The Lamplighter Part 18

A neat though quaint black dress having taken the place of the much-valued flounces, she now looked more lady-like. She held in her hand a tumbler of pepper and water, and begged her visitor to drink, a.s.suring her it would warm her stomach and prevent her taking cold; and when Gertrude, who could scarcely keep from laughing in her face, declined the beverage, Miss Patty seated herself, and, while enjoying the refreshment, carried on a conversation which at one moment satisfied her visitor she was a women of sense, and the next that she was either foolish or insane. The impression which Gertrude made upon Miss Patty was more decided. Miss Patty was delighted with the young miss, and declared she had an intellect that would do honour to a queen, a figure that was airy as a gazelle, and motions more graceful than those of a swan. When George came for Gertrude, Miss Pace was sorry to part with her, invited her to come again, and she promised to do so.

The satisfactory news from Willie, and the amusing adventures of the afternoon, had given to Gertrude such a feeling of buoyancy, that she bounded into the house, and up the stairs, with that fairy quickness Uncle True had so loved to see in her, and which, since his death, her subdued spirits had rarely permitted her to exercise.

At the door of her room she met Bridget, the housemaid. On inquiring what was going on there, she learned that during her absence her room had received a thorough cleaning. Alarmed at the idea of Mrs. Ellis having invaded her premises, she surveyed the apartment with a slight feeling of agitation, which, as she continued her observations, swelled into angry excitement.

When Gertrude went from Mrs. Sullivan's to Mr. Graham's house in the city, she took with her a trunk containing her wardrobe, an old bandbox, which she put on the shelf of a closet in her chamber. There it remained during the winter, unpacked, and when the family went into the country, the box went also, carefully protected by its owner, who had put it in a corner behind the bed, and the evening before her expedition to the city had been engaged in inspecting its contents, endeared to her by the charm of old a.s.sociation, and many a tear had the little maiden shed over her stock of valuables. There was the figure of the Samuel, Uncle True's first gift, defaced by time and accident. There, too, were his pipes, dark with smoke and age; but as she thought what comfort they had been to him, she felt them a consolation to her. She had also his lantern, for she had not forgotten its pleasant light, the first that ever fell upon the darkness of her life; also his fur cap, beneath which she had often seen the kindly smile, and could hardly realise that there was not one for her still hidden beneath its crown.

All these things, excepting the lantern and cap, Gertrude had left upon the mantel-piece; and on entering the room, her eye sought her treasures. They were gone. The mantel-piece was empty. She ran towards the corner for the old box. It was gone. To rush after the housemaid and question her was but the work of an instant.

Bridget was a new-comer, a stupid specimen, but Gertrude obtained from her all the information she needed. The image, the pipes, and the lantern were thrown among a heap of broken gla.s.s and crockery, and smashed to atoms. The cap, said to be moth-eaten, and the other articles had been cast into the fire at Mrs. Ellis's orders. Gertrude allowed Bridget to depart, unaware of the greatness of her loss; then, shutting the door, she wept.

She rose from the bed suddenly, and started for the door; then, some new thought seeming to check her, she returned again to the bedside, and, with a loud sob, fell upon her knees, and buried her face in her hands.

Once or twice she lifted her head, and seemed on the point of rising and going to face her enemy; but each time something came across her mind and detained her. It was not fear; oh, no! Gertrude was not afraid of anybody. It must have been some stronger motive than that. Whatever it might be, it was something that had a soothing influence, for, after every fresh struggle, she grew calmer, and rising, seated herself in a chair by the window, leaned her head on her hand, and looked out. The shower was over, and the smiles of the refreshed earth were reflected in a glowing rainbow. A little bird came and perched on a branch of a tree close to the window, and shouted forth a _Te Deum_. A Persian lilac-bush, in full bloom, sent up a delicious fragrance. A wonderful calm stole into Gertrude's heart, and she felt "the grace that brings peace succeed to the pa.s.sions that produce trouble." She had conquered; she had achieved the greatest of earth's victories, a victory over herself. The brilliant rainbow, the carol of the bird, the fragrance of the blossoms, all the bright things that gladdened the earth after the storm, were not half so beautiful as the light that overspread the face of the young girl when, the storm within her laid at rest, she looked up to heaven and her heart sent forth its silent offering of praise.

