A Night of Song
David had been nearly three whole days in the convalescent ward,
taking big leaps on the road to health, when Polly was summoned to
Dr. Dudley's office. Since her meeting with Aunt Jane, the
sharp-voiced woman was ever close at hand, ready instantly to
appear in the little girl's thought and fill her with sickening
fear. Now Polly's feet lagged as she went downstairs; she dreaded
to look into the office. But Dr. Dudley was there quite alone,
smiling a blithe good-morning.
"Miss Price wishes you assistance in the care of a patient," he
began.
"Wh-y!" breathed Polly, "How funny--for her to want me!"
"She is nursing Burton Leonard," the physician explained, "a
little six-year-old boy who was operated upon yesterday for
appendicitis. His life depends on his being quiet, but he will
not keep still. Miss Price thinks you can help out by telling him
a story or two, something that will make him forget, if possible,
how terribly thirsty he is."
"Can't he have anything to drink?" questioned Polly, with a
sympathetic little frown.
"Only an occasional sip of warm water--nothing cold."
"I'll do my best," she promised. "I shall love to help, if I
can."
Dr. Dudley took her hand, and down the corridor they went, the one
with long strides, the other on dancing feet.
Master Burton stared at his visitor, his big black eyes looking
bigger in a contrast with the white, drawn little face.
"What you come for?" he asked fretfully.
"To see you," smiled Polly.
"I do' want to be seen," was the unexpected reply, and he pulled
the sheet over his head.
Polly laughed, and waited.
Presently the black eyes again appeared.
"Why don't you lie abed?" he whined.
"I did till I got well."
"Did they make you lie still?" he questioned.
"Yes, I had to keep very still indeed."
"I don't," he whispered, glancing towards the Doctor, who was
just passing out. "When they ain't lookin' I wriggle round!"
"You'd get well quicker if you'd do just as Miss Price and Dr.
Dudley tell you," advised Polly.
"Huh! My mamma says nobody on earth can make me mind!" He
beckoned her nearer. "Say," he chuckled, "she put an ice bag on
me," with a wink towards the nurse, "_and I got out some o' the
ice!_ It's awful good! She would n't give me a drop o' water,
only horrid old warm stuff." He showed his tongue, with a bit of
ice upon it.
Polly was shocked. In the light of what the physician had told
her, she realized that the boy was ignorantly thwarting the
efforts of those who were trying to save his life. She did not
know what to say."
"Do you like stories?" she finally asked.
The lad looked surprised, but answered, "Some kinds. Why?"
"I thought I'd tell you one, if you'd like me to."
"Do you know one 'bout soldiers?"
"I don't believe I do; but I know a song about a soldier."
"Can you sing?"
"Yes."
"Sing, then."
"Will you lie still if I will?" asked Polly.
"It's a go!"
So Polly sang the old, old song of "The Drummer Boy of
Waterloo," one that her grandmother had taught her when she was a
wee girl.
The boy was true to his promise, and remained motionless until the
last note ceased.
"Sing it again!" he commanded. "That's a dandy!"
Twice, three times more, the sad little ditty was sung; then the
sweet voice slipped softly into Holland's "Lullaby," which had
been learned from hearing it sung by Miss Lucy to restless little
patients.
"Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover,
Crooning so drowsily, crying so low.
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover,
Down into wonderland,
Down to the underland,
Down into wonderland go!
"Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn.
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover,
Into the stilly world,
Into the lily world.
Into the lily world gone!"
Before Polly reached the last word the song had died almost to a
breath, for Burton was "gone"--fast asleep. For a time she
watched him. His breathing was slow and steady. Finally she
slipped softly from her chair, and glanced across the room. Miss
Price nodded and smiled, and Polly tip-toed towards the door,
beckoning her to follow.
Outside, in the corridor, the nurse heard of the mischievous act
of her little patient.
"I did n't think he would do that!" sighed Miss Price, and she
shook her head gravely. "You are right to tell me at once," she
went on; "but I will not let Burton know that I learned of it
through you. Thank you for coming down. You may like to hear,"
she added, as Polly was starting away, "that I had good news from
Turkey this morning. MY sister is better; they think she is going
to get well."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" beamed Polly. Then impulsively, she put up
her arms, and the next minute they were around the neck of Miss
Hortensia Price.
