Stepping Heavenward [24]
dare say it turns up enough on its own account.
"Oh, mother!" I said, reproachfully that dirty old woman!"
Mother made no answer, and I sat down at the piano, and played a little. But I only played discords.
"Do you think it is my duty to run after such horrid old women ?" I asked mother, at last.
"I think, dear, you must make your own duties, she said kindly. "I dare say that at your age I should have made a great deal out of my personal repugnance to such a woman as Susan, and very little out of her sufferings."
I believe I am the most fastidious creature in the world. Sick-rooms with their intolerable smells of camphor, and vinegar and mustard, their gloom and their whines and their groans, actually make me shudder. But was it not just such fastidiousness that made Cha-no, I won't utter his name----that made somebody weary of my possibilities? And has that terrible lesson really done me no good?
JAN. 26.-No sooner had I written the above than I scrambled into my cloak and bonnet, and flew, on the wings of holy indignation, to Susan Green. Such wings fly fast, and got me a little out of breath. I found her lying on that nice white bed of hers, in a frilled cap and night-gown. It seems she fell from her ladder in climbing to the dismal den where she sleeps, and lay all night in great distress with some serious internal injury. I found her groaning and complaining in a fearful way.
"Are you in such pain ?" I asked, as kindly as I could.
"It isn't the pain," she said, "it isn't the pain. Its the way my nice bed is going to wreck and ruin, and the starch all getting out of my frills that I fluted with my own hands. And the doctor's bill, and the medicines; oh, dear, dear, dear!"
Just then the doctor came in. After examining her, he said to a woman who seemed to have charge of her:
"Are you the nurse?"
"Oh, no, I only stepped in to see what I could do for her."
"Who is to be with her to-night, then?"
Nobody knew.
"I will send a nurse, then," he said. "But some one else will be needed also,' he added, looking at me.
"I will stay," I said. But my heart died within me.
The doctor took me aside.
"Her injuries are very serious," be said." If she has any friends, they ought to be sent for."
"You don't mean that she is going to die?" I asked.
"I fear she is. But not immediately." He took leave, and I went back to the bedside. I saw there no longer a snuffy, repulsive old woman, but a human being about to make that mysterious journey a far country whence there is no return. Oh, how I wished mother were there!
"Susan," I said, "have you any relatives?"
"No, I haven't," she answered sharply. "And if I had they needn't come prowling around me. I don't want no relations about my body."
"Would you like to see Dr. Cabot?"
"What should I want of Dr. Cabot? Don't tease, child."
Considering the deference with which she had heretofore treated me, this was quite a new order of things.
I sat down and tried to pray for her, silently, in my heart. Who was to go with her on that long journey, and where was it to end?
The woman who had been caring for her now went away, and it was growing dark. I sat still listening to my own heart, which beat till it half choked me.
"What were you and the doctor whispering about?" she suddenly burst out.
"He asked me, for one thing, if you had any friends that could be sent for."
"I've been my own best friend," she returned. "Who'd have raked and scraped and hoarded and counted for Susan Green if I hadn't ha' done it? I ve got enough to make me comfortable as long as I live, and when I lie on my dying bed."
"But you can't carry it with you," I said. This highly original remark was all I had courage to utter.
"I wish I could," she cried. "I suppose you think I talk awful. They say you are getting most to be as much of a saint as your ma. It's born in some, and in some it ain't. Do get a light. It's lonesome here in the dark, and cold."
I was thankful enough to enliven the dark room with light and fire. But I saw now that
"Oh, mother!" I said, reproachfully that dirty old woman!"
Mother made no answer, and I sat down at the piano, and played a little. But I only played discords.
"Do you think it is my duty to run after such horrid old women ?" I asked mother, at last.
"I think, dear, you must make your own duties, she said kindly. "I dare say that at your age I should have made a great deal out of my personal repugnance to such a woman as Susan, and very little out of her sufferings."
I believe I am the most fastidious creature in the world. Sick-rooms with their intolerable smells of camphor, and vinegar and mustard, their gloom and their whines and their groans, actually make me shudder. But was it not just such fastidiousness that made Cha-no, I won't utter his name----that made somebody weary of my possibilities? And has that terrible lesson really done me no good?
JAN. 26.-No sooner had I written the above than I scrambled into my cloak and bonnet, and flew, on the wings of holy indignation, to Susan Green. Such wings fly fast, and got me a little out of breath. I found her lying on that nice white bed of hers, in a frilled cap and night-gown. It seems she fell from her ladder in climbing to the dismal den where she sleeps, and lay all night in great distress with some serious internal injury. I found her groaning and complaining in a fearful way.
"Are you in such pain ?" I asked, as kindly as I could.
"It isn't the pain," she said, "it isn't the pain. Its the way my nice bed is going to wreck and ruin, and the starch all getting out of my frills that I fluted with my own hands. And the doctor's bill, and the medicines; oh, dear, dear, dear!"
Just then the doctor came in. After examining her, he said to a woman who seemed to have charge of her:
"Are you the nurse?"
"Oh, no, I only stepped in to see what I could do for her."
"Who is to be with her to-night, then?"
Nobody knew.
"I will send a nurse, then," he said. "But some one else will be needed also,' he added, looking at me.
"I will stay," I said. But my heart died within me.
The doctor took me aside.
"Her injuries are very serious," be said." If she has any friends, they ought to be sent for."
"You don't mean that she is going to die?" I asked.
"I fear she is. But not immediately." He took leave, and I went back to the bedside. I saw there no longer a snuffy, repulsive old woman, but a human being about to make that mysterious journey a far country whence there is no return. Oh, how I wished mother were there!
"Susan," I said, "have you any relatives?"
"No, I haven't," she answered sharply. "And if I had they needn't come prowling around me. I don't want no relations about my body."
"Would you like to see Dr. Cabot?"
"What should I want of Dr. Cabot? Don't tease, child."
Considering the deference with which she had heretofore treated me, this was quite a new order of things.
I sat down and tried to pray for her, silently, in my heart. Who was to go with her on that long journey, and where was it to end?
The woman who had been caring for her now went away, and it was growing dark. I sat still listening to my own heart, which beat till it half choked me.
"What were you and the doctor whispering about?" she suddenly burst out.
"He asked me, for one thing, if you had any friends that could be sent for."
"I've been my own best friend," she returned. "Who'd have raked and scraped and hoarded and counted for Susan Green if I hadn't ha' done it? I ve got enough to make me comfortable as long as I live, and when I lie on my dying bed."
"But you can't carry it with you," I said. This highly original remark was all I had courage to utter.
"I wish I could," she cried. "I suppose you think I talk awful. They say you are getting most to be as much of a saint as your ma. It's born in some, and in some it ain't. Do get a light. It's lonesome here in the dark, and cold."
I was thankful enough to enliven the dark room with light and fire. But I saw now that