. Harveyhad been very imprudent. You know how young she is, mother, and howbeautiful; and she has been with this dear little child day and nightfrom the beginning, not knowing in the least what ailed her, and Mrs.Harvey is expecting another baby, and of course father is anxious."

  "I should think he is," cried Mrs. Staunton, drawn completely out ofherself by the tragedy conveyed in these words. "Oh, poor young thing,poor young mother! I wish I were strong and well myself, that I might goand help her. She will have a bad time. She will have an awful risk whenher baby arrives, Effie. Well, my darling, we can do nothing but prayfor them all. There is One who can guide us even through dark days. Godown, Effie, and get breakfast, and then come back to me. I am verytired this morning, and will lie still for a little, now that I have gotsuch a dear, useful daughter to take my place for me."

  Effie put on a bright smile, and turned toward the door.

  As she was leaving the room, her mother called out after her:

  "There is one good thing, there is no diphtheria in the case; nothingterrifies me like that."

  Effie shut the door hastily without reply.