This time she felt sure that the stately nurse did like kisses,
else why should she return them so cordially, and presently Polly
was skipping upstairs, full of gladness that her service had been
a success.
That night, in the hour before bedtime, David was entertainer.
Polly had promised the children delightful stories from him, and
now he made good her word. He chose for his recital something of
his aunt's that Polly had never heard, the true account of how
some little trickey Southern boys obtained a pet goat. David had
shown his wisdom in making his first selection a story that would
please the crowd. The children laughed and laughed over it, and
begged for another. The second was as unlike the first as
possible. It was about a little princess who was carried into
captivity by some rough people, and who won the hearts of
everybody, even those of her captors, by her gentleness and love,
and who finally, through her brave unselfishness, found her way to
freedom and happiness.
"I'd love to be like that Princess Yvonne," sighed Polly.
It was in David's heart to say, "You are more nearly like her
than any girl I ever saw," but the words were not spoken. He
only smiled across to Miss Lucy, who sent him a smile of
comprehension in return. The two had quickly learned to
understand each other without words.
"It is so hard always to love everybody," Polly went on. She was
thinking of Aunt Jane. "Do you love everybody, Miss Lucy,--every
single body?"
The nurse laughed softly. "I'm afraid I sometimes find it a
difficult task," she admitted; "but even when we dislike people,
or do not exactly love them, we can wish them well, and be ready
to do them kindness whenever it is possible. And we can usually
find something lovable in everybody, if we look for it deep enough
and long enough."
There was a moment's hush, and then Elsie piped out:--
"David, can't you tell another story, please?"
"It is pretty nearly bedtime," Miss Lucy suggested. "If we have
one, it must be short."
"Oh, David, sing a song--do!" begged Polly.
"Can he sing?" queried Cornelius wonderingly.
"Beautifully!" answered Polly.
"You don't know!" laughed David.
"You never heard me."
"Yes, I do know!" insisted Polly. "They would n't let you sing
solos at St. Paul's Church if you did n't sing well--so!"
The children waited in astonished silence. This was an
accomplishment of David's which had not been told them.
Miss Lucy propped him up a little higher among his pillows, and
then he began the sweet vesper hymn, "The King of Love my
Shepherd is."
The children were very quiet until they were sure that the singing
was over. Then Brida voiced everybody's thought.
"Was n't that beautiful!"
Presently Polly was going about her little nightly tasks humming
the melody to herself. She was quick to catch an air, and with a
bit of prompting from David she soon had the words.
"Oh, you David can sing it to us together to-morrow night!"
cried Elsie, and there was a responsive chorus from all over the
ward.
Polly went to sleep singing the hymn in her heart.
Miss Lucy's cot was nearest the door, and shortly after midnight
she waked with the sound of a rap in her ears. Hastily throwing
on a robe which was always at hand, she answered with a soft,
"What is it?"
"Burton Leonard is worse," came in Dr. Dudley's low voice, "and
he wants Polly to sing to him. Get her ready as quick as you can,
please."
The little girl was dreaming of Aunt Jane. She was trying to hold
a tall ladder straight up in the air, while Aunt Jane climbed to
the top, and her aunt was fretting because she did not keep it
steady. "Oh, I can't hold on a minute longer!" Polly dreamed she
was saying to herself. "But I must! I must! Because Miss Lucy
said we were to do kindness for anybody we did n't love!"
Then she roused enough to know that Miss Lucy was bending over
her, whispering:
"Polly dear! Can you wake up?"
"Oh! David?" Polly's first thought was for her friend.
"No, darling; David's all right. Dr. Dudley wants you to come
down and sing to little Burton Leonard."
"Oh, of course I'll go!" Polly was wide awake now, and ready for
anything.
She and Miss Lucy made speedy work of the dressing. Dr. Dudley
was outside the door waiting for her, and quietly they went
downstairs.
"I'll have to sing pretty soft; shan't I?" she questioned; "or
it will disturb the other folks."
