"Yes, this is the one." Mrs. Dudley drew the cork hesitatingly. "I thought I could do without it," she sighed, "but the pain is growing worse--I must have something." She bade Polly crush one of the tablets, and two small pills from another bottle, making a powder of the three. "Your father would have given me this before now if he had been here," she smiled. "Why don't you want to take it?" queried Polly. "I always put off anodynes as long as possible. But I will not take a large dose." "Will it hurt you?" Polly's face was anxious. "Oh, no! it will stop the pain. But how is it that you are home from school so early? It is not three o'clock, is it?" "It is after four. But I didn't go this afternoon. I wouldn't leave you all alone; besides, it is snowing hard." "Oh, is it snowing! Well, I'm glad you stayed at home. Poor little girl! you are having a dreary time." She clasped Polly's hand with gentle pressure. "I don't mind, if you could only be well." Polly's voice almost broke. "Don't worry! I'm easier now. Perhaps I can go to sleep." Cautiously she laid her head on the pillow that Polly had made plump and smooth, and was soon so quiet that the small nurse could not be sure whether she were sleeping or not. The rooms were fast growing shadowy, and Polly felt that the lights would be company, so she lit the gas upstairs and down, turning it low in her mother's room. Then fetching her doll, she took a low rocker, and blue-eyed Phebe and brown-eyed Polly sat down to watch. There was a stir on the bed. Phebe's eyes were wide open, but she made no sign when the sick woman rose totteringly to her feet. Polly's eyes were shut tight, and her breathing soft and slow. She was dreaming of Colonel Gresham and his beautiful Lone Star, when she awoke with a start to find the bed empty and uncertain footsteps in the hall. Leaping to her feet, and dropping Phebe with no ceremony, she bounded to the head of the stairs, where her mother wavered on the top step. Catching her gently, in a voice not quite steady, she asked:-- "Where are you going?" "Oh, I thought I'd go down--and help you wash the dishes!" Mrs. Dudley replied. "Poor child! you've had all the work to do." "The dishes are all washed," Polly assured her, "and I am not tired. Hadn't you better lie down again before the pain comes on?" The sick woman suffered herself to be led back to the bed, where she sat for a moment in silence. "I'll wipe the dishes for you," she murmured, and began fumbling in her lap. "Where are they?" she asked bewilderedly. "They are not here." "I put them up in the china closet," Polly answered. "Please lie down! I will call you if I need your help." At last she was on her pillow, and for a time lay quiet.