"Oh, no!" laughed Miss Major. "I'd rather have a five-pound box any time! And so would you!"

"I suppose he's used to that size," retorted Miss Castlevaine. "He probably gives 'em to his girl by the cartload—huh!"

"Who is she?" queried Miss Major.

"Why, that Puddicombe girl! He is engaged to Blanche Puddicombe—didn't you know it?"

"No, I hadn't heard."

"Well, he is! They say the wedding isn't coming off till next spring. I guess he's bound to have all he can get out of his freedom till then—he won't have much after he's tied to that silly-pate!"

"She looks it all right! Her mother isn't any too smart."

"No, and the Puddicombe side is worse. We used to think that Si Puddicombe knew less than nothing! And Le Grand Puddicombe—"

Juanita Sterling edged a little closer into the seat corner. She had no interest in Le Grand Puddicombe. She stared into the night. A raw wind struck her face. Thick clouds had suddenly shut out the moon, and a chill over-spread the earth. All was dark, dark, except for the flashing lines ahead. The steady pur-r-r-r-r-ing of the car was in the air. Miss Castlevaine's monotonous voice ran on and on; but, the little woman at the end of the seat realized nothing except the insistent words knelling through her brain,—"Engaged to Blanche Puddicombe! Engaged to Blanche Puddicombe!"

It was not until she was in her room, with the door safely locked, that she commanded herself sufficiently to answer the clanging voice.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" she burst out. "It's a lie!—a miserable, sneaking lie!"

"Engaged to Blanche Puddicombe! Engaged to Blanche Puddicombe!" was the mocking retort.

She dropped on her knees by the bedside and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, God," she whispered, "forgive me for being a fool!"



CHAPTER XXI

TWO OF THEM

Polly came early the next morning to talk over things.

"You got all tired out, didn't you?" she exclaimed, meeting the wearied eyes.

"Oh, no!" denied Miss Sterling. "I didn't sleep quite as well as usual, but I'm all right."

"I'm glad it is only that. You look almost sick," Polly scanned the pale face a little doubtfully. "I'm worried about David—he acted so queer last night."

"What's the trouble? They were talking of it coming home."

"About David?—or me?"

"Miss Castlevaine spoke of David's being with Patricia, and was wondering if you had quarreled—that's all."

"No, there hasn't been a word!" cried Polly disgustedly. "But I suppose he is jealous of Doodles—such a silly! He's a lovely boy, if he weren't always getting jealous of everybody. He wants me to stay right with him every minute and not speak to anybody else!"

"That is foolish."

"I know it, but that's David Collins!"

"I wonder—" she stopped.

"What?" asked Polly.

"I was only thinking about Colonel Gresham. Perhaps it was jealousy that caused the estrangement between him and Mrs. Jocelyn."

"Maybe—I never heard what it was."

"Possibly it is in the blood, and David can't help it."

"He needn't be a goose just because his grand uncle was! It isn't as if we were grown up!"

Miss Sterling gave a little laugh.

"I don't care, it isn't!" insisted Polly. "If I were eighteen and engaged to him, of course, I shouldn't expect to go around with other boys—'t wouldn't be right: but now—!" Polly's face finished it.

Juanita Sterling looked gravely at nothing.

"And such a boy as Doodles!" Polly went on. "To start with, he is younger than I am, and that ought to be enough to give David some sense! Mother says she didn't see me do anything out of the way—did you. Miss Sterling?"

"Why—why,—what was it you asked, Polly? I was thinking so hard, I lost that last!"

Polly looked keenly at her friend's flushed face.

"I believe you do think I did something! What is it? Tell me right out! I shan't mind!"

"No, no, Polly! Forgive me, it wasn't anything about you and David—I happened to let another thought in just for a minute—that was all. No, I don't think you did anything that a sensible boy would mind in the least. Even if you were grown up and engaged to David, you did nothing that should have caused him any annoyance."

"Oh! that's more than mother gave me credit for!—Do you really know what you're saying anyway?" laughed Polly.

"Perfectly, Miss Dudley! And I declare to you this moment that you are a model of propriety!"

"O-o-h! Don't I look awfully puffed up? Now you'll think me silly! But I've talked long enough about David and me. I'm dying to tell you how glad, glad, glad I was last evening every time I looked your way! I almost forgot the birthday girl for thinking of you! Wasn't Mr. Randolph lovely? And didn't you have a dandy time? Why, he kept as close to you as if you 'd been engaged to him! He—"

"Oh, Polly, don't talk that silly stuff! I won't hear it!" Miss Sterling got up hurriedly and went to her work-table, apparently hunting for something in her spool basket.

"Why, Miss Nita!" Polly's tone was grieved.

"Well, forgive me," came from over the array of threads and silks, "but I do hate to hear you say such things!"

"I was only telling the truth," said Polly plaintively. "I thought you were having a lovely time—you looked as if you were! Doodles spoke of it."

"Yes, I dare say I looked and acted like an old fool!"

"Miss Nita! You couldn't! You looked too sweet for anything, and I guess he thought so—"

"Polly! what did I tell you?" She came back with a half-mended stocking.

"Aren't you ever going to let me speak of Mr. Randolph again? He acted as if he were dead in love with y—"

A hand was clapped over her mouth.

"I won't hear it! I won't! I won't!" Miss Sterling laughed a little uncertainly.

Polly drew a long breath of disappointment. "I never knew you to act like this before," she mused.

"How sweetly Doodles sang!" said Miss Sterling.

"Yes," agreed Polly dispiritedly.

"And you are a charming accompanist."

"Oh! now, who's silly?"

"Nobody." Miss Sterling drew her hand from her stocking.

"It doesn't seem to me that I play well at all—I long to do so much better."

"It is a rare gift to be a good accompanist, and you surely possess it."

"Thank you—you're not saying that to counterbalance what you said about—?"

"No, I'm not! When I say a thing I mean it."

"Perhaps some other folks do. Oh, Miss Nita! I couldn't help hearing what Mr. Randolph said when he bade you good-bye—I was so near!"

"What if you did! There was nothing secret about it." The voice was hard and unnatural. Miss Sterling felt the flame in her cheeks.

"Well, I was almost sure that it meant he was going to take you to ride, weren't you?"

"Of course he won't ask me!" She crossed over to the work-table for another stocking.

"I think he will," said Polly decidedly. "You'll go if he does, shan't you?"

"No, not an inch!"

"Oh, why? I'd go in a minute if he'd ask me!"

"Isn't there something we can talk about besides that detestable man! How did Colonel Gresham enjoy Mrs. Adlerfeld?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him. I guess I'd better go. Mother may want me." Polly walked slowly toward the door.

"I hope I shall be in a more agreeable mood when you come next time," smiled Miss Sterling.

"I hope so," replied Polly soberly.

The door had shut, the light footfalls were growing faint, when Juanita Sterling began to sob. Her lips twitched as she tried to suppress the tears. It was no use, they would have their way, and she finally hid her face in her hands and let them go.

"Why, Miss Nita! Dear Miss Nita!" Polly had her arms around her friend's neck, crooning love words.

"I—I—didn't hear you knock!" apologized Miss Sterling.

"Never mind, you darling! I only gave one little tap—and then I—came in. You don't care, do you? If you do, I'll go right away. But I'm sorry you feel so bad! You're not sick, are you?"

"N-no,—oh, no!"

"Well, don't tell me, unless you'd rather. Sometimes I feel better to tell mother when things trouble me."

Getting no answer, she went on.

"Should you like to have mother come over?"

"Mercy—no! Don't tell anybody, Polly,—will you?—what a fool I am!"

"Of course, I won't tell—ever! But you're not a fool! Nobody can help crying when things go wrong. Miss Sniffen hasn't been saying anything, has she?"

"Oh, no! I haven't seen her lately."

Polly waited patiently.

"I came back for my handkerchief," she explained. "I thought I must have dropped it—oh, there it is!"

"Was I dreadfully cross to you? I didn't mean to be, dear child!"

"You weren't a bit!" insisted Polly. "I ought to know better than to torment you about—that man. But I like him so well, I can't understand why you don't. I wish you did!"

The sobs started again, and Miss Sterling got up quickly.

"I don't see what makes me act—like this!" she exclaimed fiercely.

Polly was not obtuse. She began to think hard. Still, Miss Nita had said—Miss Nita would not lie! It was beyond her understanding.

Miss Sterling wiped her eyes.

"You know we're to go on a hike to-morrow," said Polly tentatively.

"Ye-s," feebly. Then, "I'm not going."

"Oh! why?"

"Don't want to! Should if it wasn't for that!"

"Good reason," commented Polly, and she waited for a retort, but none came. "I'm afraid David will fuss," she said finally.

"I don't blame him one mite!" Miss Sterling broke out.

"Wh-why, you said—I hadn't done a thing!" Polly was plainly astonished.

"You haven't! But I don't blame David all the same." Miss Sterling smiled a queer little equivocal smile.

"Well, you two are the hardest mortals to understand!" sighed Polly. "I give it up!" She skipped toward the door. "Be ready at two, to-morrow. Miss Nita!" she called back. "If you're good, I'll let you walk with David."



CHAPTER XXII

DANCING HIKERS

Juanita Sterling was in the little procession that started from the June Holiday Home at two o'clock. So was David Collins. They were nearly the whole line apart, and Polly skipped up and down between them.

"I'm so glad you were able to come!" she told Miss Sterling, squeezing her arm. "I haven't had a chance to speak to David yet; but I must." She sighed. "Oh, dear, I hate fusses! He's with Leonora. Say, did you see Doodles? He had to go to the music store and have something done to his violin—he said it wouldn't take more than three minutes. He's going to catch up with us farther along; he can take a short cut across from Columbia Street. Think of him and Blue coming clear down from Foxford just to go to walk with us!"

"It looks as if they wanted to come."

Polly laughed.

"I suppose I mustn't speak to either of them, or David will be furious! I guess I'll go on and do as I like! There's Miss Crilly beckoning—I promised her I'd walk a little way with her. Good-bye for now!"

Miss Sterling saw Doodles come up a cross street, violin in hand, and run ahead to join Polly. She chuckled softly.

"Where are we bound for to-day?" queried Miss Mullaly in her ear.

"I don't know. Polly hasn't told me the route."

A motor-car whizzed by.

"Wasn't that Mr. Randolph?"

"I think so," answered Miss Sterling. Her tone was indifferent.

"I've seen that lady with him two or three times. Do you know who it is?"

"Miss Puddicombe, I believe, daughter of one of the Board."

"Oh!"

The eyes of the other involuntarily followed the car.

