Part 4

“Did he have two bugs?” asked Phronsie, eying suspiciously the second morsel of dry toast that Polly was conveying to her mouth.

“Well, he would have had,” replied Polly, “if there'd been bugs enough; but there were nine other chicks, Phronsie.”

“Poor chickies,” said Phronsie, and looked lovingly at the rest of the toast and butter on the plate; and while Polly fed it to her, listened with absorbed interest to all the particulars concerning each and every chick in the Henderson hen-coop.

“Mother,” said Polly, towards evening, “I'm going to sit up with Ben to-night; say I may, do, mother.”

“Oh no, you can't,” replied Mrs. Pepper; “you'll get worn out; and then what shall I do? Joel can hand him his medicine.”

“Oh, Joe would tumble to sleep, mammy,” said Polly, “the first thing--let me.”

“Perhaps Phronsie'll let me go to-night,” said Mrs. Pepper, reflectively.

“Oh, no she won't, I know,” replied Polly, decisively; “she wants you all the time.”

“I will, Polly,” said Davie, coming in with an armful of wood, in time to hear the conversation. “I'll give him his medicine, mayn't I, mammy?” and David let down his load, and came over where his mother and Polly sat sewing, to urge his rights.

“I don't know,” said his mother, smiling on him. “Can you, do you think?”

“Yes, ma'am!” said Davie, straightening himself up.

When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie to watch; he'd have a string tied to Davie's arm, and the end he'd hold in bed, and when 'twas time for medicine, he'd pull the string, and that would wake Davie up!

Polly didn't sleep much more on her shake-down on the floor than if she had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and wanted a drink of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As she went back into her nest after one of these travels, Polly thought: “Well, I don't care, if nobody else gets sick; if Ben'll only get well. To-morrow I'm goin' to do mammy's sack she's begun for Mr. Jackson; it's all plain sew-in', just like a bag; and I can do it, I know--” and so she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awakened by Phronsie's fretful little voice: “I want a drink of water, Polly, I do.”

“Don't she drink awfully, mammy?” asked Polly, after one of these excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and she mustn't have any more; 'twill hurt her.” But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and didn't want any more, luckily.

“Here, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, “take this coat up to Mr. Peterses; and be sure you get the money for it.”

“How'll I get it?” asked Joe, who didn't relish the long, hot walk.

“Why, tell 'em we're sick--Ben's sick,” added Mrs. Pepper, as the most decisive thing; “and we must have it; and then wait for it.”

“Tisn't pleasant up at the Peterses,” grumbled Joel, taking the parcel and moving slowly off.

“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn't do that,” seeing Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing the semi-weekly bake; “you're all beat out with that tussle over the stove; that sack'll have to go till next week.”

“It can't, mammy,” said Polly, snipping off a basting thread; “we've got to have the money; how much'll he give you for it?”

“Thirty cents,” replied Mrs. Pepper.

“Well,” said Polly, “we've got to get all the thirty centses we can, mammy dear; and I know I can do it, truly--try me once,” she implored.

“Well.” Mrs. Pepper relented, slowly.

“Don't feel bad, mammy dear,” comforted Polly, sewing away briskly; “Ben'll get well pretty soon, and then we'll be all right.”

“Maybe,” said Mrs. Pepper; and went back to Phronsie, who could scarcely let her out of her sight.

Polly stitched away bravely. “Now if I do this good, mammy'll let me do it other times,” she said to herself.

Davie, too, worked patiently out of doors, trying to do Ben's chores. The little fellow blundered over things that Ben would have accomplished in half the time, and he had to sit down often on the steps of the little old shed where the tools were kept, to wipe his hot face and rest.

“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “hadn't you better stop a little? Dear me! how fast you sew, child!”

Polly gave a delighted little hum at her mother's evident approval.

“I'm going to do 'em all next week, mammy,” she said; “then Mr. Atkins won't take 'em away from us, I guess.”

Mr. Atkins kept the store, and gave out coats and sacks of coarse linen and homespun to Mrs. Pepper to make; and it was the fear of losing the work that had made the mother's heart sink.

“I don't believe anybody's got such children as I have,” she said; and she gave Polly a motherly little pat that the little daughter felt clear to the tips of her toes with a thrill of delight.

