VI.
JANUARY 24.A Message came yesterday morning from Susan Green to the effect that she had had a dreadful fall, and was half killed.Mother wanted to set off at once to see her, but I would not let her go, as she has one of her worst colds.She then asked me to go in her place.
I turned up my nose at the bare thought, though I 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 ?" Iasked mother, at last.
"I think, dear, you must make your own duties, she said kindly."Idare 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, Iwon'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 the thin, yellow, hard face had changed sadly.She fixed her two little black eyes on me, evidently startled by the expression of my face.
"Look here, child, I ain't hurt to speak of, am I?
"The doctor says you are hurt seriously."
My tone must have said more than my words did for she caught me by the wrist and held me fast.
"He didn't say nothing about my-about it being dangerous? I ain't dangerous, am I?"I felt ready to sink.
"Oh Susan!" I gasped out; "you haven't any time to lose.You're going, you're going!" "Going!" she cried; "going where? You don't mean to say I'm a-dying? Why, it beats all my calculations.I was going to live ever so years, and save up ever so much money, and when my time come, I was going to put on my best fluted night-gown and night-cap, and lay my head on my handsome pillow, and draw the clothes up over me, neat and tidy, and die decent.But here's my bed all in a toss, and my frills all in a crumple and my room all upside down, and bottles of medicine setting around alongside of my vases, and nobody here but you, just a girl, and nothing else!"All this came out by jerks, as it were, and at intervals.
"Don't talk so!" I fairly screamed."Pray, pray to God to have mercy on you!"She looked at me, bewildered, but yet as if the truth had reached her at last.
"Pray yourself!" she said, eagerly."I don't' know how.I can't think.Oh, my time's come my time's come!; And I ain't ready! I ain't ready! Get down on your knees and pray with all your, might and main."And I did; she holding my wrist tightly in hard hand.All at once Ifelt her hold relax.After that the next thing I knew I was lying on the and somebody was dashing water in my face.