"Yes," the physician agreed. "But the room is rather isolated
anyway, and the end of the wing. There's nobody near that there
's any danger of harming."
"Hullo!" came in a weak little voice, as Polly entered the
doorway. "I told 'em I'd keep still of you'd sing to me; but I
did n't b'lieve you'd come. I thought you'd be too sleepy."
The boy's mother was nervously smoothing his pillow, but at a word
from the physician she retired to a seat beside the nurse.
A small electric light glowed at the other end of the apartment,
and the night wind blew in at the open window, fluttering the
leaves of a magazine that lay near. Polly felt awed by the hush
of seriousness that seemed to fill the room. Although the Doctor
spoke in his usual tone, the voices of the others scarcely rose
above a whisper. She was glad when Dr. Dudley took her upon his
knee. His encircling arm gave her instant cheer.
"Sing 'bout the 'Drummer Boy'!" begged the sick child,
plaintively, and there was something in his tone that gave Polly a
pang of fear. How different from his commands of the morning!
Ver soft was the singing, as if in keeping with the occasion and
the hour, yet every ward was clear.
From "The Drummer Boy" Polly slipped easily into "The Star-Spangled
Banner," "America," "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean," and "The
Battle Hymn of the Republic." Then came two or three negro melodies
and some songs she had learned at school, at the end of which Dr.
Dudley whispered to her to stop and rest.
While she was singing, the sick boy had lain motionless; but now
he began to nestle, and called fretfully, "Water! Water! Do give
me some water!"
The nurse fetched a glass, but as soon as he discovered that it
was warm, he would not taste it.
"Sing more!" he pleaded.
So again Polly sang, beginning with "My Old Kentucky Home," and
then charming the Doctor with one of his favorites, "'Way down
upon the Swanee Ribber." "Annie Laurie" came next, then "Those
Evening Bells," and other old songs which her grandmother had
taught her.
"I'm afraid you're getting too tired," Dr. Dudley told her; but
she smilingly shook her head, and sang on.
Once or twice the lad drowsed, and she stopped for a bit of a
rest, until his insistent, "Sing more!" roused her from a
momentary dream.
The mother sat a little apart, but kept her eyes on her boy's
face, ready for instant service.
Several times the physician reached over to feel his patient's
pulse, and seemed satisfied with what he found.
So the night dragged by.
It was early dawn when Miss Price, in answer to the repeated call,
again fetched water, and, as before, the child refused it.
"Take away that nasty old hot stuff, and bring me some cold!" he
commanded, with a spurt of his usual lordliness.
The nurse gently urged him to taste it; but he only pushed the
spoon away.
Dr. Dudley was about to speak, when Polly interposed with the
first lines of "The Secret," a little song she had learned in
her last days of school. Her voice was loud enough to catch the
boy's attention, but the words were sung slowly and confidentially.
"What do you think is in our back yard?
P'rhaps you can guess, if you try real hard.
It is n't a puppy, or little white mice,
But it's something that's every bit as nice!
Oh, no, it's not chickens or kittens at all!"
She broke off, her eyes smilingly meeting Burton's.
"What is it?" he asked feebly.
"Take some of that," she replied, pointing to the cup, and I'll
sing "the rest."
He frowned at her, as she leaned back on the Doctor's shoulder.
In her attitude he saw nothing of hope, unless he complied with
her requirement. Without another protest he swallowed a few
spoonfuls of liquid.
"Can't you think what is soft and round and small?
It's two little--somethings, as white as snow!
_Two dear baby rabbits!_--there, now--you know!"
"Sing it again!" he begged.
Soon his eyelids dropped together, but as the song was ended he
opened them wide, with a silent appeal for more.
So the tired little girl sang the lullaby that had put him to
sleep early the day before. This time it did not have the
hoped-for effect, and the vesper hymn which David had sung--at
the bedtime hour which now seemed so very far away--came to the
singer's mind. Softly she began the tender little song, going
through it without a break.
At its close the boy lay quite still, and with a sight of relief
her bright head dropped on the pillowing shoulder.
