“I d’no what Mis Pepper is goin’ to do now that Polly is took with th’ measles,” said Mr. Beebe in a loud whisper. “Hem! O dear me!” and he blew his nose violently.
“Hush, Pa! You do speak dretful loud,” as Mrs. Pepper came down the loft stairs.
“It’s good of you to come, Mr. Beebe,” she said, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door.
“Mamsie,” cried Polly, flying into the middle of the bed; the tears were racing down under the bandage that Dr. Fisher had tied over her eyes that morning. “Whatever will you do now that I’ve got ’em—Oh, Mamsie!” She threw her arms around Mother Pepper.
“Polly—Polly, child!” Mrs. Pepper held her close. “You mustn’t cry. Don’t you know what Dr. Fisher told you. There—there,” she patted the brown hair as Polly snuggled up to her.
“I can’t help it,” said Polly, the tears tumbling over each other in their mad race down her cheeks. “I don’t mind my eyes, if only I could help you. Oh, what will you do, Mamsie?”
“Oh, I will get along,” said Mrs. Pepper in a cheerful voice. “And just think how good Joel is.”
“It’s good Joey hasn’t got the measles,” said Polly, trying to smile through her tears.
“Isn’t it?” said Mrs. Pepper. “And Deacon Blodgett says he does splendidly working about the place. And Davie, too—oh, Polly, just think what a comfort those two boys are.”
“I know it,” said Polly, trying to speak cheerfully, “but I do wish I could help you sew on the coats,” she said, and her face drooped further within Mother Pepper’s arms.