Towards noon came a telephone call for Polly to go down to Dr.

Dudley's office. Usually she sped gladly to obey such a summons; now she was a.s.sailed by a sudden fear.

"Have I made her very much worse?" was her instant inquiry, as the Doctor opened his door?

"Made whom worse?" he questioned.

"Why, Mrs. Jocelyn!"

"I have heard nothing from her. What is it?"

Polly told of her visit and of the reading.

"Is that all!" the Doctor laughed. "Don't worry about it any more, little girl! Your stories are not the kind that harm people. What did you read? One that I know?"

"I don't think so," Polly replied. "I did n't tell you about Prince Benito, did I?"

The physician shook his head. "Suppose you tell it to me now,"

he suggested.

So, perched comfortably upon the arm of his chair, Polly related the story of "The Wonderful White Flower."

"I see," he mused, as Polly stopped speaking. He was silent a moment. Then he went on.

"Mrs. Jocelyn lost her only child, a beautiful little boy, when he was eight years old. It is not unlikely that this story awakened tender memories."

"I'm sorry I made her feel bad," grieved Polly.

"I would n't be if I were you."

A "Why!" of wonder was rounding Polly's lips, as the physician continued:--

"Perhaps you have done Mrs. Jocelyn more good than you will ever know. Since her husband and little boy died she has shut people out of her life, seldom leaving her home, and rarely entertaining a guest. From what she has said to me I judge that she has allowed herself to brood over her sorrows till she has become bitter and melancholy. Let's hope that your little story will open her eyes."

"Does she live all alone when she is home?" queried Polly.

"Alone with her servants."

"Oh, then she is n't poor! I thought she must be."

Dr. Dudley smilingly shook his head. "She has more money than probably you or I will ever handle, little girl; but we'll have better riches than gold, won't we?"

"Yes; you'll make people well, and I'll try to make them happy,"

returned Polly, a sweet seriousness on her usually merry face. "I wish I could make everybody in the world happy," she added.

"That is too big a job for one little Thistledown," laughed Dr.

Dudley. "There!" he exclaimed, "I nearly forgot what I called you down for! Colonel Gresham hailed me out here, and asked if you could go to Forest Park, this afternoon, with him and Lone Star. I said yes. Was that all right?

"Of course!" beamed Polly. "Is n't it lovely of him to ask me?

Had I better tell him that David is better?"

"Not unless he inquires," the Doctor answered. "He said he would be here at three o'clock. You can come down a little before that, and keep a lookout for him, so as not to make him wait."

Polly was on hand, in the Doctor's office, while it still lacked fifteen minutes of the hour; but the Colonel was early, and the waiting time was short. Very sweet she looked, as she ran down the stone walk to the street, in her dainty new white dress with simple ruffles edging neck and sleeves. In the delight of the moment Polly did not forget the children up an the ward windows, but waved them a gay good-bye, while Colonel Gresham greeted the bobbing heads with a graceful swing of his straw hat.

There was not much talk at first, for the way to the park lay through the heart of the city; but Polly was content silently to watch the changing throngs around them.

Suddenly the Colonel drew up his horse in response to call from the sidewalk, and presently was in a business talk with the man who arrested him.

"I shall have to leave you for a moment," he said, at length, turning to Polly. "I'll be back shortly." And, having fastened Lone Star, he disappeared up a stairway.

Polly was enjoying this little break, when she caught sight of a well-known face. "It's Aunt Jane!" she murmured, and was promptly seized with a desire to hide. Breathlessly she watched the woman in the black dress, hoping for escape from those ferret eyes; but the horse and carriage were conspicuous, and Aunt Jane's glance fell first on Lone Star and then pa.s.sed to the little girl upon the seat.

"Polly May!" she exclaimed, and Polly smiled a somewhat uncertain greeting.

"How in the world did you come here?" tw.a.n.ged the remembered voice.

"Colonel Gresham is taking me to ride," was the explanation, "and he's gone upstairs a minute."

"Colonel Gresham! Goodness gracious me! Well, you are coming up in the world! Why hain't you been round to see me?"

"I'm--pretty busy," answered Polly, "I--"

"Busy! Huh, you must be! Well, so'm I busy, or I should 'a'

been up after you before this. Guess you've stayed at that hospital 'bout long enough. You might 's well be helpin' me as gallivantin' round with Tom, d.i.c.k, and Harry."

"I--thought I was going to stay all summer," faltered Polly.

"I did n't make no special agreement, and now there's cannin' and picklin' and what-not to do, I could keep you out o' mischief easy. Where'd you get that dress?"

"Miss Lucy bought it for me."

"She did, hey? Well, 't ain't hurt with trimmin', is it?"

The Colonel appearing at the moment, Aunt Jane made a rather hurried departure, while she a.s.sured Polly that she would "be round before long."

"Who is that woman?" inquired Colonel Gresham.

"My Aunt Jane," was the soft answer.

"What's her other name?"

"Mrs. Simpson. Uncle Gregory--that was her husband--was killed when the building fell, and I was hurt."

"Oh, yes! I recollect. Well, is Aunt Jane good to you? Do you love her very much?"

Polly waived the first question, and proceeded to the second.

"I'm afraid I don't love her at all," she replied honestly. "Of course, I ought to; but I don't."