Molly bit her lips to prevent herself from saying something
disagreeable. She only answered,--
"I don't quite know that he is dying. The man said so; and papa can
sometimes do something to make the last struggle easier. At any rate,
it's always a comfort to the family to have him."
"What dreary knowledge of death you have learned for a girl of your
age! Really, if I had heard all these details of your father's
profession, I doubt if I could have brought myself to have him!"
"He doesn't make the illness or the death; he does his best against
them. I call it a very fine thing to think of what he does or tries
to do. And you will think so, too, when you see how he is watched
for, and how people welcome him!"
"Well, don't let us talk any more of such gloomy things, to-night! I
think I shall go to bed at once, I am so tired, if you will only sit
by me till I get sleepy, darling. If you will talk to me, the sound
of your voice will soon send me off."
Molly got a book, and read her stepmother to sleep, preferring that
to the harder task of keeping up a continual murmur of speech.
Then she stole down and went into the dining-room, where the fire
was gone out; purposely neglected by the servants, to mark their
displeasure at their new mistress's having had her tea in her own
room. Molly managed to light it, however, before her father came
home, and collected and re-arranged some comfortable food for him.
Then she knelt down again on the hearth-rug, gazing into the fire in
a dreamy reverie, which had enough of sadness about it to cause the
tears to drop unnoticed from her eyes. But she jumped up, and shook
herself into brightness at the sound of her father's step.
"How is Mr. Craven Smith?" said she.
"Dead. He just recognized me. He was one of my first patients on
coming to Hollingford."
Mr. Gibson sate down in the arm-chair made ready for him, and warmed
his hands at the fire, seeming neither to need food nor talk, as he
went over a train of recollections. Then he roused himself from his
sadness, and looking round the room, he said briskly enough,--
"And where's the new mamma?"
"She was tired, and went to bed early. Oh, papa! must I call her
'mamma?'"
"I should like it," replied he, with a slight contraction of the
brows.
Molly was silent. She put a cup of tea near him; he stirred it, and
sipped it, and then he recurred to the subject.