Part 23

Phronsie got up very gravely, and with one shoe half on, she leaned over and whispered in the doctor's ear:

“A stove!”

“A what?” said the doctor, looking at her, and then at the old, black thing in the corner, that looked as if it were ashamed of itself; “why, she's got one.”

“Oh,” said the child, “it won't burn; and sometimes Polly cries, she does, when she's all alone--and I see her.”

“Now,” said the doctor, very sympathetically, “that's too bad; that is! and then what does she do?”

“Oh, Ben stuffs it up,” said the child, laughing; “and so does Polly too, with paper; and then it all tumbles out quick; oh! just as quick!” And Phronsie shook her yellow head at the dismal remembrance.

“Do you suppose,” said the doctor, getting up, “that you know of any smart little girl around here, about four years old and that knows how to button on her own red-topped shoes, that would like to go to ride to-morrow morning in my carriage with me?

“Oh, I do!” cried Phronsie, hopping on one toe; “it's me!”

“Very well, then,” said Dr. Fisher, going to the bedroom door, “we'll lookout for to-morrow, then.”

To poor Polly, lying in the darkened room, or sitting up in the big rocking-chair--for Polly wasn't really very sick in other respects, the disease having all gone into the merry brown eyes--the time seemed interminable. Not to do anything! The very idea at any time would have filled her active, wide-awake little body with horror; and now, here she was!

“Oh, dear, I can't bear it!” she said, when she knew by the noise in the kitchen that everybody was out there; so nobody heard, except a fat, old black spider in the corner, and he didn't tell anyone!

“I know it's a week,” she said, “since dinnertime! If Ben were only well, to talk to me.”

“Oh, I say, Polly,” screamed Joel at that moment running in, “Ben's a-comin' down the stairs!”

“Stop, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper; “you shouldn't have told; he wanted to surprise Polly.”

“Oh, is he!” cried Polly, clasping her hands in rapture; “mammy, can't I take off this horrid bandage, and see him?”

“Dear me, no!” said Mrs. Pepper, springing forward; “not for the world, Polly! Dr. Fisher'd have our ears off!”

“Well, I can hear, any way,” said Polly, resigning herself to the remaining comfort; “here he is! oh, Ben!”

“There,” said Ben, grasping Polly, bandage and all; “now we're all right; and say, Polly, you're a brick!”

“Mammy told me not to say that the other day,” said Joel, with a very virtuous air.

“Can't help it,” said Ben, who was a little wild over Polly, and besides, he had been sick himself, and had borne a good deal too.

“Now,” said Mrs. Pepper, after the first excitement was over, “you're so comfortable together, and Phronsie don't want me now, I'll go to the store; I must get some more work if Mr. Atkins'll give it to me.”

“I'll be all right now, mammy, that Ben's here,” cried Polly, settling back into her chair, with Phronsie on the stool at her feet.

“I'm goin' to tell her stories, ma,” cried Ben, “so you needn't worry about us.”

“Isn't it funny, Ben,” said Polly, as the gate clicked after the mother, “to be sitting still, and telling stories in the daytime?”

“Rather funny!” replied Ben.

“Well, do go on,” said Joel, as usual, rolling on the floor, in a dreadful hurry for the story to begin. Little David looked up quietly, as he sat on Ben's other side, his hands clasped tight together, just as eager, though he said nothing.

“Well; once upon a time,” began Ben delightfully, and launched into one of the stories that the children thought perfectly lovely.

“Oh, Bensie,” cried Polly, entranced, as they listened with bated breath, “however do you think of such nice things!”