"She dresses in all colors of the rainbow," laughed Miss Mullaly. "It's queer, how little taste some people—But maybe she is a friend of yours!"

"No, I never spoke to her. I have heard of her astonishing combinations, though."

Polly came running back.

"Isn't it lovely that Doodles has his violin! He says when we get tired and come to a nice place to rest, he will play to us. Aren't you tired? I want somebody to be, so we can have the music. He has learned some new pieces."

"I think there is a pretty grove not far ahead. Don't you remember it?—There's a great rock at one side, and a little clump of young birches near by."

"Oh, yes, next to a sheep pasture! That will be just the place! I'll tell Doodles!"

But before the wood was reached, the party came upon a car by the side of the road. Juanita Sterling had recognized it and longed to run away.

"Why, it's Mr. Randolph!" discovered Miss Mullaly.

"Yes, he has tire trouble, I see."

The president of the Home was already talking with those ahead.

Polly came back.

"Mr. Randolph and Miss Puddicombe," she whispered. "He is introducing her to the ladies."

Miss Sterling nodded and shrank away.

"I don't want to meet her," she objected. "I wonder if they'd notice if we should cut across this lot."

"Oh, don't! I'm afraid they would."

The other looked longingly toward the way of escape while she walked on with Polly.

Juanita Sterling and Blanche Puddicombe stood face to face, a smiling "How do you do, Miss Puddicombe!" on one side, a gushing "I'm charmed to meet you!" on the other, with a gingerly hand-shake between.

Nelson Randolph was too busy with his tire for much talking, and, as early as decency would allow, Miss Sterling by degrees slipped into the background,

"Let's go on," she whispered, taking Miss Leatherland's arm.

The others straggled after, by twos and threes.

"Why didn't you stay longer?" questioned Polly, overtaking her friend.

"There was nothing to stay for," she laughed.

"Miss Puddicombe said she would like to get acquainted with you." Polly's tone had the inflection of disappointment.

"Very kind of her," was the quiet comment.

Polly glanced whimsically at Miss Sterling's face. "I guess that is the grove you were speaking of," was what she said.

Many of the ladies were glad to stop, and scattered stones and mossy logs made pleasant resting places.

Doodles played delightfully and finally slipped into a waltz.

"Oh, my feet just won't stay still!" cried Miss Crilly. "Come on, Polly!" And the two went dancing through the wood.

"It's better over there in the pasture," said Polly, as they came to a sudden halt against a big pine.

"Let's try it!" Miss Crilly pulled her forward, and over they ran, hand in hand.

"Doodles! Doodles!" they called.

The boy and the violin were quickly there, and Patricia and the young folks ran after.

"Oh, this is lovely! Better come and try it!"—"The very dandiest place!" cried the dancers as they stopped for breath.

Miss Major, Miss Mullaly, and others came laughing into the open.

Doodles played with zest, everybody was in merry mood, and the dance went gayly on.

Polly suddenly ran into the grove for her beloved Miss Nita.

"You must! You must!" she declared, as Miss Sterling doubtfully shook her head. "You don't know how much nicer it is to dance outdoors! Come!"

She hesitated, but the music was inspiring, and impulsively tossing all else aside she skipped on with Polly.

Along the road jogged a buggy, and the driver stared at the unusual sight. Then he stopped his horse.

"What's up?" he called out. "Is it a boardin'-school or a lunatic asylum?"

Polly and Miss Sterling came whirling toward him. "Neither, sir!" answered Polly promptly. "We are dancing hikers!"

"Wh-at?" the man gasped.

But the laughing couple waltzed on.

Blue had gallantly claimed Juanita Sterling for her second dance, and as they waltzed down to the street they saw the motorists whom they had left beside the road driving toward them. The car stopped, and Mr. Randolph and Miss Puddicombe stepped out.

"It was too tempting!" he exclaimed. "We couldn't go by. Is it a free-for-everybody dance?"

"Of course it is!" answered Blue. "We are very glad to have you stop and try it with us."

The Home President turned to his companion. "Will you come?" he said.

She looked down with a scowl. "Why, Nelson, I can't dance on such rough ground!"

"Oh, come on!" he urged. "What the others can do, we can!"

"It isn't bad—really!" smiled Miss Sterling. "The sheep have nibbled it pretty smooth."

The couples whirled off, but soon afterwards Nelson Randolph was seen standing alone over by the wood.

"Guess she's the kind that goes with waxed floors and a whole orchestra," laughed Blue.

When the fiddling came to a pause Juanita Sterling found herself not far from the man whom she was endeavoring to shun.

"Let's go down to those birches!" she proposed carelessly. But she was too late, for Nelson Randolph was already coming her way.

"Too tired for another turn?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I'm not tired!"—yet her face did not reflect his smile. She wished he would go away and leave her alone. Why must she continually be meeting him! Still she could not easily refuse when he urged his request, and she yielded a somewhat grave consent.

Miss Crilly and David Collins gayly led the quadrille that followed, and even Miss Castlevaine's habitual sneer was lost in the enjoyment of the moment. But Juanita Sterling, lover of all outdoors, devotee of music and the dance, with the best partner on the ground, went through the steps, her graceful feet and her aching heart pitifully at variance.

They walked together over to the edge of the wood.

"I have business in Riverview to-morrow morning—would you like to go? The ride over the mountain is very pretty now, and my errand won't take more than five minutes."

She could feel the warm blood creep up her face. Her answer hesitated. "I am sorry," came at last, "but I'm afraid I cannot—to-morrow."

He gave a little rueful laugh. "I always choose the wrong time," he said.

"I am very sorry," she repeated truthfully.

"Nelson!" called Miss Puddicombe, as they drew near. "It is horribly impolite; but I think I'll have to hurry you a little. I want to see Grace about those tickets for the Charity Fair, and it is getting late."

"I am at your disposal," he replied gallantly. And shortly they were gone.

Polly walked home with Miss Sterling. David was devoting himself to Patricia. Polly's gay mood had passed and left her quiet and pensive. Only commonplaces were spoken—Miss Castlevaine was just ahead, and her ears were sharp. Miss Sterling knew that as soon as the seclusion of the third-floor corner room was reached Polly's heart would overflow in confidences.

"Will you come in?" For Polly had stopped at the entrance.

"Yes." A step forward. "N-no, I guess I won't—yes, I will, too!"

Miss Castlevaine looked round with a short laugh. "What's the matter, Polly? Lost your beau?"

"No, he's lost me!" was the quick retort.

"Oh, is that it?"

"Yes, Miss Castlevaine, that is precisely it!" A warning flush was on Polly's cheeks. "Thank you, Miss Nita, I'll go up for a little while," she said.

With a shrug and a little "Huh!" the descendant of the duchess passed on.

The door clicked shut, and Polly dropped into a rocker, tossing aside her hat and coat.

"What shall I do with David?" she sighed. "He barely nodded to me to-day!"

"I presume I should cruelly let him alone."

"Then 'twould be good-bye, David! He'd never, never, never take the first step! And I like David!" Polly caught her breath.

"Poor little girl! I'm sorry!" Miss Sterling knelt beside her and threw an arm about her.

Polly began to sob. "I thought—he'd be decent this afternoon! I haven't—done a single thing!"

"No, you haven't!" agreed Miss Sterling. "And for that reason when he has thought it over long enough I believe he will see how foolish he has been."

"But he won't give in!" declared Polly, wiping her eyes. "Well, I can't go to him and say, 'Please forgive me!' when I haven't done anything! I guess I'll let him gloom it out! There, that's settled! Now let's talk about you!" She stroked Miss Sterling's hair, and smiled.

"You just ought to have seen you two dancing together!" she broke out in a lively tone.

"Pity there couldn't have been a long mirror set up somewhere!" replied Miss Sterling.

"Well, you did look lovely!" Polly went on, ignoring the retort.

"Do you mean each of us separately or only when we were in company?" asked the other gravely.

"Oh, now, don't you make fun of me! I know what I'm talking about! Doodles said you were the best dancers he ever saw!"

"And he has seen so many!" murmured Miss Sterling.

Polly tossed her head in disapproval, but continued, "I was so in hopes he would have time to ask you to go to ride—and then she had to hurry him up! It sounded exactly as if she were jealous!"

"He invited me," said Miss Sterling quietly.

"Oh, he did?" The voice was joyful. "When are you going?"

"Never!"

Polly stared at her friend in dismay. "Miss—Nita! You don't mean—?"

"Yes, I declined the privilege!"

The brown eyes blazed. "I think you're—"

"Polly, wait! I do not wish to ride with Mr. Randolph—he is engaged to Miss Puddicombe!"

Polly's eyes grew big. "I don't believe it!—How do you know?"

"I was told so."

"Do you really think it is true?" demanded Polly.

"There is nothing else to think."

"She calls him Nelson," mused Polly—"I thought she was pretty bold! But he is too smart to be such a fool!"

"Love sometimes makes fools of the best of us."

Polly watched the red flame up in the thoughtful face beside her, and in that moment Polly grew wise.

"He doesn't love that Puddicombe ninny and he never will! You should have heard her talk when he was dancing with you. I was over there. Such airs! You'd think she held a mortgage on the world!"

A soft tap on the door was followed by the entrance of Miss Castlevaine.

"Have you heard?" she whispered tragically.

"No." Miss Sterling grew grave.

Polly bent forward in her eagerness.

"You see, I went down to get a pitcher of hot water, and I heard Miss Sniffen's voice in the dining-room and so went in that way. Mrs. Nobbs was up on the step-ladder in front of the placard, so I didn't see it at first, but when I did it muddled me so I just stood there and stared. Miss Sniffen turned round and said, 'What do you want?' sharp as could be, just as if I had no business there. She felt guilty all right! You could see that! Well, if you'll believe me, I couldn't think what I had gone for! And she said it again! Then I happened to see my pitcher, and that brought me to my senses, and I told her, 'Some hot water.' 'Why don't you go get it, then?' she yelled out, as if I were deaf! And I went—huh!"

"But what was it they were doing?" urged Polly.

"Didn't I tell you? They were putting up a notice in big letters, 'No talking, please.'"



CHAPTER XXIII

"HILLTOP DAYS"

When Polly chanced to find her Miss Nita out she usually dropped into some other room for a little chat. On one such afternoon Miss Twining welcomed her most gladly.

"I get lonesome sitting here by myself day after day," the little woman confessed. "Sometimes I am actually envious of Miss Sterling when I happen to see you go in there."

"Then I'll come oftener," Polly declared. "I'd love to! I'm always afraid the ladies will get sick of the sight of me, I'm round here so much."

"Mercy! I don't believe anybody ever thought of such a thing. I'd be so happy to have you come to see me every day, I'd feel like standing on my head!"

