A Girl in Ten Thousand by L. T. Meade (books for 8th graders txt) 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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Supper was immediately followed by prayers, and then came bed. Effie's first evening as a probationer was over.
She did not know whether to cry or to laugh as she laid her head on her pillow. The reality was so107 different from anything her fancy had painted. The practical character of the work, the absence of all sentiment, the real illness, the real burden of humanity, seemed to press down upon her.
She had thought, a week ago, when Dorothy proposed that she should come to St. Joseph's, of the delight of being in the same hospital with her friend, but she now discovered that she was unlikely to see much of Dorothy even though she lived under the same roof. Dorothy was Sister of a ward, and that ward was not the one where Effie was to serve her probationership. She had the comfort of a very small room to herself, and was just closing her eyes in sleep, when the handle of the room door was softly turned, and Dorothy, looking beautiful in her Sister's dress of soft navy serge, came in.
"So here you are, you poor little thing," said Dorothy, bending over Effie and kissing her. "I have just come in for one minute to say God bless you. You have come, the ice is broken. You have a fine career before you. Don't be discouraged by what you saw to-night."
"Oh, I am so lonely!" said Effie, with a quiver in her voice. "I was sure when I came here that I should be in the ward with you, Dorothy."
"No, my dear, that was not possible," replied Dorothy. "Of course I should have been very glad if it could have been arranged, but I had no voice in the matter. As it cannot be, dearest, try to believe that this is just the best thing that could have happened to you, to be flung at once, as it were, on your own feet. You will thus gain experience without having a crutch like me to lean upon. I know the first night is very bad, but you will soon learn your duties and become intensely interested108 in the life. You are with Sister Kate, are you not?"
"Yes," said Effie. "She scarcely spoke to me—I never felt so awkward in my life, and I know that I was never half so clumsy."
"Of course," said Dorothy, with a smile. "Don't I know the feeling well? It all passes over, my love, and far more quickly than you have the least idea of. Remember you have got the power—those little hands are capable, that head holds a steady and sensible brain. Why, Effie, you have gone through far worse times than this without flinching. Surely, surely you are not going to break down now?"
"Oh, I won't, I won't!" said Effie, with a sob; "but I felt lonely, very lonely, and it was so very kind of you to come to see me."
"Of course I have come to see you—I am only too delighted to do anything in my power for you. I would have rushed down to share your cup of tea on your arrival, but a bad case was just being brought into the ward, and I could not leave. Now, I must go to bed myself, or I shan't be fit for work to-morrow. Good-night, Effie. I have arranged that you are to spend every second Sunday at home."
"Oh, how good you are—how thankful I am!" exclaimed Effie.
Dorothy was leaving the room, when she turned back.
"I forgot to tell you that you are very lucky to be under Sister Kate," she said. "There is not a nurse in the whole hospital who trains as she does, and her probationers always get the best certificates at the end of the two years of training."
"She looks so severe and hard," said Effie.
"She is a little severe, and some people may call her hard, but she has a tender heart under all that109 strict, somewhat cold manner, and then she is so just. My dear, when you know more of hospital life you will be thankful that you are with a just and patient Sister. Sister Kate is both. She will soon recognize you, Effie, for what you are. Now good-night, my love."
Dorothy went away, and soon afterward Effie fell asleep.
The next morning she was awakened by a bell, at what seemed to her something like the middle of the night. She had to dress herself quickly, and then go into the ward and begin her duties.
She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she had to begin her nurse's life as a sort of maid-of-all-work; she had to scrub floors, to clean grates, to polish handles—it seemed to her that she never had a moment to herself from morning till night. Her feet felt very sore, her back ached. Once or twice she felt so dreadfully fagged that she wondered if she could keep up. But through it all, growing greater and greater as the days went on, there came a sense of full satisfaction, of something accomplished, something done, of the feeling that she was being trained thoroughly and efficiently, so that at the end of her time of probation she might be able to say, "There's one thing which I can do well."
When the first Sunday came she was glad to hurry home. She went back brimful of news, and looked forward to the quiet time in her mother's little parlor with great delight.
Mrs. Staunton was glad to see her. The children were all dressed in their black frocks, and looked neat and comfortable. George was in the room. It seemed to Effie as if she did not recognize his coat—she wondered if it could possibly be a new one.110
She arrived at home a little before the midday dinner, and presently the landlady came in to lay the cloth. This used to be Agnes' occupation. Effie did not say anything while the woman was in the room, but when she went out she remarked on this change.
"Oh, it's all right," said Mrs. Staunton. "I pay half a crown a week extra, and the landlady now waits on us. It is much more comfortable, I assure you, Effie, and worth the extra bit of money."
Effie colored; she gave Agnes a reproachful glance, but did not say anything.
Agnes turned her back with a little sniff.
"Why, Effie," she said suddenly, "How coarse your hands have got! What in the world have you been doing?"
Effie laughed.
