“Yes, ma'am!” said Davie, straightening himself up.
When they told Ben, he said he knew a better way than for Davie to watch; he'd have a string tied to Davie's arm, and the end he'd hold in bed, and when 'twas time for medicine, he'd pull the string, and that would wake Davie up!
Polly didn't sleep much more on her shake-down on the floor than if she had watched with Ben; for Phronsie cried and moaned, and wanted a drink of water every two minutes, it seemed to her. As she went back into her nest after one of these travels, Polly thought: “Well, I don't care, if nobody else gets sick; if Ben'll only get well. To-morrow I'm goin' to do mammy's sack she's begun for Mr. Jackson; it's all plain sew-in', just like a bag; and I can do it, I know—” and so she fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awakened by Phronsie's fretful little voice: “I want a drink of water, Polly, I do.”
“Don't she drink awfully, mammy?” asked Polly, after one of these excursions out to the kitchen after the necessary draught.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper; “and she mustn't have any more; 'twill hurt her.” But Phronsie fell into a delicious sleep after that, and didn't want any more, luckily.
“Here, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, the next morning, “take this coat up to Mr. Peterses; and be sure you get the money for it.”
“How'll I get it?” asked Joe, who didn't relish the long, hot walk.
“Why, tell 'em we're sick—Ben's sick,” added Mrs. Pepper, as the most decisive thing; “and we must have it; and then wait for it.”
“Tisn't pleasant up at the Peterses,” grumbled Joel, taking the parcel and moving slowly off.
“No, no, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, “you needn't do that,” seeing Polly take up some sewing after doing up the room and finishing the semi-weekly bake; “you're all beat out with that tussle over the stove; that sack'll have to go till next week.”