“Oh, what shall I do?” cried the miserable girl, wringing her hands.
“Go and pray,” whispered Minnie as she glided from her side; and Polly, trembling and weeping, slowly went up the narrow wooden staircase, and entering her little chamber, sank down upon her knees.
“Oh, spare him, only spare him, my darling little brother!” she could at first utter no other words. She had never loved the baby as she did now, when she feared that she might be about to lose him, and bitterly she lamented her own impatient temper that had made her weary of the duty of tending him. Oh, that we would so act towards our relations, that if death should remove any one from our home, our grief should not be embittered by the thought, “I was no comfort or blessing to him while he was here, and now the opportunity of being so is gone for ever!”
But the most terrible thought to Polly was, that the baby’s danger might be partly owing to her neglect. Should he die—should the little darling be taken away—could her mother ever forgive her? As Polly sobbed in an agony of grief, something fell from her bosom upon the floor; she started at the sight of her forgotten brooch, that which she had coveted so much, that which had cost her so dear. Snatching it up, and springing to her feet, with a sudden impulse she ran to the window, and flung it far out into the lane. Then once more falling on her knees, again she prayed, but more calmly, and she implored not only that the baby might live, but that her own weak, vain heart might be cleansed, that she might henceforth live not only for herself, but do her duty as a faithful servant of God. She rose somewhat comforted, and creeping down-stairs, listened ere she ventured to enter the little parlour.
“I hope that he may do well now. I shall send something for him to-night. Keep him quiet. I shall call here to-morrow.” These were the doctor’s parting words, and they were a great relief to Polly. She came in softly, and bent down by the baby, now laid again in his little cradle, and looking white as the sheet that was over him; she would have kissed his thin, pale face, but she feared to disturb the poor child. Her heart was full of mingled sorrow and love; she felt as though she could never bear to leave him again.
“Thank you, Minnie, my girl,” said Mrs. Bright earnestly; “you have been a real comfort to me in my time of need. Your mother is a happy woman to have such a child.”
“Can I do anything else for you now?” said Minnie; “if you would allow me to sit up instead of you to-night?”
“No, no; I could not close an eye. But I should be glad if you would bring Johnny home, my dear; it is near his bed-time, and I do not think that he will disturb the baby.”
“I will bring him with pleasure; where is he?” said Minnie.
“Where is he?” repeated Mrs. Bright; “is he not at your home?”