CHAPTER VIII.
THE LETTER.
"Nurse Lucy," said Hildegarde that evening, as they sat in the porch
after tea, "why have you never told me about Pink Chirk,--about her
being a cripple, I mean? I had no idea of it till I went to see her
to-day. How terrible it is!"
"I wonder that I haven't told you, dear!" replied Nurse Lucy, placidly.
"I suppose I am so used to Pink as she is, I forget that she ever was
like other people. She is a dear, good child,--his 'sermon,' Jacob calls
her. He says that whenever he feels impatient or put out, he likes to go
down and look at Pink, and hear her talk. 'It takes the crook right out
of me!' he says. Poor Jacob!"
"But how did it happen?" asked Hilda. "She says she was only three years
when she--Oh, think of it, Nurse Lucy! It is too dreadful. Tell me how
it happened."
"Don't ask me, my dear!" said Dame Hartley, sadly. "Why should you hear
anything so painful? It would only haunt your mind as it haunted mine
for years after. The worst of it was, there was no need of it. Her
mother was a young, flighty, careless girl, and she didn't look after
her baby as she should have done. That is all you need know, Hilda, my
dear! Poor Susan Chirk! it took the flightiness out of her, and made her
the anxious, melancholy soul she has been ever since. Then Bubble was
born, and soon after her husband died, and since then she has had a hard
time to fend for herself. But Pink has never been any trouble to her,
only a help and a comfort; and her neighbors have done what they could
from time to time.
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