"You are very awkward, child," observed Mrs. Chatterton to Polly on her
knees, "and abrupt. Move the sponge more slowly; there, that is better."
Polly shifted her position from one aching knee to another, set her
lips closer together, and bent all her young energies to gentler
effects. But Mrs. Chatterton cried out irritably:
"Have you never taken care of a sick person, pray tell, or is it all
your back-country training that makes you so heavy-handed?"
"I helped mother take care of Phronsie when she had the measles, and
Ben and Joel," said Polly, "five years ago; we haven't been sick
lately."
"Humph!" ejaculated Mrs. Chatterton, not very elegantly. But what was
the use of a fine manner when there was nobody but a little
back-country maiden to see it?
"I shall have to endure it till Hortense returns," she said with a
sigh; "besides, it is my duty to give you something useful to do in
this house. You should be thankful that I allow you to bathe me."
Polly's eyes flashed, and the hand holding the sponge trembled. Nothing
but the fear of troubling Mamsie, and dear old Mr. King whose
forbearance was worn to the finest of threads, kept her at her post.
"Now get the violet water," said Mrs. Chatterton, with an air she would
never have dared employ towards Hortense; "it is the bottle in the
lower left-hand corner of the case."
Polly got up from her knees, and stiffly stumbled across the room to
the case of silver-mounted toilet articles: in her tumult bringing away
the upper right-hand corner vial.
"Stupide!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton among her pillows. "Go back, and
do as I bid you, girl; the lower left-hand corner bottle!"
Without a word Polly returned, and bringing the right vial set about
its use as directed, in a rapidly growing dismay at the evil feelings
surging through her, warning her it would not be safe to stay in the
room much longer.
"Do you understand," presently began Mrs. Chatterton, fastening her
cold blue eyes upon her, "what your position is in this house?
Everybody else appears to be blind and idiotic to the last degree; you
seem to have a little quickness to catch an idea."
As Polly did not answer, the question was repeated very sharply: "Do
you understand what your position is in this house?"
"Yes," said Polly, in a low voice, and dashing out the violet water
with a reckless hand, "I do."
"Take care," impatiently cried Mrs. Chatterton. Then she pushed her
pillow into a better position, and returned to the charge.
"What is it, pray, since you understand it so well?"
"I understand that I am here in this house," said Polly, quite cold and
white, "because dear Mr. King wants me to be here."
"DEAR Mr. King!" echoed Mrs. Chatterton, in shrill disdain. "Stuff and
nonsense," and she put her head back for an unpleasant cackle; it could
hardly be called a laugh. "What an idiot the man is to have the wool
pulled over his eyes in this fashion. I'll tell you, Polly"--and she
raised herself up on her elbow, the soft lace falling away from the
white, and yet shapely arm. This member had been one of her strongest
claims to beauty, and even in her rage, Mrs. Chatterton paused a second
to glance complacently at it in its new position--"you are, when all is
said about your dear Mr. King, and your absurd assumption of equality
with refined people who frequent this house, exactly the same underbred
country girl as you were in your old brown house, goodness knows
wherever that is."
"I'm glad I am," declared Polly. And she actually laughed merrily,
while she squared her sturdy shoulders. Nothing could be sweeter than
to hear it said she was worthy of the dear little old brown house, and
didn't disgrace Mamsie's bringing up.
The laugh was the last feather that overthrew Mrs. Chatterton's
restraint. She was actually furious now that she, widow of Algernon
Chatterton, who was own cousin to Jasper Horatio King, should be faced
by such presumption, and her words put aside with girlish amusement.
"And I'll tell you more," she went on, sitting quite erect now on the
bed, "your mother thinks she is doing a fine thing to get all her
family wormed in here in this style, but she'll"--
Polly Pepper, the girlish gladness gone from heart and face, waited for
no more. "OUR MOTHER!" she cried stormily, unable to utter another
word--"oh--oh!" Her breath came in quick, short gasps, the hot
indignant blood mounting to the brown waves of hair on her brow, while
she clasped her hands so tightly together, the pain at any other time
would have made her scream.
