Ethel Morton at Sweetbriar Lodge Part 23

To Miss Graham's horror, Ethel Blue's enthusiasm blinded her eyes and her third back step took her off the parapet. She fell to the ground and rolled down the hill, her slender little body bouncing from rock to rock with cruel force and increasing speed.

Miss Graham gave a cry of distress and vaulted over the parapet with the ease which she had acquired in the gymnasium in her college days. Running the risk of rolling down hill herself, she bounded down the steep slope, and reached the foot almost as soon as did the body of the young girl, which lay very still, its head against the stone which had brought unconsciousness.

Miss Graham turned over the limp little form, shuddering as she saw the bruise on the forehead. She tried to lift it but found she could make no progress up the steep knoll. Again and again she called to the workmen in the house, and finally two of them appeared at an upper window and made gestures of understanding when she beckoned to them. They leaped down the hill with long strides, and soon were carrying Ethel Blue up to the terrace.

They laid her gently on the floor and ran to get water from the hydrant, while Miss Graham slipped off the young girl's shoes, raised her feet upon a block of wood that happened to be near by, so that the blood might flow towards her heart, and gently chafed her wrists. When the water came, she dashed a shower of it from the tips of her fingers on the pale little face lying so quietly against the bricks.

"Will I run to de nex' house an' telephone for de doctor?" asked one of the men, and Miss Graham nodded an a.s.sent and added a direction to summon Mrs. Morton.

Before either her aunt or the doctor came, however, Ethel Blue returned to consciousness. Before she opened her eyes, she heard a soft, affectionate voice crooning over her, "My dear little girl, my poor little girl."

She kept her eyes closed for a minute or two, so pleasant was this sound from the lips of Miss Graham whom she had grown to love so fondly. When at last she opened her eyes and saw Miss Daisy's anxious face change its expression to one of delight, she almost felt that it was worth while to fall off a precipice to bring about such a result.

CHAPTER XII IN THE FAMILY HOSPITAL

Mrs. Morton was acting as head nurse in the home hospital. Ethel Blue's injuries from her fall were not serious, but besides the bruises on her forehead, she had numerous large black and blue spots all over her body and she had been so shaken that the doctor thought it was well for her to stay in bed for a day or two.

In addition to Ethel Blue, d.i.c.ky was laid low for the time being. He had gone over to his grandfather's and as he was accustomed to run about the farm by himself, and as he usually stayed near some of the workmen, n.o.body paid any attention to him. This time, however, he went up into the pasture, where he found most of the cows lying down in the shade of the trees and meditatively chewing their cuds after their morning meal.

d.i.c.ky was not in the least afraid of cows, having been familiar with them from his babyhood. He therefore walked up to one of the prostrate creatures and sat down comfortably upon her neck, steadying himself by her nearest horn.

Nothing happened for a minute of two, for either his weight was so slight that the cow hardly noticed it, or else his position did not interfere with her comfort. After a time, however, he began to pull at her horns in time with the motion of her jaws, and this measured movement seemed to annoy her. Shaking her head, she rose, first behind, throwing her rider even farther forward than he was, and then in front, tossing him off altogether.

The distance to the ground was not great, but it was far enough for d.i.c.ky to be peppered with b.u.mps and pretty well shaken. The cow paid no farther attention to him but walked off to a spot where she might be free from annoyance, and the little boy lay for some time on the ground before he could pull himself together and go to his grandfather's. By the time he reached there, his bruises were already turning black and he was interesting both to himself and to his relatives, although he was manfully keeping back his tears. The doctor ordered him to bed for a day or two, and now he lay on a cot at one side of the large room which served as the family hospital, and Ethel Blue at the other, comparing their wounds, and receiving the attention of Mrs. Morton. She had finished reading one of the Br'er Rabbit stories to them when Ethel Blue introduced the subject that was so constantly in her mind.

"Did I tell you how I happened to fall off the terrace wall?" she asked her aunt.

"I wondered how you did it; you are usually so sure-footed."

"I was talking with Miss Daisy about my going to live with Father by-and-by. You know I never thought of it until the other night when we were all together on the porch and Helen,--wasn't it?--said something about it. I wish I didn't have to wait to finish school before I can go to him."

