"Mrs. who?" repeated Miss Jerusha.

By this time Polly was so worn that she came very near turning and
fleeing, but she thought of her mother's disappointment in her, and
the loss of the news, and stood quite still.

"What is it, Jerusha?" a gentle voice here broke upon Polly's ear.

"I don't know," responded Miss Jerusha, tartly, still holding the
door much as if Polly were a robber; "it's a little girl, and I can't
make out what she wants."

"Why, it's Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, pleasantly.
"Come in, child." She opened the other half of the big door, and
led the way through the wide hail into a big, old-fashioned room,
with painted floor, and high, old side-board, and some stiff-backed
rocking-chairs.

Miss Jerusha stalked in also and seated herself by the window, and
began to knit. Polly had just opened her mouth to tell her errand,
when the door also opened suddenly and Mr. Henderson walked
in.

"Oh!" said Polly, and then she stopped, and the color flushed up
into her face.

"What is it, my dear?" and the minister took her hand kindly, and
looked down into her flushed face.

"You are not going to have a fever, and be sick and die!" she cried.