"Yes; David has told me that Colonel Gresham is his mother's uncle," Polly said simply.

"Well, well! So he went after the Doctor for his grand-nephew-- and did n't know it till it was all over with! What strange things happen in this world! A pretty good joke on David Gresham!" And the little sad lady actually smiled. Then she sighed. "It is too bad! If they'd only make up! But they never will. David is n't built on the make-up plan--or Eva either, I fancy. Eva Gresham was a beautiful girl," she rambled on, talking more to herself than to her interested listener. "She lived with her uncle from the time her parents died, when she was a tiny child. The Colonel idolized her."

A bit of a break in the soft voice make a momentary pause in the musing. Then it went on again. "He had nothing in the world against Jack Collins, except that he was an artist, and poor. He would n't have been poor, they say, if he had lived. His pictures were beginning to sell at good prices."

Suddenly she came back to Polly.

"So the Colonel is going to take you driving again! Well, my dear, you need n't be afraid he'll forget it; if he said he would, he will. I declare, you look a good deal as Eva used to when she was your age. She had just such golden hair and brown eyes."

"David has blue eyes--the bluest I ever saw," observed Polly.

"He probably favors his father," replied Mrs. Jocelyn.

The Doctor's entrance put a stop to the talk, and presently Polly said good-bye, and went upstairs.

Not many days afterwards she was sent with a message to Mrs.

Jocelyn's nurse, and the little lady caught sight of her at the door.

"Can't you come in and stay a while?" she called.

"I don't know," Polly hesitated, and she looked questioningly at the nurse.

"Yes, I wish you would," the young woman nodded. "I shall have to be away for a quarter of an hour or so, and if you will stay with Mrs. Jocelyn while I'm gone it will be an accommodation to me."

Polly seated herself smilingly.

"I wonder if you are as happy as you look," the little white-haired lady began.

"Oh, I'm always happy!" responded Polly; "that is, here," she added. "I could n't help being, it's so pleasant, and everybody is so good to me."

The dull gray eyes rested sadly on her. "Well, be happy while you can be," their owner said. "When you get to be old you'll forget what happiness feels like."

"Oh, but I shan't ever grow old!" laughed Polly. "Dr. Dudley and I are going to stay young!"

The little lady shook her head, and then changed the subject.

"How is David Collins getting on?"

"He is ever so much better," answered Polly; "and is n't it too bad? He's almost strong enough to come down into our ward, and there is n't any room for him! I've had to go and sleep in Miss Lucy's bed, so they could use my cot."

"Is the hospital so full as that?" scowled Mrs. Jocelyn. "Dear me, how many sick people there are!"

"There are three or four waiting now to come down, ahead of David," Poly went on. "I don't know what we shall do if he can't come at all! We've planned so many things. He said he'd tell part of the bedtime stories--oh, it was going to be lovely!"

"Perhaps there'll be a place for him pretty soon," the little lady responded. "Dr. Dudley says that you are a story-teller, too."

"Oh, yes! Some days the children keep me telling them all day long."

"Suppose you tell me one," invited the little lady.

"Well," returned Polly, a bit doubtfully, and then stopped to think over her list. "The Cherry-Pudding Story," which usually insisted on being uppermost, would scarcely do this time, she thought. It seemed to rollicking for this big, hushed room, with only one sober-eyed listener. She hastily decided that none of the cat stories were suitable, or fairy tales--"Oh!" she suddenly dimpled, "I wonder if you would n't like the story that David lent me. His aunt wrote it, and sent it to him. I read it to Miss Lucy and the children. It is about little Prince Benito and a wonderful flower."

"I shall be pleased to hear it," was the polite reply.

This seemed somewhat doubtful to Polly, used as she was to enthusiastic responses.

"Won't it tire you?" she hesitated.

"I am always tired, little one. Perhaps the story will rest me."

"This I'll run right upstairs and get it," beamed Polly. "I guess I can read it better than I can tell it. You don't mind staying alone while I'm gone?"

"No, indeed!" was the reply, yet she sighed after Polly had disappeared. All the brightness of the room seemed to have vanished.

The little sad woman soon found herself watching for the light returning footfalls, and she greeted the child with a faint smile.

Polly read as she talked, naturally and with ease, and before she had finished the first page of the story her listener had settled herself comfortably among her pillows, a look of interest on her usually spiritless face.

It was a fanciful tale of a beautiful little prince who, by sowing seeds of the Wonderful White Flower of Love, transformed his father's kingdom, a country desolate from war and threatened by famine and insurrection, into a land of prosperity and peace and joy.

At the last word, Polly, flushed with the spirit of the story, looked up expectantly; but her listener's weary eyes seemed to be studying the pattern of the dainty comfort across her lap. Sadly Polly gathered together the scattered ma.n.u.script sheets, and waited.

"Thank you, dear," the little lady finally said; but the words were spoken as with an effort.

"I am afraid I have tired you," mourned Polly.

"No, little one; you have only given me something to think of.

You read unusually well. Perhaps we'll have another story some day. You don't need to stay, of you have anything else to do. I shall want nothing until Miss Parkin comes."

Polly felt that she was dismissed, yet she had promised the nurse to remain. She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Good-bye,"

and went out. She met Miss Parkin in the hall, and explained.

Up in the ward, Miss Lucy was quick to see that Polly was troubled.

"How did the story go?" she asked.

"I don't know," Polly sighed. "I guess she did n't like it, 'cause she seemed to be thinking about something else, and she said I need n't stay any longer. I thought it would make her happier," she lamented, "and all it did was to tire her!"

Polly's eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with tears.

"Never mind, dear," said Miss Lucy comfortingly. "You did your part, and as well as you could; that's all any of us can do. So don't worry about it. There's Brida looking this way, as if she were just longing to talk with you."

"She shan't wait another minute," smiled, and off she skipped, to make Brida and her followers merry.

Chapter VIII

A warning From Aunt Jane