ly the name, but I've kept the name itself out
of the mud as much as possible. Write to Peter Connell, New
York, and I shall get the word.

Think what it would mean to you to be shut away from your
little girl, never to look on her for two long years, with
no decent friend to care for her--and then keep my little
Chris! Oh, Doctor, keep him, and don't let him know about
me!

Good-bye.

Richard Morrow was wise when in his extremity he turned to Dr. Dudley.
The Doctor's heart was big and always ready to open its door to
anybody in distress of body or mind. Of course, little Chris
stayed--at the hospital until he was strong again, then in the
physician's own home.

The lad grieved for his father, Polly often finding him in some
obscure corner reading over with tears his latest note from "daddy."

"I can't make it seem right that he doesn't come to see me just once,"
he complained to Polly. "I should think he might get away from his
business for a little tiny while,--ten minutes or so,--even if he went
back on the next train. It isn't a bit like daddy,--not a single bit!"

And Polly, able to understand it no better than he, would strive to
comfort him.

Sometimes Mrs. Dudley wondered if, after all, it would not have been
really kinder to tell the little lad the truth.

Nothing was said to Polly about the boy's board, and this gave her an
additional anxiety. He had now the appetite of a young convalescent
who was rapidly gaining strength, and Polly watched his plate at
mealtime with dismay in her heart. She would zealously try to curb her
own appetite, but found it a difficult task, and finally, in
desperation, she made a weightier decision, and then ate what she
pleased and as much, as seemed proper for the short time that
remained. For, at last, after days of argument with herself, when both
sides of the question were, as she honestly believed, fairly dealt
with, Polly concluded to write to Uncle Maurice.

The time had been set for a Wednesday morning, but was postponed until
afternoon, and then three o'clock came before Polly went about it.
Chris had proposed going over to the convalescent ward for a little
visit; but Polly was in no visiting mood, so she had allowed him to go
alone.

Slowly she mounted the stairs to her own room. Even now she was
tempted to put off writing until to-morrow. Perhaps so long afterwards
Uncle Maurice would not be ready to w