Mrs. Chatterton, aghast at the effect of her words, leaned back once
more against her pillows. "Don't try to work up a scene," she
endeavored to say carelessly. But she might as well have remonstrated
with the north wind. The little country maiden had a temper as well as
her own, and all the more for its long restraint, now on breaking
bounds, it rushed at the one who had provoked it, utterly regardless
that it was the great Mrs. Algernon Chatterton.
For two minutes, so breathlessly did Polly hurl the stinging sentences
at the figure on the bed, Cousin Eunice was obliged to let her have her
own way. Then as suddenly, the torrent ceased. Polly grew quite white.
"What have I done--oh! what have I done?" she cried, and rushed out of
the room.
"Polly--Polly!" called Jasper's voice below. She knew he wanted her to
try a new duet he had gone down town to purchase; but how could she
play with such a storm in her heart? and, worse than all else, was the
consciousness that she had spoken to one whose gray hairs should have
made her forget the provocation received, words that now plunged her
into a hot shame to recall.
She flew over the stairs--up, away from every one's sight, to a long,
dark lumber room, partially filled with trunks, and a few articles of
furniture, prized as heirlooms, but no longer admissible in the family
apartments. Polly closed the door behind her, and sank down in the
shadow of a packing box half filled with old pictures, in a distress
that would not even let her think. She covered her face with her hands,
too angry with herself to cry; too aghast at the mischief she had done,
to even remember the dreadful words Mrs. Chatterton had said to her.
"For of course, now she will complain to Mamsie, and I'm really afraid
Mr. King will find it out; and it only needs a little thing to make him
send her off. He said yesterday Dr. Valentine told him there was
nothing really the matter with her--and--dear! I don't know what will
happen."
To poor Polly, crouching there on the floor in the dim and dusty
corner, it seemed as if her wretchedness held no hope. Turn whichever
way she might, the dreadful words she had uttered rang through her
heart. They could not be unsaid; they were never to be forgotten but
must always stay and rankle there.
"Oh--oh!" she moaned, clasping her knees with distressed little palms,
and swaying back and forth, "why didn't I remember what Mamsie has
always told us--that no insult can do us harm if only we do not say or
do anything in return. Why--why couldn't I have remembered it?"
How long she stayed there she never knew. But at last, realizing that
every moment there was only making matters worse, she dragged herself
up from the little heap on the floor, and trying to put a bit of
cheerfulness into a face she knew must frighten Mamsie, she went slowly
out, and down the stairs.
But no one looked long enough at her face to notice its change of
expression. Polly, the moment she turned towards the household life
again, could feel that the air was charged with some intense
excitement. Hortense met her on the lower stairs; the maid was startled
out of her usual nonchalance, and was actually in a hurry.
"What is the matter?" cried Polly.
"Oh! the Madame is eel," said the maid; "the doctaire says it is not a
lie dees time," and she swept past Polly.
Polly clung to the stair-railing, her face whitening, and her gaze
fastened upon Mrs. Chatterton's door, where Hortense was now
disappearing. Inside, was a sound of voices, and that subdued stir that
gives token of a sick room.
"I have killed her!" cried Polly's heart. For one wild moment she was
impelled to flight; anywhere, she did not care where, to shake off by
motion in the free air this paralysis of fear. But the next she started
and, rushing down the stairs and into Mr. King's room, cried out, "Oh!
dear Grandpapa, will Mrs. Chatterton die?"
"No, no, I think not," replied the old gentleman, surprised at her
feeling. "Cousin Eunice never did show much self-control; but then, I
don't believe this piece of bad news will kill her."
"Bad news?" gasped Polly, hanging to the table where Mr. King was
writing letters. "Oh, Grandpapa! what do you mean?"
"Bless me! where have you been, Polly Pepper," said Mr. King, settling
his eyeglass to regard her closely, "not to hear the uproar in this
house? Yes, Mrs. Chatterton received a telegram a half-hour since that
her nephew, the only one that she was very fond of among her relatives,
was drowned at sea, and she has been perfectly prostrated by it, till
she really is quite ill."
Polly waited to hear no more, but on the wings of the wind, flew out
and up the stairs once more.
