Chapter VII: The Accident

IT was the morning after the school treat, and although only a little after six o'clock, the Lethbridge boys were already up, helping to put things in order for the day.

"I wonder what time father will be home," Dick said, as he coaxed the fire into a blaze, to boil the kettle.

"I don't know, my dear; early I expect," Mrs. Lethbridge answered in unusually cheerful tones—evidently the Sunday-school treat had done her good.

"I hope the poor horse is better," Dick continued. "Do you think father will be home to breakfast, mother? If I knew what time he was coming, I'd go to meet him."

"Why, here he comes!" Jim exclaimed. "I know that's his footstep."

He came in looking wonderfully brisk, seeing he had been awake all night, and answered their questions willingly. The horse was better; he and old Burt had done the best they could for it.

"Mr. Talbot's so pleased his favourite's likely to recover, that he says he'll increase my wages at the end of the week. Now, isn't that good news?"

The boys assented eagerly, and Mrs. Lethbridge smiled; though she could not help wondering if her husband would allow her a little more towards the housekeeping, or if he would spend the extra money in drink.

"Father," said Jim, presently, "I have sixpence—or rather, mother is keeping it for me. I won it for coming in second in a race yesterday. Guess what I'm going to do with it!"

The father shook his head, smiling as he met the boy's eager glance.

"I'm going to put it towards buying that picture of the Good Shepherd for our Molly. Isn't it a splendid idea?"

"Well done, Jim; and I'll give you the rest of the money on Saturday."

"Oh, father, do you mean it? Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"Of course I mean it. I intended to give Molly the picture anyway."

"How pleased the child will be!" Mrs. Lethbridge exclaimed. "I wonder where she'll hang it."

"She is not up yet, I suppose?" the father enquired.

"No; I expect she's very tired. You should have seen her running about and playing with the other children, yesterday! It did my heart good to watch her! She did have a good time, and no mistake!"

Molly slept on till nearly eight o'clock, and when she came down, found her father fast asleep in their one easy-chair. Her mother motioned to her not to disturb him, so she took her breakfast in silence.

Then the children went to school, and Mrs. Lethbridge was busy for a while, washing and dressing the baby. When her husband at last awoke, it was ten o'clock. He got up immediately, and putting his hand into the deep outer pocket of his coat, drew out a fine rabbit.

"There, Jenny," he said, "that'll make us a good dinner to-day!"

But instead of looking pleased, the poor wife's face clouded over, and she exclaimed, "Oh, James, you've been poaching again!"

"And what if I have? I set the wire as I went up to the Hall last evening, and this morning there was our dinner caught for us. Come, Jenny, don't look so black. Where's the harm?"

"There is harm," she said, vehemently, "and you must know it, James. You took good care not to show the rabbit when the children were here, because you thought they might wonder how you got it! It's stealing, for the rabbit don't belong to us; and if you were found out, you'd be sent to prison, and then what would become of your family?"

"I'll take care not to be found out. I don't call trapping a rabbit stealing, if you do. The farmers complain dreadfully that the rabbits are a perfect plague, and eat up all their crops."

"Mr. Talbot would discharge you if he knew!"

"I daresay he would; but he won't know."

"He may get to hear. I really believe people are suspicious about you, James."

"I'll promise you to be careful."

"I wish you'd promise me never to poach a rabbit, or anything else, again!"

"Not likely. What an aggravating woman you are, Jenny!"

"James, it's not honest. I never thought when I married you, you'd come to this."

But James Lethbridge only laughed. He was in too good spirits to be easily made angry, and would not take his wife's remarks seriously.

Mrs. Lethbridge cooked the rabbit for dinner, but she felt very unhappy; and after the mid-day meal was over, and she was washing up the plates, a few hot tears coursed down her cheeks. Molly, who was playing with the baby, noticed her mother's sorrow, and ran to her side.

"Mother!" she cried. "What is it?"

"Nothing I can tell you, my dear."

Molly was sadly distressed. She stood looking up into her mother's face with wistful, blue eyes. Her father and brothers had gone out, so, but for the baby, Mrs. Lethbridge and her little girl were alone.

"Don't you worry, my Molly. When you are older you shall know everything that troubles me. You'll be my right-hand. I know you will."

"But, mother, why do you cry? Does your head ache?"

"No, my dear; it's my heart."

"Poor mother! Won't Jesus take the pain away?"

"I don't know; perhaps He will some day."

"We'll ask Him now! Miss Morris says we must tell Him everything!"

"Well, you ask Him, Molly."

So the child knelt down on the kitchen floor, and covering her face with her hands, prayed earnestly—

"Please, dear Jesus, take mother's pain away, and not make her heart ache any more."

Then arising from her knees, she looked around with a radiant countenance, and was met by her mother's smile—a smile that seemed to drive away all thoughts of sorrow, so full was it of tender love.

The next moment, the cottage door was flung open, and Dick rushed in, out of breath, and pale with fright.

"Mother! Oh, mother!" he cried, half sobbing.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What is wrong?"

"Father's had an accident, and they're bringing him home! There was a runaway horse coming down the street, and he tried to stop it, and oh," with a shudder, "it trod upon him!"

Molly began to cry, and at the sound Mrs. Lethbridge, with a mighty effort, collected her startled wits.

"Dick," she said quickly and imperatively, "do you take baby and Molly upstairs into your own room, and shut the door. Mind and remain there, all of you, till I say you may come out."

Taking the baby in his arms, Dick led the way upstairs, and carried out his mother's instructions. Molly's frightened sobs soon ceased, and the children strained their ears to catch every sound.

"They are carrying him upstairs," Dick whispered; "and that's Dr. Bly's voice. Oh, I hope poor father isn't dead."

The time seemed endless, but it was actually only half-an-hour before Jim softly opened the door, and joined them.

"Oh, Jim!" cried Molly, flinging herself into his arms. "He's not dead—say he's not dead."

"No, he's not dead. They have put him to bed, but I'm afraid the doctor thinks he's badly hurt. Mother said I was to come and take you all downstairs."

"Will father die?" Molly questioned. "Oh, Jim, do say!"

"I don't know, Molly; but I hope he won't. Perhaps the doctor will be able to tell us presently."

"Jesus can make him well, can't He?"

"Yes, of course He can. We'll ask Him, Molly."

So the children crept noiselessly downstairs, and, in the kitchen, they huddled together in a corner, whilst Jim, in faltering accents, prayed for their father's recovery.

By-and-bye the doctor's footsteps were heard descending the stairs. He was a kindhearted man, with little ones of his own, and he cast a pitying look at the children.

"Will my father live, sir?" Jim enquired.

"I cannot tell, my boy. He has broken his right leg, and has other injuries besides, but he may pull through. We must hope for the best. Well, little girl," patting Molly's golden head, "what have you been doing to your eyes? Crying, eh?"

"Yes, sir." Molly answered shyly.

"Oh, you mustn't cry. That won't mend matters. You'll be wanted to help nurse your poor father; and I can't have tears in a sick-room, you know. That won't do."

"No, sir," said Molly.

"That's well said. I fancy you'll make a capital little nurse, anyway; we'll see!" and the kindly doctor went on his way, having cheered the children considerably.

"We must hope for the best," Jim said, repeating Dr. Bly's words, "and perhaps God will let poor father live after all!"