“If 'twas anythin' but my eyes, mammy, I could stand it,” she bewailed, flouncing over and over in her impatience; “and who'll do all the work now?”
“Don't think of the work, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper.
“I can't do anything but think,” said poor Polly.
Just at that moment a queer noise out in the kitchen was heard.
“Do go out, mother, and see what 'tis,” said Polly.
“I've come,” said a cracked voice, close up by the bedroom door, followed by a big black cap, which could belong to no other than Grandma Bascom, “to set by you a spell; what's the matter?” she asked, and stopped, amazed to see Polly in bed.
“Oh, Polly's taken,” screamed Mrs. Pepper in her ear.
“Taken!” repeated the old lady, “what is it—a fit?”
“No,” said Mrs. Pepper; “the same as Ben's got; and Phronsie; the measles.”
“The measles, has she?” said grandma; “well, that's bad; and Ben's away, you say.”