When Polly first heard it, by Phronsie's pattering downstairs and screaming: “Oh, Polly, Joey's dre-ad-ful sick, he is!” she jumped right up, and tore off the bandage.
“Now, I will help mother! I will, so there!” and in another minute she would have been up in the sick room. But the first thing she knew, a gentle but firm hand was laid upon hers; and she found herself back again in the old rocking-chair, and listening to the Doctor's words which were quite stern and decisive.
“Now, I tell you,” he said, “you must not take off that bandage again; do you know the consequences? You will be blind! and then you will be a care to your mother all your life!”
“I shall be blind, anyway,” said Polly, despairingly; “so 'twon't make any difference.”
“No; your eyes will come out of it all right, only I did hope,” and the good doctor's face fell—“that the other two boys would escape; but,” and he brightened up at sight of Polly's forlorn visage—“see you do your part by keeping still.”
But there came a day soon when everything was still around the once happy little brown house—when only whispers were heard from white lips; and thoughts were fearfully left unuttered.
On the morning of one of these days, when Mrs. Pepper felt she could not exist an hour longer without sleep, kind Mrs. Beebe came to stay until things were either better or worse.
Still the cloud hovered, dark and forbidding. At last, one afternoon, when Polly was all alone, she could endure it no longer. She flung herself down by the side of the old bed, and buried her face in the gay patched bed-quilt.
“Dear God,” she said, “make me willing to have anything,” she hesitated—“yes, anything happen; to be blind forever, and to have Joey sick, only make me good.”
How long she staid there she never knew; for she fell asleep—the first sleep she had had since Joey was taken sick. And little Mrs. Beebe coming in found her thus.