"
A miserable silence followed. Aunt Patsy's heart sank, the pallor of
despair invaded her face, she was not able to speak; poor Rowena wrung
her hands in privacy and silence, and said to herself in the bitterness
of her young grief, "There is no hope--it is plain there is no hope"; the
good-hearted negro wench, Nancy, paled to chocolate, then to orange, then
to amber, and thought to herself with yearning sympathy and sorrow, "Po'
thing, he ain' gwyne to las' throo de half o' dat"; small Henry choked
up, and turned his head away to hide his rising tears, and his brother
Joe said to himself, with a sense of loss, "The baptizing's busted,
that's sure." Luigi was the only person who had any heart to speak. He
said, a little bit sharply, to the doctor:
"Well, well, there's nothing to be gained by wasting precious time; give
him a barrel of pills--I'll take them for him."
"You?" asked the doctor.
"Yes. Did you suppose he was going to take them himself?"
"Why, of course."
"Well, it's a mistake. He never took a dose of medicine in his life.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97