"O, dear me! that old thing," cried Alexia, her enthusiasm over the errand gone.
"Hush!" said Polly hoarsely; "she may die. She has had bad news."
"What?" asked Alexia; the uncomfortable walk might be enlivened by a bit of stray gossip; "what is it, Polly? What news?"
"A telegram," said Polly. "Her favorite nephew was drowned at sea."
"Oh! I didn't know she had any favorite nephew. Doesn't she fight with everybody?"
"Do be quiet," begged Polly. "No; that is, perhaps, other people are not kind to her."
"Oh!" said Alexia, in a surprised voice. "Well, I think she's perfectly and all-through-and-through horrid, so! Don't race like this through the streets, Polly. You'll get there soon enough."
But Polly turned a deaf ear, and at last the prescription was handed over the counter at Oakley's, and after what seemed an endless time to Polly, the medicine was given to her.
"Now as soon as you carry that thing home," observed Alexia, glancing at the white parcel in Polly's hand, "I hope you'll come with us girls. That's what I ran after you for."
"What girls?" asked Polly.