ck," he said;
"but, Thistledown, I must discover a way, if possible, to keep
you from that woman. I want to find out just how much legal right
she has in regard to you. If we could only obtain sufficient
evidence to prove that she is not a proper person to care for you
--"

Polly had suddenly sat up straight, her eyes round with the
startling, beautiful thought.

"Do you mean," she broke in excitedly, "that I should n't have
to go back to Aunt Jane?"

The Doctor bowed. "But--" he began.

"Oh, then I can stay with you!" she burst out. "She is n't
proper, she is n't nice, she is n't--anything!"

"I know, my dear!" smiled the Doctor. "But such things are hard
to prove. I shall keep you, Thistledown, just as long as the law
will let me; but the law must be obeyed, and we can't tell how
things will come out."

"Won't I have to go back to-morrow?" she asked eagerly.

"No, indeed," he assured her. "Were you dreading that? Don't be
afraid, Thistledown! Keep up a stout heart! You shall stay here
for the present anyway." He looked at his watch. "I think I'll
find Jack at home now," he said; and, letting Polly slip to her
feet, he placed her in his chair and crossed over to the
telephone.

Polly listened breathlessly. She knew that "Jack" must mean
only Jack Brewster, a lawyer of the city, who had been a college
classmate of the Doctor's. The two were close friends.

"That you, Jack?" Polly heard. "Yes. I want to see you
professionally, as soon as possible. No," laughing; "but it is
important. Can you come up this evening? All right. Good-bye."

"Jack Brewster will do his best for us," the Doctor said, coming
back. "He says he will be here at seven or a little after. I
think it probably that he will wish to ask you a few questions;
but you won't be afraid of him. He is one of the gentlest men I
ever knew--and the strongest," he added.

"I am not afraid of anybody that is your friend," returned
Polly.

The Doctor smiled. "A very pretty compliment!" he told her; but
she gave his praise scant notice.

"I wonder," she said, "if you would like to see the little book
mama wrote about my Anne sisters."

"You what?" he queried.

"My Anne sisters."

Only his twinkling eyes disclosed his amusement. "Ancestors you
mean, don't you?" he corrected gently.

"Maybe," doubtfully; "but there are lots of Annes in it that are
related to me."

"Where is the book?"

"Right upstairs, in 'Under the Lilacs.' Don