About half-past two, long after dinner, Joe came walking in, hungry as a beaver, but flushed and triumphant.

“Why, where have you been all this time?” asked his mother.

“Oh, Joe, you didn't stop to play?” asked Polly, from her perch where she sat sewing, giving him a reproachful glance.

“Stop to play!” retorted Joe, indignantly; “no, I guess I didn't! I've been to Old Peterses.”

“Not all this time!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper.

“Yes, I have too,” replied Joel, sturdily marching up to her. “And there's your money, mother;” and he counted out a quarter of a dollar in silver pieces and pennies, which he took from a dingy wad of paper, stowed away in the depths of his pocket.

“Oh, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, sinking back in her chair and looking at him; “what do you mean?”

Polly put her work in her lap, and waited to hear.

“Where's my dinner, Polly?” asked Joel; “I hope it's a big one.

“Yes, 'tis,” said Polly; “you've got lots to-day, it's in the corner of the cupboard, covered up with the plate--so tell on, Joe.”

“That's elegant!” said Joel, coming back with the well-filled plate, Ben's and his own share.

“Do tell us, Joey,” implored Polly; “mother's waiting.”

“Well,” said Joel, his mouth half full, “I waited--and he said the coat was all right;--and--and--Mrs. Peters said 'twas all right;--and Mirandy Peters said 'twas all right; but they didn't any of 'em say anythin' about payin', so I didn't think 'twas all right--and--and--can't I have some more butter, Polly?”

“No,” said Polly, sorry to refuse him, he'd been so good about the money; “the butter's got to be saved for Ben and Phronsie.”

“Oh,” said Joe, “I wish Miss Henderson would send us some more, I do! I think she might!”

“For shame, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper; “she was very good to send this, I think; now what else did you say?” she asked.

“Well,” said Joel, taking another mouthful of bread, “so I waited; you told me to, mother, you know--and they all went to work; and they didn't mind me at all, and--there wasn't anything to look at, so I sat--and sat--Polly, can't I have some gingerbread?”

“No,” said Polly, “it's all gone; I gave the last piece to Phronsie the day she was taken sick.”

“Oh, dear,” said Joel, “everything's gone.”

“Well, do go on, Joe, do.”

“And--then they had dinner; and Mr. Peters said, 'Hasn't that boy gone home yet?' and Mrs. Peters said, 'no'--and he called me in, and asked me why I didn't run along home; and I said, Phronsie was sick, and Ben had the squeezles--”

“The what?” said Polly.

“The squeezles,” repeated Joel, irritably; “that's what you said.”

“It's measles, Joey,” corrected Mrs. Pepper; “never mind, I wouldn't feel bad.”

“Well, they all laughed, and laughed, and then I said you told me to wait till I did get the money.”

“Oh, Joe,” began Mrs. Pepper, “you shouldn't have told 'em so--what did he say?”

“Well, he laughed, and said I was a smart boy, and he'd see; and Mirandy said, 'do pay him, pa, he must be tired to death'--and don't you think, he went to a big desk in the corner, and took out a box, and 'twas full most of money--lots! oh! and he gave me mine--and--that's all; and I'm tired to death.” And Joel flung himself down on the floor, expanded his legs as only Joel could, and took a comfortable roll.

“So you must be,” said Polly, pityingly, “waiting at those Peterses.”

“Don't ever want to see any more Peterses,” said Joel; never, never, never!

“Oh, dear,” thought Polly, as she sewed on into the afternoon, “I wonder what does all my eyes! feels just like sand in 'em;” and she rubbed and rubbed to thread her needle. But she was afraid her mother would see, so she kept at her sewing. Once in awhile the bad feeling would go away, and then she would forget all about it. “There now, who says I can't do it! that's most done,” she cried, jumping up, and spinning across the room, to stretch herself a bit, “and to-morrow I'll finish it.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pepper, “if you can do that, Polly, you'll be the greatest help I've had yet.”

So Polly tucked herself into the old shake-down with a thankful heart that night, hoping for morning.

Alas! when morning did come, Polly could hardly move. The measles! what should she do! A faint hope of driving them off made her tumble out of bed, and stagger across the room to look in the old cracked looking-glass. All hope was gone as the red reflection met her gaze. Polly was on the sick list now!

