"And if she recovers, of which I am more than doubtful," he continued
sternly, "it is to be hoped you will turn over a new leaf in your
treatment of her. I am a plain man, Miss Strong, not given to gilding
a bitter pill. If your niece dies, you may take home the blame to
yourself. Good morning."

"I know all that, my good man, better than you can tell me," said
Aunt Hepsy grimly. "You do your best to bring her round, an' I won't
forget it. I've been a wicked woman, Dr. Gair, an' I s'pose the
Lord's goin' to punish me now; an' he couldn't have chosen a surer
way than by sending sickness to Lucy. Good morning."

Aunt Hepsy shut the door, and went into the kitchen. There Joshua sat
anxiously awaiting the doctor's verdict.

"There ain't much hope, Josh," she said briefly.

"Ain't there, Hepsy? It's a bad job for the little 'un."

"An' for more than her, I reckon," returned his sister shortly. "I've
lived one and forty years at Thankful Rest, Josh, an' I never felt as
I do this day. I'd a mighty deal rather be sick myself than see the
child's white face. If she gets round, I'll be a better woman, with
the Lord's help. How He's borne with me so long's a marvel I can't
comprehend. One and forty years, Josh Strong, and Lucy jes' fifteen.
She's done a deal more good in one day o' her life than you or me
ever did in all ours. The Lord forgive us, Josh, an' help us to make
a better use o' what's left. Jes' step down to Pendlepoint, will ye,
an' ask the parson an' his sister up. I guess Lucy'd be pleased to