Polly of Lady Gay Cottage Part 11

"I wish you would go to the medicine closet," her mother said feebly, when the pain had lessened, "and get a little round bottle at the right-hand end of the second shelf."

Polly was off like a sprite, barely waiting for directions.

"Yes, this is the one." Mrs. Dudley drew the cork hesitatingly.

"I thought I could do without it," she sighed, "but the pain is growing worse--I must have something."

She bade Polly crush one of the tablets, and two small pills from another bottle, making a powder of the three.

"Your father would have given me this before now if he had been here,"

she smiled.

"Why don't you want to take it?" queried Polly.

"I always put off anodynes as long as possible. But I will not take a large dose."

"Will it hurt you?" Polly's face was anxious.

"Oh, no! it will stop the pain. But how is it that you are home from school so early? It is not three o'clock, is it?"

"It is after four. But I didn't go this afternoon. I wouldn't leave you all alone; besides, it is snowing hard."

"Oh, is it snowing! Well, I'm glad you stayed at home. Poor little girl! you are having a dreary time." She clasped Polly's hand with gentle pressure.

"I don't mind, if you could only be well." Polly's voice almost broke.

"Don't worry! I'm easier now. Perhaps I can go to sleep."

Cautiously she laid her head on the pillow that Polly had made plump and smooth, and was soon so quiet that the small nurse could not be sure whether she were sleeping or not. The rooms were fast growing shadowy, and Polly felt that the lights would be company, so she lit the gas upstairs and down, turning it low in her mother's room. Then fetching her doll, she took a low rocker, and blue-eyed Phebe and brown-eyed Polly sat down to watch.

There was a stir on the bed. Phebe's eyes were wide open, but she made no sign when the sick woman rose totteringly to her feet. Polly's eyes were shut tight, and her breathing soft and slow. She was dreaming of Colonel Gresham and his beautiful Lone Star, when she awoke with a start to find the bed empty and uncertain footsteps in the hall.

Leaping to her feet, and dropping Phebe with no ceremony, she bounded to the head of the stairs, where her mother wavered on the top step.

Catching her gently, in a voice not quite steady, she asked:--

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I thought I'd go down--and help you wash the dishes!" Mrs. Dudley replied. "Poor child! you've had all the work to do."

"The dishes are all washed," Polly a.s.sured her, "and I am not tired.

Hadn't you better lie down again before the pain comes on?"

The sick woman suffered herself to be led back to the bed, where she sat for a moment in silence.

"I'll wipe the dishes for you," she murmured, and began fumbling in her lap. "Where are they?" she asked bewilderedly. "They are not here."

"I put them up in the china closet," Polly answered. "Please lie down!

I will call you if I need your help."

At last she was on her pillow, and for a time lay quiet.

Polly lingered near, affright in her heart, Oh, if her father were only there! For a long time she dared not move, but stood and watched the quiet face. Then, suddenly, the lips began to mutter unintelligible things, and Polly's eyes dilated in terror. That September night, when Colonel Gresham was so near to death, came vividly back to her.

"I'm afraid"--she whispered, but did not go on. With one, long, anxious look she stole softly away and downstairs to the telephone.

She wished she had called Dr. Rodman sooner.

Her heart was beating painfully as she took the receiver in her hand.

No word came to her ear, nothing save a low sputtering of the wire.

She waited, and then gently pressed the hook. Still no answer. Again and again, she made the attempt, until, at last, she realized the truth--the wires were useless.

She sat for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Finally with determination on her face she ran over to the stairs, and listened.

There was no sound. Still not quite satisfied, she crept up to her mother's room. She found little change, except that the mutterings were fainter, and at times the lips were at rest.

"I must go! I must!" Polly whispered to herself. "She acts just as Colonel Gresham did--oh, dear!"

She dreaded to leave the house, fearing that her mother might rouse--and who knew what she would do! Yet at the hospital was Dr.

Rodman and help. It would take but a few minutes to go. Thus rea.s.suring herself, she made ready to battle with the storm. It was not long before she opened the front door, but, unprepared for the fury of the wind, she gave a cry as the k.n.o.b was swept from her grasp.

Still she had no thought of turning back, and snapping the night lock, so that she could return without a key, she succeeded in shutting the door behind her.

Outside was tumult. A procession of blasts came roaring down the street. It was biting cold. The snow stung. The m.u.f.fled lights shone wanly through the night, and laid bare the desolate scene. Polly breathed hard as she staggered across the piazza. The steps were a drifty slope of white, making descent dangerous; but she plunged on, gained a scant foothold, missed the next, clutched at nothing, and went down, a helpless little heap in the whirling snow.

Starting to scramble up, she dropped back with a cry. Pluckily she tried it again, this time coming to a sitting posture with a gasp of pain. Her ankle had twisted when she fell, and was now throbbing distressfully.

"Oh, I can't go!" she half sobbed. "Dear, dear mother!"

She looked up and down the street, in hope of help; but none was there. The pain in her foot increased, and she realized that she must act quickly. With a prayer in her heart, she crawled back, little by little, up the steps and over to the door, finally, after much effort, reaching the k.n.o.b and letting herself in. Once a.s.sured that the door was fast, she sank into the hall corner, spent with her struggle.

After what seemed a long while Polly crept upstairs. Her mother was still quiet, as if asleep. There were now no mutterings. Polly s.h.i.+vered in her damp clothing and went over to the radiator. The warmth was grateful, and she dropped to the floor, cuddling beside her iron friend. Soon there were two sleepers in the lonely room.

When she awoke Polly found herself hugging a cold pillow, and she suddenly remembered that Joe was to have come to fill up the heater.

Could the fire have gone out? The question brought dismay. If she could only get down cellar!

Her foot and ankle ached unbearably, and she tried to take off her shoe; but it held fast. She pulled and pushed and twisted, gasping with pain; the boot would not stir.

"Colonel Gresham would let Oscar come over and 'tend to the heater, if he only knew," she muttered sadly--and then a hope popped up. She would ring the dinner bell from a side window--perhaps some of them would hear!

It was a painful journey downstairs, but Polly did not flinch. Again and again the little bell sent its loudest appeal out into the stormy night; but the merciless wind stifled its voice before it could reach a kindly ear. There were snow wreaths in the ringer's hair, and tears in her eyes, when she shut the window.

"I thought they must hear," she said sobbingly. Then, like a careful little housewife, she shook the snow from her dress, and brushed up the slush from the floor.

"I guess I'll go," she whispered. "Mother will freeze if I don't.

P'rhaps I can--I've got to anyway!" She caught her breath in pain.

Hobbling over to the kitchen shelf where the runabout lamp was kept, she lighted it, and, supplying herself with matches and a small shovel, she started for the cellar. In baby-fas.h.i.+on she went down, sitting on the top stair and slipping from step to step. The light threw shadows all about, grotesque and startling; but the little figure kept steadily on.

The fire was very low. Polly gazed anxiously at the dull red coals.

The damper in the lower door had a bad habit of opening when it was jarred. It was open now.

"Father was in a hurry this morning when he shut this door," she explained to herself, "and I guess he didn't stop to look. That's why it's burned out."