I
thought I should die; everything began to go round and round. The strokes
did not hurt any longer; I could not feel them now. The hall suddenly grew
dark, and I sank upon the floor. Then I suppose he stopped.
When I returned to consciousness, I was lying on the couch in the
dining-room, with a wet cloth about my forehead, and mother was kneeling by
me, fanning me and crying. I put my arms about her neck, and begged her not
to cry, but my head ached so dreadfully that I could not keep back my own
tears. I asked where father was, and she said he went down-town when she
came. He did not return at supper-time, nor did we see him again until the
following morning.
I could eat no supper that night before going to bed, and mother came and
stayed with me. I am sure she did not sleep, for as often as I dropped off
from sheer exhaustion, I was wakened by her sobbing. Then I, too, would
cry. I tried to be brave, but my wounds hurt me so, and my head ached. I
seemed to be thinking all the time of father. My poor father! I felt sorry
for him, and kept wondering where he was. All through the night it seemed
to me that I could see him drinking and drinking, and betting and betting.
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