and Jill was about to lay it down when her own name caught her
eye, and she could not resist reading it. Hard words to write of one
so young, doubly hard to read, and impossible to forget.
“Dear Lizzie, Jack continues to do very well, and will soon be up
again. But we begin to fear that the little girl is permanently
injured in the back. She is here, and we do our best for her; but I
never look at her without thinking of Lucinda Snow, who, you
remember, was bedridden for twenty years, owing to a fall at
fifteen. Poor little Janey does not know yet, and I hope”– There it
ended, and “poor little Janey’s” punishment for disobedience began
that instant. She thought she was getting well because she did not
suffer all the time, and everyone spoke cheerfully about “by and
by.” Now she knew the truth, and shut her eyes with a shiver as she
said, low, to herself,
“Twenty years! I couldn’t bear it; oh, I couldn’t bear it!”
A very miserable Jill lay on the floor, and for a while did not care
who came and found her; then the last words of the letter– “I
hope”–seemed to shine across the blackness of the dreadful
“twenty years” and cheer her up a bit, for despair never lives long
in young hearts, and Jill was a brave child.
“That is why Mammy sighs so when she dresses me, and everyone
is so good to me. Perhaps Mrs. Minot doesn’t really know, after all.
She was dreadfully scared about Jack, and he is getting well. I’d
like to ask Doctor, but he might find Out about the letter. Oh, dear,
why didn’t I keep still and let the horrid thing alone!”
As she thought that, Jill pushed the paper away, pulled herself up,
and with much painful effort managed to get back to her sofa,
where she laid herself down with a groan, feeling as if the twenty
years had already passed over her since she tumbled off.
“I’ve told a lie, for I said I wouldn’t stir. I’ve hurt my back, I’ve done
a mean thing, and I’ve got paid for it. A nice missionary I am; I’d
better begin at home, as Mammy told me to”; and Jill groaned
again, remembering her mother’s words. “Now I’ve got another
secret to keep all alone, for I’d be ashamed to tell the girls. I guess
I’ll turn round and study my spelling; then no one will see my
face.”
Jill looked the picture of a good, industrious child as she lay with
her back to the large table, her book held so that nothing was to be
seen but one cheek and a pair of lips moving busily. Fortunately, it
is difficult for little sinners to act a part, and, even if the face is
hidden, something in the body seems to betray the internal remorse
and shame. Usually, Jill lay flat and still; now her back was bent in
a peculiar way as she leaned over her book, and one foot wagged
nervously, while on the visible cheek was a Spanish stamp with a
woman’s face looking through the black bars, very suggestively, if
she had known it. How long the minutes seemed till someone
came, and what a queer little jump her heart gave when Mrs.
Minot’s voice said, cheerfully, “Jack is all right, and, I declare, so
is Jill. I really believe there is a telegraph still working somewhere
between you two, and each knows what the other is about without
words.”
“I didn’t have any other book handy, so I thought I’d study awhile,”
answered Jill, feeling that she deserved no praise for her seeming
industry.
She cast a sidelong glance as she spoke, and seeing that Mrs.
Minot was looking for the letter, hid her face and lay so still she
could hear the rustle of the paper as it was taken from the floor. It
was well she did not also see the quick look the lady gave her as
she turned the letter and found a red stamp sticking to the under
side, for this unlucky little witness told the story.