“Oh, do forgive me, Mamsie!” cried Polly, dreadfully ashamed of her abruptness; “I did not notice what you were doing. But as soon as ever you get through with that, do, will you, please, then come where I can talk with you.”
Mother Fisher gave her a keen look. “Yes, Polly,” she said, “I will, unless some other duty comes in between.” So Polly was forced to wait as patiently as possible until the gruel was done. Meanwhile she clasped her hands tightly together, while Jasper and Roslyn talked; afraid all the while that she should show her increasing dismay, as certain bits of the conversation fell upon her ears.
At last the gruel was fed to Roslyn, his pillows shaken up, and Dr. Fisher coming in, Mrs. Fisher turned to Polly.
“Jasper,” said Polly, holding out her hand.
So the two followed Mother Fisher into a smaller apartment that opened into the sick-room, and Jasper closed the door softly; while Polly threw herself down on the floor, and buried her face in Mamsie’s lap in the old way.
“Now, what is it?” asked Mother Fisher, smoothing Polly’s hair, as Jasper came and took a chair next to the two.
“O Mamsie!” cried Polly brokenly, “I do want Phronsie not to have the beautiful wedding at home, but to be married here. And do forgive me,” went on poor Polly, “for not wanting it before—it’s Jasper now who has shown me how wrong I’ve been.”
“O Mamsie!” cried Jasper, who held Polly’s hand in both of his; “indeed, she decided this herself. This is all Polly’s own idea.”
“He said he thought Phronsie ought to be allowed to have the wedding here, when I asked him,” said Polly; “then I knew at once how selfish I’d been.”
“Don’t say selfish, Polly,” begged Jasper.