CHAPTER XXV.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 itbefore—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 hereat 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—”
Old Mr. King stood in front of Polly waiting for her to proceedOld Mr. King stood in front of Polly waiting for her to proceed.
Old Mr. King stood in front of Polly waiting for her to proceed.
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 noheadway, 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!Areyou 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 doubleallowance 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 cannotendure 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 toMother 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 cannotbear 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 MotherFisher, “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 onlycouldhelp 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’sanything 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.”