The boys were attending to the morning chores, with faces as solemn and
hearts as heavy as each could carry. A neighbor woman, kind, sympathetic,
and busy, but with the same sadness pictured upon her face, kept coming and
going between the bedroom and the room in which Mr. Hill sat.
Only that morning the physician had been there and had told them that she
whose life had been the light and strength of the home was lying now upon
her death-bed, that she would never again rise to take the burdens of life,
that they would have to let her go. He had felt for Henry Hill as he had
spoken, for the white horror and anguish in the man's face would have
called out sympathy from a harder heart; but he wanted to say also that had
she been given a lighter load to carry, if some of the anxiety and concern
that now stirred his heart had been expressed when his wife was well,
things might not now be as they are. But the kind doctor left these words
unsaid. Henry Hill had all he could bear without them.
The holidays, with their festivities, were over, and life had just settled
back into its every-day way, when Elizabeth Hill fell sick. She had never
been ailing before. Her children had always known her as able to take the
constant care and oversight of the family. Without her they were helpless
and distraught, for there was no one to take her place. And when after one
day's illness it became certain that her condition was critical, the
anxiety and tension became intense.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25