little dunce I believed it all and went to that party anticipating
a blissful supply of waffles. In vain I looked up and down the
elegant table! I ate and ate, but never a waffle appeared!
Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I piped out, 'Cousin
Dorothy, please can I have my waffles now?' Of course, my mother
was dreadfully mortified, for some of the guests were strangers,
and very great people; but Dorothy took it as a mighty good joke,
and even after I was married she used to laugh about my 'w'awful'
disappointment. I've not gotten over my appetite for waffles
either! I believe I could eat and relish them three times a day."

"You couldn't! Just wait till you've had 'em fifty-two times a
year, five years running--as I have!" Mrs. Crump's lips made a
straight line.

"Mrs. Crump has kept tabs on her waffles," giggled Miss Crilly.
"How many does this morning make--five hundred and--?"

"Sh!" nudged Mrs. Bonnyman at Miss Crilly's elbow.

Two youngish women entered the room. They were the superintendent
and the matron.

Upstairs, meanwhile, Miss Juanita Sterling; in bed, and Polly
Dudley, seated on the outside, were having a familiar talk.

"I shouldn't think you'd want to die till God gave you something to
die of," Polly was saying wistfully. "I think He must want you to
live, or He would give you something to die of. Perhaps He has
some beautiful work for you to do and is waiting for you to get
well and do it."

"Polly, I cannot work! And there is no lack of things for me to die
of!" Impatience crept into the sweet voice. "Being in prison is
bad enough even with good health; but to be sick, wretched--the
worst kind of sickness, because nobody understands!--and to grow
old, too, grow old fast--oh, I wish God would let me die!" The
little woman gave a sudden whirl and hid her face in the pillow.

"Don't, Miss Nita!" Polly's voice was distressed. She stroked the
smooth, soft hair. "Don't cry! You're not old! You're not old a
bit! And you're going to be well--father says so!"

"That won't take away the dewlap--oh!" cried Miss Sterling
fiercely, "I don't want a dewlap!"

"Dewlap?" scowled Polly. "What's a dewlap?"

"Polly! You know!" came from down among the feathers.

"I don't!" Polly protested. "Is it some kind of--cancer?"

"Cancer! Polly!" Miss Sterling laughed out.

"Well, I don't know what it is." Polly laughed in sympathy.

"Look here!" The little lady raised herself on