The sound of the tea-bell startled her. She bathed her face and brushed her hair, and went downstairs. There was no one in the dining-room but Mrs. Ellis; Mr. Graham had been detained in town, and Emily was suffering severe headache. Gertrude took tea alone with Mrs. Ellis, who, unaware of the great value Gertrude attached to her old relics, was conscious she had done an unkind thing.

Next day Mrs. Prime, the cook, came to Emily's room, and produced the little basket, made of a nut, saying, "I wonder now, Miss Emily, where Miss Gertrude is; for I've found her little basket in the coal-hole, and I guess she'll be right glad on't--'tan't hurt a mite." Emily inquired, "What basket?" and the cook, placing it in her hands, gave an account of the destruction of Gertrude's property, which she had herself witnessed with indignation. She described the distress of Gertrude when questioning Bridget, which the sympathising cook had heard from her chamber.

As Emily listened to the story, she thought the previous afternoon she heard Gertrude sobbing in her room, but that she concluded that she mistook. "Go," said she, "and carry the basket to Gertrude; she is in the little library; but please, Mrs. Prime, don't tell her that you have mentioned the matter to me." Emily expected for several days, to hear from Gertrude the story of her injuries; but Gertrude kept her trouble to herself.

This was the first instance of complete self-control to Gerty. From this time she experienced more and more the power of governing herself; and, with each new effort gaining new strength, became at last a wonder to those who knew the temperament she had had to contend with. She was now nearly fourteen years old, and so rapid had been her recent growth that, instead of being below the usual stature, she was taller than most girls of her age. Freedom from study, and plenty of air and exercise, prevented her, however, from suffering from this circ.u.mstance. Her garden was a source of great pleasure to her, and flowers prospering under her careful training, she had always a bouquet ready to place by Emily's plate at breakfast-time.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE NURSE.

Mr. Graham's garden was very beautiful, abounding in rich shrubbery, summer houses, and arbours covered with grape-vines; but a high, broad fence hid it from public view, and the house, standing back from the road, was old-fas.h.i.+oned in its appearance. The summer was pa.s.sing most happily, and Gertrude, in the enjoyment of Emily's society, and in the consciousness that she was rendering herself useful and important to this excellent friend, was finding in every day new causes of contentment and rejoicing, when a stop was suddenly put to all her pleasure.

Emily was taken ill with a fever, and Gertrude, on her entering the sick-room, to share in its duties, was rudely repulsed by Mrs. Ellis, who had const.i.tuted herself sole nurse, and who declared that the fever was catching, and Miss Emily did not want her there.

For three or four days Gertrude wandered about the house, inconsolable.

On the fifth morning after her banishment from the room, she saw Mrs.

Prime, the cook, going upstairs with some gruel; and, giving her some beautiful rose-buds which she had gathered, she begged her to give them to Emily, and ask if she might not come in and see her. She lingered about the kitchen awaiting Mrs. Prime's return, in hopes of some message, at least, from the sufferer. But when the cook came down the flowers were still in her hand, and as she threw them on the table, the kind-hearted woman gave vent to her feelings.

"Well! folks do say that first-rate cooks and nurses are allers as cross as bears! 'Tan't for me to say whether it's so 'bout cooks, but 'bout nurses there an't no sort o'doubt! I would not want to go there, Miss Gertrude; I'm sure she'd bit your head off."

"Wouldn't Miss Emily take the flowers?" asked Gertrude, looking quite grieved.