Polly laughed. "I shall surely come! I should like to learn how to stand on my head—I never could seem to get the trick of it."

"I didn't say I'd do it!" twinkled Miss Twining; "but I declare, I believe I would try, if that would get you in here!"

"Never you fear!" cried Polly. "You'll see me so much, now I know you want me, you won't get time for anything!"

"I'll risk it." Miss Twining nodded with emphasis.

"I've wondered sometimes," Polly went on, "what I would do if I had to stay alone as much as some folks do—the ladies here, for instance. Of course you can visit each other."

"Yes, except in the hours when it is forbidden."

"Strange, they won't let you go to see each other in the evening."

"I think it is because the ladies used to stay upstairs visiting instead of going down to hear Mrs. Nobbs read. Not all of them are educated up to science and history and such things."

"I should think they would have some good books in the library, story books. Such a dry-looking lot I never saw!"

Miss Twining smiled. "They say that one night when Mrs. Nobbs was reading 'History of the Middle Ages,' she went into the parlor to find only two listeners, and right after that the rule was made forbidding them to go to each other's rooms."

Polly shook her head laughingly. "That was pretty hard on Mrs. Nobbs, wasn't it? Is she a good reader?"

Miss Twining gave a little shrug. "I don't go down usually," she answered.

"Too bad! I don't wonder you are lonely. But you can read, can't you?"

"Not much by this light. It is too high."

Polly regarded it with dissatisfaction.

"Yes, it is. I wish you had one on the table. They ought to give you good lights."

Miss Twining pinched up her pretty lips with a thumb and forefinger, but said nothing.

"I was so indignant to think they took that money from you that you earned for writing a poem, I haven't got over it yet!"

"It did seem too bad," Miss Twining sighed.

"It was the meanest thing!" frowned Polly.

"For a long time I had not been in the spirit of writing, but that day I just had to write those verses, and when the paper accepted them it seemed to give me strength and courage and pleasure all at once. I was so happy that morning, thinking I could earn enough to buy me little things I want and perhaps some new books besides."

"I've felt like crying about it ever since," said Polly sadly. "You have written a good deal, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes! When I was at home with father and mother I wrote nearly every day. I had a book published," she added a little shyly.

"You did! That must be lovely—to publish a book!" Polly beamed brightly on the little woman in the rocker.

"Yes, it was pleasant—part of it! It didn't sell so well as I hoped it would. The publishers said I couldn't expect it, as I hadn't much reputation, and it takes reputation to make poetry sell. They said it was good verse, and the editors had been so hospitable to me I counted on the public—" She shook her head with a sad little smile. "I even counted on my friends—that was the hardest part of the whole business!"

"Surely your friends would buy it!" cried Polly.

"I don't know whether they did or not—I didn't mean that. I mean, giving away my books—that was the heart-breaking part!"

"I don't understand. Miss Twining."

"Before it was published—years before," went on the little woman reminiscently, "I used to think that if I ever did have books to give to my friends, how beautiful it would be! I thought it all out from beginning to end—the end as I saw it! I wrote inscriptions by the dozen long before the book was even planned. It looked to me the most exquisite pleasure to give to my friends the work of my own brain, and I pictured their joy of receiving!" She gave a short laugh.

"But, Miss Twining, you don't mean—you can't mean—that they didn't like it!"

"Oh, a few did! But I never heard from many that had read it—that's the trouble! Almost everybody thanked me before reading the book at all. When they wrote again they probably didn't think of it. One man even forgot that I had given him a copy! The funny part was that at the time he had praised the verses. Then afterwards he told me that he had never seen my book, but should so like to read it. I was dumfounded! I believe I laughed. In a moment the truth dawned upon him, and he fairly fell over himself with apologies! I made light of his blunder, but of course it hurt."

"How could he! He must have been a queer man!"

"Oh, no! he was very nice, only he didn't care enough about me or the verses to remember. I have never seen him since. But what grieved me most of all," Miss Twining went on, "was to send books to friends—or those I called so—and never receive even a thank-you in return."

"Oh, nobody could—!"

"Yes, more than once that happened—more than twice!"

"It doesn't seem possible!" Polly's face expressed her sympathy.

"I don't think I required too much," Miss Twining went on. "I didn't want people to pour out a punch bowl of flattery. But just a word of appreciation—of my thought of them, even if they didn't care for my verses. Oh, it is heart-breaking business, this giving away books!"

"I should have thought it was about the most delightful thing," mused Polly soberly.

"It may be with some writers. Perhaps my experience is exceptional—I hope so. It took away nearly all the pleasure of having a book. Of course a few friends said just the right thing in the right way and said it so simply that I believe they meant what they said. I never felt that my work was anything wonderful. I did my best always, and I was happy when any one saw in it something to like and took the trouble to tell me so—that was all."

"I should think that was little enough for any author to expect," said Polly. "I always supposed authors had a jolly good time, with everybody praising their work. I never saw anything of yours—I guess I should like it. I love poetry!"

"You do?" Miss Twining started to get up, then sat down again. "I wonder if you would care for my verses?" she hesitated. "You could have a copy as well as not." Her soft eyes rested on Polly's face.

"Oh, I should love them—I know I should!" Polly declared.

Miss Twining went over to her closet and stooped to a trunk at the end.

"There!" she said, putting in Polly's hand a small, cloth-bound volume neatly lettered, "Hilltop Days."

The girl opened it at random. Her eye caught a title, and she read the poem through.

"That is beautiful!" she cried impulsively.

"Which one is it?" asked the childlike author.

"'A Winter Brook.'"

"Oh, yes! I like that myself."

"What lovely meter you write!" praised Polly. "The lines just sing themselves along."

"Do they? The publishers told me the meter was good. I guess my ear wouldn't let me have it any other way."

"Do you play or sing?" queried Polly.

"I used to—before we lost our money. Since then I haven't had any piano."

"That must have been hard to give up!" Tears sprang to Polly's eyes.

"Yes, it was hard, but giving up a piano isn't the worst thing in the world."

"No," was the absent response. Polly was turning the leaves of the book, and she stopped as a line caught her fancy. Her smile came quickly as she read.

"Miss Twining!" she exclaimed, "I am so astonished to think you can write such lovely, lovely poems! Why, the June Holiday Home ought to be proud of you!"

"Oh, Polly!" The little woman blushed happily.

"Well, only real poets can write like this! If people knew about them I'm sure the book would sell. The poems that Mr. Parcell ends off his sermons with aren't half as good as these!"

Miss Twining smiled. "I wonder what made you think of him. Do you know—I never told this to a soul before—I have wished and wished that he would come across one of mine some day and like it so well that he would put it into a sermon! Oh, how I have wished that! I have even prayed about it! Seems to me it would be the best of anything I could hope to have on earth, to sit there in church and hear him repeat something of mine!—There! I'm foolish to tell you that! You'll think me a vain old woman!"

"No, I shall not!" cried Polly. "I should like it 'most as well as you would! It would be a beautiful happening. And probably he would if he knew them. Did you ever give him a book?"

"Oh, no, indeed! I shouldn't dare!"

"Why not? He is very nice to talk with."

"Yes, I know. He calls on me every year or two. I like him."

"I do, and I want him to read your poems. Do you mind if I take this home to show to father and mother? They love poetry.—And then I'll mid a way for Mr. Parcell to see it!"

"Why, my dear, it is yours!"

"Oh, did you mean that?" Polly drew a long breath of delight. "I shall love it forever—and you, too!" Impulsively she put her arms round Miss Twining's neck and kissed her on both cheeks.

"If I thought Mr. Parcell wouldn't think it queer,"—hesitated Miss Twining,—"I have several copies, and I'd like to give him one; but I don't know—"

"Of course he wouldn't think it queer!" asserted Polly. "He'd be delighted! He couldn't help it—such poetry as this is! I'll leave it at his house if you care to have me."

"Oh, would you? That is dear of you! I Was wondering how I'd get it to him. I'll do it right up now."

Miss Twining came back with the book, a little troubled scowl on her forehead.

"Oughtn't I to write an inscription in it? I don't know what to say."

"It would be nice," Polly nodded. "Of course you'll say it all right."

In a moment the poet was at her table, the book open before her. She dipped her pen in the ink, then halted it, undecided.

"I wonder if this would be enough,—'To Rev. Norman S. Parcell, from his parishioner, Alice Ely Twining'?"

"That sounds all right to me," answered Polly deliberately.

"I can't say 'loving parishioner'—to a man," laughed Miss Twining a bit nervously.

"It isn't necessary," chuckled Polly.

"If he came to see me oftener I'd love him more," said the little woman wistfully.

"He'll come often enough now—you just wait! He hasn't anybody in his church that can write such poetry as this." She patted the little book caressingly.

"I hope he'll like it,—but I don't know," the author doubted.

"He will," smiled Polly.

In a moment the package was ready.

"It is so good of you to do it!" Miss Twining looked very happy.

"I love to do such errands as this," laughed Polly. "I'll be in to-morrow to tell you about it."



CHAPTER XXIV

"HOPE DEFERRED"

"I didn't see the minister," Polly reported to Miss Twining. "He and his wife were both away. So I left the book with the maid and said that you sent it to Mr. Parcell—that was right, wasn't it?"

"Certainly, and I thank you ever so much. I do hope he won't think me presumptuous," she added.

"Why, how could he—such a beautiful book as yours?"

"I don't know. He might. I lay awake last night thinking about it."

"You shouldn't have stayed awake a minute," laughed Polly. "I wouldn't wonder if you'd hear from him this afternoon. Then you'll stop worrying."

Miss Twining laughed a little, too. "I'm glad I sent it anyway," she said. "It has given me something to think of and something to hope for. The days are pretty monotonous here—oh, it is so nice to have you come running in! You don't know how much good you do me!"

"Do I? I guess it's because I'm such a chatterbox! There! I haven't told you what father and mother said about your book! Father took it and read and read and read. Finally he looked up and asked, 'Did you say a lady at the Home wrote these?' Then he brought his head down, as he does when he is pleased, and exclaimed, 'They ought to be proud of her!'—just what I said, you know!"

"I am so glad he likes them!" Miss Twining's delicate face grew pink with pleasure.

"Oh, he does! He kept reading—it seemed as if he couldn't lay it down—till somebody called him. And when he got up he said, 'This is poetry—I should like to see the woman who can write like that. She must be worth knowing.'"

"Oh, Polly!" Miss Twining's eyes overflowed with happy tears. "That is the best compliment I ever had in my life—and from such a man as your father!"

"Mother fairly raves over the poems," went on Polly. "She says she is coming over here next visiting day to get acquainted with you."