“I won't be sick,” she said; “at any rate, I'll keep around.” An awful feeling made her clutch the back of a chair, but she managed somehow to get into her clothes, and go groping blindly into the kitchen. Somehow, Polly couldn't see very well. She tried to set the table, but 'twas no use. “Oh, dear,” she thought, “whatever'll mammy do?”

“Hulloa!” said Joel, coming in, “what's the matter, Polly?” Polly started at his sudden entrance, and, wavering a minute, fell over in a heap.

“Oh ma! ma!” screamed Joel, running to the foot of the stairs leading to the loft, where Mrs. Pepper was with Ben; “something's taken Polly! and she fell; and I guess she's in the wood-box!”

HARD DAYS FOR POLLY

“Ma,” said David, coming softly into the bedroom, where poor Polly lay on the bed with Phronsie, her eyes bandaged with a soft old handkerchief, “I'll set the table.”

“There isn't any table to set,” said Mrs. Pepper, sadly; “there isn't anybody to eat anything, Davie; you and Joel can get something out of the cupboard.”

“Can we get whatever we've a mind to, ma?” cried Joel, who followed Davie, rubbing his face with a towel after his morning ablutions.

“Yes,” replied his mother, absently.

“Come on, Dave!” cried Joel; “we'll have a breakfast!”

“We mustn't,” said little Davie, doubtfully, “eat the whole, Joey.”

But that individual already had his head in the cupboard, which soon engrossed them both.

Dr. Fisher was called in the middle of the morning to see what was the matter with Polly's eyes. The little man looked at her keenly over his spectacles; then he said, “When were you taken?”

“This morning,” answered Polly, her eyes smarting.

“Didn't you feel badly before?” questioned the doctor. Polly thought back; and then she remembered that she had felt very badly; that when she was baking over the old stove the day before her back had ached dreadfully; and that, somehow, when she sat down to sew, it didn't stop; only her eyes had bothered her so; she didn't mind her back so much.

“I thought so,” said the doctor, when Polly answered. “And those eyes of yours have been used too much; what has she been doing, ma'am?” He turned around sharply on Mrs. Pepper as he asked this.

“Sewing,” said Mrs. Pepper, “and everything; Polly does everything, sir.”

“Humph!” said the doctor; “well, she won't again in one spell; her eyes are very bad.”

At this a whoop, small but terrible to hear, came from the middle of the bed; and Phronsie sat bolt upright. Everybody started; while Phronsie broke out, “Don't make my Polly sick! oh! please don't!”

“Hey!” said the doctor; and he looked kindly at the small object with a very red face in the middle of the bed. Then he added, gently, “We're going to make Polly well, little girl; so that she can see splendidly.”

“Will you, really?” asked the child, doubtfully.

“Yes,” said the doctor; “we'll try hard; and you mustn't cry; 'cause then Polly'll cry, and that will make her eyes very bad; very bad indeed,” he repeated, impressively.

“I won't cry,” said Phronsie; “no, not one bit.” And she wiped off the last tear with her fat little hand, and watched to see what next was to be done.

And Polly was left, very rebellious indeed, in the big bed, with a cooling lotion on the poor eyes, that somehow didn't cool them one bit.

“If 'twas anythin' but my eyes, mammy, I could stand it,” she bewailed, flouncing over and over in her impatience; “and who'll do all the work now?”

“Don't think of the work, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.

“I can't do anything but think,” said poor Polly.

Just at that moment a queer noise out in the kitchen was heard.

“Do go out, mother, and see what 'tis,” said Polly.

“I've come,” said a cracked voice, close up by the bedroom door, followed by a big black cap, which could belong to no other than Grandma Bascom, “to set by you a spell; what's the matter?” she asked, and stopped, amazed to see Polly in bed.

“Oh, Polly's taken,” screamed Mrs. Pepper in her ear.

“Taken!” repeated the old lady, “what is it--a fit?”

“No,” said Mrs. Pepper; “the same as Ben's got; and Phronsie; the measles.”

“The measles, has she?” said grandma; “well, that's bad; and Ben's away, you say.”

“No, he isn't either,” screamed Mrs. Pepper, “he's got them, too!”

“Got two what?” asked grandma.

“Measles! he's got the measles too,” repeated Mrs. Pepper, loud as she could; so loud that the old lady's cap trembled at the noise.

