Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I
listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought
it better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to
another subject, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got
home the fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were
really more rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all
spent a very happy evening together.
19 August.—Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of
Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill, that is why he did not
write. I am not afraid to think it or to say it, now that I know.
Mr. Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh so kindly.
I am to leave in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help
to nurse him if necessar
