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Updated: June 27, 2025
"I can wait," said the doctor, moving down to the foot of the four-poster, where he stood looking at the feeding process, "and I can go in and see Mr. Loughead meanwhile." Pickering dodged the spoon, nearly in his mouth. "Who?" he cried. "Dear me," cried Polly, trying to save the gruel drops from falling on Mrs. Higby's crazy quilt, "how you frightened me, Pickering."
O, dear! he's had a poor spell since you went out flowerin' for him, and your pa and Dr. Bryce say he's dyin'. O, dear!" Down came the apron, showing Mrs. Higby's eyelids very red and swollen. Phronsie still stood holding her flowers, a breathing-space, then turned and went quickly to the back stairs. "Sh! don't go," called Mrs.
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