"Oh, how can I remember!" sobbed Polly. "It is all over, so in a minute, and then I just hate myself, but it doesn't do the least bit of good."
"It can't be done in a day, Polly; it will take years and years; perhaps it may be the work of a whole lifetime. But if, by watching yourself and struggling to keep back the quick words that come to you, after long years you could cure this temper, wouldn't the 'well done' be yours just as truly as if, for instance, you went on some mission abroad? It is often far more to rule yourself, than it is to spend your life working among the poor and wicked, and takes more courage and selfdenial. That may be the work which is laid out for my little daughter, and I pray that she may do it bravely and well, so that in time I may be as proud and happy in my Polly as I now am fond of her."
As her mother spoke, she rested her face against Polly's curls, and one bright tear sparkled among the soft little rings. Then she resumed,—
"And now, about Alan. I shall not scold you, Polly, for your punishment has come, as it always does, and is hard enough to bear, without my adding a word. But the danger was great, and you have only just escaped the most terrible sorrow that can ever come to any human being. Still, Alan is very ill, and may be for a long, long time to come. Anything that you can do, to make up to him for this, must be at once your duty and your pleasure, and I know that you will feel it to be so."
The talk lasted for a long time, until the fire burned out into cold, white ashes, and Polly shivered in her mother's arms. When she went up-stairs again, Mrs. Adams went with her, and always after the last quiet words in the dark, silent room, Polly felt a new reverence for her mother which never left her in the future years.
Polly went down-stairs to breakfast, the next morning, filled with gloomy forebodings, for she feared Aunt Jane's sharp glances and sharper words. But the doctor had had a plain, decided talk with Miss Roberts, the evening before, and had forbidden her to allude to Polly's trouble, so for once Aunt Jane held her peace. Soon after they left the table, Polly appeared before her mother, with her coat and cap on.
"I'm going, mamma!"
"Where?" inquired Mrs. Adams, in some surprise.
"To Mrs. Hapgood's," answered Polly, nerving herself to speak steadily. "I think I ought to tell her what I did to Alan, for he's keeping it a secret to save me, and she ought to know. Besides, I must hear how he is."
Mrs. Adams made no attempt to dissuade her, and Polly went down the street, walking more and more slowly as she neared the house, for she felt her courage fast leaving her. At the gate she paused to glance up at the window of Alan's room. The shades were drawn down, and no familiar boy face appeared there, to give her a welcome. How she dreaded to go in! The cold, raw wind swept past her, as she stood there, and it seemed to Polly that the day was strangely in harmony with her life, just then, for the warm, bright air of the morning before had given place to dull, heavy clouds which lay in long, low banners along the mountain side. As she looked up at the window above, she felt a strong, unreasoning desire to turn again and run away towards home; but just then the side door below opened softly, and Mrs. Hapgood stepped out on the piazza.