Part 12 (1/2)
Slowly and painfully she fetched wood and threw it in the heater, opening the draughts wide, and watching to see if it caught. Soon it began to crackle and blaze cheerily, and, despite her loneliness and her suffering, hope leaped in her heart.
”It will be nice and warm when mother wakes up--oh, I'm so glad I came down!”
Yet it was dreary waiting for the moment when it seemed best to put on the coal, and then she lingered still longer before she dared shut off the draught. But at last her labor was complete. The pipes were growing warm, and the heater could safely be left to care for itself.
Going upstairs was difficult and distressing; but the two flights were finally accomplished, and Polly was free to rest. She lay down quietly beside her mother, though not to sleep. Pain that made her almost cry out for relief kept her awake hour after hour. Mrs. Dudley lay very still. But for her soft breathing the little watcher at her side would have thought her dead. Many times Polly lifted herself upon her elbow, leaned over to listen, and dropped back again satisfied, but with a stifled groan. Every movement now was torture.
The night seemed to have no end. Polly felt as if she had lain there a hundred hours, and yet no sign of day. She wondered if G.o.d had forgotten to wake up the world--and then she slept.
It was so that Dr. Dudley found them at eight o'clock in the morning.
When Polly came to herself her father and mother were talking of the great storm, the delay of his train, and of her sudden illness. But Polly's story of the night sent the Doctor in haste to the aid of the injured ankle.
One glance at the swollen foot, and he whipped a pair of scissors from his pocket, inserting a blade underneath the leather.
”Oh, father,” cried Polly in alarm, ”these are my second-best boots!”
But the scissors were doing their merciful though destructive work, and the little sufferer closed her eyes with a sob of relief.
For several days Polly's seat at school was vacant; but Patricia did not allow her to get lonely.
”If you had come to see Lester, as I wanted you to,” she insisted, ”you wouldn't have sprained your ankle and had to stay home. Honestly, don't you wish you had?”
Polly glanced across to her mother with a mysterious smile.
”I am sorry,” she answered, ”not to have seen your cousin--”
”And yours!” put in Patricia.
”Yes, 'and mine,'” Polly laughed. ”But father says that blizzard lessons are sometimes better than Latin and geography; so I'm glad I didn't miss them.”
Patricia looked puzzled.
CHAPTER VIII
THE INTERMEDIATE BIRTHDAY PARTY
”There are Leonora and David and Patricia, to start with,” began Polly, ”and Elsie Meyer and Brida McCarthy and Cornelius O'Shaughnessy.”
Mrs. Dudley, writing down the names, smiled her sanction.
”I want to invite as many of the girls at school as I can,” Polly went on thoughtfully, ”Lilith Brooks and Betty Thurston anyway--oh, and Hilda Breese! I must have Hilda. She is a new scholar, but such a dear! How many does that make?”
”Eight girls, with you, and two boys.”
”Only three more girls!” mused Polly anxiously. ”I can't leave out Aimee Gentil, and I meant to ask Mabel Camp and Mary Pender.” She paused.
”That just makes it.” Her mother's pencil was waiting.
”But I don't know what to do,” Polly sighed. ”There's Gladys...o...b..rne, I ought to invite her. She's Betty's intimate friend, and I'm afraid she'll feel hurt to be skipped. And Ilga!” She drew another sigh.