“Is that you, Aunt Maria?” said Polly. “Oh, yes, there was a telegram, but we forgot all about it. And is that Scorpion, and is he going to bark? But he mustn’t! Please kneel down here, Aunt Maria, and hold Flower’s head. Whatever happens, Scorpion mustn’t bark. Give him to me!”
Before Mrs. Cameron had time to utter a word or in any way to expostulate, she found herself dragged down beside Flower, Flower’s head transferred to her capacious lap, and the precious Scorpion snatched out of her arms. Polly’s firm, muscular young fingers tightly held the dog’s mouth, and in an instant Scorpion and she were out of sight. Notwithstanding all his fighting and struggling and desperate efforts to free himself, she succeeded in carrying him to a little deserted summer pagoda at a distant end of the garden. Here she locked him in, and allowed him to suffer both cold and hunger for the remainder of the night.
There are times when even the most unkind are softened. Mrs. Cameron was not a sympathetic person. She was a great philanthropist, it is true, and was much esteemed, especially by those people who did not know her well. But love, the real name for what the Bible calls charity, seldom found an entrance into her heart. The creature she devoted most affection to was Scorpion. But now, as she sat in the still house, which all the time seemed to throb with a hidden intense life; when she heard in the far distance doors opening gently and stifled sobs and moans coming from more than one young throat; when she looked down at the deathlike face of Flower—she really did forget herself, and rose for once to the occasion.
Very gently—for she was a strong woman—she lifted Flower, and carried her into the Doctor’s study. There she laid her on a sofa, and gave her restoratives, and when Flower opened her dazed eyes she spoke to her more kindly than she had done yet.
“I have ordered something for you, which you are to take at once,” she said. “Ah! here it is! Thank you, Alice. Now, Daisy, drink this off at once.”
It was a beaten-up egg in milk and brandy, and when Flower drank it she felt no longer giddy, and was able to sit up and look around her.
In the meantime Polly and all the other children remained still as mice outside the Doctor’s door. They had stolen on tiptoe from different quarters of the old house to this position, and now they stood perfectly still, not looking at one another or uttering a sound, but with their eyes fixed with pathetic earnestness and appeal at the closed door. When would the doctors come out? When would the verdict be given? Minutes passed. The children found this time of tension an agony.
“I can’t bear it!” sobbed Firefly at last.
But the others said, “Hush!” so peremptorily, and with such a total disregard for any one person’s special emotions, that the little girl’s hysterical fit was nipped in the bud.
At last there was a sound of footsteps within the room, and the local practitioner, accompanied by the great physician from London, opened the door carefully and came out.