"Where have you been, Polly?" cried Jasper, coming out of a side
passage in time to catch a dissolving view of her flying figure.
"Polly--Polly!" and he took three steps to her one, and gained her side.
"Oh! don't stop me," begged Polly, flying on, "don't, Jasper."
He took a good look at her face. "Anything I can help you about?" he
asked quickly.
She suddenly stopped, her foot on the stair above. "Oh, Jasper!" she
cried, with clasped hands, "you don't know--she may die, and I said
horribly cruel things to her."
"Who--Mrs. Chatterton?" said the boy, opening his dark eyes; "why, you
couldn't have said cruel things to her, Polly. Don't be foolish,
child." He spoke as he would to Phronsie's terror, and smiled into her
face. But it did not reassure Polly.
"Jasper, you don't know; you can't guess what dreadful things I said,"
cried poor overwhelmed Polly, clasping her hands tightly together at
the mere thought of the words she had uttered.
"Then she must have said dreadful things to you," said the boy.
"She--but, oh, Jasper! that doesn't make it any better for me," said
Polly. "Don't stop me; I am going to see if they won't let me do
something for her."
"There are ever so many people up there now," said Jasper. "Your
mother, and Hortense, and two or three maids. What in the world could
you do, Polly? Come down into the library, and tell us all about it."
But Polly broke away from him with an "Oh! I must do something for
her," speeding on until she softly worked her way into the sick room.
Mrs. Pepper was busy with the doctor in the further part of the room,
and Polly stood quite still for a moment, wishing she were one of the
maids, to whom a bit of active service was given. She could not longer
endure her thoughts in silence, and gently going up to her mother's
side, with a timorous glance at the bed, as she passed it, she begged,
"Mamsie, can't I do something for her?"
Mrs. Pepper glanced up quickly. "No--yes, you can; take this
prescription down to Oakley's to be prepared."
Polly seized the bit of paper from Dr. Valentine's hand, and hurried
out. Again she glanced fearfully at the bed, but the curtain on that
side was drawn so that only the outline of the figure could be seen.
She was soon out on the street, the movement through the fresh air
bringing back a little color to her cheek and courage to her heart.
Things did not seem quite so bad if she only might do something for the
poor sick woman that could atone for the wretched work she had done; at
least it would be some comfort if the invalid could be helped by her
service.
Thus revolving everything in her mind, Polly did not hear her name
called, nor rapid footsteps hurrying after.
"Wait!" at last cried a voice; "O, dear me! what is the matter, Polly?"
Alexia Rhys drew herself up flushed and panting at Polly's side.
"I'm on the way to the apothecary's," said Polly, without looking
around.
"So I should suppose," said Alexia; "O, dear! I'm so hot and tired. Do
go a bit slower, Polly."
"I can't," said Polly. "She's very sick, and I must get this just as
soon as I can." She waved the prescription at her, and redoubled her
speed.
"Who?" gasped Alexia, stumbling after as best she could.
"Mrs. Chatterton," said Polly, a lump in her throat as she uttered the
name.
"O, dear me! that old thing," cried Alexia, her enthusiasm over the
errand gone.
"Hush!" said Polly hoarsely; "she may die. She has had bad news."
"What?" asked Alexia; the uncomfortable walk might be enlivened by a
bit of stray gossip; "what is it, Polly? What news?"
"A telegram," said Polly. "Her favorite nephew was drowned at sea."
"Oh! I didn't know she had any favorite nephew. Doesn't she fight with
everybody?"
"Do be quiet," begged Polly. "No; that is, perhaps, other people are
not kind to her."
"Oh!" said Alexia, in a surprised voice. "Well, I think she's perfectly
and all-through-and-through horrid, so! Don't race like this through
the streets, Polly. You'll get there soon enough."
But Polly turned a deaf ear, and at last the prescription was handed
over the counter at Oakley's, and after what seemed an endless time to
Polly, the medicine was given to her.
"Now as soon as you carry that thing home," observed Alexia, glancing
at the white parcel in Polly's hand, "I hope you'll come with us girls.
