“O Jasper! I’ve put it out of my head, but it won’t stay out,” cried Polly. “Do you think that Phronsie and Roslyn should be married here?”
“I surely do, Polly,” said Jasper decidedly.
“What?” cried Polly, aghast, all her fine visions of radiance on Phronsie’s wedding morn tumbling at once. “Then, let us go to Mamsie,” she said humbly, “and tell her we think so. Don’t let us stop to talk about it, Jasper; but we ought to go at once—this very minute.”
CHAPTER XXV.
EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON POLLY.
“JASPER,” cried Polly, “do let us go to Mamsie;” so hand in hand they hurried off to Mrs. Fishers room. But she was not there.
“Oh! now I know that Roslyn is worse,” mourned Polly, not to be comforted; “and they would not tell me.” But Jasper said cheerfully, “Oh, no, Polly! probably Father Fisher has taken her out for an airing.”
“Jasper,” cried Polly in great remorse, “if I’d only been willing”—she heaved a sigh even now at the thought of what might have been Phronsie’s marriage-day had all gone well, then she put it resolutely down—“had I just been glad to have her married here, perhaps he’d not been worse—but now, oh, dear me!” and Polly broke down, and sobbed on her husband’s shoulder like a child.
He patted her head softly. “Polly, hush, dear; let us go around to Roslyn’s room, and see for ourselves.”
So Polly mopped her face as best she could with his handkerchief (she had forgotten her own), and away they hurried to the sick-room. There, sure enough, was Mrs. Fisher.
“Come in, Polly and Jasper,” she called, as she glanced up, and saw them in the shadow of the doorway.