Part 10 (2/2)

”What is the matter?” she asked in dismayed tone, for her mother was lying on her bed, white with suffering.

”It came on suddenly--this pain.” She put her hand to her forehead, moaning.

Polly stood quite still, distress in her face. She waited until the spasm had pa.s.sed, and then said gently, ”Can't I get you something?”

”No. It is that neuralgia over my eye. I have had it before, but never like this. The medicine doesn't seem to take hold. If it isn't better soon, I'll have to try something else.”

”I wish father were home. Shan't I call Dr. Rodman?”

”Oh, no! It is growing easier. Run down and eat your dinner; I left it in the oven.”

”Have you had yours?”

”All I want.”

Polly lingered, irresolute, her anxious eyes on her mother's face.

Mrs. Dudley smiled faintly. ”Go, dear. There is nothing you can do for me.”

Polly ate a scant meal, and washed the few dishes. Then she thought of Patricia. Softly shutting the door of the living-room, she went to the telephone.

Patricia herself answered.

”I'm awfully sorry,” Polly told her, ”but I can't come.”

”Oh, Polly Dudley!” Patricia broke in, ”you said you would!”

”Mother is sick,” Polly explained, ”and I mustn't leave her.”

”Can't she stay alone? I shouldn't think she'd mind. You ask her. Oh, you must come! Mamma'll send for you, and you can stay all night. Your father'll be home then. Say, run and see if your mother won't let you come! I'll hold the wire.”

”I can't, Patricia. You don't know how sick mother is. I wouldn't leave her for anything.”

”Oh, botheree! You've just gone and spoiled all my good time!”

Polly heard the receiver slammed on its hook. She sat for a minute wondering if she could say anything to amend matters, but finally turned away. Patricia's vexation was never lasting.

She listened at the foot of the stairs, and then tiptoed up. Her mother lay as if asleep, and she crept noiselessly into her own room.

Outside the prospect was cheerless. Few people and fewer teams were abroad. Wind and snow were in command, beating the window panes, thras.h.i.+ng the bare trees, whirling round house corners with a shriek and a roar. Polly turned from the cold tumult feeling strangely desolate. She read and wandered about by turns, wondering if ever there were any other afternoon so long. At last a sound from her mother's room sent her thither. Mrs. Dudley was sitting on the edge of the bed.

”Is it worse?” Polly faltered.

A murmured affirmative was the only answer.

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