Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Religious fiction; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction
"One of you go for a doctor at once," said Mr Bellingham,
authoritatively, "and bring him to the old woman's without delay. You
must not hold him any longer," he continued, speaking to Ruth, and
remembering her face now for the first time; "your dress is dripping
wet already. Here! you fellow, take him up, d'ye see!"
But the child's hand had nervously clenched Ruth's dress, and she
would not have him disturbed. She carried her heavy burden very
tenderly towards a mean little cottage indicated by the neighbours;
an old crippled woman was coming out of the door, shaking all over
with agitation.
"Dear heart!" said she, "he's the last of 'em all, and he's gone
afore me."
"Nonsense," said Mr Bellingham, "the boy is alive, and likely to
live."
But the old woman was helpless and hopeless, and insisted on
believing that her grandson was dead; and dead he would have been
if it had not been for Ruth, and one or two of the more sensible
neighbours, who, under Mr Bellingham's directions, bustled about, and
did all that was necessary until animation was restored.
"What a confounded time these people are in fetching the doctor,"
said Mr Bellingham to Ruth, between whom and himself a sort of
silent understanding had sprung up from the circumstance of their
having been the only two (besides mere children) who had witnessed
the accident, and also the only two to whom a certain degree of
cultivation had given the power of understanding each other's
thoughts and even each other's words.
"It takes so much to knock an idea into such stupid people's heads.
They stood gaping and asking which doctor they were to go for, as if
it signified whether it was Brown or Smith, so long as he had his
wits about him. I have no more time to waste here, either; I was on
the gallop when I caught sight of the lad; and, now he has fairly
sobbed and opened his eyes, I see no use in my staying in this
stifling atmosphere. May I trouble you with one thing? Will you be
so good as to see that the little fellow has all that he wants? If
you'll allow me, I'll leave you my purse," continued he, giving it to
Ruth, who was only too glad to have this power entrusted to her of
procuring one or two requisites which she had perceived to be wanted.
But she saw some gold between the net-work; she did not like the
charge of such riches.
"I shall not want so much, really, sir. One sovereign will be
plenty--more than enough. May I take that out, and I will give you
back what is left of it when I see you again? or, perhaps I had
better send it to you, sir?"
"I think you had better keep it all at present. Oh! what a horrid
dirty place this is; insufferable two minutes longer. You must not
stay here; you'll be poisoned with this abominable air. Come towards
the door, I beg. Well, if you think one sovereign will be enough, I
will take my purse; only, remember you apply to me if you think they
want more."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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