"I hope she will come," smiled the little woman. "I have always wished I could know her, she looks so sweet as she sits there beside you in church."

"She is sweet!" nodded Polly. "Nobody knows how sweet till they've lived with her."

Every day now Miss Twining had a visit from Polly, and every day she had to tell her that she had not heard from Mr. Parcell.

"He is only waiting till he has read the book through," Polly assured the disappointed author. "Or maybe he is coming to tell you how much he thinks of it—you'd like that better, shouldn't you?"

"I don't mind which way, if only he doesn't scorn it and says something," was the half-smiling reply.

But as the days and weeks passed, and brought no word from the recipient of "Hilltop Days," Polly hardly knew how to comfort the sorrowful giver. She began to wish that she had not urged Miss Twining to send the book to Mr. Parcell. She even suggested making some errand to the house and asking, quite casually, of course, how they liked Miss Twining's book, but the little woman so promptly declared Polly should do nothing of the sort that the plan was given up at once.

At the cordial invitation of Dr. Dudley and his wife, Miss Sterling and Miss Twining spent a delightful afternoon and evening at the Doctor's home.

"I feel as if I had been in heaven!" Miss Twining told Polly the next day. "It carried me back to my girlhood, when I was so happy with my mother and father and my sisters and brother. My sisters were always stronger than I, and Walter was a regular athlete; but they went early, and I lived on." She sighed smilingly into Polly's sympathetic face. "It is queer the way things go. They were so needed! So was I," she added, "as long as mother and father lived; but now I don't amount to anything!"

"Oh, you do!" cried Polly. "You write beautiful poetry, and you don't know how much good your poems are doing people."

"I can't write any more—yes, I can!" she amended. "Miss Sniffen didn't tell me not to write. I needn't let them pay me any money—I might order it sent to the missionaries! Why,"—as the thought flashed upon her,—"I could have them send the money anywhere, couldn't I? To anybody I knew of that needed it! Oh, I will! I'll begin this very day! Polly Dudley, you've made life worth living for me!"

"I haven't done anything!" laughed Polly. "That is your thought, and it is a lovely, unselfish one!"

"It would never have come to me but for what you said! How can I ever thank you!"

"Nothing to thank me for!" insisted Polly. "But if you will have it so, I'll say you may thank me by letting me read your poems."

"Oh, I'd love to! And then you can tell me whether they are right or not!"

"As if I'd know!" chuckled Polly. "But I'll run away now and let you go to writing—I do know enough for that!" She took Miss Twining's face between her soft palms and gave her four kisses, on cheeks and temples. "Those are for good luck, like a four-leaf clover," she said gayly. "Good-bye, dear!"



CHAPTER XXV

ALICE TWINING, MARTYR

Early the next morning Polly ran over to the Home. She was eager to hear how Miss Twining's new plan had worked. As she neared her friend's door, however, a murmur of voices came from within, and she kept on to the third floor, making her way straight to the corner room.

Juanita Sterling met her with a troubled little smile.

"What is it?" she asked quickly, looking beyond to Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly. Their excited faces emphasized the other's doubtful greeting.

"Nothing," spoke up Mrs. Albright,—"only Miss Twining has had a time with Miss Sniffen."

"What about?"

"Money," answered Miss Sterling wearily. "It is lucky for the rest of us that we don't have any."

"That same money?" persisted Polly.

"No, dear." Mrs. Albright drew up a chair beside her—"Come sit down, and I'll tell you about it. I've been telling them, and we have got a little wrought up over it, that's all."

"I should think anybody'd get wrought up!" put in Miss Crilly. "I guess it will be the death of poor Miss Twining!"

"No, no, it won't! See how you're scaring Polly!"

The girl glanced beseechingly from one to another.

"What is it? You're keeping something back!"

Mrs. Albright patted the chair invitingly. "Come here! I'm going to tell you every word I know."

"She was so happy yesterday!" mourned Polly.

"She will be again, dear."

"Looks like it!" sniffed Miss Crilly. "I believe in saying the truth right out!"

"Katharine Crilly, you just mind your own business!" laughed Mrs. Albright.

"To begin at the beginning,"—she turned toward Polly,—"I was knocking at Miss Twining's door yesterday afternoon when she came up the stairs. So I went in with her and stayed a little while. She was in fine spirits. She had been to see an old friend of hers, a member of the Board, and this lady had given her the same amount of money that Miss Sniffen had—"

"Stolen!" burst out Miss Crilly.

"I'm telling this story!" announced Mrs. Albright placidly. "But Miss Twining said," she resumed, "that she had promised not to divulge the name of the lady to any one. So I don't know who it is. On her way home she had bought a book that she had wanted for a long time. I told her she'd have to look out or she would get caught reading it; but she said they always knocked before coming in, and she should have time to put it on the under shelf of her table—where the cover partly hides it. I said, 'Well, you look out now!' and she laughed and promised she would.

"In the evening, as I was sitting alone, I heard talking, and I went to my door to listen. I thought I knew the voice, and when I opened the door a crack I was sure whose room it came from. 'Oh, I'm afraid she's caught her again!' I said to myself, and I waited till I heard somebody go softly away and down the stairs. Then I stole over to Miss Twining.

"It was just as I had feared! She was reading all so nice, when without a mite of warning in sailed Miss Sniffen! Of course she asked her where she got the book, and she said it was given to her. But she wouldn't tell the woman's name. Miss Sniffen couldn't get it out of her! She talked and threatened; but Miss Twining wouldn't give in. Finally she vowed she'd have it out of her if she had to flog it out! I could see that Miss Twining was all wrought up and as nervous as could be—as who wouldn't have been!"

"Oh!" gasped Polly. "It's just awful! Did she whip her?"

Mrs. Albright shook her head and went on.

"Miss Twining said that Amelia Sniffen used to go round in society with her youngest brother, Walter, and that she was dead in love with him. Walter fairly hated her, and never paid her the least attention when he could get out of it; but she would put herself in his way, as some girls will, until he was married and even afterwards. And when Alice Twining came here and found that Miss Sniffen had been appointed superintendent she was almost a mind to back out; but she hadn't any other place to go, so she stayed, and she said Miss Sniffen had seemed to take delight in being mean to her ever since. Well, it's a tight box that Amelia Sniffen has got herself into this time!" Mrs. Albright sighed.

"Please go on!" whispered Polly.

"Yes, dear. I got Miss Twining to bed, and she quieted down a little. Finally I left her and crept back to my room. I don't know what time it was,—but after eleven,—I woke dreaming that I heard my name called. I jumped up and ran and opened the door. Everything was still. But I waited, and pretty soon I heard a voice in the room opposite. I rushed across the hall—the door was locked! 'Miss Twining! Miss Twining!' I called, two or three times. At first nobody answered; then Miss Sniffen came over to the door and said, 'Shut up and go to bed!' I asked her to let me in, but she wouldn't. I said things that I shouldn't have dared to say if I'd been cooler; but I'm glad I did! After a while I went back to my room, and I took out my key and hid it. I was afraid she'd lock me in. She did mean to, but for once she got fooled. I lay still as a mouse, hearing her fumble round my door. Finally she went downstairs. When I was sure she'd gone for good I took my key and stole across the hall. Sure enough, it unlocked the door, just as I hoped it would. Oh, that poor child was so glad to see me! Miss Sniffen had come up prepared to give her a whipping! She had brought a little riding-whip with her! But the very sight of it so upset Miss Twining, in her nervous state, that she had a bad turn with her heart,—you know her heart always bothers her,—and once she gave a little cry. Of course, Miss Sniffen didn't want any rumpus, and she just clapped her hand hard over Miss Twining's mouth. She says she doesn't know whether it took her breath away suddenly, or what; but she fainted! When she came to, Miss Sniffen was rubbing her—I guess she was pretty well frightened! There wasn't anything more said about whipping! After she made up her mind that Miss Twining wasn't likely to die right off, she and the riding-whip left."

"Oh, dear, what will become of us!" cried Miss Crilly. "We are not safe a minute!"

"You shall be!" Polly burst out excitedly. "I'm going to tell Mr. Randolph everything about it!"

"Polly! Polly!" Miss Sterling laid a quieting hand on her shoulder.

The girl threw it off. Then she caught it to her lips and kissed it passionately. "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she cried. "To think of you all in such danger! You don't know what she'll do!"

"I don't think we need have any fear until she gets over her scare about this," said Mrs. Albright reassuringly. "She seems to me pretty well cowed down. Her eyes looked actually frightened when I caught her off guard. You see, she's in a fix! She knows Miss Twining needs a doctor; but, of course, he would ask first thing what brought this on, and she couldn't make the patient lie it out."

"I guess lying wouldn't trouble her any," put in Miss Crilly.

"Dear Miss Twining!" murmured Polly plaintively.

"She is a sweet little woman," Miss Crilly sighed.

"How is she this morning?" asked Polly.

"I hardly know what to tell you," hesitated Mrs. Albright. "I think if Miss Sniffen would keep away she'd be better. Still, when she got up and tried to dress, she fainted again. Now Miss Sniffen has told her to stay abed, and she has put a notice on her door that she is too ill to receive visitors."

"Then can't you go in?" queried Polly anxiously.

"I do," chuckled Mrs. Albright. "They'd have to do more contriving than they've done yet to shut me out!"

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Polly. "But she ought to have a doctor! I suppose if she did it would be that Dr. Gunnip—He's no good! Father says he's little more than a quack and he isn't safe. I wish father could see her; but he can't unless he is called. It is too bad! I believe I'll go straight to Mr. Randolph!"

"I don't dare have you," returned Mrs. Albright. "He would, of course, favor the Home, and if Miss Sniffen should hear of it—"

"Before I say anything I shall make him promise not to tell."

"I'm awfully afraid to let you do it—oh, Polly, don't!" Miss Crilly was close to tears.

"Had you rather die?" she demanded. "You may be sick yourself and want a doctor! How are you going to get him?"

"If I'm sick I bet I'll make such a fuss they'll send for a doctor—and a good one too!" cried Miss Crilly hysterically.

Polly had risen, and Miss Sterling drew her within the circle of her arm. "When the time comes we'll decide what is best to do," said she.

"I should think the time had come now!" the girl fumed. "Poor Miss Twining! It's just an outrage!"

"Oh, I forgot!" Mrs. Albright bent toward Polly, with lowered voice. "She gave me something for you, dear."

"Me?" Polly calmed at once.

"Yes. When I was with her in the night I think she feared that her heart might give out, and she said, 'If anything should happen, I wish you would give Polly those papers in my portfolio—or you may give her the whole portfolio. She will understand.'"

