Not a thought had selfish Mrs. Sanderson for the fact that she was exposing a neighbor's child to the same evil which had overtaken her own. Nor in Katie's inexperience did she think of it either; but she did feel very indignant at the tone of command and very much inclined to rebel.

Moreover, she did not want to stay and take care of a girl who had behaved so shamefully toward herself. One by one the bitter things she had been forced to endure through this girl's treachery and deceitfulness came to her remembrance--the avoidance of her companions, the disapprobation and suspicion of the overseer, the changed manner of her Sunday-school teacher, the tears she had shed in secret, and the discouragement she had felt in her efforts to be good; and a sense of indignation possessed her which for a moment made her feel almost glad that the girl had thus got her deserts.

But this feeling was not of long continuance. The Good Spirit, who was leading Katie along the paths of righteousness, would not allow her to turn aside from them because for the moment the way seemed unpleasant and opposed to her natural inclinations. Unheard by outward ears, but heard quite plainly in her heart, he whispered words that made the little girl pause and think a second time before she refused to do as she was commanded. Here was a good opportunity of being like Christ. He forgave his enemies. He was kind to the unthankful and the evil. He gave up his life that those who hated and persecuted and finally killed Him might be saved. This thought decided her.

"Let me speak a word to Tessa first," she said; "then I'll stay."

She then told her waiting companion how ill Bertie was, and how Mrs.

Sanderson was overwhelmed with so many to see to, and wanted her to stay and help. She asked Tessa to get tea for the boys and send one of them for her at bedtime, all of which her friend promised faithfully to attend to, and went her way.

When Katie returned to the sick-room, Mrs. Sanderson actually thanked her, and then went off, glad to attend to other responsibilities, and the young nurse was left with the excited, tossing patient. Strangely to herself, she did not feel the least anger or bitterness toward her now, in spite of all her unkindness to herself. The words which had been in a recent Sunday-school lesson, "I was sick and ye visited _me_," came again and again to her mind, and it hardly seemed to be Bertie to whom she was called to minister. She had no experience in sickness, but to some people nursing is an intuitive gift, and Katie inherited it from her mother. Her touch was cool and light. She seemed to know by instinct when the patient needed drink or change of position. She smoothed the disordered bed, shook up the pillows, turned the cool side uppermost, closed the open blind through which the western sun was blazing into the sick girl's eyes, and finding a large newspaper lying on the floor, made a fan of it, keeping off the flies and creating a current of air, till by degrees the tossings and cries ceased, the wildly staring eyes closed, and Bertie fell into a light, though restless, sleep.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sanderson had come home from the bindery, and seemed surprised to find Katie sitting so quietly by his sick child. He remonstrated with his wife--in another room--for exposing a stranger to such danger of infection; but when she asked him what she was to do with two sick children and three well ones on her hands, and who was to get the meals for them all, he had no answer to give, only he set about making the fire and getting supper himself, holding the baby on one arm and telling Nina what to do about setting the table. When all was ready he sent Katie down to her supper and himself watched the two sick children,--which, now that one of them slept, was quite possible,--resuming his watch after he had had his own. Mrs. Sanderson declared that she was completely "beat out," as well she might be, poor woman, and dropping on the lounge in the sitting-room was asleep in a moment, while Katie coaxed Nina to help her wash the dishes, clear up the room, and put the two younger children to bed.

By this time Dr. Bolen came in, looked at his patients, and said that, though Bertie was certainly not better, sleep was the best thing for her and should be encouraged as much as possible. Alf., he thought, would do well. Then seeing Katie and not recognizing her, he asked where that other girl came from and what she was doing there. Mrs. Sanderson explained, dwelling emphatically upon Bertie's cries for her friend and the soothing influence her presence had exerted.

"That's all very well," said the doctor; "but how am I going to excuse it to her mother if she gets the fever, and what am I going to do with another patient upon my hands and no one to nurse her?"

"Oh, well, there's no harm done. She's only been here a little while, and her brother's coming to take her home before long."

