CHAPTER VIII

A TERRIBLE FALL

"I AM sorry for many reasons, Mrs. Rose, because you have made me very comfortable, and have borne with my cantankerous ways as few would have done."

"You have been very good to us, Miss Beaumont, and we shall miss you sadly. I sometimes think we are indebted to you for more than one generous gift."

Miss Beaumont shook her head. "You've little to thank me for," she said in a kindly voice, "while I have reason to be grateful to you for much; you have taught me lessons of faith and patience, which I trust I may never forget."

Here her eyes grew misty for a moment. "When I am in a foreign land," she added, "I should be very glad if you would occasionally let me know of your welfare."

Mrs. Rose willingly promised, and after a little further conversation, she left Miss Beaumont's apartment, to busy herself as usual in domestic matters. To lose such a profitable lodger as Miss Beaumont at a month's notice was no slight matter in a household like The Gables, where the purse was slender enough already.

The winter too was coming on, with its increasing expenses, and how they were to be met, unless another lodger could be found to take Miss Beaumont's place, Mrs. Rose could not imagine.

The foregoing conversation took place about a week after Hugh's trouble at school, and was an added load to her burden of anxieties.

Whilst she was busy in the kitchen a message seemed borne to her. It echoed like music in her heart:

"'Cast thy burden upon the Lord.'"

"Yea, Lord, I will," was her voiceless answer to the Divine injunction; "I am oppressed, undertake for me."

And then her spirit grew lighter, and she smiled brightly on her little Elsie, who, with her dollie in her hand, had just entered the kitchen.

"I am going to give dollie a swing, mother," she said in her clear, childish treble. "Good-bye, we're going up ever so high, dollie and me; we aren't a bit afraid."

"Don't go too high, darling, for fear you tumble."

"I wouldn't tumble, mother, 'cause of hurting dollie."

And with this speech the little maiden departed towards the garden. Presently however she retraced her steps, and looking into the kitchen window, she said pleadingly—

"May Kitty come and swing me, just a little while?"

"Kitty is too busy, darling; run and play by yourself," answered her mother.

"But I'm lonely wi'vout the boys; do spare Kitty just for five minutes!"

And unable to resist the plea, Mrs. Rose called Kitty (who was by no means unwilling) from her work, to swing her little daughter "just for five minutes."

Mrs. Rose having finished her cooking stood at the window for a while, to watch the little maid as she ascended higher and higher.

"Kitty must leave off now," she said to herself, and was just about to call her in, when to her terror and anguish, the rope of the swing suddenly broke, and little Elsie was thrown with considerable force to the ground.

[Illustration: THE ROPE OF THE SWING SUDDENLY BROKE, AND LITTLE ELSIE WAS THROWN TO THE GROUND.]

There had echoed one sharp scream of fear from the childish lips, and then followed a sudden silence, which seemed to paralyze the mother's footsteps.

Quickly recovering herself, she flew to the spot where her darling lay, and lifting her gently from the ground she carried her indoors, bidding Kitty at the same time run with all possible speed for a doctor. After waiting as it seemed to the agonized mother an eternity, the doctor arrived, and examined the still unconscious little girl.

"Doctor," said the poor mother, "I beseech you to tell me, is there serious injury?"

Dr. Webster, who was himself the father of a little child about Elsie's age, looked compassionately at the widow's white, strained features.

"I fear, Mrs. Rose," he answered, "the back is somewhat injured, and there has been a great shock to the system; but keep up heart and hope, she is young and her constitution is good. I will call again this evening and bring my partner with me."

Shortly after this the doctor took his leave, and Mrs. Rose, with a sorely burdened heart, watched beside her darling. It was the first anxiety she had known in connection with her children.

From their babyhood upwards, save for slight childish ailments, their health had hitherto been robust, a fact which their bright eyes and bonny looks had testified.

Voiceless prayers went up from her heart as she bent over her unconscious child.

"Oh, God!" she pleaded. "Spare me my little Elsie, my baby girl, for I cannot live without her."

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