“Oh! the dreadful!” said grandma; “and this girl too?” laying her hand on Phronsie's head.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, feeling it a little relief to tell over her miseries; “all three of them!”

“I haven't,” said Joel, coming in in hopes that grandma had a stray peppermint or two in her pocket, as she sometimes did; “and I'm not going to, either.”

“Oh, dear,” groaned his mother; “that's what Polly said; and she's got 'em bad. It's her eyes,” she screamed to grandma, who looked inquiringly.

“Her eyes, is it?” asked Mrs. Bascom; “well, I've got a receet that cousin Samanthy's folks had when John's children had 'em; and I'll run right along home and get it,” and she started to go.

“No, you needn't,” screamed Mrs. Pepper; “thank you, Mrs. Bascom; but Dr. Fisher's been here; and he put something on Polly's eyes; and he said it mustn't be touched.”

“Hey?” said the old lady; so Mrs. Pepper had to go all over it again, till at last she made her understand that Polly's eyes were taken care of, and they must wait for time to do the rest.

“You come along of me,” whispered grandma, when at last her call was done, to Joel who stood by the door. “I've got some peppermints to home; I forgot to bring 'em.”

“Yes'm,” said Joel, brightening up.

“Where you going, Joe?” asked Mrs. Pepper, seeing him move off with Mrs. Bascom; “I may want you.”

“Oh, I've got to go over to grandma's,” said Joel briskly; “she wants me.”

“Well, don't be gone long then,” replied his mother.

“There,” said grandma, going into her “keeping-room” to an old-fashioned chest of drawers; opening one, she took therefrom a paper, from which she shook out before Joe's delighted eyes some red and white peppermint drops. “There now, you take these home; you may have some, but be sure you give the most to the sick ones; and Polly--let Polly have the biggest.”

“She won't take 'em,” said Joel, wishing he had the measles. “Well, you try her,” said grandma; “run along now.” But it was useless to tell Joel that, for he was half-way home already. He carried out grandma's wishes, and distributed conscientiously the precious drops. But when he came to Polly, she didn't answer; and looking at her in surprise he saw two big tears rolling out under the bandage and wetting the pillow.

“I don't want 'em, Joe,” said Polly, when he made her understand that “twas peppermints, real peppermints;” “you may have 'em.”

“Try one, Polly; they're real good,” said Joel, who had an undefined wish to comfort; “there, open your mouth.”

So Polly opened her mouth, and Joel put one in with satisfaction.

“Isn't it good?” he asked, watching her crunch it.

“Yes,” said Polly, “real good; where'd you get 'em?”

“Over to Grandma Bascom's,” said Joel; “she gave me lots for all of us; have another, Polly?”

“No,” said Polly, “not yet; you put two on my pillow where I can reach 'em; and then you keep the rest, Joel.”

“I'll put three,” said Joel, counting out one red and two white ones, and laying them on the pillow; “there!”

“And I want another, Joey, I do,” said Phronsie from the other side of the bed.

“Well, you may have one,” said Joel; “a red one, Phronsie; yes, you may have two. Now come on, Dave; we'll have the rest out by the wood-pile.”

How they ever got through that day, I don't know. But late in the afternoon carriage wheels were heard; and then they stopped right at the Peppers' little brown gate.

“Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, running to the bedroom door, “it's Mrs. Henderson!”

“Is it?” said Polly, from the darkened room, “oh! I'm so glad! is Miss Jerushy with her?” she asked, fearfully.

“No,” said Mrs. Pepper, going back to ascertain; “why, it's the parson himself! Deary! how we look!”

“Never mind, mammy,” called back Polly, longing to spring out of bed and fix up a bit.

“I'm sorry to hear the children are sick,” said Mrs. Henderson, coming in, in her sweet, gentle way.

“We didn't know it,” said the minister, “until this morning--can we see them?”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Mrs. Pepper; “Ben's upstairs; and Polly and Phronsie are in here.”

“Poor little things!” said Mrs. Henderson, compassionately; “hadn't you better,” turning to the minister, “go up and see Ben first, while I will visit the little girls?”

So the minister mounted the crooked stairs; and Mrs. Henderson went straight up to Polly's side; and the first thing Polly knew, a cool, gentle hand was laid on her hot head, and a voice said, “I've come to see my little chicken now!”

