David's face shaded with sudden dismay.

"You have n't got to go back to your Aunt Jane's?" he demanded fiercely.

Polly's head gave the answer. At the moment speech seemed impossible.

"You shall not!" he burst out. "If Dr. Dudley lets you go and live with those--those heathen, I'll never speak to him again as long as I live!"

"Why, David Collins!" Polly's gentle voice was grieved and full of astonishment.

The pale, blue-eyed lad seemed to have vanished, and another to be standing there before her. His eyes, grown suddenly dark, set in that flaming face, gave him a most unnatural look.

"I shall have to go--Aunt Jane says I must," she went on sadly. "There's no other way."

"There would be another way, if I was a man!" he raged. "Oh, oh!

I wish I were! I wish I were!" he cried pa.s.sionately; and throwing himself upon the couch, face downward, his shoulders shook with sobs.

Leonora bent her head on her arm, and wept silently.

Polly was endeavoring to soothe them both when Dr. Dudley came in.

Learning the cause of the tears, he remonstrated in his humorous way, until Leonora smiled again; but David scorned such comfort, refusing to move or to speak. Finally the Doctor started to prepare the medicine he had come for, and the girls went upstairs, Polly renewing to return directly after the noon meal.

Chapter XIV

Polly's "Anne Sisters"

Dr. Dudley's office was without an occupant when Polly peeped in.

The Doctor had not returned from dinner, and David had gone home for the rest of the day. The little girl wandered about the room, too full of vague dread to care for books, or even for the fine collection of sea sh.e.l.ls, which usually she never tired of. They had been brought home from foreign sh.o.r.es by an old uncle of the physician's, and now, ranged on their wide shelves, they gleamed out from a farther corner of the office in all the delicate tints of their wonderful family.

But to-day Polly pa.s.sed them by with only a sigh, remembering the happy times that she and David and Leonora had had in their close company, now playing that they were mermaids, come to tell them strange tales of the under-seas, now holding them to their ears, to catch the mysterious, fascinating songs of the ocean which they were always singing.

"Here already?" broke in the Doctor's pleasant voice. "I don't believe they gave you much of a dinner."

"Yes, it was good; but I was n't hungry this noon," Polly replied, with a wan little smile.

"You were in such a hurry to come down and see me that it took away your appet.i.te--was that it?" he laughed.

"I don't know," was the sober answer.

The Doctor glanced furtively at her face, and grew grave at once.

He squared some books and magazines upon the table, and then sat down in his lounging-chair, pulling Polly to his knee.

"I want to know more about that Aunt Jane of yours," he began.

"Was you mother her sister, or--"

"Oh, no, she was n't!" Polly interrupted. "Mamma was an only child, just like me."

"And your father--did he have brothers or sisters?"

"I don't know," she answered slowly.

"He died when I was three years old. I can only just remember him."

"Do you recollect what Aunt Jane's name was before she married?

Was it May?"

Polly shook her head doubtfully. "I can't seem to think," she mused. "Oh! I guess it was Carter, 'cause she's always saying that Maude is clear Carter, just like her folds, and Marcus is all Simpson, like Uncle Gregory."

"What was you mother's maiden name, her name when she was a girl?" the Doctor next questioned.

"Phebe Illingworth. Grandma Illingworth was her mother. She lived with us. She died the year before mamma did."

"Thistledown," went on the Doctor, "some of my questions may sound rude, but it is important that I know a little more than I ever have known of your family history. I think you told me that your mother gave piano lessons."

"Yes, and grandma gave lessons on the violin and guitar, and singing lessons too."

"And what became of the piano and other musical instruments?"

asked the Doctor quickly.

"I think Aunt Jane sold them. She sold 'most everything. Some of the furniture she's got now."

"Was it nice furniture?"

"I think it was lovely. There was a beautiful sideboard--that was grandma's--with carved birds on it, and the wood was light brown--kind of yellowish--and so pretty!"

"Was that sold?"

Polly nodded sadly.

"Did you mother ever go to the bank, do you remember?"

"Oh, yes, she did! She used to carry a little book."

"Did you always have plenty of money to use--for food and clothes and so on?"

"I guess so. We had nice things to eat, and pretty things to wear."

"You never heard of any will, I suppose?"

The curls shook slowly.

"Your mother was not sick long, was she?" the Doctor asked gently.

"She was never sick. She was giving a music lesson, one afternoon, and she fainted away--they could n't make her live." The sorrowful voice softened almost to a whisper, and the golden head drooped to Dr. Dudley's shoulder.

He touched his lips to the white forehead, and tightened his clasp of the slender little form.