CHAPTER XV.

A NEW FRIEND FOR ELSIE.

IT must not be supposed that Elsie's life had been wholly unhappy during this time. At first she missed her girl friends very much, but Tom's memorable fight, which led to her introduction to the schoolmaster's daughter, made a great deal of difference to her in this respect.

She liked Mary at once, and after they got home, and Tom was safely in bed, she said to her mother, "I believe poor Mary would be better, if her mother did not make her believe she was very ill."

"Very likely," said Mrs. Winn, but she spoke in an absent manner, for she was troubled about Tom and this fight, fearing it might lead to more trouble for them.

That Tom seemed quite well, and was willing to go to school the next morning, was a great relief to her, and when he brought a message home at dinner time, that Mary would like to see Elsie in the afternoon, Mrs. Winn at once urged her to go as soon as she had cleared the dinner things away.

"I was afraid Mr. Murray might think Tom was to blame for the fight yesterday," said the widow, "as it was begun over something Tom said in school, and so I shall be very glad for you to go and see this girl, for it may smooth matters for Tom, you know."

"Yes, mother," said Elsie, who needed no second bidding to go and see her new friend.

She reached the schoolmaster's house, just as Mrs. Murray was leaving. "Don't talk to her too much. I like her to sleep in the afternoon, because she rests so badly at night," said Mrs. Murray as she went out.

"Poor, dear mother! I wish she did not worry so much about me," said Mary, holding out both her thin white hands to greet her friend. "I am so glad you have come, for I was not at all sure that you would, after what mother told me."

"Why! What did she tell you?" asked Elsie, in some surprise.

"Oh! Nothing to feel hurt about; I only wish I could be mother's right hand as you are."

"I see you thought I should be busy. Well, mother is not at all busy just now, and if she was, I could manage to come and see you in the afternoon; because I could either bring my work or baby with me."

"Do come, and bring the baby to-morrow," interrupted Mary, eagerly. "You see the afternoons are the worst part of the day for me; mother is at home in the morning, getting the dinner ready and other things; but in the afternoon she has to go to school to teach the girls needlework, and so I am all alone."

"Poor Mary! It must be lonely for you, I may call you Mary, may I not?" she said, kissing the invalid again, and looking pityingly at the pale faded face.

An answering kiss, and a whispered, "Dear Elsie, I am so glad you have come," sealed the girls' compact of friendship.

"Do you never go out?" asked Elsie, after a pause.

"I have not been out for a long time. Mother is afraid I should take cold, but father said the other day, he thought he should carry me out in the garden, sometimes, when the weather got warmer."

"Oh! But if you could have a ride in a bath chair, that would do you more good than just sitting in the garden."

"But you see I have to lie down all the time, and even then my back aches dreadfully sometimes."

"So would mine if I was always lying on it," said Elsie, stoutly. "You were not lying down when I came in yesterday; you were sitting in that easy-chair by the window."

"Yes, my back ached so much that I persuaded mother to let me sit up just for once. It was funny that I should have that fancy, for if I had not been here, I should not have seen the fight, and they might not have brought your brother in, and then I should not have seen you, and that would have been a pity. Don't you think it would?"

"Yes, I should have been sorry, for you see I have no girl friend here; and though I love Tom very much, he is only a boy, and can't be expected to understand things as a girl can."

"That's just what I have told mother, sometimes," said the invalid, fondling Elsie's rather rough red hands. "You see I have the dearest, sweetest mother and father that ever was, but then somehow I have wished I could know a girl like myself. Can you keep a secret?" she suddenly asked.

"What sort of a secret is it?" said Elsie. "You see I got into trouble once through that, for mother said I ought not to have promised to keep secret what I did, as a good deal of trouble might have been saved to other people, if I had spoken in time."

"I don't think; I hope my secret will not cause anybody trouble, and I do want to tell you so much," said Mary. "You see it is this way, the doctors said I must lie on my back for two years, and only one year has passed. I have not walked all that time, for I am not heavy, and father carries me up and down stairs, and I lie here all day. I hardly thought of what I was doing, but when I saw Mr. Thompson pick your brother up and bring him towards our gate, I remembered that the street door was locked, and I just slipped off the chair, and walked across the room and unlocked it, and then came back again. Nobody thought to ask how he got in, and I was afraid to tell mother, for she would have fretted so much about it."

"But why should she if you are no worse?" interrupted Elsie.

"You see the doctors said I was to lie still for two years."