"Well, she hadn't no word in the matter. You know she couldn't see what they were; and Mrs. Ellis flung 'em outside the door, vowin' I might as well bring pison into the room with a fever as roses. I tried to speak to Miss Emily, but Mrs. Ellis set up such a hush-sh-sh I s'posed she was goin' to sleep, and jest made the best o' my way out. Ugh! don't she begin to scold when there's anybody taken sick!"

Gertrude sauntered out into the garden. She had nothing to do but think anxiously about Emily, who, she feared, was very ill. Her work and her books were all in Emily's room, where they were usually kept; the library might have furnished amus.e.m.e.nt, but it was locked up. So the garden was the only thing left for her, and there she spent the rest of the morning; and many others, for Emily grew worse, and a fortnight pa.s.sed away without Gertrude's seeing her, or having any other intimation regarding her health than Mrs. Ellis's occasional report to Mr. Graham, who, as he saw the physician every day, and made frequent visits to his daughter, did not require that particular information which Gertrude was eager to obtain. Once or twice she had asked Mrs.

Ellis, who replied, "Don't bother me with questions! what do you know about sickness?"

One afternoon Gertrude was sitting in a large summer-house at the end of the garden; her own piece of ground, fragrant with mignonette and verbena, was close by, and she was busily engaged in tying up some little papers of seeds, when she was startled by hearing a step beside her, and looking up, saw Dr. Jeremy, the family physician, entering the building.

"Ah! what are you doing?" said the doctor, in a quick manner peculiar to him. "Sorting seeds, eh?"

"Yes, sir," replied Gerty, blus.h.i.+ng, as she saw the doctor's keen black eyes scrutinising her face!

"Where have I seen you before?" asked he, in the same blunt way.

"At Mr. Flint's."

"Ah! True Flint's! I remember all about it. You're his girl! Nice girl, too! And poor True, he's dead! Well, he's a loss to the community! So this is the little nurse I used to see there. Bless me! how children do grow!"

"Doctor Jeremy," asked Gertrude, in an earnest voice, "will you please to tell me how Miss Emily is?"

"Emily! she an't very well just now."

"Do you think she'll die?"

"Die! No! What should she die for? I won't let her die, if you'll help me to keep her alive. Why an't you in the house taking care of her?"

"I wish I might!" exclaimed Gertrude, starting up; "I wish I might!"

"What's to hinder?"

"Mrs. Ellis, sir; she won't let me in; she says Miss Emily doesn't want anybody but her."

"She's nothing to say about it, or Emily either; it's my business, and I want you. I'd rather have you to take care of my patients than all the Mrs. Ellises in the world. She knows nothing about nursing; let her stick to her cranberry-sauce and squash-pies. So, mind, to-morrow you're to begin."

"O, thank you, doctor."

"Don't thank me yet; wait till you've tried it--it's hard work taking care of sick folks. Whose orchard is that?"

"Mrs. Bruce's."

"Is that her pear-tree?"

"Yes, sir."

"By George, Mrs. Bruce, I'll try your pears for you!"

As he spoke, the doctor, a man some sixty-five years of age, stout and active, sprung over a stone wall, which separated them from the orchard, and reached the foot of the tree almost at a bound.

As Gertrude watched the proceeding, she observed the doctor stumble over some obstacle, and only saved himself from falling by stretching forth both hands, and sustaining himself against the trunk of the tree. At the same instant a head, adorned with a velvet smoking-cap, was slowly lifted from the long gra.s.s, and a youth, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, stared at the intruder.

Nothing daunted, the doctor at once took the offensive ground towards the occupant of the place, saying, "Get up, lazy bones! What do you lie there for, tripping up honest folks?"

"Whom do you call honest folks, sir?" inquired the youth, apparently undisturbed by the doctor's epithet and inquiry. He showed much _sang froid_.

"I call myself and my little friend here remarkably honest people,"

replied the doctor, winking at Gertrude, who, standing behind the wall and looking over, was laughing at the way in which the doctor had got caught. The young man turned, and gave a broad stare at Gertrude's merry face.

"Can I do anything for you, sir?" asked he.