d the baffled attempt at hiding. As he listened, his eyes grew
grave and tender, for in the broken little confession he
comprehended the child's unspoken abhorrence of the life she had
left behind when she had come to the hospital five months before.

"I would n't worry about going back to Aunt Jane's," he said
brightly. "You may be sure I shan't let her monopolize my little
Polly. Now, run along and get on your hat and coat, for the air is
growing cool. We'll have a nice spin up to Warringford, and
you'll sleep all the better for it."

Polly skipped away smiling, but presently was down in the office,
--without her wraps.

"The children feel so bad to have me go," she said soberly, "I
guess I'd better stay with them--seeing it's the last night."
Her lip quivered.

"Selfish little pigs!" returned the Doctor. "They are n't
willing anybody else shall have a taste of you."

Polly laughed. "Well, they want me to tell them a story, so I'd
better, don't you think?"

"I suppose it's kinder to them than to go for a joy ride; but
it's hard on me."

Dr. Dudley assumed a scowl of disapproval.

The child hesitated. "You know I'd rather go with you," she said
sweetly; "but they--"

"I understand all about it, brave little woman," throwing an arm
around the slender shoulders, "and I won't make it any harder for
you. Go and tell your story, and let it be a merry one.
Remember, that's the Doctor's order! Good-night."

Polly threw him a kiss from the doorway, and then he heard her
light footfalls on the stairs.

It was one of his few leisure hours, and he sat for a long time
looking out on the quiet street, where his small motor car stood
waiting. He had no inclination for a spin to Warringford now; he
was thinking too deeply about the little girl who had held so
large a share of his big heart since the day when he had first
seen her, lying so white and still, with the life all but crushed
out of her. It had not seemed possible then that she would ever
again dance around like the other children; yet her she was,
without even the bit of a limp--and going home to-morrow! Home!
He could imagine the kind of place it was, and he shook his head
gravely over the picture. Twice in the first months of Polly's
stay at the hospital her aunt had been to visit her; recently she
had not appeared. He recollected her well,--a tall, lean
woman, with unshapely garments, and a strident voice.

At eight o'clock Dr. Dudley cranked u