'Twas about the Fetich; he called it "my book," and
scolded himself because he couldn't work faster on it, so's to sell it.
I tell you what, that just broke Betty and Phil all up! Then he'd seem
to forget that, and begin about walking in the country with mamma,
through fields full of flowers and trees and "babbling brooks,"--that's
what he called 'em, and quoted poetry about them all. He never once
spoke of us; it was always "Margaret, Margaret!" sometimes in a glad
voice, as if he were very happy, and sometimes in a sad, wailing sort
of way, that brought a great lump into our throats.
Nannie had to be in papa's room most all of every day,--the nurse said
he got very restless when she wasn't around,--and as he kept getting
worse and worse, she was in there lots of nights, too. Her lessons, and
all the other things, had to just go, and we hardly saw her except for a
little while now and then, when she ran up to sit with Felix and tell
him about how papa was getting on.
After a while she began to look a little pale, and her eyes got real big
and bright; but she never once said she was tired, and it never occurred
to any of us--you see we were all worked up over papa--until one day Max
spoke of it to Felix: he said Nannie was just killing herself, and got
so sort of excited over it--Max isn't one of the excitable kind--that
Fee started in to worry about Nannie.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198