"But if you are no worse for sitting up in the chair and walking across the room, you—"

"Oh no, I am not worse, I slept better last night than I have done for a long time, and that is why I am going to ask you something, but you must keep it a secret. I want you to let me lean on your arm and try to walk again, I don't think I could do it by myself, for there is no one wanting to get in to-day."

Elsie laughed and clapped her hands. "I see you want to cheat the doctors if you can, and you would like me to help you," she said.

Mary laughed too, and her pale cheek flushed with pleasant excitement when she saw how heartily her new friend could enter into her feelings. "Wouldn't it be delightful to surprise my mother and father one day, by going to meet them as they come out of school?" she said.

"We'll talk about that afterwards, but you shall have your walk indoors if you like. Suppose we lock the street door before we begin our secret mischief, and then you must have a pair of slippers on, or you may catch cold."

"Slippers?" repeated Mary. "Don't you think these wool ones would be enough? They are nice and warm." And Mary put one foot from under the rug to assure Elsie on this point.

Elsie was about to suggest that they should postpone this trial trip until the next afternoon, but she saw that Mary would be greatly disappointed, for she was all eagerness to put her feet on the ground again. And so she said, "They would do for a little trial, just once across the room and back again, and then if you can do it, I will run home and fetch a pair of mine or mother's, that would go over those soft woollen boots and prevent you taking cold."

This was readily agreed upon, and Mary went so well with the help of Elsie's arm, that she would have repeated the experiment again and again, if Elsie had not insisted that she should wait until she could run home for the shoes, before crossing the room again.

"If I am to keep your secret, I must take care that no harm happens through it," said Elsie, "and it would do you a great deal of harm if you were to catch cold."

So Mary agreed to wait, and Elsie was not long before she was back again, bringing with her a warm soft shawl to wrap round the invalid, for she did not doubt but that she would want to go into the kitchen, when the parlour had been crossed several times.

She knew where to find a comfortable pair of old slippers, and was soon back with Mary, and had put them over the woollen boots she wore.

"Now then, you are dressed for the journey," she said, as she wrapped the shawl about her and walked gently round the room, Mary seeming to grow stronger and more confident at every step.

"Do let me walk once round the kitchen now?" said the invalid. "You don't know how nice and funny it feels to be on your feet again."

So she walked once round the kitchen, and then Elsie said she must not attempt any more walking for that day, but she promised to bring the slippers and shawl the next afternoon, that she might try again, if she was no worse for this experiment.

[Illustration: Mary seemed to grow stronger every step.]

A look of infinite content settled upon the invalid's face as she lay back on her pillows after this experiment. "My back don't ache a bit now," she said; "and when I have rested a little while, you will help me to sit up in the chair, won't you?"

"Not to-day, dear; I would not attempt too much at once. To-morrow if you feel strong enough, and have slept well, you shall try to sit in the chair, but you see if you do too much, your mother may think I am leading you into mischief."

"Yes, that she would," laughed Mary, "and that is why I must keep it all a secret. I have heard her tell father I should not put my foot to the ground until the two years was up, and really I think I should die, if I had to lie here two years longer doing nothing."

"But why don't you do something? You read of course—"

There was a gentle shake of the head on the pillow. "Mother does not like me to read much," she said. "You see the doctors said I must be kept very quiet, and I suppose it was needful at first. But I am sure I am getting better, faster than the doctors thought I should, and I get so dreadfully tired lying here that I believe I am beginning to be really ill, and shall get really worse, if I can't move about and do something soon. There dear, now I have told you all my secret, and I hope you will help me."

"Yes, that I will," said Elsie. "But don't you think you could tell your father all about it, he might be able to help you better than I can."

But Mary shook her head. "You see I am the only child, and they love me too well," she said. "You ought to be very thankful that you have brothers. I wish I had," she added, with a sigh.

"But if they love you so much," began Elsie.

"They love me more than you or I can understand," answered the invalid, solemnly.

"I know just what would happen if I spoke to father; a troubled look would come into his face and he would say, 'We must speak to mother about it; she knows best.'

"And then when he told her, she would say, 'The child is fretting because she is left alone so much; we will get another teacher for the needlework, and then I can stay at home with her in the afternoon.'

"Now I don't want that; she is the dearest mother that ever was, but when she sits with me, she always makes me think I am ill, though she does not say a word about it. And then I have a bad night, and I do feel ill the next day. It is funny, but this has happened so often, that I dare not let mother know just how I feel, for fear she should want to stay at home with me, and make me worse."

