Dr. Fisher was called in the middle of the morning to see what was
the matter with Polly's eyes. The little man looked at her keenly
over his spectacles; then he said, "When were you taken?"

"This morning," answered Polly, her eyes smarting.

"Didn't you feel badly before?" questioned the doctor. Polly
thought back; and then she remembered that she had felt very
badly; that when she was baking over the old stove the day before
her back had ached dreadfully; and that, somehow, when she sat
down to sew, it didn't stop; only her eyes had bothered her so; she
didn't mind her back so much.

"I thought so," said the doctor, when Polly answered. "And those
eyes of yours have been used too much; what has she been doing,
ma'am?" He turned around sharply on Mrs. Pepper as he asked
this.

"Sewing," said Mrs. Pepper, "and everything; Polly does
everything, sir."

"Humphl" said the doctor; "well, she won't again in one spell; her
eyes are very bad."

At this a whoop, small but terrible to hear, came from the middle
of the bed; and Phronsie sat bolt upright. Everybody started; while
Phronsie broke out, "Don't make my Polly sick! oh! please don't!"

"Hey!" said the doctor; and he looked kindly at the small object