"Oh, I know! Yesterday morning she was planning to write some poems, and those must be the 'papers.' But perhaps she won't want me to have them now."

"She spoke of it again to-day," nodded Mrs. Albright. "She said she should somehow feel easier for you to keep them."

"I hope Miss Sniffen won't rummage round and get hold of them first," returned Polly anxiously.

"I guess she won't find 'em in a hurry!" chuckled Mrs. Albright. "They're in my room!"



CHAPTER XXVI

MR. PARCELL'S LESSON

Polly carried the portfolio home with her, and later, alone in her room, read the poems it contained. Tears blurred her eyes as she read and read again the verses dated the day before. Such a lilting, joyous song it was! And now—!

"Oh, but she will get well and write again!" Polly said softly. Then she sighed, thinking of the bright plans that had so suddenly ceased.

Her thoughts went farther back, to the days of watching and waiting for the message that had never come, to the sleepless nights of grieving—

"Oh!" she burst out impetuously, "he's got to know it! Somebody must tell him how he has made her suffer! Miss Nita would do it beautifully; but I don't suppose I could hire her to! Maybe father will."

When this suggestion was made to him, however, Dr. Dudley shook his head promptly, and his impulsive daughter began at once to form other plans. "Mother wouldn't," she told herself. "No use asking her. Dear! dear! if there were only somebody besides me! Perhaps I can coax Miss Nita—"

A telephone call broke in upon her musings, and the disturbing thoughts were exchanged for a ride and a luncheon with Patricia Illingworth. On her way home in the afternoon, the matter came up again.

"I may as well go now and have it over with," she decided suddenly, and she turned into a street which led to the home of the Reverend Norman Parcell.

Yes, he was in and alone, the maid said, and Polly was shown directly to the study.

"How do you do, Miss Polly!" The minister grasped her hand cordially. "This is a pleasant surprise." He drew forward an easy chair and saw her comfortably seated.

"Have you heard that Miss Twining is ill?" Polly began.

"Miss Twining?" he repeated interrogatively. "M-m—no, I had not heard. Is she an especial friend of yours, some one I ought to know?" He smiled apologetically. "I find it difficult always to place people on the instant."

His apology might not have been attended by a smile if Polly's indignant thought had been vocal. When she spoke, her voice was tense.

"Yes, Mr. Parcell, she is a very dear friend." Her lip quivered, and she shook herself mentally; she was not going to break down at this juncture. She went quickly on, ahead of the phrase of sympathy on its way to the minister's lips. "She lives at the June Holiday Home."

"Oh, yes! I remember! Her illness is not serious, I hope."

"I am afraid so," returned Polly, passing quickly toward what she had come to talk about. "I don't suppose you know what a beautiful woman she is." She looked straight into his eyes, and waited.

"No," he answered slowly, a suggestion of doubt in his tone, "I presume not. I have seen her only occasionally."

"She told me that you called upon her every year or two." Polly hesitated. "You can judge something by her poems. You received the book of poems she sent you?"

"Oh, yes!" he brightened. "I have the book."

"How do you like it, Mr. Parcell? Don't you think the poems wonderful?" Polly was sitting very straight in the cushioned chair, her brown eyes fixed keenly on the minister's face.

"Why,"—he moved a little uneasily—"I really—don't know—" He threw back his head with a little smile. "To be frank, Miss Polly, I haven't read them."

Something flashed into the young face opposite that startled the man.

"Do you mean, Mr. Parcell," Polly said slowly, "that you have not read the book at all?" Her emphasis made her thought clear, and his cheeks reddened.

"I shall have to own up to my neglect," he replied. "You know I am a very busy man, Miss Polly."

"You needn't bother with the 'Miss,'" she answered; "nobody does. Then, that is why you haven't said 'thank you'—you don't feel 'thank you'!"

"Oh, my dear Polly! I am very grateful to Miss Twining, I assure you, and I realize that I should have sent her a note of thanks; but—in fact, I don't recollect just how it was—I presume I was waiting until I had read the book, and—I may as well confess it!—I was somewhat afraid to read it."

"Afraid?" Polly looked puzzled.

"Such things are apt to be dreary reading," he smiled. "I am rather a crank as regards poetry."

The flash came again into Polly's face. "Oh!" she cried, fine scorn in her voice, "you thought the poems weren't good!"

He found himself nodding mechanically.

"Where is the book?" she demanded, glancing about the room.

"I—really don't know where I did leave it—" He scanned his cases with a troubled frown.

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. She seemed to see Alice Twining's gentle, appealing face, as it had looked when she said, "I hope he doesn't think I am presumptuous in sending it." She dashed away the drops, and went on glancing along the rows of books. The minister had risen, but Polly darted ahead of him and pounced upon a small volume.

"Here it is!" She touched it caressingly, as if to make up for recent neglect.

"Your eyes are quicker than mine," said Mr. Parcell, taking it from her hand.

"Read it!" she said, and went back to her chair,

The minister obeyed meekly. Polly's eyes did not leave him.

He had opened the book at random, and with deepened color and a disturbed countenance had done as he was bidden. Surprise, pleasure, astonishment, delight,—all these the watcher saw in the face above the pages.

Five minutes went by, ten, twenty; still the Reverend Norman Parcell read on! Polly, mouse-quiet, divided her softening gaze between the clergyman and the clock. The pointers had crept almost to four when the telephone called. The reader answered. Then he walked slowly back from the instrument and picked up the book.

"Miss Twining must be a remarkable woman," he began, "to write such poetry as this—for it is poetry!"

"She is remarkable," replied Polly quietly. "She is finer even than her poems."

The minister nodded acquiescently. "This 'Peter the Great,'" he went on, running over the leaves, "is a marvelous thing!"

"Isn't it! If you could have told her that"—Polly's tone was gentle—"it would have spared her a lot of suffering."

"Has she so poor an opinion of her work?

"Oh, not that exactly; but"—she smiled sadly—"you have never said 'thank you', you know!"

The lines on his face deepened. "I have been unpardonably rude, and have done Miss Twining an injustice besides—I am sorry, very sorry!"

"She had had pretty hard experiences in giving away her books, but I persuaded her to send one to you, for I knew you liked poetry and I thought you would appreciate it. I was sorry afterwards that I did. It only brought her more disappointment. She cried and cried because she did not hear from you. I'm afraid I ought not to tell you this—she wouldn't let me if she knew. But I thought if you could just write her a little note—she isn't allowed to see anybody—it might do her good and help her to get well."

"I certainly will, my dear! I shall be glad to do so!"

"You see," Polly went on, "she fears that perhaps you scorn her book and consider her presuming to send it to you—and that is what hurts. She has lain awake nights and grieved so over it, I could have cried for her!" Polly was near crying now.

"The worst of such mistakes," the man said sorrowfully, "is that we cannot go back and blot out the tears and the suffering and make things as they might have been. If we only could!"

"A note from you will make her very happy," Polly smiled.

"She shall have it at once," the minister promised; adding, "I am glad she is in so beautiful a Home."

Polly shook her head promptly. "No, Mr. Parcell, it is not a beautiful Home, it is a prison—a horrible prison!"

"Why, my dear! I do not understand—"

"I don't want you to understand!" Polly cried hurriedly. "I ought not to have said that! Only it came out! You will know, Mr. Parcell, before long—people shall know! I won't have—oh, I mustn't say any more! Don't tell a word of this, Mr. Parcell. Promise me you won't!"

"My dear child,"—the man gazed at her as if he doubted her sanity,—"tell me what the trouble is! Perhaps I shall be able to help matters."

"Oh, no, you can't! It must work out! I am going to see Mr. Randolph as soon as—I can. But please promise me not to say a word about it to anybody!"

"I shall certainly repeat nothing that you have told me. Indeed, there is little I could say; I do not understand it at all. I supposed the June Holiday Home was a model in every respect."

Polly shook her head sadly.

"I am there every day, Mr. Parcell, and I know! The ladies are lovely—most of them. They can't say a word, or they'd be turned out, and I've kept still too long! But I mustn't tell you any more." Polly drew a long breath. "I must go now, Mr. Parcell. I am so glad you like Miss Twining's poems! And you'll forgive me, won't you, for all I have said?"

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear."

"I don't know, maybe I've said too much; but I knew you must have lots of presents, and I kept thinking of those people that perhaps you wouldn't thank, and I felt somebody must tell you, and there wasn't anybody else to do it. Then, as I said, I hoped you would like Miss Twining's poems well enough to tell her so. And I just had to come!"

"Polly, I am glad you came!" An unmistakable break in the minister's voice turned Polly's eyes away. "I have been inexcusably thoughtless, not only this time but many a time before. I am grateful that I still have the opportunity to give my thanks to Miss Twining."

"And you can say 'thank you' to the next one!" cried Polly eagerly.

"Yes, I shall always remember—you may be sure of that. I shall not forget my lesson!"

They had reached the door, and Polly shook hands with him and said good-bye.

She went straight to Miss Sterling.

"Well, it's done!" she said soberly, taking her favorite seat.

"What is done?"

"My talk with Mr. Parcell"

"Did you go?"

"Yes, I had to. Father wouldn't."

"What did you say? How did he take it? Tell me!"

"Oh, he took it all right! I guess he didn't really like it at first. I was pretty hard on him, I suppose. But he needed it! I didn't go there to give him sugar-plums!"

"Polly!"

"Well, I didn't! It had got to be said, and I thought I might as well say it plain at the start!"

"Oh, Polly! Polly!" Miss Sterling chuckled softly.

"Why, Miss Nita, you're laughing!" Polly's tone was reproachful. "There isn't anything to laugh at. I almost cried, and so did he!"

"Dear, forgive me! But I couldn't help seeing the funny side."

"There isn't any funny side!"

"Go on! I won't offend again."

"There is not much to tell. Oh, I do wish Miss Twining could have heard him praise her poems—after he had read them! Do you know, Miss Nita, he hadn't even looked in the book! He thought it was trash—not worth his while! Think of it—those lovely poems! But I found the book for him—He didn't even remember where he'd put it!—and I told him to read it, and he did!"

"Polly! you mean you asked him!"

"I guess I told him all right—I was mad just about then. And he read steady, by the clock, 'most twenty-five minutes! I don't know as he'd have stopped by now if the telephone hadn't rung."

"And he liked them?"

"Oh, he thinks they're beautiful! He was awfully sorry he hadn't thanked her—I know he was! But he is going to write her a note, and I told him he could say 'thank you' to the next one, and he said he should."

Juanita Sterling disgraced herself the second time. She dropped back in her chair with a stifled laugh.

"Miss Nita!" began Polly plaintively.

"I know, dear! But to think of your saying such things to that dignified man!" She chuckled again.

