“He is very sick,” he said. “Can you tell me what you have done for him?”
Aunt Nyna, who had taken upon herself the responsibility of being his nurse, told him all, with the greatest precision.
“That is right,” he said, “I could not have done better myself. But,” he continued, “I must be frank with you. I fear the poor child is beyond the reach of medicine. His head has been affected from his birth, and he has not sufficient vital energy to meet the trying crisis.”
“Indeed sir!” said Hesper, with a faltering voice and a face white as the drifted snow--“I can’t have our Johnny die.”
“Hesper! Hesper my dear girl!” said aunt Nyna, as she drew her close to her bosom, “be patient, and let the Lord’s will be done.”
“Poor little fellow,” said the doctor, in a soft, sympathizing tone--“it would indeed be a sad loss to those who love him, but to him it would be a most blissful change.”
“Yes,” said aunt Betsey, who had just arrived, and entered the room in time to hear the doctor’s words--“I think so too--you oughtn’t to cry, Hesper--nobody ought to. Though it seems a hard thing to say, yet it would be a mercy to you all if he should be taken away; for if he should live to grow up, he would always be a poor miserable creature.”
Just then, Hesper wished that aunt Betsey was dead herself, or that she never could hear her speak again. He “a poor miserable creature!” Wouldn’t he always be a comfort and consolation to those who loved him, if he should live a hundred years? So she reasoned, and she could not see it otherwise; though when the first gush of sorrow was over, she felt that the doctor had spoken truly, and that the better world would give to the poor child, blessings and powers he never could enjoy below. She was soon able to restrain her emotions, and then sat down by his bed as quietly as before.
After the doctor had given the poor child a soothing draught--under the influence of which he soon fell asleep--he went out, and began to talk with Hesper’s father and mother. He stayed a long time, conversing in a very friendly and encouraging manner, and offered to do whatever he could for both of them. Mr. Greyson informed him, however, with a most melancholy expression of countenance, that he would never get his pay. The doctor’s only answer was a good-natured laugh, and when he left, he promised to call again next morning.