Cora and The Doctor; or, Revelations of A Physician's WifeLeslie, Madeline
General
Cora and The Doctor; or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife
Leslie, Madeline
Physicians -- Fiction
It was some time before she revived. When she perceived where she was,
her woe-begone look penetrated my heart. Poor mother! How quietly she
goes about everything that ought to be done, with an expression of
patient suffering! How can Emily make herself and all of us so unhappy!
She lies this morning in a deep sleep, and, I hope, will awake
refreshed. I have been sitting by her while mother went over to the
cottage on some business. She has now returned, and I have persuaded her
to lie down on the couch in sister's room. She was so anxious, she
scarcely slept at all.
Dear Pauline, what a comfort she is to me! She is the most affectionate
little creature I ever saw, and has already woven herself closely around
our hearts. Even Frank laughs merrily at her cunning ways.
Phebe wears a turban, generally made of a bandanna handkerchief, or
something equally bright. Miss thought, she too must wear one. So she
watched her opportunity when Ann laid down her duster, which happened to
be an old silk kerchief of similar colors to madam's turban, and tried
to weave it round her head. Ann observed her unsuccessful efforts with
silent amusement, and perceiving that when one side was arranged, the
other came tumbling down, offered to assist her.
Pauline shouted with delight: "Mamma, see! mamma, see!!" The kind
hearted girl brought the child to me. I laughed well at her grotesque
appearance. Her head was top-heavy with the turban, while the dark short
curls peeping out here and there made her look like a boy. She evidently
thought it a good joke, and was unwilling to have it taken off. You see,
we make a great pet of her; but since I began to manage her aright, she
obeys instantly. Sometimes her lip quivers a little, and she looks as if
she were about to burst into a hearty cry; and then, with a sigh,
restrains herself.
Almost every morning, from eleven till two, I have received calls; and
shall have business enough for the fall and winter if they continue.
Many of them are formal and ceremonious; others, I suppose, are prompted
merely by curiosity to see the stranger. I find the report of my three
years' residence in Paris creates quite a sensation. People look at me
as if I ought to be something more than Americans who have never been
out of their native land, and appear somewhat disappointed to see in me
nothing more than a simple, frank girl, just like their daughters or
sisters at home.
A few have called whom I like exceedingly; who entered into conversation
upon subjects profitable and interesting. You, my dear mother, have
spoiled me for enjoying the society of persons who cannot talk, except
of individual character and conduct; as for instance: "I suppose, your
husband has told you of the trouble in Squire Lee's family. He attends
there, I believe."
"No," I replied.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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