"Don't, Miss Nita! It hurts. His dignity is all on the outside, I guess. Anyway, it went off before I left."

"Oh, Polly!"

"I don't see a thing to laugh at. It was as solemn as—as a sermon."

"I rather think it was a sermon—to him!"

"Perhaps. Anyway, I'm glad I went."

"I wonder that your father and mother allowed you to go."

Polly smiled, a tiny, flushed smile. "They don't know it."

"Why, Polly Dudley!"

"Well, it had to be done, and there was nobody but me to do it. I didn't dare say anything beforehand, for fear they wouldn't let me. Now I'm going home, to tell them all about it."

Miss Sterling smiled. "You'll do, Polly! When I have a hard errand on hand, I'll commit it to you."



CHAPTER XXVII

"I LOVE YOU, DAVID!"

Polly happened to answer the doorbell when David rang.

"Hallo, David!" she said brightly.

His face was troubled.

"Is your father at home?"

"Why, yes,—that is, he is in the hospital somewhere. Who is sick?"

"Aunt Juliet, and she won't have anybody but Dr. Dudley. We've been trying to get him by telephone, and finally they thought I'd better come up. Otto brought me, and he'll take the Doctor back."

"Oh, the hospital telephones are out of commission, so they're using ours about all the time. Sit down, and I'll find him."

From ward to ward went Polly, following the Doctor. She caught him at last on the upper floor, and he drove off with Colonel Gresham's man.

"Stay a while, can't you, David?" invited Polly. "You'll have to walk home anyway, and there's no need of your hurrying."

"They may want me," he hesitated, fingering his cap.

"No, they won't! There are plenty to take care of Mrs. Gresham. I haven't seen you in an age."

David's face reddened. "I've—been pretty busy," he faltered in excuse.

Polly ignored his embarrassment. "I am sorry for Mrs. Gresham. She's not very sick, is she?"

"I'm afraid she is. She was in terrible pain when I left home."

"I guess father'll fix her up all right," said Polly comfortably.

David smiled. Polly's faith in her father was a standing joke among her friends.

"Oh, you may laugh!" she cried. "It doesn't disturb me a mite. He pulled you out of a tight place once."

"Yes, he did," agreed the boy. "I presume I have about as much faith in him as you have."

They talked for a while in commonplaces. David seemed interested in nothing. He grew restless and once or twice said something about going home. Still he stayed. Finally he got up. Then suddenly he sat down and with a visible effort said huskily, "I suppose you think I'm a brute!"

"Oh, no, David!" returned Polly quietly; "but I think you're a little bit foolish."

His cheeks flushed angrily. "Oh, foolish, is it! Pray, what have I done?"

"M—m, not so very much, except to ignore me, when we've always been such good friends."

"It's your own fault!" David's temper was getting the mastery. "Going round with another boy and not paying me any attention at all!"

"Don't let's quarrel, David! I suppose you mean Doodles, and it does seem so silly for you to be jealous of that little boy!"

"You played all his accompaniments, and you didn't play for me," said David in an aggrieved tone.

"He asked me, and you didn't. You know he hasn't had a piano very long and can't play as you can. But I would have gladly played for you if I had known you wanted me."

The boy said nothing, and Polly resumed.

"You act as if I belonged to you and mustn't look at another boy."

"You do belong to me!" he declared.

"Since when?" laughed Polly.

"Since the first day I saw you," replied David doggedly.

"Oh!" she smiled. "I never knew it! But I don't make a fuss because you call on Patricia or go round with Leonora."

"Of course you don't! You wouldn't mind if I went with forty girls! You don't care a rap for me." His face was gloomy.

"Oh, David! what do you want me to do?—hang round you all the time and say, 'David, I love you! David, it's true! David, I'll love you all my life through'?"

"Go on!" he said fiercely, "make all the fun you like! It is fun to you, but with me it's life or death!"

"David!"

"You know I never cared for any other girl! You know you are my world! And yet you deliberately make fun of me!"

Polly's dimples vanished. "No, David, I am not making fun of you, but only of your foolishness—"

"Oh, yes, I suppose it's foolish for me to love you as I do when you don't care a straw—"

"Wait! wait!" she interrupted. "I don't mean that at all, and you know it! But for a great, tall fellow like you to be so unreasonably jealous of a little ten-year-old does seem absurd. I love Doodles, of course; everybody does. But, David, you ought to know that's all there is to it."

"He says he's going to marry you!"

Polly laughed outright. "I never heard anything about it before, so I guess I wouldn't let it worry me, David." She chuckled. "Whatever made him say that! He's a funny little chap!"

"Will you marry me?" David asked abruptly.

Polly's dimples came and went. "Do you mean right off?" she queried soberly. "I rather want to go to school a little longer."

"There you are again!" he grumbled. "You can't take anything in earnest! I may as well go home!"

"But, David, the idea of asking me such a question! And I only thirteen! Can't you see how silly it is?"

"No, I can't! It's the only way to make sure of you! Some other fellow will get ahead of me!"

"No other fellow has yet, David." Polly's voice was sweet and serious.

"Do you mean that," he asked, "honestly?"

"Of course. You know I have always liked you better than any other boy!"

"You like me, but you love Doodles," he mused.

Polly laughed softly. "Oh, dear!" she sighed, "will nothing satisfy you? Well, then,"—she was blushing almost to tears,—"I love you, David! I—I think it's mean for you to make me say it!—I—love you better than any other boy I ever saw!" She flung the last words at him with a show of vexation that David could not withstand.

He grinned.

"And now—you laugh at me!" She sprang up and started past him; but he caught her in his arms.

"Polly! Polly! Dear Polly!" he said tenderly. "Forgive me! I am a pig! But to tell me I was mean and that you loved me—all in the same breath! Now say I'm contemptible—or anything! I'll agree to it!"

"Well, you ought to—you are!" she half sobbed, half laughed. Her face was hidden on his shoulder.

Suddenly she threw up her head and started back. "Let me go!" she whispered. "It is ridiculous to stand here like this." She pulled away from him and retreated to her chair.

"I don't see why we can't be engaged," said David. "Promise that you'll marry me, Polly!"

"Oh!" she cried, "I thirteen, and you just fifteen! What a pair of ninnies we should be! David, if you want to keep me, you must let me go free! I shall be sixteen when I'm through high school, and there'll be four years of college. Then—perhaps—! Time enough for that sort of thing after we're twenty!"

David looked at her with smiling eyes, yet he said, "I'm afraid I shan't feel very sure of you."

"You're a funny David!" laughed Polly. "I say, let's forget all this, and just be a boy and girl having a good time!"

"Forget that we love each other, Polly?"

"No, no! but take that for granted, and let it drop!"

"I guess you'll have to teach me how," David laughed.

"All right! Come sing me that song I saw you buying at the music store the other day!"

When David left the house, he stopped on the threshold to finish what he was saying. Then, suddenly, he caught Polly's hands, pressed a kiss squarely on her lips, and sped away.

"David Collins!" she cried.

But David was already down the steps. He looked back with a radiant bow.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A VISIT WITH MRS. TENNEY

The letter-carrier came early, and Polly ran over to the Home in hopes to be first at the pile of mail on the hall table. She wanted to carry Mr. Parcell's note upstairs herself.

There it was, right on top, "Miss Alice Ely Twining"! Polly caught up the envelope with a glad breath. Then she went hastily through the rest and found a letter for Miss Sterling and one for Miss Crilly.

Mrs. Albright was in the corner room.

"I will deliver these now," she said, "before it is time for Miss Sniffen."

"I'm afraid she'll catch you in there some day," Polly told her with a troubled little nod. "What if she should!"

Mrs. Albright laughed softly. "When I hear anybody coming I slip into the closet—I have done that several times already! I do hope this letter will do Miss Twining good. It looks like a man's handwriting."

Juanita Sterling looked doubtfully at the address on her own envelope, then she ran a paper-cutter under the flap.

"An invitation from Mrs. Dick for us all to spend to-day with her!" she announced disinterestedly.

"Oh, let's go!" cried Polly.

"Shall we walk or fly?" The tone was not encouraging.

"Ride," answered Polly promptly.

"Perhaps you can't get the cars."

"Perhaps I can!" was the retort. "You don't want to go—that's what!"

"I am not hankering for it," smiled Miss Sterling dubiously.

"It will do you good," Polly decided. "The more you get out of this atmosphere, the better. I'll run home and do some telephoning! Will you ask the others, Miss Nita? Or wait! We don't know yet how many can go."

Polly was off in a whirl, and for the next half-hour bells rang, wires snapped and buzzed, feet flew, and tongues were busy. Then Polly returned to say that they could have three cars which would seat fourteen besides the drivers.

Miss Crilly was there and heard the news with delight.

"I'll run round and ask 'em! Shall I?"

"Yes, please," answered Polly. "Take as many of the ladies as would like to go. We children can stay at home if there isn't room.

"Count me out, for one," said Miss Sterling quickly.

"No, count her in!" ordered Polly.

Miss Crilly laughed. "Sure!" she agreed. "I'll find out who wants to go. You wait, Polly. 'T won't take long."

She was as quick as her promise, but her face was doleful.

"Every blessed one is crazy to go, except Mrs. Crump and Mrs. Post and Miss Leatherland. What can we do!"

Polly counted up. "That makes twelve of you, so Patricia and Leonora can go. David and I will stay home."

"You'll do no such thing!" Miss Sterling's tone was firm. "I'll send Polly in my stead."

"Polly won't go!" she laughed. "You're the one that received the invitation, and the idea of your staying behind! David is coming up, anyway, and we're to play duets if we can't go; so we'll be all right."

Miss Sterling gave Polly a quick glance of surprise, and Polly threw back a smile, just as Mrs. Albright appeared.

"What time are we going?" she asked. "I have my dress to mend."

"Our car won't be at liberty this forenoon," answered Polly. "Father needs it. But we can start right after luncheon. Will one o'clock do?"

The hour was agreed upon, and Mrs. Albright turned to the door. Then she came back.

"I almost forgot my message for you, Polly! The prospect of a ride makes me good for nothing. That note for Miss Twining was from her minister, Mr. Parcell. It seems, awhile ago, she sent him a book of her own poems, and this was to acknowledge it and beg pardon for his tardiness. It is a beautiful note! She let me read it. He praises her poetry sky-high—he doesn't say too much, you know, but just enough. And you ought to see her—she is so pleased! She wanted me to tell you that she had it. When she first read it she cried, and I didn't know but it would upset her; but I guess it hasn't. He says he is coming to call on her as soon as she is able to receive visitors. She can't imagine who told him she was sick; but it isn't strange he heard of it—such news flies."

