Polly was met at the door by Mrs. Pepper, who grasped the packet of medicine quickly.
"Isn't there anything else I can do, Mamsie?" begged Polly.
"No; sit down and rest; you're hot and tired, you've run so."
"I'm not tired," said Polly, not daring to ask "Is she better?"
"Well, you must be," said Mrs. Pepper, hurrying off, "going all the way down to Oakley's."
So Polly had nothing to do but to sit out in the hall, and listen and watch all the movements in the sick room, every one of which but increased her terror. At least she could bear it no longer, and as Dr. Valentine came out, putting on his gloves, she rushed after him.
"Oh! will she die?" she begged; "please do tell me, sir?"
"Die? no indeed, I hope not," said Dr. Valentine. "She has had a severe shock to her nerves and her age is against her, but she is coming around all right, I trust. Why, Polly, I thought better things of you, my girl." He glanced down into the distressed face with professional disfavor.
"I'm so glad she won't die," breathed Polly, wholly lost to his opinion of her; and her face gleamed with something of her old brightness.
"I didn't know you were so fond of her," observed Dr. Valentine grimly; "indeed, to speak truthfully, I have yet to learn that anybody is fond of her, Polly."