"I wonder if Phronsie's awake," she thought to herself, turning in at
the little brown gate; "if she is, she shall have a piece of bread with
lots of butter."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Pepper, from the rocking-chair in the middle of
the floor. She had something in her arms. Polly stopped suddenly,
almost letting the bowl fall.

"It's Phronsie," said the mother, "and I don't know what the matter
is with her; you'll have to go for the doctor, Polly, and just as fast
as you can."

Polly still stood, holding the bowl, and staring with all her might.
Phronsie sick!

"Don't wake her," said Mrs. Pepper.

Poor Polly couldn't have stirred to save her life, for a minute; then
she said--"Where shall I go?"

"Oh, run to Dr. Fisher's; and don't be gone long."

Polly set down the bowl of butter, and sped on the wings of the
wind for the doctor. Something dreadful was the matter, she felt,
for never had a physician been summoned to the hearty Pepper
family since she could remember, only when the father died. Fear
lent speed to her feet; and soon the doctor came, and bent over
poor little Phronsie, who still lay in her mother's arms, in a burning
fever.