I wouldn't be
deceiving her entirely."
On my way homeward, I reflected how altogether burdensome it was to
one-half of humanity that the other half was not better calculated to
take care of itself, and resolved that my letter to Rebecca should be at
once dignified, imperative, and kind.
CHAPTER XVII.
TEACHER HAS THE FEVER.--DEATH OF LITTLE BESSIE.
There were oppressive days in Wallencamp, when no fresh winds were borne
to us from the ocean. The sun shone hot on the stunted cedars. The tides
crept in lazily. All one weary afternoon, in the hum and stir of the
dusty school-room, little Bessie Sartell--Captain Sartell's youngest, and
his darling--sat stringing lilac blossoms together in a chain. She was
such a cunning edition of the big Captain. She had the same strong Saxon
physique in miniature, the same clear pink and white complexion, eyes
hardly more limpidly blue than his, and hair that was sunniest flax, like
the ends of the Captain's beard. And how patient the chubby little
fingers were at their task. What small, charmingly despairing sighs
escaped the child when some link fell out in the chain of purple flowers!
I was struck with her air of weary, patient endeavor--so important it
seemed--so important that the chain should be finished before school was
out.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333