Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. A Little Mother to the Others by L. T. Meade (web ebook reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: L. T. Meade
Book online «A Little Mother to the Others by L. T. Meade (web ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author L. T. Meade
Fortune hailed the first fly she came across, and was quickly borne to the abode of her old neighbor, Matty Bell.
Matty Bell was a woman of about sixty years of age. At one time she had been a servant at Delaney Manor, but having married, and then lost her hus[264]band, she had set up in the laundry line. In that interesting trade she had done a thriving business, and kept a comfortable roof over her head. She had never had children, and consequently had plenty of time to attend to her neighbors' affairs.
"Well, to be sure, Fortune, and what brings you here?" she said, when Fortune alighted from the fly. "Dear heart! I didn't know that you would care to leave Delaney Manor with all the troubles about."
"And what troubles do you mean now, Matty Bell?" said Fortune, as she paid a shilling to the driver, and then tripped lightly into Matty's little front parlor.
"Why, the death of the poor missus, Heaven bless her memory! and then the master going off to the other end of nobody knows where, and all them blessed little children took from their home and carried—oh, we needn't go into that, Fortune—it's been a trouble to you, and I see it writ on your face."
"You are right there, Matty," said Fortune; "it has been a bitter trouble to me, and there's more behind, for the lady who took the children had no right to interfere, not having a mother's heart in her breast, for all that Providence granted her five babes of her own to manage. What do you think she went and did, Matty? Why, lost two of our children."
"Lost two of 'em? Sakes alive! you don't say so!" replied Matty. "Have a cup of tea, Fortune, do; I have it brewing lovely on the hob."
"No, thank you," replied Fortune. "I'm in no mood for tea."
"Well, then, do go on with your story, for it's mighty interesting."
"It's simple enough," replied Fortune. "Two of[265] the children are lost, and now I have traced 'em to a circus in the town."
"A circus here—what, Holt's?" said the woman.
"No less. Why, Matty; you look queer yourself. Do you know anything?"
"I know nothing for certain," said Matty. "I can only tell you—but there, perhaps I had better not say—only will you excuse me for a minute or two, Fortune?"
"I'll excuse you, Matty, if you are on the trail of the children, but if you aren't, you had better stay here and let me talk matters over. You always were a fearful one for gossip, and perhaps you have picked up news. Yes, I see you have—you have got something at the back of your head this blessed minute, Matty Bell."
"That I have," replied Mrs. Bell. "But please don't ask me a word more, only let me get on my bonnet and cloak."
Mrs. Bell left the room, and quickly returned dressed in her widow's weeds, for though Bell had been dead for over ten years, his widow was still faithful to his memory; she slipped a thick crêpe veil over her face, and went out, looking the very essence of respectability. She was not more than twenty minutes away, and when she came back she looked much excited. On each of her smooth, pasty cheeks might even be seen a little flush of color, and her dull blue eyes were brighter than their wont.
"Fortune," she cried, "as there's a heaven above me, I've found 'em!"
"Bless you, Matty; but where—where?"
"Why, at no less a place than Jonathan Darling's."
"Jonathan Darling? Who may he be?"[266]
"He's as honest a fellow, Fortune, as you can find in the whole of Madersley—he drives a milk cart. He found the two little dears three mornings ago, wandering about in their circus dresses, and he took 'em home."
"Well," said Fortune, "well—then that's all right. It was a trouble, but it's over, thank the good God. I could fall on my knees this moment and offer up a prayer; that I could, Matty Bell."
Fortune's small, twinkling eyes were full of tears; she caught her neighbor's hand and wrung it hard.
"And I bless you, Matty," she continued, "for you have put me on the right trail. I'll never blame a gossiping neighbor again, never as long as I live."
"But you haven't heard me out to the end," said Matty, "for one of the little 'uns is very ill. You have found 'em, it is true; but it isn't all beer and skittles, Fortune Squeers."
"One of the children ill?" said Fortune.
"Yes; little Miss Diana. You come along and see her at once. They say she fell on her head out of a ring at the circus, and she must have hurt herself rather bad. Anyhow, she don't know a word she is saying, poor little dear."
When Fortune heard this news she shut up her mouth very tight, tied her bonnet-strings, and followed her neighbor out of the house.
The Darlings' humble little domicile happened to be in the next street, and in less than five minutes Fortune was standing over little Diana's bed. The child was tossing from side to side, her big eyes were wide open; she was gazing straight before her, talking eagerly and incessantly.
"Is it to be a pwivate funeral?" she said, when[267] Fortune entered the room, and, falling on her knees, clasped the hot little hands in hers.
"Oh, my little darling!" said the good woman, "and have I really found you at last?"
She sank down by the child and burst into more bitter tears than she had even shed when Mrs. Delaney went away.
[268]
CHAPTER XXVI. THE LITTLE MOTHER TO THE RESCUE.Yes, the lost children were found, but little Diana was very ill. The blow she had received on her head had developed into inflammation of the brain. She was highly feverish, and did not in the least know what she was saying. Fortune immediately made up her mind not to leave her. After standing by her bedside for a minute or two, she went into the next room and asked Mrs. Darling if she would take a fly and go with little Orion to Delaney Manor.
