EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON POLLY.
“Jasper,” cried Polly, “do let us go to Mamsie;” so hand in hand they
hurried off to Mrs. Fishers room. But she was not there.
“Oh! now I know that Roslyn is worse,” mourned Polly, not to be
comforted; “and they would not tell me.” But Jasper said cheerfully,
“Oh, no, Polly! probably Father Fisher has taken her out for an airing.”
“Jasper,” cried Polly in great remorse, “if I’d only been willing”--she
heaved a sigh even now at the thought of what might have been
Phronsie’s marriage-day had all gone well, then she put it resolutely
down--“had I just been glad to have her married here, perhaps he’d not
been worse--but now, oh, dear me!” and Polly broke down, and sobbed on
her husband’s shoulder like a child.
He patted her head softly. “Polly, hush, dear; let us go around to
Roslyn’s room, and see for ourselves.”
So Polly mopped her face as best she could with his handkerchief (she
had forgotten her own), and away they hurried to the sick-room. There,
sure enough, was Mrs. Fisher.
“Come in, Polly and Jasper,” she called, as she glanced up, and saw
them in the shadow of the doorway.
Polly, with her heart bounding in relief, crept in, hanging to Jasper’s
hand.
Roslyn looked up from the pile of pillows against which he leaned, and
smiled a wan little smile that lighted up his white face.
“Well, Polly,” he said, “and Jasper; so you are not out this morning?”
“No,” said Jasper, seeing that Polly was past speaking; “but we shall
drive to Pincian Hill this afternoon,” he added cheerily. “Well, old
man,” going up to the couch that was drawn to the window, and taking up
one of the long, thin fingers, “you’ll soon be running around with us,
the best one of all.”
Roslyn smiled wearily, as if the effort were costing him much; then he
shook his head.
“Jasper,” he said slowly, “I will tell you now,--as Phronsie is not in
the room,--I shall never be well. Something will happen to separate us
again.”
“Nonsense, old fellow!” exclaimed Jasper, not knowing what else to say,
and taking refuge in those words. “Why, Grandpapa is willing now, you
know, for you to marry Phronsie, else why would he bring her? You’re
blue, Roslyn; that’s all.”
But Roslyn shook his head, and reiterated, “Something will surely
happen to separate us again.”
Meanwhile Polly was clutching Mother Fisher’s gown. “O Mamsie!” she
cried, “do come out of here; I must talk to you.”
“‘Must’ will have to give way now, Polly,” said Mrs. Fisher, quietly
going on with her work of preparing a gruel by a spirit-lamp over in a
corner; “for this ought to be done first.”
“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.
“Polly,” said Mother Fisher, and her face lightened, “I do think you
have saved Phronsie from terrible sorrow; for if you can persuade Mr.
King to let her be married here,--and no other person can do it I’m
very sure, as Phronsie won’t speak,--you’ll see Roslyn well again. And
nothing else will bring him up, the doctor and I both think.”
“I persuade Father King!” exclaimed Polly, raising her head in dismay
to look first at Mother Fisher and then at Jasper. “Oh, I never could
in all this world!”
“I imagine you could for Phronsie,” said Mrs. Fisher slowly.
“But he has just brought her clear over here at a dreadful sacrifice
to his feelings,” went on Polly in greater dismay; “and then to be
teased and urged to let her be married, and in a plain little way,
here--oh, I can’t do it!”
“‘Can’t’ is a word that you ought not to spell, Polly,” said Mother
Fisher gravely.
Polly shivered, and shrank down again into Mamsie’s lap. “Oh! I know
you’ve been disappointed in me, Mamsie,” she cried, “because I didn’t
want Phronsie to lose the beautiful marriage-day we all want to give
her at home.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Fisher slowly, “I was disappointed, Polly.”
“But Polly has come to see it all right now,” cried Jasper eagerly, and
pressing Polly’s hand comfortingly.
“I am glad of that,” said Mrs. Fisher, still smoothing Polly’s bright
brown hair.
“I’ll do it,” said Polly at last, with a gasp, and getting up to her
feet. Jasper put his arm around her, his eyes saying, “I wish I could
help you, Polly.”
“Polly better do it alone,” said Mother Fisher, “and at once; for Mr.
King is in his room reading.”
So Polly, feeling scarcely less miserable than she was before, since
now she must inflict a great blow on dear Grandpapa, went slowly out
into the hall, and on her errand.
