WHAT SARDIS SAID
Polly was preparing the chosen ones of her small flock for a ride. Of
late automobile rides had been few, the driver’s time having been too
full of indoor work. “They will live outdoors in a few days,” she told
herself, when her conscience had pricked her for keeping them in the
heat of Paradise Ward. But this morning no pressing task was at hand,
and she happily made ready for a short ride into the country, planning
to call for Dolly Merrifield on the way.
“Miss Dudley, there’s a woman downstairs who wants to see you,”
announced Andrew, one of the orderlies.
“Didn’t she give her name?”
“No, ma’am, she didn’t. I’ll step down and find out.”
“No, no,” returned Polly. “Probably it’s about one of the patients,
and it isn’t I she wants at all. If you’ll see to the ward a minute,
Andrew, I’ll be right back.”
As Polly entered the reception room a plump little woman arose and
greeted her.
“Why, good-morning, Mrs. Edmonson,” cried Polly. “I was just going out
to your house, to take Dolly to ride.”
The woman shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid she won’t be able to go.
Thank you just the same; but she isn’t a bit well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” responded Polly.
“Yes, it’s too bad. I think it may be the heat, we’ve had such awful
weather; but I don’t know. It’s about her I’ve come down this morning.
I didn’t know but your father would go up and see her some day; I felt
he’d be better than anybody else.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” returned Polly, “and he’ll be glad to come. What
seems to be the matter--just weakness?”
“Yes. She sits there looking like a little angel, and growing whiter
and whiter every day. I carry her out to the doorstep after the sun
is gone, but it don’t seem to do her much good. I’m afraid she’s just
fading away. If anything does happen, I don’t know what Sardis will do.
That child is the very apple of his eye.”
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Polly sighed. “I’m sure father will come to
see her right away--I’ll find out.” She stepped to a telephone and took
up the receiver.
“Is father there?... Will you please say that Polly wishes to speak
with him.” Presently she came back.
“Father says he will drive up to see her at five o’clock this
afternoon. Now, don’t worry another bit. I feel sure that he will bring
her out all right. You think she couldn’t bear even a short ride?
Well, perhaps we’d better wait and see.”
Dr. Dudley was a little late to dinner. Polly waited for him anxiously.
She had become attached to little Dolly Merrifield, for helplessness
always appealed to her, and the tiny girl was rarely attractive.
Presently she heard a step in the hall, and the Doctor walked in.
“I stayed too long to visit with my patient,” he said as he sipped his
soup. “Have I kept you waiting? Where is your mother?”
“Why, mother’s at the church to-night. Don’t you remember? She told you
she shouldn’t be home. No, dinner hasn’t waited a great while. I am
glad you were only visiting. I was afraid Dolly might be worse--how is
she?”
“I couldn’t discover any urgent need for alarm. The child is in a bad
way; but we must remedy that. She needs good country air and food. I
fancy Mrs. Edmonson doesn’t set a hotel table. Evidently there is not
too much money. What does the son do, did you say?”
“The son? Oh, Dolly’s brother! He is a minister away up in New
Hampshire, graduated from Yale two years ago.”
“Probably he isn’t making a fortune, then,” he smiled. “I wish the
child was up there with him. But I don’t see why you can’t take her
along with you. It will be better than any tonic I could give her.”
“To Overlook? Oh, I wish I could!”
“Why can’t you?”
“In the first place, I didn’t suppose they’d let her go, and then when
I heard how weak she is I thought it wouldn’t be of any use even to
think of it.”
“’Twon’t hurt her a mite--do her good.”
“You think she can bear that long trip?”
The Doctor nodded. “She might have to lie down on the way, but that
would be easy enough.”
Polly’s face had grown very bright. “I should love to have her with
us,” she responded. “What did they say? Or didn’t you speak of it?”
Dr. Dudley shook his head. “I said nothing of Overlook. Probably they
will be glad to have her go; they ought to be. You’d better see Mrs.
Edmonson at once. The time is getting short.”
Dolly’s aunt did not receive the proposition as gladly as had been
expected.