"Not quite so fast, my good lady. She has been exposed to the fever already, and if she goes home now, may communicate it to her two brothers or the other girl that boards with them. Then her mother would be sure to go home to take care of them, and there would be an end of my hospital and my quarantine. No; she must either go to her mother and take her chance there, or she must stay here till we see whether she has escaped the contagion."

"Please, let me stay here," said Katie, who had overheard this conversation. "I don't think I shall have the fever, but I am sure I can be of use to them all."

"Wouldn't you like to go and be with your mother?"

"Yes, sir, I'd like to, but I'd _rather_ stay here; because, because they need me, and"--the rest of the sentence was spoken low as if without being intended for any one to hear, but both the doctor and Mr.

Sanderson heard it and marveled at the words. They were:--

"Even Christ pleased not himself."

CHAPTER XV.

CONSCIENCE.

Mr Sanderson would not allow Katie to sit up late. Indeed, she could not have kept awake, and would have been of little use if she could. She shared Nina's bed in the room where the younger children slept, but lay awake thinking, long after that irresponsible little girl was asleep by her side. Everything seemed so strange. It was the first night she had ever spent away from her own home, and she could not help wondering how Tessa and the boys were getting along, and what they had for supper. She thought of her mother and of the anxiety which, when she heard where she was, she would feel about her; and she wondered if she should have the fever, and if she did if she should die, as one of the patients at the hospital had already done. Then she wondered if Bertie would die, and a strange sort of awe came over her at such a thought in connection with one who had been her playmate ever since she could remember. It made death seem very near, and she wondered if she were fit to die. But that thought did not trouble her much. Nothing, either in life or death, can really hurt those who love Jesus and trust in his protection. She asked him to make her ready to die when he chose, and then, being of a very hopeful, cheerful nature, began to think of other things.

How could Bertie have circulated those stories about her? And, what was more important, how could she set herself right in the eyes of the other girls, and especially in those of Miss Eunice and Miss Etta? She could not go and say to the latter: "I know Bertie called me a thief, but I am not one," and then tell the story just as it was. They might not believe her, and if they did it would be betraying Bertie, and that would not be kind, particularly now that the latter was so ill. Or if she could have told the young ladies and, with the help of Mr. James, made it all straight with them, she could not go around to all the girls and explain what to them were half-defined suspicions. Even if she told the story of the fifty-dollar bill and her version of it were believed, they might very naturally think that there was something else, and that Bertie would scarcely have based her charge of theft on so slight and easily to be explained a circ.u.mstance as that. What should she do? It was dreadful to live under such a cloud; to have people consider you wicked when you are desiring and trying with all your might to be good, and not be able to right yourself at all. Again a feeling toward Bertie arose in the girl's heart that would have been hatred but for her companion's present condition, and which she felt to be wrong even as it was. For the thought of Jesus and how he forgave his enemies made her feel ashamed of herself, till she got out of bed and, kneeling down in the moonlight, prayed to be made more like him and to be willing to suffer wrongfully, if need be, with patience, rather than to feel wrong or to do anything unkind. And then, as she got into bed again, the scripture words with which she had commenced her factory life came back to her with new force:--

"In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." And then those others in the thirty-seventh Psalm: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pa.s.s. He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light."

That was the safest way. She might leave it to G.o.d to take care of her reputation. He could manage it though she could not, and some time everybody would understand just how it was, and know she was not a thief. Meantime she could afford to wait his time.

The next morning Mr. Sanderson promised to send word to the mill about Katie's absence and its cause, and when he left for the bindery his wife came downstairs to see to things, and she took her place in the sick-room, while Nina went to sit with Alf. Mrs. Sanderson was surprised to see how much Katie had managed to do before breakfast and in the interim between, exciting in Nina quite an ambition to wash dishes and "clean up." The little children had been nicely washed and dressed and were, when their mother went down, sitting on the kitchen doorstep with a kitten between them, over which, for a wonder, they were neither fretting nor quarreling. The breakfast things were all put away, the floor swept, and there was a general look of comfort which had not existed in that house for more than a week. The poor tired woman sank into a rocking-chair, saying to herself, "I don't see how it is some people's children are so handy. Mine don't ever do anything they can help. It's some people's luck." It never came into Mrs. Sanderson's head that the "luck" of good, efficient children is largely dependent upon the sensible training given them by their mothers.