Old Mr. King, as usual, was in a terrible state over the newspapers. A
little pile of them lay before him on the table waiting to be scanned,
while he fumed and fretted over the one he held in his hand. Polly
felt, as she obeyed his “Come in” to the timid rap she bestowed on his
door, as if the worst time in all the day were chosen to proffer such a
dreadful request. And for a moment her heart stood still, and she did
not attempt to enter.
“Come in,” commanded the old gentleman in such a dreadful roar that
Polly trembled in every limb, while he marched across the long
apartment and threw the door wide open. “Why in the name of all that’s
sensible, don’t you--oh, my goodness me, Polly child!” and he drew her
in.
He trembled inwardly as much as she, but with difficulty controlled
himself to lead her to a seat. “Now, then, Polly, my child, what is the
matter? Tell your old daddy.” Then, his fears getting the better of
him, he broke out,--
“You’ve brought bad news. Roslyn is worse;” and started for the door.
“Grandpapa--father dear,” cried Polly, flying after him.
“Oh, it isn’t that! It’s--it’s--I’ve come--to--to ask you--”
[Illustration: Old Mr. King stood in front of Polly waiting for her to
proceed.]
The old gentleman led her back to her seat with a puzzled air, and
stood in front of her waiting for her to proceed; then, seeing that
she made no headway, he exclaimed in displeasure, “Why, Polly, am I
so very dreadful that you cannot come to make a simple request of me
without all this fear?”
“Oh! it isn’t a simple request, dear Grandpapa,” said Polly, clasping
her fingers nervously as she realized that all this was only making
matters much worse for Phronsie and for Roslyn; yet for her life she
could get no farther than “it’s--it’s”--
Old Mr. King took a turn or two down the apartment, then came back to
her with such a displeased countenance as she had never seen him wear
before; at sight of which Polly forgot all the attempts at a proper
introduction to her plea, and crying out, “O father, dear! do let
Phronsie and Roslyn be married here; for Dr. Fisher thinks he won’t get
well unless you do,” she threw herself into his arms, and sobbed like a
child.
“Is that all!” exclaimed Mr. King, patting her brown hair.
“All!” cried Polly, taking up her head suddenly to look at him; “all,
Grandpapa! _Are_ you willing?” she gasped.
The old gentleman smiled down at her. “Child, I’m not only willing,
I’m glad,” he said. “Did you think I’d no more sense, Polly, than
to make my little girl any further trouble? They shall be married
to-morrow if they want to be. Now send Phronsie here to me, just as
quickly as you can fly for her,” he commanded, in such a merry tone
that Polly laughed in glee. Seeing which, as it was what he had aimed
at, he got so very cheery as he escorted her to the door and saw her
down the hall, that she ran off on light feet. “Tell her to hurry,”
called old Mr. King as a last word before she disappeared.
“Why, man alive!” said little Dr. Fisher, left alone with his patient,
“I tell you, you are in a fair way to recovery, if you only think so.”
He set his big spectacles straight on his nose, and glared at the white
face on the pile of pillows in what he meant to be a reassuring way.
Roslyn May shook his head, and clasped his long, thin fingers together.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Dr. Fisher, as he felt something coming in his
eyes that caused him to pull out his big handkerchief, and blow his
nose violently. “You are the last man I should expect to preach pluck
to. You’ve had a double allowance of backbone all your life, I take
it,” he added with a short laugh.
“I used to think that I was the possessor of one,” said Roslyn, weakly
smiling.
“Land alive!” cried the little man, delighted at the smile, and
getting cheerier than ever. “You’ve set us all an example in grit and
endurance. Now, don’t be like a cow that gives a good pail of milk and
then kicks it all over,” and he laughed again. “That’s New England
advice; you know I was raised on a farm,” he added.
“I’ve had my death-blow in this fever,” said Roslyn, the smile dying
all out, and turning his face on the pillow. “We shall only be
separated again; for Mr. King will never”--
The little doctor sprang to his side. He had fainted. And in the next
few days, when the fever came back again, each one looked into the
other’s face with despair. All except Phronsie herself.
“Oh, I can_not_ endure it!” It was Charlotte Chatterton who said this.
Charlotte, who had just come, walking in suddenly, with no word of
greeting, or expecting any. She just went up to Mother Fisher, and put
her two hands into the firm ones extended.
“Hush!” said Mother Fisher through white lips. “You will say something
you will be sorry for afterward, maybe, Charlotte.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “Let me help; give me something to do,” she
begged. “No, I don’t want to go to Phronsie yet; it would kill me to
see her suffer. I can_not_ bear it, dear Mrs. Fisher.”
“Charlotte, could you leave your lessons?” asked Mother Fisher suddenly.