“Oh, ma'am,” said Polly, bursting into a sob, “I don't care about my eyes--only mammy--” and she broke right down.

“I know,” said the minister's wife, soothingly; “but it's for you to bear patiently, Polly--what do you suppose the chicks were doing when I came away?” And Mrs. Henderson, while she held Polly's hand, smiled and nodded encouragingly to Phronsie, who was staring at her from the other side of the bed.

“I don't know, ma'am,” said Polly; “please tell us.”

“Well, they were all fighting over a grasshopper--yes, ten of them.”

“Which one got it?” asked Polly in intense interest; “oh! I hope the white one did!”

“Well, he looked as much like winning as any of them,” said the lady, laughing.

“Bless her!” thought Mrs. Pepper to herself out in the kitchen, finishing the sack Polly had left; “she's a parson's wife, I say!”

And then the minister came down from Ben's room, and went into the bedroom; and Mrs. Henderson went up-stairs into the loft.

“So,” he said kindly, as after patting Phronsie's head he came over and sat down by Polly, “this is the little girl who came to see me when I was sick.”

“Oh, sir,” said Polly, “I'm so glad you wasn't!”

“Well, when I come again,” said Mr. Henderson, rising after a merry chat, “I see I shall have to slip a book into my pocket, and read for those poor eyes.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Polly; and then she stopped and blushed.

“Well, what is it?” asked the minister, encouragingly.

“Ben loves to hear reading,” said Polly.

“Does he? well, by that time, my little girl, I guess Ben will be down-stairs; he's all right, Polly; don't you worry about him--and I'll sit in the kitchen, by the bedroom door, and you can hear nicely.”

So the Hendersons went away. But somehow, before they went, a good many things found their way out of the old-fashioned chaise into the Peppers' little kitchen.

But Polly's eyes didn't get any better, with all the care; and the lines of worry on Mrs. Pepper's face grew deeper and deeper. At last, she just confronted Dr. Fisher in the kitchen, one day after his visit to Polly, and boldly asked him if they ever could be cured. “I know she's--and there isn't any use keeping it from me,” said the poor woman--“she's going to be stone-blind!”

“My good woman,” Dr. Fisher's voice was very gentle; and he took the hard, brown hand in his own--“your little girl will not be blind; I tell you the truth; but it will take some time to make her eyes quite strong--time, and rest. She has strained them in some way, but she will come out of it.”

“Praise the Lord!” cried Mrs. Pepper, throwing her apron over her head; and then she sobbed on, “and thank you, sir--I can't ever thank you--for--for--if Polly was blind, we might as well give up!”

The next day, Phronsie, who had the doctor's permission to sit up, only she was to be kept from taking cold, scampered around in stocking-feet in search of her shoes, which she hadn't seen since she was first taken sick.

“Oh, I want on my very best shoes,” she cried; “can't I, mammy?”

“Oh, no, Phronsie; you must keep them nice,” remonstrated her mother; “you can't wear 'em every-day, you know.”

“'Tisn't every-day,” said Phronsie, slowly; “it's only one day.”

“Well, and then you'll want 'em on again tomorrow,” said her mother.

“Oh, no, I won't!” cried Phronsie; “never, no more to-morrow, if I can have 'em to-day; please, mammy dear!”

Mrs. Pepper went to the lowest drawer in the high bureau, and took therefrom a small parcel done up in white tissue paper. Slowly unrolling this before the delighted eyes of the child, who stood patiently waiting, she disclosed the precious red-topped shoes which Phronsie immediately clasped to her bosom.

“My own, very own shoes! whole mine!” she cried, and trudged out into the kitchen to put them on herself.

“Hulloa!” cried Dr. Fisher, coming in about a quarter of an hour later to find her tugging laboriously at the buttons--“new shoes! I declare!”

“My own!” cried Phronsie, sticking out one foot for inspection, where every button was in the wrong button-hole, “and they've got red tops, too!”

“So they have,” said the doctor, getting down on the floor beside her; “beautiful red tops, aren't they?”

“Be-yew-ti-ful,” sang the child delightedly.

“Does Polly have new shoes every day?” asked the doctor in a low voice, pretending to examine the other foot.

Phronsie opened her eyes very wide at this.