"Are you in such a hurry to leave us?" said Mrs. Morton, with a little sigh for the many years of loving care she had spent over this child, who was to her like one of her own.

Ethel Blue was conscience-stricken.

"You know, Aunt Marion, I love all of you just like my own people. Only it seems so wonderful to think about being with Father all the time that I can't get it out of my mind--now it's in my mind."

"There are a good many things to be considered," answered Mrs. Morton.

"You know that an officer often has to be away from home and your father wouldn't like to leave you alone."

Ethel Blue's face fell.

"If I only had somebody like d.i.c.ky's Mary to stay with me," she said, referring to the nurse who had always taken care of d.i.c.ky, and who had lived on with the family after he was too old to need a nurse.

"Perhaps your father might marry again and then there would be no difficulty about your being with him all the time."

Mrs. Morton made the suggestion gently but Ethel Blue flushed angrily at once.

"I think that's a perfectly horrible idea, Aunt Marion. That means a stepmother for me, and I think a stepmother is detestable."

"Have you ever known one," inquired Mrs. Morton coolly.

"No, I never have, but I've read a great deal about them and they're always cross and mean and their stepchildren hate them."

"Don't you suppose that a great many stepchildren work up a dislike beforehand just because they read the same kind of stories that you seem to have been reading?" asked Mrs. Morton.

Ethel Blue was a reasonable girl, and she thought this over before she answered.

"Perhaps they do," she said, although slowly, as if she disliked to admit it.

"I have happened to know several stepmothers," said Mrs. Morton, "and I never have known one who was not quite as kind or even kinder to her stepchildren, than to her own children. A mother feels that she can do as her judgment dictates with her own children, but with her stepchildren she weighs everything with even greater care, because she feels an added responsibility toward them."

"But she can't love them as she does her own children," said Ethel Blue.

"I think there is very little difference," said her Aunt Marion. "I am not your stepmother but at the same time I am not your own mother, and I am not conscious of loving you any less than I love Ethel Brown. You are both my dear girls."

"I love Father but I do think Father would be mean if he gave me a stepmother," said Ethel Blue.

"But, wouldn't _you_ be mean if you objected to his having the happiness of a household of his own, after all these years when he has not had one?" returned Mrs. Morton promptly. "Your father has lived a lonely life for many years, and if such a thing should happen as his deciding to marry again, I can't think that my little Ethel Blue would be so selfish as to make him unhappy--or even uncomfortable--about it."

This was a new idea for Ethel Blue and she snuggled down under her covers and turned her head away to think about it.

Her aunt left her alone and the room was quiet except for the noise made by d.i.c.ky's little hands, as he turned the pages of a picture book.

It was almost dark when Mrs. Morton came back with Mary, each of them bearing a tray with the supper for one of the invalids.

"I must say," laughed Mrs. Morton, as she entered the hospital, "these are pretty hearty meals for people who call themselves ill."

"My mind isn't ill," said Ethel Blue; "it's just these bruises that hurt me," and d.i.c.ky understood what she meant, for he told Mary, who was arranging his pillows, that his "black and blue thspotth were awful th.o.r.e," but that he was going to get up in the morning.

As Mrs. Morton leaned over Ethel Blue's bed, the young girl put an arm around her aunt's neck and drew her down to her.

"I've made up my mind not to be piggy if anything like that does happen,"

she said, hesitatingly. "Do you know that it is going to happen?"

"No, I do not," answered Mrs. Morton, "but I saw that you were in a frame of mind to make your father very unhappy if it should come to pa.s.s. You ought not to allow yourself to have such thoughts, even about an indefinite stepmother. They might easily turn into thoughts of real hatred for an actual stepmother."

"But do you think there _might_ be a stepmother some time or other?"

asked Ethel Blue.

"Yes, dear, I do. Your father probably seems old to you, but he really is not very old and, as I said before, he has lived a lonely life for many years. You know it was fourteen years ago that your mother died, and since then he has had no home of his own and no loving companionship. He has not even had the delight of helping to bring up his little daughter.

If he can make happiness for himself now, after all these years, don't you think that his little daughter ought to help him?"

Ethel Blue nodded silently and ate her supper thoughtfully.