When Polly next looked in, about an hour after, Grace was propped up against the pillows, her fingers busy with one of the sails for the boys’ boats, Phronsie sitting by her side, stitching away on the counterpart. A little table was drawn up to the side of the bed, with the work materials on it; and Phronsie had just been telling something gleeful, for Grace broke into a merry little laugh.
“Now, this looks something like,” said Polly approvingly in the doorway. She had her walking things on. “Grace, dear,” she said, coming in and standing at the foot of the bed, “I am going to town this morning; and I thought I would go around and see your aunt, Mrs. Atherton,—I wrote her so last night,—and report how well you are getting on. It will save her the trouble of coming out. And now, do you wish me to do anything for you?”
She sent a keen glance out of her clear brown eyes full into the troubled face.
Grace threw down her work. “Mrs. King,” she cried, while the hot blood went all over her face, “I told Miss Phronsie I’d like to write to Miss Willoughby, and tell her all about it.”
“You cannot write,” said Polly, while a gleam of pleasure came into her face, “until Dr. Phillips has been here and said you can. But I will go to Miss Willoughby, and tell her everything you say.”
“Will you, Mrs. King?” cried Grace. “But oh, won’t it trouble you too much?”
“No,” said Polly, “it will not trouble me too much, child.”
“Mrs. King,” said Grace, brokenly, and clasping her hands, “will you please ask Miss Willoughby to forgive me for the disgrace I’ve brought on her school; and please tell her I didn’t think of that when I began. I thought it was only myself I had to consider. And please tell her I mean to study and do everything I can to please her after this. But perhaps she won’t let me ever come back to her day-school;” and Grace’s face became suddenly overcast, as if she were going to cry; but she bit her lips, and held her hands tightly together instead. “Then I suppose I must bear it.”
“I’ll tell her every word,” said Polly. “Anything else, dear?”
“If you could see Mrs. Drysdale, and tell her how sorry I am, perhaps some time, in several years, she’ll forgive me for disgracing her so. Oh, and do tell dear Bella that she mustn’t mind if Aunt Fay should happen to say anything cross to her, because everybody knows now that Bella didn’t want to take me here, but I made her.”