She
could hear the far-off cry of teamsters on some unseen road; she could
see the far-off cloud of dust following the mountain stagecoach, whose
rattling wheels she could not hear. She felt very lonely, but was not
quite afraid; she felt very melancholy, but was not entirely sad; and
she could have easily awakened her sleeping companions if she wished.
No; she was a lone widow with nine children, six of whom were already in
the lone churchyard on the hill, and the others lying ill with measles
and scarlet fever beside her. She had just walked many weary miles that
day, and had often begged from door to door for a slice of bread for the
starving little ones. It was of no use now--they would die! They would
never see their dear mother again. This was a favorite imaginative
situation of Polly's, but only indulged when her companions were asleep,
partly because she could not trust confederates with her more serious
fancies, and partly because they were at such times passive in her
hands. She glanced timidly around. Satisfied that no one could observe
her, she softly visited the bedside of each of her companions, and
administered from a purely fictitious bottle spoonfuls of invisible
medicine.
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