“Well, perhaps she has,” suggested James, thoughtfully. “How about that crippled sister of hers. Ain’t she had to protect her? An experience like that puts years on a young thing’s age. By the way, how is the sister?”
Hannah shook her head. “It’s a bad case the doctors think, so Miss Cicely and Mrs. Duer tell me. If it had been properly attended to in the first place, it would be different, but the poor thing was neglected and now it may be too late. We don’t dare tell the child, for her heart is bound up in her sister, and she’s set on her getting well. The two of them were all run down, what with not having enough food to nourish ’em, and perishin’ with the cold last winter on account of no coal, and that tells against the girl’s getting well. She has nothing to bear up on. See now, she’s been at the hospital ever since the week after Priscilla’s birthday, that was the first part of February, and now it’s the last of March. But we don’t give up hope. The doctors say she may possibly get to walk again—only it’ll take a long time, and she’ll have to go through a lot before it happens, if it ever does. She’ll be at the hospital all summer anyhow, and maybe longer. But it’s true, what you say about her being the cause of Polly’s acting old for her years, and having such motherly ways. Poor little creature! She’s actually getting a bit of flesh on her bones, as well as Priscilla, and I declare she’s as pretty as a picture sometimes. I told Mrs. Duer the other day, I was never afraid for Priscilla when Polly was around. She’d just let herself be cut into small pieces before she’d see a hair of Priscilla’s head harmed.”
“She’s got good pluck, I know that,” answered James, thinking of Theresa, and Polly’s fall down-stairs.
Polly had occasion to prove her “pluck” within the course of the next few days.
The children had had their regular romp in the Park one morning and were ready to go home, when Hannah bethought herself of a few little sewing odds and ends that she sorely needed. She made up her mind she would buy them on the way back. It would take her but a few blocks out of her way, and the children would not mind the little extra walk, especially as it was on the fascinating, forbidden ground of the bustling avenue, where so many shops and clanging cable-cars were.
Poor Polly, who had been perfectly used to shifting for herself amid crowds, was greatly amused at Hannah’s command that she “mustn’t let go her hand one minute,” but she did as she was bade, and clung to the nurse’s arm until they reached the shop, where Hannah’s trifles were to be bought. It was an attractive place enough, full of bright-colored ribbons and laces and tinsel and gay embroidery stuffs. There was, however, nothing very interesting to children, except in one corner, where was a counter upon which a number of artistically made rag-dolls were perched. Priscilla fell in love with these at first sight, and tugged at Hannah’s skirts, begging her to “come and see.”
Hannah was busy with her own affairs, but she left them to follow Priscilla and to exclaim, “Why, ain’t they just splendid, now?” as she knew Priscilla wanted her to do.
But Priscilla, it seemed, wanted more than this. “I wish,” she said, in a hesitating, shy murmur: “I wish I could have one of those dollies.”
Hannah stared. “Eh? Mercy on us, what next? Why, what in the world should you want with one of those dolls, when you have a nurseryful already at home. And such superior ones, into the bargain, as these couldn’t hold a candle to. Why, these are nothing but rag-babies, dearie.”