That's what I ran after you for."
"What girls?" asked Polly.
"Why, Philena and the Cornwalls; we are going to have a sleighing party
to-night, and a supper at Lilly Drexell's. Mrs. Cornwall chaperones the
thing."
Polly was surprised to feel her heart bound. It hadn't seemed as if it
could ever be moved by any news of girlish frolics, but that its dull
ache must go on forever.
"Oh! I can't," she cried the next moment. "I must stay at home, and
help take care of Mrs. Chatterton."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Alexia in a provoked tone; "you are not wanted
there, Polly Pepper; the idea, with that great house full of servants."
"Well, I shall not go," declared Polly sharply; "you needn't ask me,
Alexia. I shall stay home till she gets well."
"You little idiot!" cried Alexia, thoroughly out of temper. But as this
produced no effect on Polly, she began to wheedle and coax. "Now,
Polly, do be reasonable. You know we can't go without you; you wouldn't
spoil the whole thing; you know you wouldn't. I shall just tell the
Cornwalls that you are coming," and she turned off to the corner of the
avenue.
"Indeed you will not," called Polly after her. "Don't you dare do that,
Alexia Rhys," she said, with flashing eyes.
"You are the most uncomfortable girl I ever saw," cried Alexia,
stopping, to come slowly back. "You spoil every bit of fun with your
absurd notions. I'm quite, quite put out with you, Polly."
"I'm sorry," said poor Polly, fairly longing for the snow-revel, and
dismayed at disappointing the girls.
"No, you're not," pouted Alexia, "and I shall tell them all so," and
she broke away and ran off in the opposite direction.
Polly was met at the door by Mrs. Pepper, who grasped the packet of
medicine quickly.
"Isn't there anything else I can do, Mamsie?" begged Polly.
"No; sit down and rest; you're hot and tired, you've run so."
"I'm not tired," said Polly, not daring to ask "Is she better?"
"Well, you must be," said Mrs. Pepper, hurrying off, "going all the way
down to Oakley's."
So Polly had nothing to do but to sit out in the hall, and listen and
watch all the movements in the sick room, every one of which but
increased her terror. At least she could bear it no longer, and as Dr.
Valentine came out, putting on his gloves, she rushed after him.
"Oh! will she die?" she begged; "please do tell me, sir?"
"Die? no indeed, I hope not," said Dr. Valentine. "She has had a severe
shock to her nerves and her age is against her, but she is coming
around all right, I trust. Why, Polly, I thought better things of you,
my girl." He glanced down into the distressed face with professional
disfavor.
"I'm so glad she won't die," breathed Polly, wholly lost to his opinion
of her; and her face gleamed with something of her old brightness.
"I didn't know you were so fond of her," observed Dr. Valentine grimly;
"indeed, to speak truthfully, I have yet to learn that anybody is fond
of her, Polly."
"Now if you really want to help her," he continued thoughtfully,
pulling his beard, as Polly did not answer, "I can give you one or two
hints that might be of use."
"Oh! I do, I do," cried Polly with eagerness.
"It will be tiresome work," said Dr. Valentine, "but it will be a piece
of real charity, and perhaps, Polly, it's as well for you to begin now
as to wait till you can belong to forty charity clubs, and spend your
time going to committee meetings." And he laughed not altogether
pleasantly. How was Polly to know that Mrs. Valentine was immersed up
to her ears in a philanthropic sea with the smallest possible thought
for the doctor's home? "Now that maid," said the physician, dropping
his tone to a confidential one, "is as well as the average, but she's
not the one who is to amuse the old lady. It's that she needs more than
medicine, Polly. She actually requires diversion."
Poor Polly stood as if turned to stone. Diversion! And she had thrown
away all chance of that.
"She is suffering for the companionship of some bright young nature,"
Dr. Valentine proceeded, attributing the dismay written all over the
girl's face to natural unwillingness to do the service. "After she gets
over this attack she needs to be read to for one thing; to be told the
news; to be made to forget herself. But of course, Polly," he said
hastily, buttoning his top coat, and opening the outer door, "it's too
much to ask of you; so think no more about it, child."