Polly had stood like a frozen little thing. “His eye—Mamsie!” she gasped.
“I said the bowl of water, Polly,” repeated Mrs. Pepper.
How she got the bowl of water, and then a towel, Polly never knew. All she was conscious of was standing holding the bowl while Mamsie washed away the blood, Joel all the while saying, “’Tisn’t anything—I don’t care—a single bit.”
At last Joel’s black eye shone out clear and strong. Mrs. Pepper gave a deep cry of joy—and clasped her boy tighter to her breast.
Down flopped Polly in a little heap on the floor, the bowl coming with a thud that splashed the water over the rim.
“You’re spilling all the water, Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Joel, struggling away from Mother Pepper to look down at her, amazement all over his bloody little face. “Just see there, Mamsie, she’s spilt the water all over the floor!”
“Oh, Mamsie,” breathed Polly, clasping her hands on her mother’s knee, “it isn’t Joel’s eye—it isn’t!”
Mrs. Pepper’s white lips moved. She tried to say, “God is good,” but the words not coming, she smiled instead.
“It didn’t hurt any,” declared Joel stoutly, brushing off more blood from an ugly little cut just below one of those bright black eyes.
“Take care, Joey,” said Mother Pepper—holding his brown hands; “now you must just sit still. Polly, you better run and see if Dr. Fisher can come.”