“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.”
Slowly and painfully she fetched wood and threw it in the heater, opening the draughts wide, and watching to see if it caught. Soon it began to crackle and blaze cheerily, and, despite her loneliness and her suffering, hope leaped in her heart.
“It will be nice and warm when mother wakes up—oh, I’m so glad I came down!”
Yet it was dreary waiting for the moment when it seemed best to put on the coal, and then she lingered still longer before she dared shut off the draught. But at last her labor was complete. The pipes were growing warm, and the heater could safely be left to care for itself.
Going upstairs was difficult and distressing; but the two flights were finally accomplished, and Polly was free to rest. She lay down quietly beside her mother, though not to sleep. Pain that made her almost cry out for relief kept her awake hour after hour. Mrs. Dudley lay very still. But for her soft breathing the little watcher at her side would have thought her dead. Many times Polly lifted herself upon her elbow, leaned over to listen, and dropped back again satisfied, but with a stifled groan. Every movement now was torture.
The night seemed to have no end. Polly felt as if she had lain there a hundred hours, and yet no sign of day. She wondered if God had forgotten to wake up the world—and then she slept.
It was so that Dr. Dudley found them at eight o’clock in the morning. When Polly came to herself her father and mother were talking of the great storm, the delay of his train, and of her sudden illness. But Polly’s story of the night sent the Doctor in haste to the aid of the injured ankle.
One glance at the swollen foot, and he whipped a pair of scissors from his pocket, inserting a blade underneath the leather.
“Oh, father,” cried Polly in alarm, “these are my second-best boots!”