A Modern Cinderella by Amanda Minnie Douglas (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

to sit in the ashes. Then she laid it by and went at the others.

"Please Miss Armitage, may I go upstairs? I am so tired. What do you suppose makes me feel tired so easily?"

"You are not strong yet. Yes, we will go upstairs and you must lie down."

She placed her arm around the slender body. Marilla kissed the white hand.

The doctor came in the next morning, and Miss Armitage handed him the letter.

"Has the average woman any soul!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Mrs. Borden has had no means of knowing how severe the case really was----"

"See here, she might have written on--say Tuesday and inquired. Why Marilla might have died with just a little more. She doesn't go. She won't be strong enough to bother with teething babies in some time yet, if at all."

"Oh, you don't think----"

"She has a weak heart. It may have come from the shock and there is time enough for her to outgrow it, with care. Are you going to tire of her?"

She saw there was no doubt in his face and smiled.

"Marilla's no more trouble than a kitten. Jane is positively in love with her. I'm not sure but I shall ask to have her transferred to me."

"Hilda Armitage you ought to be the mother of girls. I don't know about the boys," with a doubtful laugh.

"I've had two disappointments."

"I told you that Conklin girl was not worth the trouble. She's singing in a vaudeville show and it _does_ suit her. You couldn't get any refined ambition in that vain and silly brain. It is casting pearls before swine. Save the pearls for some one worthy. _She_ doesn't go back to the Borden's this summer. When you get tired of her----"

"Shall we quarrel about her?" She glanced up with an odd, humorous smile.

"Perhaps we shall in the end, but that is a good way off. When that man comes today, just let him see Marilla."

Mr. Borden came punctually at two and was quite profuse in his thanks for Miss Armitage's kindness.

"I regret to say that Marilla has progressed very slowly. She had quite an exhausting fever at first. She was not able to come downstairs until yesterday, and lies down several times through the day."

"Is it possible! Why we thought--and we need her so much! Did you--" he flushed a little, "have a good physician?"

"An excellent one whose practice is mostly among children. He thought her quite worn out, but it was being overcome with the heat and she fell off the steps. It was near congestion of the brain I believe."

"I'm awfully sorry. We were so busy just then, and my wife was worried to death. The babies had always been so good, but I can't imagine anything being so--so dreadful as they've been for a week. I've scarcely slept an hour at a time and Mrs. Borden is clear worn out. She thinks just the sight of Marilla would comfort them. We might go on keeping that Ellen, though the babies won't take to her. I think Marilla charmed them; but they're always been good until now. And there's four more teeth to come through," in a despairing sort of tone.

Miss Armitage had large sympathy and she felt really sorry for him. Yet how providential that Marilla had missed the care!

"You have had a very bad time, certainly, and it is fortunate that Marilla didn't give out on your hands. Would you like to see her, though I think she is asleep."

"Yes--oh yes. If we kept Ellen, don't you think she might come down next week. The sea-bathing would no doubt strengthen her."

"She has some heart weakness. I'm afraid she couldn't stand the bathing."

Then she rose and led the way up stairs.

Marilla was asleep. Mr. Borden studied her in surprise.

"Why, she's grown dreadfully thin. Yes, she must have been very ill, but like the babies, she'd always been well. I'm awful sorry. I don't know what we shall do. Mrs. Borden had counted so on her coming. And she said over half a dozen times that I must not forget to thank you for all this kindness. You must send me the doctor's bill. She's such a nice child, Miss Armitage."

Marilla stirred and opened her eyes, closed them sighed and opened them again, then half murmured--"Oh, doctor," and started.

"Marilla, child, don't you remember Mr. Borden?"

"I had not told her about your coming. We keep her as tranquil as possible."

"Oh, Mr. Borden!" Marilla sat up. "And the babies?"

"The babies are in a very poor way, Marilla. They certainly are homesick for you. We try to keep them comforted with the promise of you. Oh, I hoped you would be well enough to go down with me this afternoon. Their mother will be telling them you will surely come. Poor little girl, but you are going to get well, aren't you? And Jack thinks there's no fun without you, and no one to read to him or tell him stories."

