A Modern Cinderella

“And we never let her lift the children or carry them up and down. I think babies are sometimes injured for life that way in falling. They used to sit on the rug and she’d tell them stories. I think she must have made them out of her head – funny things and she’d act them off and the babies would laugh and laugh – it was as good as a play. They seemed to understand every word. Marilla was a born nurse girl. But what can we do? We must have someone, and there’s only such a little time.”

Miss Armitage was thinking.

“Perhaps I might help you out,” she said kindly. “There is a young girl with us who worked in a factory until she gave out. We sent her to the Rest House in the country and she did improve, but they wouldn’t take her back in the factory. She’s a nice pleasant girl about seventeen.”

“Oh, how good of you to think of it! But I can’t pay high wages, for there’ll be her board and it won’t be hard. When the babies are well they are as good as kittens though they can’t scamper around so much. And they’re so fat they won’t walk very soon. It’ll just be sitting round and amusing them and looking after their food. I couldn’t give more than three dollars a week – we are not at all rich,” with a short laugh of apology.

“I think Ellen would come for awhile.”

“And I should want Marilla as soon as she was well enough. You see she’s bound-out to me, and we all like her so much. I don’t see what could have happened to her. She has been out in the fresh air most of the time and we always tell her to go slow with the babies, not rush along in the heat. What did she say?”

“Oh, she hasn’t spoken at all. She lies just unconscious.”

“Good gracious! Oh, you don’t think she will die?” and Mrs. Borden really turned pale with fright.

“A person sometimes lies that way for days when overcome with the heat. The doctor can tell better tomorrow.”

“Oh, poor little Marilla! She is so sweet-tempered. And you were so good not to send her off to a hospital. How ever should we have found her! There is so little time. When shall we hear about this other girl?”

“I will telephone as soon as I go home and tell them to send her in the morning,” and Miss Armitage rose.

“We are so much obliged.” She followed her visitor out in the hall.

“Do not come down,” said Miss Armitage. “And I hope the babies will improve.”

“Thank you – for everything.”

The sun was going down and some stray wafts of wind wandered along, which made the heat rather more endurable.

“Jane,” she said as she walked into the room, “did you notice any bruise on the child’s head while you were bathing her. She fell off of the steps it seemed.”

“There was none on her forehead. Her hair is very thick and I really did not look only to see that it was in a nice, clean condition. She hasn’t suffered for want of cleanliness.”

Then she told Jane all she had learned, adding:

“They seem very nice kind of people. But oh! those babies!”

Miss Armitage telephoned to the settlement House, stating the case.

“Yes, Ellen Day was still there and would be very glad of the position. She would go the first thing in the morning.”

Jane insisted on bringing in a cot and sleeping beside the little girl who lay quite as still as if she were dead. Now and then she gave her the drops and fanned the air about her. The morning came and the city was astir again. But it was quiet in Loraine place. So many had gone away and there were no trolleys nearby.

They looked over Marilla’s head and found one spot above the ear that had a small bit of discoloration, but it was not in a dangerous place. The doctor came in.

“I did not think there would be much change,” he said. Then he tried to rouse her. Jane held her up while they gave her a little milk which she swallowed without difficulty. She opened her eyes and closed them again, then lay quiet.

He listened to Miss Armitage’s interview and nodded as she went along.

“The child is terribly run down. I think she has worked harder than any one imagined. But they seem to have appreciated her.”

No one could guess the strain of talking so incessantly to amuse the babies, of reading to Jack, of having eyes all over to see that he did not torment the little ones, push their playthings out of the way, give them sly pinches or tweak their hair. She did hate to tell tales on him. And when he coaxed to go out with her he was a constant care. School had been closed for a fortnight. Oh, how tired she was every night!

“You don’t eat more than a bird,” Bridget would complain.

“But I’m never hungry now, I shall be so glad when we get to the real country, and grass, and everything. I’m so tired of the rows and rows of red brick houses, and they all seem so hot.”

And now Bridget was almost heart broken.

Ellen Day came in to tell Miss Armitage how glad she was that a good word had been spoken for her. “And she was sure she should like the ladies and the pretty little boy. But how fat the babies were and not a bit pretty. They were to start at twelve tomorrow.”

It was still hot, but in the afternoon it clouded up and the evening brought a most refreshing shower. The hot wave was broken.

Sunday afternoon they had rolled the couch over by the window. Miss Armitage sat reading. Jane had gone out for a walk. The child seemed to have grown thinner in these few days.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked intently at the woman sitting there in her soft, white attire. She was so sweet and pretty.

“Are you a fairy godmother?” Marilla asked in a weak, wandering tone.

“A – what?” smiling in surprise.

“A fairy godmother. You don’t look like the other one, but then it was night and we went to the King’s ball. Oh, it was so splendid!”