FullReads

Zillah was a sick woman–too sick to be anything but civil to Josephine. David started at once for the doctor at the Creek, and Josephine saw that he was well wrapped up before she let him go. Then she mixed up a mustard plaster for Zillah and sat down by the bedside to wait.

When Mrs. Tom Sentner came down the next day she found Josephine busy making flaxseed poultices, with her lips set in a line that betokened she had made up her mind to some disagreeable course of duty.

“Zillah has got pneumonia bad,” she said, in reply to Mrs. Tom’s inquiries. “The Doctor is here and Mary Bell from the Creek. She’ll wait on Zillah, but there’ll have to be another woman here to see to the work. I reckon I’ll stay. I suppose it’s my duty and I don’t see who else could be got. You can send Mamie and Jack down to stay at my house until I can go back. I’ll run over every day and keep an eye on things.”

At the end of a week Zillah was out of danger. Saturday afternoon Josephine went over home to see how Mamie and Jack were getting on. She found Mrs. Tom there, and the latter promptly despatched Jack and Mamie to the post-office that she might have an opportunity to hear Josephine’s news.

“I’ve had an awful week of it, Ida,” said Josephine solemnly, as she sat down by the stove and put her feet up on the glowing hearth.

“I suppose Zillah is pretty cranky to wait on,” said Mrs. Tom sympathetically.

“Oh, it isn’t Zillah. Mary Bell looks after her. No, it’s the house. I never lived in such a place of dust and disorder in my born days. I’m sorrier for David Hartley than I ever was for anyone before.”

“I suppose he’s used to it,” said Mrs. Tom with a shrug.

“I don’t see how anyone could ever get used to it,” groaned Josephine. “And David used to be so particular when he was a boy. The minute I went there the other night I took in that kitchen with a look. I don’t believe the paint has even been washed since the house was built. I honestly don’t. And I wouldn’t like to be called upon to swear when the floor was scrubbed either. The corners were just full of rolls of dust–you could have shovelled it out. I swept it out next day and I thought I’d be choked. As for the pantry–well, the less said about that the better. And it’s the same all through the house. You could write your name on everything. I couldn’t so much as clean up. Zillah was so sick there couldn’t be a bit of noise made. I did manage to sweep and dust, and I cleaned out the pantry. And, of course, I saw that the meals were nice and well cooked. You should have seen David’s face. He looked as if he couldn’t get used to having things clean and tasty. I darned his socks–he hadn’t a whole pair to his name–and I’ve done everything I could to give him a little comfort. Not that I could do much. If Zillah heard me moving round she’d send Mary Bell out to ask what the matter was. When I wanted to go upstairs I’d have to take off my shoes and tiptoe up on my stocking feet, so’s she wouldn’t know it. And I’ll have to stay there another fortnight yet. Zillah won’t be able to sit up till then. I don’t really know if I can stand it without falling to and scrubbing the house from garret to cellar in spite of her.”

Mrs. Tom Sentner did not say much to Josephine. To herself she said complacently:

“She’s sorry for David. Well, I’ve always heard that pity was akin to love. We’ll see what comes of this.”

Josephine did manage to live through that fortnight. One morning she remarked to David at the breakfast table: