“Yes. She sits there looking like a little angel, and growing whiter and whiter every day. I carry her out to the doorstep after the sun is gone, but it don’t seem to do her much good. I’m afraid she’s just fading away. If anything does happen, I don’t know what Sardis will do. That child is the very apple of his eye.”
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Polly sighed. “I’m sure father will come to see her right away—I’ll find out.” She stepped to a telephone and took up the receiver.
“Is father there?... Will you please say that Polly wishes to speak with him.” Presently she came back.
“Father says he will drive up to see her at five o’clock this afternoon. Now, don’t worry another bit. I feel sure that he will bring her out all right. You think she couldn’t bear even a short ride? Well, perhaps we’d better wait and see.”
Dr. Dudley was a little late to dinner. Polly waited for him anxiously. She had become attached to little Dolly Merrifield, for helplessness always appealed to her, and the tiny girl was rarely attractive.
Presently she heard a step in the hall, and the Doctor walked in.
“I stayed too long to visit with my patient,” he said as he sipped his soup. “Have I kept you waiting? Where is your mother?”
“Why, mother’s at the church to-night. Don’t you remember? She told you she shouldn’t be home. No, dinner hasn’t waited a great while. I am glad you were only visiting. I was afraid Dolly might be worse—how is she?”
“I couldn’t discover any urgent need for alarm. The child is in a bad way; but we must remedy that. She needs good country air and food. I fancy Mrs. Edmonson doesn’t set a hotel table. Evidently there is not too much money. What does the son do, did you say?”
“The son? Oh, Dolly’s brother! He is a minister away up in New Hampshire, graduated from Yale two years ago.”