The Stokesley Secret [41]
looking white, and too much awed to speak.
Captain Merrifield wrote in short, plain, sad words, that he thought it right that his children should know how matters stood. The doctors' treatment, for which their mother had been taken to London, had not succeeded, but had occasioned such terrible illness, that unless by the mercy of God she became much better in the course of a day or two, she could not live. If she should be worse, he would either write or telegraph, and Susan and Sam must be ready to set out at once on the receipt of such a message, and come up by the next train to London, where they should be met at the station. He had promised their mother that in case of need he would send for them.
God bless you, my poor children, and have mercy on us all! Your loving father, H. MERRIFIELD.
That was all; and Christabel felt, more than even the children did, from how full and heavy a heart those words had been written.
Though she hardly knew how to speak, she tried to comfort Susan by showing her that her father had evidently not given up all hope; but Susan was crying more at the thought of her Mamma's present illness and pain than with fear of the future; and Sam said sadly, "He would not have written at all unless it had been very bad indeed."
"Yes," said Miss Fosbrook; "but I believe, in cases like this, there is often great fear, and then very speedy improvement."
"Oh dear," said Bessie, speaking for the first time, "I know it will be. Little girls in story-books always do have their mammas--die!"
"Story-books are all nonsense, so it won't happen," said Sam; and really it seemed as if the habit of contradicting Bessie had suggested to him the greatest consolation that had yet occurred.
Just then Henry and the younger ones came in, and learnt the tidings. Henry wept as bitterly as his elder sister, and John and Annie both did the same; but David did not speak one word, as if he hardly took in what was the matter, and, going to the window, took up his lesson- books as usual.
"It is nine o'clock, Hal," said Sam presently.
"Oh, we can't go to Mr. Carey to-day," said Hal.
"Yes, we shall," returned Sam.
"Oh don't," cried Susan. "Suppose a telegraph should come!"
"Well, then you can send for me," said Sam. "Come, Hal."
"How can you, Sam?" said Henry crossly; "I know Mr. Carey will give us leave when he knows."
"I don't want leave," said Sam; "I don't want to kick up a row, as you'll do if you stay at home."
"Well then, if the message comes, I shall take Susie to London instead of you. I'm sure they want me most!"
"No, go down to Mr. Carey's with your brother, if you please, Hal," said Miss Fosbrook decidedly. "If he should tell you not to stay, I can't help it; but you will none of you do any good by hanging about without doing your daily duties."
Hal saw he had no chance, and marched off, muttering about its being very hard. Sam picked up his books, and turned to go, with a grave steady look that was quite manly in its sadness, only stopping to say, "Now, Jackie, you be good!--Please Miss Fosbrook, let him run down after me if the message comes, and I'll be back before the horse is out."
Miss Fosbrook promised, and could not help shaking hands with the brave boy, if only to show that she felt with him.
"Then must we all do our lessons?" asked Annie disconsolately, when he was gone.
"Yes, my dear; I think we shall all be the better for not neglecting what we ought to do. But there is one thing that we can do for your dear Mamma; you know what I mean. Suppose you each went away alone for five minutes, and were to come back when I ring the little bell?"
The first to come back was Annie, with the question in a low whisper, "Miss Fosbrook, will God make Mamma better if we are very good?"
Miss Fosbrook kissed her, saying, "My dear little girl, I cannot tell. All I can certainly tell you is, that He hears the prayers of good children, and if it be better for her and for you He will give her back to you."
Annie did not quite understand, but
Captain Merrifield wrote in short, plain, sad words, that he thought it right that his children should know how matters stood. The doctors' treatment, for which their mother had been taken to London, had not succeeded, but had occasioned such terrible illness, that unless by the mercy of God she became much better in the course of a day or two, she could not live. If she should be worse, he would either write or telegraph, and Susan and Sam must be ready to set out at once on the receipt of such a message, and come up by the next train to London, where they should be met at the station. He had promised their mother that in case of need he would send for them.
God bless you, my poor children, and have mercy on us all! Your loving father, H. MERRIFIELD.
That was all; and Christabel felt, more than even the children did, from how full and heavy a heart those words had been written.
Though she hardly knew how to speak, she tried to comfort Susan by showing her that her father had evidently not given up all hope; but Susan was crying more at the thought of her Mamma's present illness and pain than with fear of the future; and Sam said sadly, "He would not have written at all unless it had been very bad indeed."
"Yes," said Miss Fosbrook; "but I believe, in cases like this, there is often great fear, and then very speedy improvement."
"Oh dear," said Bessie, speaking for the first time, "I know it will be. Little girls in story-books always do have their mammas--die!"
"Story-books are all nonsense, so it won't happen," said Sam; and really it seemed as if the habit of contradicting Bessie had suggested to him the greatest consolation that had yet occurred.
Just then Henry and the younger ones came in, and learnt the tidings. Henry wept as bitterly as his elder sister, and John and Annie both did the same; but David did not speak one word, as if he hardly took in what was the matter, and, going to the window, took up his lesson- books as usual.
"It is nine o'clock, Hal," said Sam presently.
"Oh, we can't go to Mr. Carey to-day," said Hal.
"Yes, we shall," returned Sam.
"Oh don't," cried Susan. "Suppose a telegraph should come!"
"Well, then you can send for me," said Sam. "Come, Hal."
"How can you, Sam?" said Henry crossly; "I know Mr. Carey will give us leave when he knows."
"I don't want leave," said Sam; "I don't want to kick up a row, as you'll do if you stay at home."
"Well then, if the message comes, I shall take Susie to London instead of you. I'm sure they want me most!"
"No, go down to Mr. Carey's with your brother, if you please, Hal," said Miss Fosbrook decidedly. "If he should tell you not to stay, I can't help it; but you will none of you do any good by hanging about without doing your daily duties."
Hal saw he had no chance, and marched off, muttering about its being very hard. Sam picked up his books, and turned to go, with a grave steady look that was quite manly in its sadness, only stopping to say, "Now, Jackie, you be good!--Please Miss Fosbrook, let him run down after me if the message comes, and I'll be back before the horse is out."
Miss Fosbrook promised, and could not help shaking hands with the brave boy, if only to show that she felt with him.
"Then must we all do our lessons?" asked Annie disconsolately, when he was gone.
"Yes, my dear; I think we shall all be the better for not neglecting what we ought to do. But there is one thing that we can do for your dear Mamma; you know what I mean. Suppose you each went away alone for five minutes, and were to come back when I ring the little bell?"
The first to come back was Annie, with the question in a low whisper, "Miss Fosbrook, will God make Mamma better if we are very good?"
Miss Fosbrook kissed her, saying, "My dear little girl, I cannot tell. All I can certainly tell you is, that He hears the prayers of good children, and if it be better for her and for you He will give her back to you."
Annie did not quite understand, but