"Really and truly, Phronsie; there, run away, dear, if you love me."
Phronsie, at this, unwillingly crept off, and still Polly knelt on, with the wild remorse tugging at her heart that she had been the one to injure Jasper's prospects for life.
And then the dinner-bell rang, and Polly, who was never known to be late at a meal, heard Mrs. Higby come out into the hall again, and shake the big bell till it seemed to fill the whole farmhouse with its noise.
"Oh! I can't go down—I can't!" moaned poor Polly to herself, quite lost to everything but the dreadful distress at the mischief she had wrought. And then Phronsie came again, this time imploring, with tears—for Polly felt quite sure that she could hear her crying—that Polly would only open the door, "and let me see you just once, Polly!"
And even Mrs. Cabot came, and Polly thought she should go wild to have her stand outside there and beg and insist that Polly should come down to them all.
[Illustration: "ARE YOU SICK, POLLY?" CRIED PHRONSIE ANXIOUSLY.]
"I don't want any dinner," said Polly over and over. "I just must be alone a little while," and at last she spoke quickly to Mrs. Cabot's persistent pleadings, "Have the goodness, Mrs. Cabot, not to call me again." And then she was sorry the minute she had spoken the words, and she opened her door a little crack to call after Mrs. Cabot, as she sailed downstairs in great displeasure, "Oh! do forgive me, dear Mrs. Cabot, for speaking so. I am very sorry, but I cannot come down just yet."
"I shall send you up your dinner, then," said Mrs. Cabot, only half appeased, and pausing on the stairs.
"No, no!" begged Polly, and she seemed so distressed at the mere thought, that Mrs. Cabot unwillingly let her have her way about it.
It was in the middle of the afternoon, and Polly, exhausted by weeping, had fallen asleep just where she was, on her knees by the bed, her head on the gay bedquilt, when a low knock on the door startled her and made her rub her eyes and listen.