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