The doctor, when he came, found Bertie much easier, if not absolutely better. He could not tell quite yet if there were any likelihood of her recovery, but the quieter she could be kept, and the more sleep she could get, the more chance she would have. He told Katie she was a famous nurse, and he should trust her to keep the room still, dark, and cool, and to soothe her friend as much as she possibly could. He furthermore told her that he had seen her mother, who approved of her remaining where she was, though of course she was very anxious lest she should take the fever and very sorry that she had gone to the house in the first place.

"I promised to watch you closely," said he, "and the moment I saw any symptoms, take you to her to be nursed. But I don't believe you will have it if you take care of yourself. You are in the path of duty, and I have often observed that those who are there seldom come to any harm."

It seemed a very long day to restless, active Katie, and yet in one sense it was a relief from the steady, monotonous work in the mill.

Bertie was so quiet at first that she was able to wait upon her and Alf. both, and let Nina go down to help her mother get dinner. But after a while she began to toss and mutter, and then came those wild cries for Katie Robertson; that she had something to tell her; that she hadn't told a lie, for Katie was a thief.

When or how the change came the watcher hardly knew, but all at once she became aware that Bertie lay looking directly at her, and that there was full recognition in her eyes. Neither girl spoke for a moment; then Bertie said with a kind of shudder:--

"Am I dead?"

"No, indeed," said the other, not without some effort to speak cheerfully. "You are going to get well now; only keep still and don't tire yourself."

"I am going to die," said Bertie, slowly; "and I can't die, I am so wicked. Katie, I said dreadful things about you. I made all the girls hate you, and Miss Etta, too; but it wasn't quite a lie, for I did see you take the money."

"Yes," said Katie, quietly, "I did find a fifty-dollar bill in an old vest, and I suppose you saw me; but why didn't you tell _me_ you saw it, instead of telling the girls? Then I could have explained all about it?"

"I don't know," said Bertie, uneasily. "Yes, I do; that's another lie, and I don't mean to tell lies _now_, I didn't want to have it explained.

I wanted the girls to dislike you as much as I did."

"Why?" said Katie, astonished.

"Oh, well, you preached to me, and pretended to be a saint, and Miss Etta and everybody thought you were so good, and"--

"Shall I tell you about that bill now?"

"Yes, do!"

So Katie told her companion just how it happened, and it was all so simple that she wondered how she could have made such a story of it.

"I wonder you didn't keep the bill, and not take it to Mr. James," she said. "I should."

"I did have a little fight about it," said Katie, blushing. "It was a great temptation. I'm not so very good, but"--

"But what?" said Bertie, eagerly, looking at her.

"I think the Lord Jesus helped me. I asked him, and he says he will help us to be good."

"Do you think he would help me?"

"I am sure he would. O Bertie, do ask him! I am so glad!"

"Are you?" said the sick girl, dreamily. But the effort to talk or think longer in her weakened state was too great. She seemed to float away again, and by degrees the same wild look came into her eyes, the tossings began again, and the low mutterings and sharp cries. It was very painful both to see and hear, but Katie was glad to notice that her own name no longer mingled in the confused talk, and the consciousness of wrong-doing toward herself seemed to have pa.s.sed away.

In the evening the doctor said that the patient had had a relapse, and questioned her young nurse very particularly as to whether she had shown any consciousness; and being told that she had seemed for a little while to be quite herself, he asked if she had spoken. Katie said that she had talked quite rationally about something that had distressed her for some time, but she did not say what that something was.

"Bad," said he; "you should never let a fever patient talk, no matter how much she may try. But I mustn't scold you, I suppose; you are too young for such a responsibility, and your friend there is extremely ill."

Then he went downstairs and consulted Bertie's parents, and the result was that a letter was written to the city aunt begging her to come and help take care of the two sick children. The doctor wrote it himself, stating as delicately as he could the extreme urgency of the case, the inefficiency of the mother, the dangerous illness of the children, and the impossibility of securing any a.s.sistance in the care of them except that of an inexperienced little girl, who was herself in constant danger of being added to the list of patients.