Five Little Peppers Midway Part 21

Polly was surprised to feel her heart bound. It hadn't seemed as if it could ever be moved by any news of girlish frolics, but that its dull ache must go on forever.

"Oh! I can't," she cried the next moment. "I must stay at home, and help take care of Mrs. Chatterton."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Alexia in a provoked tone; "you are not wanted there, Polly Pepper; the idea, with that great house full of servants."

"Well, I shall not go," declared Polly sharply; "you needn't ask me, Alexia. I shall stay home till she gets well."

"You little idiot!" cried Alexia, thoroughly out of temper. But as this produced no effect on Polly, she began to wheedle and coax. "Now, Polly, do be reasonable. You know we can't go without you; you wouldn't spoil the whole thing; you know you wouldn't. I shall just tell the Cornwalls that you are coming," and she turned off to the corner of the avenue.

"Indeed you will not," called Polly after her. "Don't you dare do that, Alexia Rhys," she said, with flashing eyes.

"You are the most uncomfortable girl I ever saw," cried Alexia, stopping, to come slowly back. "You spoil every bit of fun with your absurd notions. I'm quite, quite put out with you, Polly."

"I'm sorry," said poor Polly, fairly longing for the snow-revel, and dismayed at disappointing the girls.

"No, you're not," pouted Alexia, "and I shall tell them all so," and she broke away and ran off in the opposite direction.

Polly was met at the door by Mrs. Pepper, who grasped the packet of medicine quickly.

"Isn't there anything else I can do, Mamsie?" begged Polly.

"No; sit down and rest; you're hot and tired, you've run so."

"I'm not tired," said Polly, not daring to ask "Is she better?"

"Well, you must be," said Mrs. Pepper, hurrying off, "going all the way down to Oakley's."

So Polly had nothing to do but to sit out in the hall, and listen and watch all the movements in the sick room, every one of which but increased her terror. At least she could bear it no longer, and as Dr.

Valentine came out, putting on his gloves, she rushed after him.

"Oh! will she die?" she begged; "please do tell me, sir?"

"Die? no indeed, I hope not," said Dr. Valentine. "She has had a severe shock to her nerves and her age is against her, but she is coming around all right, I trust. Why, Polly, I thought better things of you, my girl." He glanced down into the distressed face with professional disfavor.

"I'm so glad she won't die," breathed Polly, wholly lost to his opinion of her; and her face gleamed with something of her old brightness.

"I didn't know you were so fond of her," observed Dr. Valentine grimly; "indeed, to speak truthfully, I have yet to learn that anybody is fond of her, Polly."

"Now if you really want to help her," he continued thoughtfully, pulling his beard, as Polly did not answer, "I can give you one or two hints that might be of use."

"Oh! I do, I do," cried Polly with eagerness.

"It will be tiresome work," said Dr. Valentine, "but it will be a piece of real charity, and perhaps, Polly, it's as well for you to begin now as to wait till you can belong to forty charity clubs, and spend your time going to committee meetings." And he laughed not altogether pleasantly. How was Polly to know that Mrs. Valentine was immersed up to her ears in a philanthropic sea with the smallest possible thought for the doctor's home? "Now that maid," said the physician, dropping his tone to a confidential one, "is as well as the average, but she's not the one who is to amuse the old lady. It's that she needs more than medicine, Polly. She actually requires diversion."

Poor Polly stood as if turned to stone. Diversion! And she had thrown away all chance of that.

"She is suffering for the companionship of some bright young nature,"

Dr. Valentine proceeded, attributing the dismay written all over the girl's face to natural unwillingness to do the service. "After she gets over this attack she needs to be read to for one thing; to be told the news; to be made to forget herself. But of course, Polly," he said hastily, b.u.t.toning his top coat, and opening the outer door, "it's too much to ask of you; so think no more about it, child."

XII

NEW WORK FOR POLLY

It was Sat.u.r.day morning, and Polly ran upstairs with a bright face, the morning Journal in her hand. "I'm going to stay with Mrs. Chatterton, Hortense," she announced to that functionary in the dressing-room.

"And a comfairte may it gif to you," said Hortense, with a vicious shake of the silk wrapper in her hand, before hanging it in its place.

"Madame has the tres diablerie, cross as de two steeks, what you call it, dis morning."

Polly went softly into the room, closing the door gently after her. In the shadow of one corner of the large apartment, sat Mrs. Chatterton under many wrappings in the depths of an invalid's chair. Polly went up to her side.

"Would you like to have me read the news, Mrs. Chatterton?" she asked gently.

Mrs. Chatterton turned her head and looked at her. "No," she was about to say shortly, just as she had repulsed many little offers of Polly's for the past few days; but somehow this morning the crackling of the fresh sheet in the girl's hand, suggestive of crisp bits of gossip, was too much for her to hear indifferently, especially as she was in a worse state of mind than usual over Hortense and her bad temper.

"You may sit down and read a little, if you like," she said ungraciously. So Polly, happy as a queen at the permission, slipped into a convenient chair, and began at once. She happened fortunately on just the right things for the hungry ears; a description of a large church wedding, the day before; two or three bits about society people that Mrs. Chatterton had lost sight of, and a few other items just as acceptable.

Polly read on and on, from one thing to another, not daring to look up to see the effect, until at last everything in the way of gossip was exhausted.

"Is that all?" asked Mrs. Chatterton hungrily.

Polly, hunting the columns for anything, even a murder account if it was but in high life, turned the paper again disconsolately, obliged to confess it was.

"Well, do put it by, then," said Mrs. Chatterton sharply, "and not whirl it before my face; it gives me a frightful headache."

"I might get the Town Talk" suggested Polly, as a bright thought struck her. "It came yesterday. I saw it on the library table."

"So it is Sat.u.r.day." Mrs. Chatterton looked up quickly. "Yes, you may, Polly," her mouth watering for the revel she would have in its contents.

So Polly ran over the stairs with delighted feet, and into the library, beginning to rummage over the papers and magazines on the reading table.

"Where is it?" she exclaimed, turning them with quick fingers. "O dear!

it was right here last evening."

"What is it?" asked Phronsie, from the depths of a big arm-chair, and looking up from her book. Then she saw as soon as she had asked the question that Polly was in trouble, so she laid down her book, and slid out of the chair. "What is it, Polly? Let me help you, do."

"Why, the Town Talk--that hateful old society thing," said Polly, throwing the papers to right and left. "You know, Phronsie; it has a picture of a bottle of ink, and a big quill for a heading. O dear! do help me, child, for she will get nervous if I am gone long."

"Oh! I know where that is," said Phronsie deliberately, laying a cool little hand on Polly's hot one.

"Where?" demanded Polly feverishly. "Oh, Phronsie! where?"

"Jack Rutherford has it."

Polly threw down the papers, and started for the door.