Polly and Kate had a long day together, while Adam was about the
house much of the time. Both of them said and did everything they
could think of to cheer and comfort Polly, whose spirits seemed
most variable. One minute she would be laughing and planning for
the summer gaily, the next she would be gloomy and depressed, and
declaring she never would live through the birth of her baby. If
she had appeared well, this would not have worried Kate; but she
looked even sicker than she seemed to feel. She was thin while
her hands were hot and tremulous. As the afternoon went on and
time to go came nearer, she grew more and more despondent, until
Kate proposed watching when the Peters family came home, calling
them up, and telling them that Polly was there, would remain all
night, and that Henry should come down.
Polly flatly vetoed the proposition, but she seemed to feel much
better after it had been made. She was like herself again for a
short time, and then she turned to Kate and said suddenly:
"Mother, if I don't get over this, will you take my baby?"
Kate looked at Polly intently. What she saw stopped the ready
answer that was on her lips. She stood thinking deeply. At last
she said gently: "Why, Polly, would you want to trust a tiny baby
with a woman you ran away from yourself?"
"Mother, I haven't asked you to forgive me for the light I put you
in before the neighbours," said Polly, "because I knew you
couldn't honestly do it, and wouldn't lie to say you did. I don't
know WHAT made me do that. I was TIRED staying alone at the house
so much, I was WILD about Henry, I was BOUND I wouldn't leave him
and go away to school. I just thought it would settle everything
easily and quickly. I never once thought of how it would make you
look and feel. Honestly I didn't, Mother. You believe me, don't
you?"
"Yes, I believe you," said Kate.
"It was an awful thing for me to do," said Polly. "I was foolish
and crazy, and I suppose I shouldn't say it, but I certainly did
have a lot of encouragement from the Peters family. They all
seemed to think it would be a great joke, that it wouldn't make
any difference, and all that, so I just did it. I knew I
shouldn't have done it; but, Mother, you'll never know the fight
I've had all my life to keep from telling stories and sneaking. I
hated your everlasting: 'Now be careful,' but when I hated it
most, I needed it worst; and I knew it, when I grew older. If
only you had been here to say, 'Now be careful,' just once, I
never would have done it; but of course I couldn't have you to
keep me straight all my life. All I can say is that I'd give my
life and never whimper, if I could be back home as I was this time
last year, and have a chance to do things your way. But that is
past, and I can't change it. What I came for to-day, and what I
want to know now is, if I go, will you take my baby?"