The child gave a vague smile. She was very glad to be away from Jack; indeed, sick babies did not appear attractive to her just now, but she said--

"Oh, I'm very sorry. The doctor said it was the heat and----"

"It was awfully hot that week. That made the babies worse. Oh, if I could take you down just to amuse them. You made them laugh so, Marilla. You know just how to do it. Well--it can't be helped, but you must try to get well and have some good of the pretty country place. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Miss Armitage is so good. And Jane and the doctor. And the yard is full of flowers. I'm very happy."

"I suppose so. Maybe you won't want to come back. But you belong to us, you know and we can't give you up."

Then he turned to go.

"Will you kiss the babies for me and tell them how sorry I am, and ask Jack not to tease them, and--and--" she swallowed over a great lump in her throat--"I shall come back when I get well."

"That's a good girl. Good-bye. I shall be in town next week and will come in and see you."

He gave the little hand a clasp. Miss Armitage went down with him. Marilla turned her face over on the pillow and cried as if her heart would break. Could she go back to the babies and Jack? And Bridget wasn't as sweet as Jane, and there was sharp Aunt Hetty----

"My dear! My dear!" said the soft voice with its infinite pity, and the sweet lips kissed hers.

"Oh, Miss Armitage, won't God take you to heaven if you pray very hard? I should hate to leave you and the dear, nice doctor, but I'm afraid I don't want to go back to the babies and Jack. I'm tired of them, and I feel as if it was foolish to be funny when there are so many sweet things to think of and books to read and your beautiful music. But I must go away from all that, and somehow heaven looks nicer. And when you die doesn't an angel come and take you in his arms and just carry you up and up to the other side of the sky where everything is peace and loveliness, and no one will torment you----"

"Oh my child, perhaps God wants you to live here a little longer and do some work for him. The doctor would be very sorry not to have you get well. Some one might say--'He let that little girl die when he might have saved her,' but they wouldn't know it was because she kept brooding over it all the time and would make no effort to get well. God knows what is best for us."

"I didn't mind about going back. But today it seemed to be--dreadful," with a convulsive sob.

"Then we have spoiled you. Oh, I am sorry for that."

"Oh, dear Miss Armitage, don't be sorry when you have been so good. But I don't quite understand how anyone can bind you out and make you stay years if you didn't want to."

"But children do not know what is best for them. Some go wandering round the streets without any home and are picked up and put in a place almost like a prison where they have to work whether they like it or not. And some even have cruel fathers and mothers. You said the Bordens were good to you. Would you rather be there or at the Home?"

"Oh, I'd rather be there than at the Home, but----" and she swallowed hard over a sob.

"If they worked you beyond reason or half starved you a complaint could be made but they all seem to love you----"

Miss Armitage smiled with a soft kind of sadness, as if she wished the truth were not quite so true, and the things that looked so delightful were not so often the thing it was best to give up for honor's sake.

"Yes, they do love me, babies and all, and of course I must go back when I am well enough."

Then she turned her face away and tried to keep back the tears. Jane entered at that moment and the tension was broken.

Miss Armitage read verses to her after she was in bed that evening, and kissed her good night with motherly tenderness. Then she sat for some time and thought.

Why should she have taken a fancy to this little girl? She had seen prettier children who were homeless and helped provide for them. The Bordens were not rough or heartless. Bridget had spoken well of them. The child had a comfortable home, and she was bound in honor. It would be mean to entice her to break the bargain, to make her dissatisfied. No, she must not do that.

Miss Armitage's life lines had run along smoothly through girlhood. Her mother was a widow and they had a comfortable income. Hilda had a good voice and sang in church, gave some music lessons. There had been a lover and a dear friend and the old tragedy had occurred, that might have been more heartbreaking if her mother had not been taken ill. For days her recovery was doubtful. Then an uncle at Los Angeles besought her to come out to that genial clime and spend her remaining days with him, for now he was quite alone.

Hilda made all preparations. Such of the furniture as had intrinsic value was to be stored with a friend, the rest sold. And then Mrs. Armitage had an unlooked for relapse and Hilda went out alone.

Her uncle was a kindly man past middle life and he took an instant fancy to Hilda. The house and its surroundings were loveliness itself. Life here would be really enchanting. It was such a beautiful world.

"But you have not seen half of it yet. Hilda, what would you say to going abroad? I've wanted to half my life. But my wife, as you have heard, was an invalid and not inclined to travel. We lost our two children. I'm not too old to start out now and view some things with the eyes of an enthusiastic young girl."

So abroad they went. She had seven years of the richness of the old world, learning languages,