"You are going to your own home, my poor little boy," said the nurse, "and please tell your uncle and Iris and Apollo that I am staying here to look after Diana."
The little boy was so excited at the prospect of being home once more that he forgot any small anxieties which he had experienced with regard to Diana. He started off, therefore, with Mrs. Darling in the highest spirits, and Fortune returned to the bedside of the sick child. Within a couple of hours after Orion's departure, Mr. Dolman arrived in person. When he saw Diana he immediately insisted on the best doctor in the place being sent for to see her.
The medical man arrived; but, when he did so, he shook his head.[269]
"The child is dangerously ill," he said. "I could not hear of her being moved at present. She must have absolute quiet and good nursing."
"I'm going to nurse her," said Fortune.
"A properly trained nurse would be best," said the doctor.
"I and no other am going to nurse her," repeated Fortune.
She had taken off her bonnet and mantle and was seated quietly by the bedside. No one could look more capable, more determined, than the American woman did on this occasion. The doctor saw that he must give way.
"Haven't I done for her from the blessed moment when she was sent from heaven into her mother's arms?" continued Fortune. "I shall nurse her now, whether it's the will of the Almighty that she lives or dies."
At these words, little Diana opened her great, black eyes.
Any more, little dear,"
she said in a voice of intense satisfaction. Then she looked up at Fortune, and raised her brow in a puzzled manner.
"I aren't fwightened of G'eased Lightning," she said. A smile broke over her little face, then the light of reason once more faded, and she entered the dark region of delirium and danger.
The doctor did all he could and Fortune did all she could, and presently Aunt Jane appeared on the scene, and insisted on seeing the child, and shook her head over her and cried a little privately; but, in spite of all their efforts to get her well again, little Diana grew[270] weaker, day by day. She did not know Fortune, except at very rare intervals. Day and night she talked incessantly of her past life, of the beautiful garden, of the animals, of Rub-a-Dub, and more especially of Rub-a-Dub's public funeral. She also mentioned Greased Lightning and Pole Star, and Uncle Ben and the circus; but when she talked of them her voice changed; it grew high, eager, and excited, and her little breath panted out of her weary body. She often ended her delirious talk with a cry of distress.
"Oh, I has fallen," she said, with a sob. "I has fallen from the wing." Then she would clasp both her hot hands to her aching head, and moan bitterly.
The doctor was very anxious about her, and Fortune was very sad, and so was Uncle William, and even Aunt Jane.
The cablegram was sent to father, and they all earnestly hoped that he was already on his homeward way.
Meanwhile, at the Manor, Iris, Apollo, and Orion had a hard time. It is true that they were no longer fettered or coerced in any way. Aunt Jane took scarcely any notice of them, and Uncle William spent most of his time alone. The three children could come in and out of the house as they pleased; they could wander about the garden where four used to play happily; they could visit the old haunts that four used to love; but because the fourth was now absent, the joy and the mirth of the old days seemed quite to have left the remaining three.
As time went by, Iris grew whiter and whiter. Often she wandered away by herself, and flinging herself on the ground, would moan out her distress.
"Mother, mother," she used to sob, "I have not[271] done what you told me; I have not been a little mother. Can you ever forgive me? Oh, if Diana dies, I am certain that I shall never forgive myself."
At last, when a fortnight had passed by, Iris had a dream. She never told her dream to anyone, but she got up that morning with a very determined expression on her small face. After breakfast she went straight downstairs to the library, and spoke to Uncle William.
"Uncle William," she said, "I want to say that I am going to see Diana."
"My dear," said Uncle William, who was furtively at that moment wiping a tear from his eye, "I greatly fear that you cannot do so; we have had bad news of little Diana this morning. I greatly fear, Iris, that she will not be long with us; her strength is going, and there is little chance of the fever abating. The doctor has but a small hope of her recovery—in fact, I may almost say that he has no hope."
"It is a fortnight since Diana was found, and you have never let me see her yet," continued Iris; "but I am going to her to-day. I had a dream last night," she continued, "and in my dream I—But I'm not going to say anything more, only I must see Diana to-day."
"I am afraid you cannot do so, Iris," replied Uncle William.
"And why not, if the child has the wish?" remarked Aunt Jane suddenly.
Until that moment Iris had no idea that Aunt Jane was in the room. She started now when she heard her voice; but reading the expression on her face, she ran up to her eagerly.
"If you are for it, Aunt Jane, it will be all right,"[272] she cried. "Please have a carriage ordered this minute and let me go."
"I would not, if I were you, wife," said Uncle William. "You see how delicate Iris is already, and the sight of her little sister would shock her dreadfully."
"She may just as well go," said Aunt Jane. "In my opinion, it would be wrong to leave any stone unturned, and Iris always had a remarkable influence over the other children. Besides, my dear
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