“You see,” she explained, “I’m afraid Sardis wouldn’t hear to letting
her go so far with strangers. Of course,” she hastened to add, “I’d be
willing enough; it might do her no end of good. But Sardis, he is so
afraid something will happen to her. It’s nice of you to want to take
her, and I’ll write him to-day; though I haven’t much hope he’ll let
her go.”
As for Dolly herself, she sat in her cushioned chair, eager-eyed at
first, but disappointed as she listened to her aunt’s objections.
“Why, Aunt Sophie,” she once ventured to pipe, in her tired little
voice, “I do guess it would make me ’most well, same as Miss Dudley
says. I know I could coax Sardis to say yes, if I only had him here.”
“I don’t doubt you could,” returned her aunt with a little laugh;
“Sardis would tear the house down and make a bonfire of it if you
wanted him to; but he ain’t here, and I don’t know. I expect, though,
he’ll be against it, he’s so careful.”
Polly went over and sat down by the little girl before leaving.
“Don’t worry, dear! Maybe Sardis will say yes--who knows!”
“He would if he was some folks,” returned Mrs. Edmonson; “but he isn’t.
I know just what his answer will be.”
The brightness which had come into Dolly’s face vanished and left it
listless and dull.
Aunt Sophie, also, grew sad.
“I hated to say that,” she whispered to Polly as she stood on the
doorstep; “but I couldn’t let her go on hoping and hoping, as I was
afraid she would. I wish she could go; but Sardis, though he’s smart as
all creation, acts kind o’ foolish sometimes. I’ll let you know soon ’s
I hear. I can telephone from the grocery store.”
Polly was more disappointed than she at first realized. She was
indignant with this brother of the queer name. To think anybody could
be so pig-headed as to refuse to believe what her father asserted as
truth. If it were only he that would suffer through hot August, instead
of sweet, frail little Dolly! He must be an ignorant fellow, this
Sardis. Polly said to herself that she would like to tell him what she
thought. It wouldn’t be very flattering to his judgment. She wondered
if she could induce him to be sensible if she should write herself; but
finally she decided to wait.
Nearly a week passed, but no word came from the little far-away New
Hampshire town to the Children’s House of Joy. At last Polly was so
anxious that two days before the morning of starting for Overlook she
drove out to Prattsboro.
Mrs. Edmonson had received no answer to her letter. Perhaps Sardis had
been too busy to go to the post-office, his aunt thought likely. He
lived quite a distance from the center, she said. She did not appear
to be much disturbed; but little Dolly looked whiter and wispier than
ever. Polly’s heart ached to see her.
“It won’t make any difference whether we hear or not,” Mrs. Edmonson
said dully. “I know Sardis well enough to know he would not do anything
about it. So don’t let it change your plans in the least. I may get a
letter to-morrow. He’ll answer--he always does.”
Polly drove sadly home and told her father the disappointing news.
He was sorry and said so. “Probably,” he added, “the child won’t live
through the summer if she stays here.”
Polly went back to her duties, almost wishing that she had never seen
Dolly Merrifield.
The next day went its hot, lagging way, and Paradise Ward prepared for
an early morning start. Polly put her little folks to bed early, and
when they were asleep she went downstairs, leaving a young nurse in
charge.
“No message from Prattsboro, I suppose,” she said to her mother.
“Not a word. It is too bad.”
“I’d like to give that Sardis a shaking,” said Polly grimly. “When the
dear child could be so comfortable and happy up on Overlook!”
The two were still talking when eleven strokes from the clock in the
next room started Polly to her feet. “And I meant to be asleep by this
time!” she laughed.
One of the hospital orderlies appeared at the door, an envelope in his
hand.
“Dr. Dudley wished me to give you this. He will be down in a few
minutes.”
Polly took the telegram wonderingly, then opened it. “Mother!” she
cried--“listen!”
_Raineville, New Hampshire, July--_
To ROBERT DUDLEY, M.D.,
Children’s House of Joy, Fair Harbor, Conn. Your letter received.
A big Yes. Everlasting thanks to you.
SARDIS MERRIFIELD