CHAPTER XXIX
Anxious Days
FOR the next few weeks the Cottagers led as quiet a life as almostdaily association with Henrietta would permit. Jean grew a trifletaller, Marjory discovered new ways of doing her hair and Mabelremained as round and ruddy as ever. But everybody was worried aboutBettie. She seemed listless and indifferent in school, she fell asleepover her books when she attempted to study at night, she grew averse togetting up mornings and day by day she grew thinner and paler, untileven heedless Mabel observed that she was all eyes.
"What's the trouble?" asked Jean, when Bettie said that she didn't feellike going to the Public Library corner to view the Uncle Tom's Cabinparade. "A walk would do you good, and it's only four blocks."
"I'm tired," returned Bettie. "My head would like to go but my feetwould rather not. And my hands don't want to do anything--or evenmy tongue. You can tell me about the parade--that'll be easier thanlooking at it."
Now, this was a new Bettie. The old one, while not exactly a noisyperson, had been so active physically that the others had sometimesfound it difficult to follow her dancing footsteps. She had ever beenquick to wait on the other members of her large family; or to doerrands, in the most obliging fashion, for any of her friends. Thisnew Bettie eyed the Tucker cat sympathetically when it mewed for milk;but she relegated the task of feeding pussy to one of her much moreunwilling small brothers.
"She needs a tonic," said Mrs. Tucker, giving Bettie dark-brown dosesfrom a large bottle. "It's the spring, I guess."
Two days after the parade there was great excitement among Bettie'sfriends. She had not appeared at school. That in itself was notan unusual occurrence, for Bettie often stayed at home to help heroverburdened mother through particularly trying days; but when Jeanstopped in to consult her little friend about homemade valentines, Mrs.Tucker met her with the news that Bettie was sick in bed.
"Can't I see her?" asked Jean.
"I'm afraid not," replied Mrs. Tucker, who looked worried. "She'sasleep just now and she has a temperature."
When Mabel heard this latter fact she at once consulted Dr. Bennett.
"Father," she queried, "do folks ever die of temperature?"
"Why, yes," returned the Doctor. "If the temperature is below zero theysometimes freeze. Why?"
"Mrs. Tucker says that's what Bettie's got--temperature."
"It isn't a disease, child. It's a condition of heat or cold. But it'stoo soon to say anything about Bettie--go play with your dolls."
Henrietta and the remaining Cottagers immediately thought of lovelythings to do for Bettie. So, too, did Mr. Black. Impulsive Henriettapurchased a large box of most attractive candy, Jean made her a lovelysponge cake that sat down rather sadly in the middle but rose noblyat both ends; Mabel begged half a lemon pie from the cook; Marjoryconcocted a wonderful bowl of orange jelly with candied cherries ontop, Mrs. Crane made a steaming pitcherful of chicken soup and Mr.Black sent in a great basket of the finest fruit that the Lakevillemarket afforded.
But when all these successive and well-meaning visitors presentedthemselves and their unstinted offerings at the Rectory door, Dr.Tucker received them sadly.
"Bettie is down with a fever," said he. "She can't eat _anything_."
The days that followed were the most dreadful that the Cottagers hadever known. They lived in suspense. Day after day when they askedfor news of Bettie the response was usually, "Just about the same."Occasionally, however, Dr. Bennett shook his head dubiously and said,"Not quite so well to-day."
For weeks--for _years_ it seemed to the disheartened children--thesewere the only tidings that reached them from the sick-room. There was atrained nurse whose white cap sometimes gleamed in an upper window, thegrave-faced, uncommunicative doctor visited the house twice a day, aboy with parcels from the drug store could frequently be seen enteringthe Rectory gate and that was about all that the terribly interestedfriends could learn concerning their beloved Bettie. They spent most oftheir time hovering quietly and forlornly about Mrs. Mapes's doorstep,for that particular spot furnished the best view of the afflictedRectory. They wanted, poor little souls, to keep as close to Bettie aspossible. If the sun shone during this time, they did not know it; forall the days seemed dark and miserable.
"If we could only help a little," mourned Jean, who looked pale andanxious, "it wouldn't be so bad."
"I teased her," sighed Henrietta, repentantly, "only two days beforeshe was taken sick. I do wish I hadn't."
