But Polly broke away from him with an “Oh!  I must do something for her,” speeding on until she softly worked her way into the sick room.

Mrs. Pepper was busy with the doctor in the further part of the room, and Polly stood quite still for a moment, wishing she were one of the maids, to whom a bit of active service was given.  She could not longer endure her thoughts in silence, and gently going up to her mother’s side, with a timorous glance at the bed, as she passed it, she begged, “Mamsie, can’t I do something for her?”

Mrs. Pepper glanced up quickly.  “No—­yes, you can; take this prescription down to Oakley’s to be prepared.”

Polly seized the bit of paper from Dr. Valentine’s hand, and hurried out.  Again she glanced fearfully at the bed, but the curtain on that side was drawn so that only the outline of the figure could be seen.  She was soon out on the street, the movement through the fresh air bringing back a little color to her cheek and courage to her heart.  Things did not seem quite so bad if she only might do something for the poor sick woman that could atone for the wretched work she had done; at least it would be some comfort if the invalid could be helped by her service.

Thus revolving everything in her mind, Polly did not hear her name called, nor rapid footsteps hurrying after.

“Wait!” at last cried a voice; “O, dear me! what is the matter, Polly?” Alexia Rhys drew herself up flushed and panting at Polly’s side.

“I’m on the way to the apothecary’s,” said Polly, without looking around.

“So I should suppose,” said Alexia; “O, dear!  I’m so hot and tired.  Do go a bit slower, Polly.”

“I can’t,” said Polly.  “She’s very sick, and I must get this just as soon as I can.”  She waved the prescription at her, and redoubled her speed.

“Who?” gasped Alexia, stumbling after as best she could.

“Mrs. Chatterton,” said Polly, a lump in her throat as she uttered the name.

“O, dear me! that old thing,” cried Alexia, her enthusiasm over the errand gone.

“Hush!” said Polly hoarsely; “she may die.  She has had bad news.”

“What?” asked Alexia; the uncomfortable walk might be enlivened by a bit of stray gossip; “what is it, Polly?  What news?”

“A telegram,” said Polly.  “Her favorite nephew was drowned at sea.”

“Oh!  I didn’t know she had any favorite nephew.  Doesn’t she fight with everybody?”

“Do be quiet,” begged Polly.  “No; that is, perhaps, other people are not kind to her.”

“Oh!” said Alexia, in a surprised voice.  “Well, I think she’s perfectly and all-through-and-through horrid, so!  Don’t race like this through the streets, Polly.  You’ll get there soon enough.”

But Polly turned a deaf ear, and at last the prescription was handed over the counter at Oakley’s, and after what seemed an endless time to Polly, the medicine was given to her.