"But she would let you read some books if I brought them, and, oh! Could you dress a doll for a bazaar?" said Elsie, quickly.

"I think I could, if you would show me how to do it, and cut out the clothes," said Mary. "I should not be so dull if I had things like that to do," she added. "That is what I want,—something to do for other people, and not take all the love and care for myself, without doing anything for anybody else."

"Well, it would be a real help to me and to my friend, if you could dress this doll for us. The bazaar is in aid of the penny dinners for poor children in London; so you may feel sure that you are helping to feed some hungry child while you are doing it. Mother will cut out the frock and other clothes, and I will bring you everything ready fixed."

"Oh! I can fix it, mother has let me help her sometimes to place the work for the girls at school, but she won't bring it home to do now, because I always want to help her. She is afraid I shall get tired, when it would do me good to feel tired sometimes."

So the girls talked on, until it was nearly time for Mrs. Murray to come back from school, and then Elsie went home, taking the shawl and slippers with her, and not even telling her mother what she had wanted them for.

She went again the next afternoon, feeling somewhat anxious lest she should find Mary worse from the previous day's exertions, in which case she had made up her mind that she would not help her to walk again, although she might offend Mary, and sever the friendship that promised to bring so much sweetness and change into her life.

But to her great satisfaction, Mary declared that she was feeling better, and certainly she was looking better, Elsie thought.

"Mother says she thinks now it may do me good to have a young friend to see me sometimes," said Mary, laughing with glee. "Have you brought the slippers?" she asked, eagerly.

Elsie produced the slippers, and Mary had provided a shawl for this afternoon's expedition, so the two girls, laughing and chatting, went round the house again, Mary sitting in every kitchen chair for a minute, just to feel what it was like as she said.

Elsie let her have her way in this, but when she thought she had been walking long enough, she insisted upon her lying down to rest before she sat up again in the easy-chair by the window.

She was sitting there comfortably wrapped in the shawl, when her mother came back from school. In a moment, Mrs. Murray had taken alarm; "Oh, my dear, you must not do that," she said, looking reproachfully at Elsie, who was just going home.

"Mother, I made her do it," said Mary, quickly, "and I feel better for her coming. Good-bye, Elsie, and come to-morrow if you possibly can."

It was Mary's way of dismissing her friend before her mother could reproach her for what she had done, and she spoke with so much energy, that Mrs. Murray could only look at her in silence, until the click of the garden gate warned her, that if she wanted to lay any charge upon Elsie, as to what she might or might not do, she would have to wait and see her the following afternoon.

But it so happened that Elsie could not leave home early the next day; Mrs. Winn had some work come in, and so Elsie was obliged to wash and dress baby and take him with her, and so Mrs. Murray was compelled to go to school before she got there.

Baby was a fresh source of amusement to the invalid, for he could run about now and prattle in a fashion that was highly amusing to Mary. She was willing to lie on the couch-to-day, because baby could stand close to her, when he had overcome his shyness, and amuse her with his quaint chatter. And Mrs. Murray finding her still on the couch when she came home, felt more satisfied with Elsie.

Thus the days and weeks went on, and by degrees Mrs. Murray was won over to let Mary read the books that Elsie brought, and do a little sewing for the doll's clothes. She could not but admit, that as the summer advanced, Mary seemed better and altogether stronger, and she said it was because her father took her into the garden sometimes.

Mary admitted this, but she wanted Elsie to have her share in the improvement acknowledged, and she tried hard to persuade her father one day to let her walk a few steps, wishing to give him an agreeable surprise as to her ability to walk.

But Mr. Murray almost shuddered at the proposal. "My dear, your mother would not hear of it," he said; "you are getting a little better we can all see, and we must let well alone. Your mother would think you were fretting again if you asked such a thing, and she says Elsie Winn has cured you of that a good deal."

Mary had been on the point of telling her father once or twice that she could walk, and felt all the better for walking round the house every day. But after this talk, the girls agreed that they must keep their secret a little longer, and find out some other plan for divulging it.

Elsie had convinced Mary that it would never do to give her mother the surprise she intended, for to go and meet her coming from school would probably give her such a shock, that she would not recover from the effects of it for some days, even if she was not seriously ill through it.

Things were in this condition, when Elsie went to stay for a week or two with Mrs. Perceval, and before she came home, she had told the secret to that lady, hoping she would be able to find a way out of the difficulty for them, as Mr. Perceval was Mary's doctor now.