“Yes,” said Charlotte, “it was no use for me to stay away; I got so
nervous I couldn’t sing; and even Herr Mericke said I best take a
little time off, and come and see for myself how you were getting on.
And then Ben’s last letter told me that things were worse than you had
reported. And so here I am;” and she drew a long sigh.
“Charlotte, you don’t know how I have wanted you,” said Mrs. Fisher,
drawing her to her side.
“Have you?” cried Charlotte delightedly. “Oh! if I had only known how
badly things were going, I should have dropped everything and come
before.”
“That is precisely the reason,” said Mother Fisher, “why I wouldn’t
let you be told, Charlotte.”
“Where’s Charlotte?” asked Phronsie, hearing some one call her name in
Mamsie’s room.
“You needn’t see her, dear; Charlotte will wait. Do, Phronsie, try and
get some rest,” said Polly.
Phronsie, in her soft white wrapper on the sofa, got up and went to the
door. “Is she in Mamsie’s room?” she asked.
“I’ll call her,” said Polly, “if you’ll only let me tuck you up on the
sofa again, Phronsie.”
“Yes, I will, Polly,” said Phronsie, obediently going back, “if you
will only call Charlotte in.”
So Polly tucked her up, and then ran into Mother Fisher’s room.
“Charlotte, you’re to come,” she said, picking her by the sleeve.
“Oh, I can’t!” cried Charlotte, edging off toward Mother Fisher.
“But you must,” said Polly imperatively, “for Phronsie has sent for
you.”
“Charlotte,” said Mrs. Fisher, with a smile at the tall girl, “I’ll
trust you.”
So Charlotte went off, with her heart warmed, into Phronsie’s room; and
Polly left them together, and ran away to comfort old Mr. King, who
nowadays would hardly let her out of his sight.
“O Charlotte, how good of you to come!” cried Phronsie, putting up her
lips to be kissed, as Charlotte went unsteadily over to the sofa.
Charlotte kneeled down by the sofa, and got tight hold of Phronsie’s
hands, mumbling something, she couldn’t have told what, determined she
wouldn’t break down.
“Charlotte,” said Phronsie very earnestly, “you are not to feel badly
for me, because I almost know that Roslyn will get well. I almost know
it, Charlotte.”
Charlotte gave a deep groan, and slid down to the floor, where she sat,
hanging to Phronsie’s hands.
“God has kept him for me,” Phronsie went on; “and he has brought us
through just everything, Charlotte, and he is going to let Roslyn get
well, I know. And now I want you to help to make the others feel so
too. Will you, Charlotte?”
But Charlotte couldn’t speak. So Phronsie said, “I am so glad you have
come, Charlotte; for you can help Mamsie to see it--that Roslyn will
get well. Poor Mamsie is so tired too.”
Charlotte buried her face in Phronsie’s soft wrapper, and her shoulders
shook with her efforts not to say anything that she “was to be sorry
for afterward.”
“And Polly is worrying,” said Phronsie as a matter of deep confidence,
and a troubled look came over her face. “O Charlotte! if you can only
help Polly not to worry, it will be just beautiful in you. Will you,
Charlotte?”
Again Charlotte could not speak. “Charlotte,” said Phronsie gently, “I
wish you would let me see your face.”
Charlotte brought her head up suddenly. Both cheeks were very red, and
her lips were pressed tightly together.
“Charlotte!” exclaimed Phronsie with a sudden fear; “are you sick?”
“No,” said Charlotte explosively; “but I am afraid I shall say
something I ought not. O Phronsie, if I only _could_ help you!”
“You can,” said Phronsie quietly. “And O Charlotte! I am so glad you
are not sick;” and she gave a relieved sigh.
“I can’t be any help to anybody,” declared Charlotte, “except to
work. I can work, if there’s anything to do, Phronsie; but as for
influencing any one, or helping them to believe anything, I’m good for
nothing.”
“Charlotte,” said Phronsie affectionately, “you help me ever and ever
so much. And so you do help every one of us. And I will tell you what
you can do for me now. Will you sing to me, Charlotte, just those soft
little things you used to, and hold my hand; and I shall go to sleep.”
So Charlotte grasped the edge of the sofa tightly with one hand while
Phronsie held the other; and sitting there on the floor, she sang over
and over the things that she knew Phronsie wanted.
“Charlotte is singing to Phronsie,” cried David, rushing into
Grandpapa’s room, where Polly and Jasper sat with old Mr. King. “Mamsie
said I was to tell you, Polly, so you needn’t worry, for now she will
go to sleep.”