"I gave her the smaller half of my orange," lamented Mabel, "the verylast time I saw her. If--if I don't ever see--see her again----"
"Oh, well," comforted Marjory, hastily, "she might have been justthat much sicker if she'd eaten the larger piece. But _I_ wish Ihadn't talked so much about boarding school. It always worried her andsometimes I tried [Marjory blushed guiltily at the remembrance] to makeher just a little envious."
"I'm afraid," confessed Jean, "I sometimes neglected her just a littlefor Henrietta; but I mean to make up for it if--if I have a chance."
"That's it," breathed Marjory, softly, "if we only have a chance."
Then, because the March wind wailed forlornly, because the waiting hadbeen so long and because it seemed to the discouraged children as ifthe chance, after all, were extremely slight--as slight and frail athing as poor little Bettie herself--the four friends sat very quietlyfor many minutes on the rail of the Mapes's broad porch, with big tearsflowing down their cheeks. Presently Mabel fell to sobbing outright.
Mr. Black, on his way home from his office, found them there. He hadmeant to salute them in his usual friendly fashion, but at sight oftheir disconsolate faces he merely glanced at them inquiringly.
"She's--she's just about the same," sobbed Jean.
Mr. Black, without a word, proceeded on his way; but all the sparklehad vanished from his dark eyes and his countenance seemed older.He, too, was unhappy on Bettie's account and he lived in hourly dreadof unfavorable news. The very next morning, however, there was a morehopeful air about Dr. Bennett when he left the Rectory. Mabel, waitingat home, questioned him mutely with her eyes.
"A very slight change for the better," said he, "but it is too soon forus to be sure of anything. We're not out of the woods yet."
Next came the tidings that Bettie was really improving, though not atall rapidly; yet it was something to know that she was started on theroad to recovery.
Perhaps the tedious days that followed were the most trying daysof all, however, for the impatient children; because the "road torecovery" in Bettie's case seemed such a tremendously long road thather little friends began to fear that Bettie would never come intosight at the end of it, but she did at last. And such a forlorn Bettieas she was!
She had certainly been very ill. They had shaved her poor little head,her eyes seemed almost twice their usual size and the girls had notbelieved that any living person could become so pitiably thin; but thewasting fever was gone and what was left of Bettie was still alive.
Long before the invalid was able to sit up, the girls had been admittedone by one and at different times, to take a look at her. Bettie hadsmiled at them. She had even made a feeble little joke about being ableto count every one of her two hundred bones.
After a time, Bettie could sit up in bed. A few days later, rolled in agaily flowered quilt presented by the women of the parish; she occupieda big, pillowed chair near the window; and all four of the girls wereable to throw kisses to her from Jean's porch. And now she could eat afew spoonfuls of Mrs. Crane's savory broth, a very little of Marjory'sorange jelly and one or two of Mr. Black's imported grapes. But, for along, long time, Bettie progressed no further than the chair.
"I don't know what ails that child," confessed puzzled Dr. Bennett."She's like a piece of elastic with all the stretch gone from therubber. She seems to lack something; not exactly vitality--animation,perhaps, or ambition. Yes, she certainly lacks ambition. She ought tobe outdoors by now."
"Hurry and get well," urged Jean,
who had been instructed to try torouse her too-slowly-improving friend. "The weather's warmer every dayand it won't be long before we can open Dandelion Cottage. And we'vesworn a tremendous vow not to show Henrietta--she's crazy to see it--asingle inch of that house until you're able to trot over with us.Here's the key. You're to keep it until you're ready to unlock thatdoor yourself."
"Drop it into that vase," directed Bettie. "It seems a hundred milesto that cottage, and I'll never have legs enough to walk so far."
"Two are enough," encouraged Jean.
"Both of mine," mourned Bettie, displaying a wrinkled stocking,"wouldn't make a whole one."
"Mrs. Slater wants to take you to drive every day, just as soon as youare able to wear clothes. She told me to tell you."
"It seems a fearfully long way to the stepping stone," sighed Bettie."Go home, please. It's makes me tired to _think_ of driving."
"There's certainly something amiss with Bettie," said Dr. Bennett, whentold of this interview. "Some little spring in her seems broken. Wemust find it and mend it or we won't have any Bettie."