CHAPTER VI A Plan

      It’s nice to get gifts,
      But better to give: 
    For giving leaves always a glow
      That warms up a part
      In every heart;
    The joy of it never can go.

There was woe in Ethelwyn’s heart and pain in her throat, and the woe was on account of the pain; for Elizabeth and her mother had gone to town to arrange things for Dick, who was to be taken to the hospital, where he was to undergo an operation that would, in all probability cure him.  And now Ethelwyn, ever desirous of being at the head and front of things, had taken this wretched cold and could not go.

Very shortly after Mrs. Flaharty had told them about Dick, their mother had taken them to see him.  His home was a long way from their cottage, where the fisher people lived, and the sights and smells in the hot summer air were hard to bear even for those who were well.  Poor little Dick, lying day after day on his hard bed, with no care except what the kind-hearted washerwoman could give him, felt that life was an ill thing at best, and he was fast hastening out of it, with the assistance of ill nutrition and bad ventilation.  Dick’s own mother and father were dead, and his stepmother, a rough-looking creature, when she remembered him at all, looked upon him as a useless encumbrance, and by her neglect was making him very unhappy.

Ethelwyn and Elizabeth, quite unused to suffering of this sort, sat soberly by, during their first visit, and watched their mother bending tenderly over the feeble little invalid, and ministering to his needs.

In a week’s time they had changed things marvelously.  The stepmother had, for a sum that meant a great deal to her, relinquished all claim upon Dick, so he was placed in the care of a sewing woman, who, by reason of rheumatism in her fingers, could not sew any more; and she filled the starving sore spot in her childless heart with a loving devotion to Dick.  The sum paid her for this care kept them both in comfort, and Dick, with flowers and birds about him, and with wholesome, dainty food, gradually lost his gaunt, hunted look and began to take a fresh hold of life.

The doctor attending him gave it as his opinion that in one of the city hospitals the little fellow might be cured, and it was to see about this that Elizabeth and her mother had gone to town.

The night before they were all in their sitting-room, talking it over.  Aunty Stevens, who was greatly interested, had brought her knitting and joined them.

“It would be a lovely work,” said Mrs. Rayburn, thoughtfully looking at the fire, “to make a home for Dick and many such poor little weaklings, somewhere up on these heights where, with fresh air and good, well-cooked food, they could have a fighting chance for life.”

“There’s our money,” said Ethelwyn, cuddling her hand in her mother’s.  “Let’s make one with it.”

“Would you like that?”