The Doctor leaned forward, and listened. The lad's breathing was
soft and regular.
"Sound asleep at last! Now, Thistledown--a-h!" he gasped,
for Polly lay on his arm, a limp little heap.
With great strides he carried her to the window.
The nurse reached the couch as soon as he, and thrust the globule
into his hand.
Crushing it in his handkerchief, he passed it before the child's
nostrils, and with a little fluttering breath the brown eyes
opened.
"I guess--I--was--a little tired," Polly said brokenly.
"You were faint--that's all. Don't try to talk."
Miss Price brought some medicine in a glass, and Polly obediently
swallowed the draught.
"Is she all right now?" whispered Mrs. Leonard, who had been
standing back, frantically clasping and unclasping her nervous
little hands.
The nurse nodded. "For a minute I was afraid--she is not very
strong; but it was only a faint."
"If anything had happened, I should never forgiven myself for
letting her sing so long! But did n't he go off to sleep
beautifully. Just look at him--still as a mouse!" And the two
moved nearer the bed.
Polly went upstairs in Dr. Dudley's arms.
"I can--walk," she murmured.
"No; I want the pleasure of carrying you," was the light
response, and for answer a soft little hand stroked his own.
Miss Lucy met them at the door of the ward, and her face was white
with fear.
"She was tired and a little faint," the Doctor explained. "I
thought I'd better bring her up."
"Don't worry--Miss Lucy!" smiled Polly. "I'm--all right."
She sighed softly, as her head touched the pillow.
"Precious child!" murmured the nurse, and then followed the
Doctor to the door.
"Has she been singing all this time?" Reproach was in the gentle
tone.
He bowed. "I know! It was too severe a strain. But she did n't
seem very tired until just at the last--and it has probably
saved the boy's life."
"That is good--if it has n't hurt her," Miss Lucy added
anxiously.
"I think not," he replied. "She seems to be all right now. She
will probably sleep late from exhaustion. Do you suppose you can
keep the children quiet?"
"Quiet! Bless them! They won't stir, if they know it is going to
disturb Polly!"
Dr. Dudley laughed softly. "Don't let her get up till I come,"
he charged her. "I'll be in early." And he turned away.
Miss Lucy undressed Polly so gently that she did not awake. Then
she sat by her side until broad daylight. The children were still
asleep around her, when her name was whispered across the ward.
David was sitting up in bed, his face shadowed with fear.
"What's the matter with Polly?" he questioned.
Miss Lucy told briefly the incident of the night, and he lay down
again, but not to sleep. If the nurse so much as stirred, David
was always looking her way.
The ward was greatly excited at the news; but Miss Lucy had been
true in her predictions. Never had such noiseless toilets been
made within its walls. Everybody went about on tiptoe, and
Leonora Hewitt would not walk at all, lest the thump of her crutch
on the floor might waken Polly.
The little girl was still asleep when Dr. Dudley came, but soon
afterward she opened her eyes to find him at her side. Almost her
first words were an inquiry about Burton Leonard.
"He is very much better," the Doctor replied. "He wanted me to
tell you not to worry about him to-day, for he would keep still
without your singing. I did n't know there was such good stuff in
him. He has been angelic, Miss Price says, ever since he heard
that you were tired out. That seemed to touch his little heart.
He called you 'a dandy girl.' You have quite won him over."
"I'm glad," smiled Polly. "I guess I can sing a little for him
to-day, if he needs me."
"You won't!" Dr. Dudley replied. "You are to stay in bed, Miss
Polly May! When young ladies are out all night they must lie abed
the next day."
"All day long?" she queried.
"Yes."
Polly sighed a bit of a sigh; then she smiled again.
"I may talk, may n't I?" she begged.
"Not many bedside receptions to-day," he answered. "I want you
to sleep all you can."
With a little chuckle she shut her eyes tight. "Good-night!" she
said demurely.
"That is a gentle hint for me to go," the Doctor laughed. Then
he bent for a whisper in her ear. "If you sleep enough to-day, I
think we'll have a ride to-morrow."
She opened her eyes, returned a happy "thank you," and then
cuddled down on her pillow.