“I don't know,” responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the door much as if Polly were a robber; “it's a little girl, and I can't make out what she wants.”
“Why, it's Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly. “Come in, child.” She opened the other half of the big door, and led the way through the wide hall into a big, old-fashioned room, with painted floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed rocking-chairs.
Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and began to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand, when the door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked in.
“Oh!” said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up into her face.
“What is it, my dear?” and the minister took her hand kindly, and looked down into her flushed face.
“You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!” she cried.
“I hope not, my little girl,” he smiled back, encouragingly; and then Polly gave her messages, which now she managed easily enough.
“There,” broke in Miss Jerusha, “a cat can't sneeze in this town but everybody'll know it in quarter of an hour.”
And then Mrs. Henderson took Polly out to see a brood of new little chicks, that had just popped their heads out into the world; and to Polly, down on her knees, admiring, the time passed very swiftly indeed.
“Now I must go, ma'am,” she said at last, looking up into the lady's face, regretfully, “for mammy didn't say I was to stay.”