Polly's face was red with guilty blushes; but Mrs. Albright took no heed. She and Miss Crilly hurried away.

"I hope she won't ever find out my part in it," sighed Polly. "But I can't help being glad I went, even if father did scold!"

"I was afraid he would."

"Yes," nodded Polly, with a little regretful scowl.

"But tell me about David!" broke out Miss Sterling eagerly. "Is it made up?"

Polly laughed happily. "No more quarrels forever! Mrs. Gresham was sick, and David came up for father; so I asked him to stay—and we had it out! What do you think that boy wanted? To be engaged—now!"

"Mercy! And you only thirteen!"

"I talked him out of it in a hurry, and I guess he sees it as I do. He's the dearest boy—and the foolishest!"

"Yes, David is a dear boy, the most agreeable of his age I ever knew! He is so thoughtful and winsome."

"That would please David mightily. I shall have to tell him. He hasn't much self-esteem—it will do him good. I wonder why he likes me better than other girls," mused Polly. "There's Patricia—ever so much prettier than I am, and Leonora—right in the house—sweet as can be and delighted with his least attention. But no, he likes me best—I—don't—see—why!" She slowly nodded out the words.

Juanita Sterling laughed softly. "Love goes where it is sent, you know. As for me, I don't wonder at all!"

"Oh, well, you are partial!" said Polly with a little blush. "But I can't understand it with him."

"For the same reason that you prefer him to the other boys. I'm glad you have made up."

"I am! I hate fusses! Dear me! I must go back and telephone."

She ran over again shortly before the appointed time.

"David and I are going, after all!" she cried. "At the last minute Mrs. Illingworth had to change her plans for the afternoon, so we can have her other car. Isn't that fine! Will you sit with us? I told David what you said, and he is ready to eat you up!"

The former Mrs. Dick welcomed her friends with cordial hands and tongue.

"I had almost despaired of you," she told Miss Sterling and Polly, as she walked with them into the house. "And I'm glad so many could come. I didn't know how it would be. Awfully sad about Miss Twining, isn't it? I always liked Miss Twining."

"Isn't she lovable?" put in Polly.

"Yes, very.—Take seats, all of you. We were just speaking of Miss Twining—I'm so sorry for her! But if she is losing her mind, perhaps it will be providential for her to go soon."

"'Losing her mind'!" exclaimed Miss Crilly. "Who made up that whopper?"

"Why, isn't she? One of the Board told me—Mrs. Brintnall. I met her in town the other day. I think it came straight from Miss Sniffen. She said she was a great care, now that she has heart disease, and that she is liable to drop away any time. Mrs. Brintnall spoke of her mind's failing as if everybody knew it—that a good many days she would seem as bright as ever, and then again she didn't know much of anything and would be so obstinate and ugly that she'd have to be punished just like a child! Isn't that awful! But you think it isn't true!"

"Think! I know it isn't true! not a single word of it!" Polly was too excited to heed Miss Sterling's warning pinch.

"I never saw anything out of the way in her," attested Miss Mullaly. "She has always appeared to me like a very cultured woman."

"She is a perfect lady," asserted Mrs. Winslow Teed.

"Yes, she is!" agreed Miss Castlevaine. "I guess Miss Sniffen's the one that's losing her mind—huh!"

"Is she as bad as ever?" queried Mrs. Tenney anxiously.

"Worse!" declared Miss Major.

"We don't have pie or pudding now—ever!" put in Miss Crilly eagerly. "And we can't talk at table, only just to ask for things!"

"Oh, my!" cried Mrs. Tenney. "What does possess her!"

"Seven devils, I guess!" laughed Miss Crilly.

"Better put it seven hundred and seven!" flashed Polly.

They laughed, and the talk went on. Miss Sterling watched the hostess. She seemed years older than bright, cheery Mrs. Dick of the Home. Sometimes she let the talk pass her by, or she only flung in a bitter little speech. In the course of the afternoon, when the guests had wandered away from the dreary "front room" to the barn, the hennery, the garden, the orchard, Mrs. Tenney contrived to gather together her special cronies, Mrs. Albright, Miss Crilly, Miss Sterling, and Polly.

"Come inside! I want to talk with you," she told them.

"Say," she began, in lowered voice, "do you s'pose there's any chance in Miss Sniffen's taking me back?"

Astonishment was plain on the faces before her.

"Oh, I s'pose you think that's queer!" She laughed nervously. "But I just can't live here any longer! I was the biggest fool to marry that man! I thought I was going to have a good home and plenty to eat and to wear. We do have enough to eat—and good enough, but, my! he hasn't bought me anything except one gingham apron since I came, and he growled over that! He's the limit for stinginess! When I was at the Home I used to say I'd rather live in an old kitchen if 't was mine, and now I've got the old kitchen I'd exchange back again in a jiffy! Do you s'pose she'd take me!"

"Do you mean to—" hesitated Mrs. Albright.

"Yes, I mean to run away from the old man! I know you're shocked; but you haven't lived with Serono Tenney! He'll freeze me out next winter, sure as fate! I'll have to shut up the house, except the kitchen, and stay there, where I can't see even a team pass, with hardly a neighbor in sight. It drives me wild! To think I was such a fool! If he were a poor man, I could stand it; but he's got money enough."

"Why don't you make it fly, then?" broke in Miss Crilly. "Bet you I would!"

"No, you wouldn't! He had to go with me to pick out the apron, and he fretted like sixty because I would buy one made of decent cloth! I was all in just over that!"

"We s'posed he was a nice, pleasant man—it's too bad!" Miss Crilly was the only one who found words for reply.

"I don't have anything to read," went on the disappointed woman. "He doesn't want to know anything. He does take a daily newspaper, but that's all. There was a Bible in the house when I came, and two or three schoolbooks—pretty place to live in!"

"Get a divorce!" advised Miss Crilly.

"I could easy! He'd never fight it—hasn't got life enough. But where could I go?"

"I'm afraid you couldn't do anything with Miss Sniffen," said Mrs. Albright sadly.

"What do you say, Polly?" smiled Mrs. Tenney. "You look as if you had your advice all ready."

"No," answered Polly sorrowfully. "Only you've promised, and it doesn't seem as if you ought to break your promise—just because you don't like it here as well as you thought you would. It isn't that I'm not sorry, Mrs. Dick—I mean, Mrs. Tenney—" Polly hurried to explain. "I'm so sorry I could cry! But it doesn't seem right—to me—perhaps it would be, perhaps I don't know." Polly lifted appealing eyes to the woman's flushed face.

"I guess you see things clearer than I do, child! We'll put it to vote. Mrs. Albright, what do you think?"

"I hardly know, and, anyway, I can't decide it for you. I suppose I should incline to Polly's opinion."

"Miss Sterling? You hold the controlling vote, so be careful!" Mrs. Tenney laughed uncertainly.

"It is a hard question, Mrs. Dick. I can hardly imagine a worse hell than having to live with such a man as you picture him, and yet—"

"I know! It's three against two! Good-bye, June Holiday Home, with your steam heat and Miss Sniffen! We must adjourn—there's Mrs. Grace and Mrs. Winslow Teed!"

For the ride home Polly sat between Miss Crilly and David in Dr. Dudley's car.

"Isn't that a great bluff of Miss Sniffen's?" Miss Crilly's tone was too confidential even for Polly's quick ears. The repeated question carried as far as David—Polly knew from his sudden change of expression. But Miss Crilly talked on. "Seemed as if I must tell! I never was so stirred up in my life! It's the last thing I should thought of!"

Polly gave her a cautionary smile.

"O-o-h!" Miss Crilly cast a frightened glance in David's direction.

"A motor-car isn't the best place for talking secrets," he laughed. "But I won't peep!"

"I haven't let any cat out!" retorted Miss Crilly.

She and David tossed merry sallies back and forth; but Polly was uncomfortable. David would think she did not trust him. She wished Miss Crilly had not referred to the matter.

"Come on down to dinner!" invited David, after they had said good-bye to Miss Sterling and Miss Crilly.

"Oh, I'd love to!" beamed Polly. "I'll run in and ask mother."

He hailed his uncle's chauffeur, and bade him wait.

In a moment she was back and they stepped into Colonel Gresham's car.

"I am going to share my secret with you," David smiled, glancing doubtfully at the man ahead.

"Otto," he said tentatively, without raising his voice above the tone he had used for Polly. The man did not stir. "Otto," a little louder. No answer.

He nodded complacently. "I wanted to make sure of him," he smiled. "Now I'll go on."

"The other isn't my secret, David, or I'd tell you!" Polly hastened to explain.

"That's all right!" laughed David. "Perhaps this chimes in with yours, and perhaps it doesn't. Last night I went up to Billy Marble's, and when I was along by Ford Street I noticed a man and a woman a little distance ahead. I was walking pretty fast, and as I came up behind them and was wondering which way I'd go by,—you know the sidewalk is narrow there,—a light struck across the woman's face, and I saw it was Mrs. Nobbs. I didn't know the man. Has she relatives here?"

"A brother, I think, a bachelor brother."

"Tall, is he?"

"Yes."

"This man was. Probably it was he. I had on my sneaks—that's why they didn't hear me. I was pretty near, when I caught something that excited my curiosity. I heard the words distinctly,—'I wouldn't be in her shoes for all the money she has made out of June Holiday Home!'—'And that's no small sum, I'll warrant!' the man replied.—'Small!' she exclaimed; 'she's robbing them every day of her life! But she's in a terrible fix now, and I guess she knows it! I can't be thankful enough that for once she didn't make a cat's-paw of me! I said, 'When there's any flogging to be done, you will do it!' She was mad, and I half expected her to discharge me on the spot, but I know too much for her to dare to go too far. I've done piles of dirty work for Amelia Sniffen!'—'Better cut it out,' said the man.—'Can't, as long as I stay,' she replied. 'That's what I'm there for! But I've got so nervous since this happened, I don't know what to do! I start every time I see one of the Board come into the house. What if they should find out! You don't suppose they could hold me for—anything, do you? I'd give a farm to know how much Mrs. Albright has heard, but I'm afraid to quiz her. She's the one that rooms across the hall and tried to get in when they were having the time—she's got more grit than the others. I don't think Miss Twining would dare tell, and I don't see how she could—she is locked in all the time, ostensibly to keep her from visitors! I thought if Mrs. Albright did find out she'd go right to the Board; but there hasn't been a word yet. That woman needs a doctor if ever anybody did. Lucky for us that she didn't die when—'And that's all I heard. They stopped before they came to the Home entrance, and I was afraid of being caught, so I cut across the avenue into the shadows. I was amazed!" He drew a long breath. "But I fancy it isn't much news to you."