"Polishing, cleaning, and scrubbing," she said. "In short, doing very much what Mrs. Robinson's little maid of all-work does down in the kitchen here."
"Oh, dear, dear!" exclaimed Agnes; "if those are a nurse's duties, you won't catch me going in for that sort of profession."
"It's awfully interesting," said Effie. "I have, of course to begin at the bottom, but I like it very much."
While she was speaking, there came a knock at the door. George went to open it, and a young man came in. George brought him up to introduce him to his mother.
"This is my great friend, Fred Lawson, mother," he said. "Effie, let me introduce you to Lawson—Lawson, this is my sister Effie."
Effie bowed. She felt the color rushing all over her face. Lawson was the man whom George had wronged in some mysterious way. Lawson was the man for whom that dreadful £250 was required.
They all sat down to dinner, which Effie further noticed was a great deal more luxurious than when she held the purse strings. There was a nice little joint of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and one or two vegetables. This course was followed by an apple tart and custard; and then the board was graced with some russet apples and walnuts and a bottle of port wine.
Effie felt such a sense of consternation that she could scarcely eat this pleasant food. But Mrs. Staunton, George, Lawson, and the younger children enjoyed the dinner thoroughly. When the beef was taken away, there was very little left on the joint; and as to the fruit tart, it vanished almost as soon as it was cut. Effie could not help wondering to herself how £150 a year could meet this lavish style of living.
Lawson talked very pleasantly during dinner. After glancing toward Effie several times, he suddenly remarked:
"I cannot help feeling that I know your face," said he. "Where and when have we met before?"
"I saw you last night," said Effie, with a smile.
"You saw me last night! What in the world do you mean?"
"Yes," said Effie. "Don't you remember No. 17, in B Ward? You came in to stop that terrible112 hemorrhage from the lungs from which she was suffering."
"B Ward at St. Joseph's?" exclaimed Lawson.
"Oh, my dear Effie, now I beg of you not to allude to horrible things at dinner," exclaimed Mrs. Staunton.
"No, mother; I am sorry I mentioned it." Effie colored up.
"What have you to do with St. Joseph's?" said Lawson.
"I am a probationer in B Ward, under Sister Kate."
"Never! how extraordinary! Now I remember, you are the girl who held the basin. So you really are a probationer! A fresh one! Have you been there long?"
"Just a week."
"Well, let me congratulate you on one thing, you held that basin without shaking it; I expect you have got plenty of nerve. Of course, I knew I must have seen you before; I never forget a face."
Lawson presently went out with George for a walk. Agnes dressed the children and took them with her to the Sunday school, and Effie was alone with her mother.
"Come and sit by me, darling," said Mrs. Staunton. "It is so very nice to have you home again; I miss you very much, my dear daughter. But I am really getting better. George wants me to consult Dr. Davidson at St. Joseph's Hospital. He thinks that your dear father may have been mistaken about my heart, and that it may get quite strong and well again."
"If you feel better, I don't think I would consult anyone," said Effie, trembling a little.
"Well, dear, well, there's no hurry about it. But I always notice, Effie, and it distresses me not a little113 that any suggestion of George's you are likely to pooh-pooh; now, surely that is scarcely fair to him, dear fellow? You must notice, my love, how cheerful and pleasant we have made this room. George insisted on my getting new curtains—only white muslin, you careful child. They cost really very little, but they do make such a difference in the effect. Then he has also determined that I shall live better, plenty of meat and a little port wine. It is a most false economy, my dear, not to attend to one's diet. There's nothing else keeps up the health."
"Yes, mother, I know all that; but good, expensive, nourishing things have to be paid for."
"Now, Effie, don't let me hear you begin that dismal plaint. Do you really mean to insinuate that I, your mother, would go into debt for things?"
"Oh, no, dear mother! how could I think that?"
"You imply it, my love, by your manner."
Effie sighed.
It was hopeless to argue or remonstrate. She felt as if the little home, so different from the beloved one in Whittington, was in reality constructed over a volcano—any day it might collapse. The weight of sorrow which pressed against her heart as she thought of this, of her father, of the old life, quite crushed the brave spirit for the moment. Where was George's honor? How dared he lead his mother into these extravagances, when he knew, too, when he knew——
Effie clasped her hands tightly together. She restrained her emotions with an effort, and turned the conversation to indifferent matters.
Mrs. Staunton was certainly in better spirits. There was a little color in her cheeks, and some of the old sweet brightness in her eves.
When George had been absent about an hour, she114 grew restless and distraite; she left her seat by Effie's side, and, going to the window, looked up and down the street.
"I hope the rain isn't coming on," she said; "he forgot to take an overcoat."
"Who, mother?"
"George."
"But really, mother dear, he isn't sugar; he won't melt."
"There you are again, Effie, making little of your brother. It so happens that he has a nice new coat on to-day, and I don't want it to get shabby at once."
"A new coat! How did he buy it?"
"I lent him a little money
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