“Yes, yes, but it isn’t true, it can’t be?”
“Don’t tremble, Polly. I am quite willing to tell you how things really are. I don’t wish it to be spoken of, but it is a relief to trust some one. I saw Sir James Dawson when in town. He is the first oculist in England. He told me that my sight was in a precarious state, and that if matters turned out unfavorably it is possible, nay probable, that I may become quite blind. On the other hand, he gives me a prescription which he thinks and hopes will avert the danger.”
“What is it? Oh! father, you will surely try it?”
“If you and the others will help me.”
“But what is it?”
Dr. Maybright stroked back Polly’s curls.
“Very little anxiety,” he said. “As much rest as possible, worries forbidden, home peace and rest largely insisted upon. Now run away, my dear. I hear the tramp of my poor people. This is their morning, you remember.”
Polly kissed her father, and quietly left the room.
“See if I’m not good after that,” she murmured. “Wild horses shouldn’t drag me into naughtiness after what father has just said.”