"Some of it is," Polly replied. "I never thought of Miss Sniffen's being dishonest with money. I don't see how she can—"

"Easy enough in a place like that. But this other is pretty bad business. If Miss Twining should happen to die without any doctor, and the authorities should find out that Miss Sniffen beat—"

"No, she didn't!" interrupted Polly. "I suppose she meant to, but Miss Twining fainted and that put a stop to it. I'd tell you everything, David, only Miss Nita and Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly and I agreed not to say a word to anybody."

"Never mind! I can guess enough. Something should be done about it, Polly. If Miss Twining needs a doctor, she ought to have one immediately."

"I know it!" Her voice was troubled. "I wanted to tell Mr. Randolph; but they won't let me, for fear he'll take the Home's part, or something, and get them into trouble. I don't know what to do!"

The car stopped at the Gresham door, and Polly forgot disagreeable things in the pleasure of Mrs. Collins's cordial welcome.



CHAPTER XXIX

DISAPPOINTMENT

Miss Twining was worse. Dr. Gunnip had been called late in the afternoon. It was now nearly six o'clock, and the third-floor corner room was discussing the situation.

"I guess you'd better see Mr. Randolph to-morrow," Mrs. Albright was saying.

"Why not make it this evening?" returned Polly. "She may not live till morning!" Tears were in her voice.

"No, the Doctor didn't think she'd give out right away; he said she might last a good while."

"Little he knows about it!" scorned Polly.

"Well, he said it right up and down!" put in Miss Crilly.

"It is too bad!" Polly drew a long, sighing breath. "I don't believe she'd have had any heart trouble at all, if Miss Sniffen hadn't made this fuss!"

"The excitement has no doubt aggravated it," commented Mrs. Albright.

"Is that all Dr. Gunnip said, that she had heart disease?" queried Polly.

"He didn't stay long enough to say anything!" sputtered Miss Crilly. "He walked in and walked out—I wish I'd timed him!"

"You'd have had to look in a hurry," remarked Mrs. Albright quietly.

"Guess he's like a doctor my mother used to tell about," observed Miss Crilly. "You had to catch hold of his coat-tails if you wanted to ask him a question. And he never would have consultation, no matter how sick anybody was. He said, one could play on a fiddle better than two."

A quick little smile ran round the group; but nobody laughed. The present question was too serious.

"Miss Twining didn't tell me much," resumed Mrs. Albright. "The Doctor had just gone, and I was in a fidget for fear Miss Sniffen would come back. But I could see that he had upset her completely. I don't think, from what she did say, that he gave her any particulars. He said she had got to be extremely careful. She feels as if it was about over with her."

"I wish father could see her," fretted Polly. "He wouldn't frighten her so, even if he did have to tell her that her heart was in bad shape! I hate Dr. Gunnip worse than ever! Did he leave her any medicine?"

"Oh, yes! I saw two little piles of tablets on the table."

"Likely as not they'll make her worse!" Polly got up. "I'm going to see Mr. Randolph to-night!" she announced determinedly.

"No, no!" objected Mrs. Albright. "Wait until morning! It would only excite her more to have another doctor now. She'd think she was in a worse condition than she is."

"I'd wait if I were you," agreed Miss Sterling. "I think it will be better all round."

"Well," yielded Polly reluctantly, and sat down again.

"What you going to tell him, anyway?" questioned Miss Crilly a bit anxiously.

"Why—everything!" Polly's hands flew apart with expressive gesture.

"I'm afraid he won't want to interfere."

"He isn't a fool!" retorted Polly. "And when I've told him all I'm going to tell him, if he doesn't interfere—if he isn't aching to interfere—he will be one!"

Miss Crilly giggled. "You're the greatest!" she said admiringly.

The next morning Polly awoke with the vague consciousness that something of importance was at hand. Then she remembered. To-day she was to see Mr. Randolph!

During breakfast the matter was discussed.

"You seem suddenly to have become a woman of affairs," playfully remarked Dr. Dudley.

"There isn't anybody else to do things," said Polly plaintively. "Miss Crilly wouldn't amount to anything if she went. She'd get scared first thing and make a regular fizzle of it. Mrs. Albright has pluck enough in some ways; but she couldn't be hired to see Mr. Randolph. Of course, Miss Nita'd do it all right; but she just won't! And somebody must!"

"It is full time," the Doctor agreed; "but it looks a big load for your shoulders."

"Oh, I don't mind this!" Polly said brightly. "It was hard, going to Mr. Parcell's; but this is—different, you know."

"Decidedly different."

Polly glanced up from under her eyelashes. She knew what he thought of her visit to the minister's, and now she sighed a little in remembrance of his fatherly comments.

"Of course, Mr. Randolph will be surprised—shocked, I guess; but he isn't to blame, and he's a lovely man to talk to. I think I'm going to enjoy it."

Mrs. Dudley caught the twinkle in her husband's eyes, and laughed.

"What have I said out of the way now?" Polly laid down her fork.

"Nothing," her father answered gravely.

"I don't see why mother was laughing, then." She glanced from one to the other.

They sipped their coffee in silence, but the girl detected a lingering bit of a smile on her mother's lips.

As soon as she had put her room in trim for the day, Polly ran over to the Home for a final talk with Miss Sterling before making her appointment with Mr. Randolph.

She found both Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly in the corner room. A little excitement was in the air.

"Have you heard?" asked Miss Crilly.

Polly's eyes went frightened.

"No—what?" she said weakly.

"Don't be scared, child! It is nothing!" Mrs. Albright put an arm around her. "It is only that Mr. Randolph is sick."

"O-o-h!" mourned Polly.

"It's in the morning paper," added Miss Crilly. "It says, 'seriously ill.'"

"Yet he may not be," interposed Miss Sterling. "The papers seldom get it right."

"It is too bad!" Polly sat down. "Our paper was late," she explained, "and father didn't have time to read it,—he was called off from breakfast,—and I was thinking so much about going that I forgot the paper. Is that all it says?"

"Yes. It doesn't tell what the matter is."

"Now we shall have to wait!" said Polly dismally. "How is Miss Twining?"

"A little brighter, I think," answered Mrs. Albright.

"Dear me! I hope Mr. Randolph won't die!" Miss Crilly's face was despairing. "There isn't another one we'd dare tell!"

"No," agreed Polly, "he's the only man we can trust. We can't do a single thing till he gets well."



CHAPTER XXX

DOODLES SINGS

Doodles had heard of Nelson Randolph's illness, yet he was unprepared for the additional tidings that came to him when he was on a downtown errand.

"Oh, he suffers something terrible!" exclaimed the boy who brought the news. "Carl Harris told me about it. He's down there in the paper office, and they say if he don't get better pretty soon he's got to die! The Doctor can't stop the pain."

Doodles walked away thinking hard. "Guess I'll go," he told himself. "He liked my singing the other night up here, and perhaps it would make him forget. Anyhow, I can go!"

An hour later Doodles stood at the door of the Randolph home.

"He's sick. He can't see anybody," said the maid who answered his ring.

"Is he able to talk?" queried the lad.

The girl nodded.

"Then will you please ask him if he would like to have Doodles Stickney sing to him."

"'T won't do no good," she replied indifferently. "The nurse won't let anybody see him."

A man came slowly up the steps, and the boy turned to recognize a well-known physician.

"Oh, Dr. Temple!" he began eagerly, "do you think Mr. Randolph would like to have me sing for him?"

The physician looked the lad over gravely. He was so long about it, Doodles wondered if his boots were dusty and the Doctor were disapproving them. Then came the answer.

"Probably not."

"But he did like to hear me sing the other night when he was at our house. He said so. And when I heard how he is suffering, I thought perhaps I could make him forget it." His appealing brown eyes looked straight into those keen blue ones that the physician's admirers thought saw everything.

Dr. Temple considered a moment. "Come in!" he said.

Doodles followed where he led, which was into the first room beyond the entrance.

"Sing!" was the order.

Doodles, not in the least abashed, stood where he was, in the middle of the reception room, and began.

Soft, soft as the crooning of a mother bird, came the first notes.

"Peace...peace...peace I leave with you." Gently the music rose, the lad's voice beautifully modulated to suit the time and place. "My peace...my peace I give unto you:...not as the world giveth...not as the world giveth...give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled...let not your heart be troubled...let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

The physician sat still for a moment, as if reluctant to break the spell. Then he got up quickly. "Come!" he bade.

Doodles followed, up the velvet-covered stairs, with never the sound of a footstep, and to the end of a wide corridor.

"Wait here, please!" Dr. Temple motioned him to a chair by the window, and after knocking at a door disappeared behind it.

Presently he returned. "You may sing what you sang downstairs." He went back, leaving the door ajar.

Again Doodles sang. At the end he waited, wondering if he were to keep on.

A white-clad young woman came out of the room, smiling to him under her pretty white cap.

"Mr. Randolph would like to have you sing some more," she said.

"The Lord is my Shepherd," "Come unto Me," "I will lift up mine eyes," "The Lord bless thee and keep thee,"—these and others Doodles sang, while not a sound came from the room beyond.

Then the young woman appeared again.

"Mr. Randolph says he wishes you would sing 'Old Folks at Home,'" she told him.

At the close of the song the nurse came to the door and beckoned him in.

The president of the Paper Company put out a feeble hand.

"Thank you, Doodles!" he smiled. "I suppose you came all the way from Foxford just to sing for me!"

"Oh, that isn't anything!" said the boy lightly. "I am glad to do it, Mr. Randolph. I do hope you will get better!"

"I am better now! You have done me good, Doodles!"

"I'm so glad! May I come again?" eagerly.

"I should be mighty glad if you could! I will send my car for you any day."

"Thank you!" The lad's face was radiant. "To-morrow?" He glanced at Dr. Temple.

The Doctor gave him a smiling nod.

"This same time?"

"Better than the afternoon," assented the physician.

Doodles was downstairs when the nurse came out to speak to him.

"Mr. Randolph says to wait and he will have his man take you home."

So Doodles rode to Foxford in Mr. Randolph's sumptuous roadster, to the astonishment of Blue whom he met not far from home.



CHAPTER XXXI

SHUT OUT

Miss Sterling was not in her room. Polly had knocked and knocked. Finally she turned away and went slowly downstairs.

"Is Miss Nita out?" she asked of Miss Sniffen in the lower hall.

"I don't know," was the answer. She did not offer to look at the day-book on the desk.

Miss Lily came by, on her way upstairs, and said good-morning as she passed.

Polly had reached the door, when a little cry arrested her. She turned to see Miss Lily half kneeling on the stairs, clutching the rail.