During the vacation Jessie spent a part of the time with her, but Agnes
resolutely resisted all Guy’s entreaties that she would at least call
once on Maddy, who had expressed a wish to see her, and who, on account
of her grandfather’s health, and the childishness with which Uncle
Joseph clung to her, could not well come up to Aikenside. Agnes would
not go down, neither would she give other reason for her obstinacy than
the apparently foolish one that she did not wish to see the crazy man.
Still she did not object to Jessie’s going as often as she liked, and
she sent by her many little delicacies from the larder at Aikenside,
some for grandpa, but most for Uncle Joseph, who prized highly
everything coming from “the madam,” and sent back to her more than one
strangely worded message which made the proud woman’s eyes overflow
when sure that no one could see her. But this kind of intercourse came
to an end at last. The vacation was over, Jessie had gone back to
school, and Maddy began in sober earnest the new life before her.
Flora, it is true, relieved her of all household drudgery, but no one
could share the burden of care and anxiety pressing so heavily upon
her, anxiety for her grandfather, whose health seemed failing so fast,
and who always looked so disturbed if a shadow were resting on her
bright face, or her voice were less cheerful in its tone, and care for
the imbecile Joseph, who clung to her as a puny child clings to its
mother, refusing to be cared for by any one else, and often requiring
of her more than her strength could endure for a great length of time.
She it was who gave him his breakfast in the morning, amused him
through the day, and then, after he was in bed at night, often sat by
his side till a late hour, singing to him old songs, or telling Bible
stories until he fell away to sleep. Then if he awoke, as he frequently
did, there was a cry for Maddy, and the soothing process had to be
repeated, until the tired, pale watcher ceased to wonder that her
grandmother had died so suddenly, wondering rather that she had lived
so long and borne so much.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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