"Did Pickering's uncle come with Papa Fisher?"
"No," said Jasper, with his eyes on Jack Loughead, "the Doctor was all alone, Polly."
And then the door of Pickering's room opened, and out came Dr. Bryce, with bad news written all over his face.
"I fear brain fever," he said to Dr. Fisher after the introduction was over, making the two physicians acquainted. "Come," and the door of Pickering's room closed on them both.
And twilight settled down on the old square white house, and on the new-made grave under the oak in the meadow; and Brierly people, by twos and threes, came to inquire for "the sick young man," going away with saddened faces. And a messenger from the telegraph office drove up just as Mr. Higby was pulling on the boots to his tired feet for a long walk to the village, handing in the message:
Mrs. Cabot and I will take the midnight train.
RICHARD A. CABOT,
[Illustration: THEN PHRONSIE GLANCED BACK AGAIN, AND SOFTLY JOGGED THE
CRADLE.]
And then there was nothing more to do, only to wait for the coming of
Pickering's uncle and aunt.
And the next day Pickering's calls were incessant for "Polly, Polly," sometimes upbraiding her as the brown eyes were fastened piteously on his wild face; and then begging her to just smile at him and remember how he had loved her all these years. "And now I am going to die," he would cry.
"O, Polly! Polly!" Mrs. Cabot would wring her hands and beg at such times, a world of entreaty in her voice. And then old Mr. King would interfere, carrying Polly off, and declaring it was beyond all reason for her to be so annoyed.