Polly never knew for long weeks afterward just how she got through that dreadful day, except that Joel and David had to be soothed, no one being able so well as herself to stop the howls of the former, who, on hearing the news, threw himself flat on the floor in a corner of Grandpapa's writing room, refusing all comfort. Little David crouched closely to him, and with never a word laid his head on his shoulder.
And afterward Polly found herself installed as Mrs. Whitney's little nurse, sitting upon the bed most of the time, and smoothing the soft, fair hair, as it lay on the pillow, with a trembling hand.
"You can't know what a comfort you are to me, Polly," every once in a while Mrs. Whitney would say, and reaching up a hand to feel for Polly's fingers.
"Am I?" said Polly, careful not to let the tears drop where they could be seen.
"Yes, indeed! And oh, Polly, I don't really believe that we ought to think the worst. God wouldn't let anything happen to our Jasper. He wouldn't, Polly." But Mrs. Whitney clutched the pillow, and turned her face into it and sobbed. And Polly smoothed her hair, and said not a word.
And all those terrible hours passed away—how, no one could tell. Outside they could hear Phronsie, who, of course, knew nothing of the blow that had fallen upon the household, gayly laughing and chattering away. She had been told that Grandpapa had gone away and that she must not go into his room; so she hadn't seen Joel and David. But Mother Fisher had hard work to keep the incessant calls for Polly from being sounded over the halls and stairs, and at last she took Phronsie into her room and closed the door.
"Now, Mother's baby," said Mrs. Fisher, seating herself on the wide haircloth sofa, and drawing Phronsie into her lap. How often had Jasper sat on this old sofa and told her his boyish confidences the same as her own children! She gave a groan at the thought of what might be happening now at that distant school.
"What is it, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and lifting a soft little hand to her mother's cheek.
"Oh, my pet," Mrs. Fisher drew Phronsie quickly to her breast, "you mustn't mind Mamsie."
"But you made a funny noise here, Mamsie," and Phronsie touched her mother's throat.