me out of my wits by screaming
at me to catch a wild animal, and then, when I've done my best,
shut the door of my office right in my face! What do you mean by
such extraordinary conduct, Miss Polly May?" The physician shook
a threatening finger and the flushed and laughing little girl.

"You don't look very scared," she giggled; and then as he
dropped into his lounging-chair she slipped into her favorite
position, atilt on its arm, and leaned confidingly against him.

"Oh, I've had such a time with that kitten!" she sighed, smiling
across at the little creature, now curled up contentedly on the
Doctor's fur rug.

"I take it, by the way you are breathing, that you and the cat
have been having a race."

"All over everywhere," answered Polly, "till I thought I'd never
catch her. You see she was going to be a birthday surprise to
Miss Lucy, and High Price went and spoiled it all."

The story of the afternoon was narrated in Polly's most vivid
style.

"Is n't it queer that High Price should come just then?" she
sighed. "I don't like her; do you?"

"She is an excellent young woman and a good nurse," Dr. Dudley
returned.

"Well, I don't want her for my nurse," Polly maintained soberly.

"Still, if you were very sick," smiled the Doctor, "I could not
hope for better care than she would give you."

"Oh, if I were awfully sick, and out of my head, maybe High Price
would do; but if I knew anything I should want Miss Lucy." And
Polly's curls waved in emphasis.

Dr. Dudley chuckled responsively.

"I don't think you appreciate Miss Lucy," Polly continued.

The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "Don't I?" he returned meekly.

"You don't act as if you did," Polly sighed; "and I want you to,
for she's so sweet and little and--cuddly, you know. You could
n't call High Price cuddly; could you?"

"It is n't a term I should apply to her," agreed the Doctor,
with the hint of a smile.

"Miss Lucy would have liked Popover going to get along without
Miss Lucy, 'specially at bedtime."

"What does she do then?"

"Oh, we tell stories!--at least, I do, and sometimes she does,
and generally we sing--real soft, you know, so it won't disturb
anybody. Then she says a little prayer, and we go to bed. Dear
me, how we shall miss her! Why, the other night, when Aimee's arm
ached, Miss Lucy took her right in her lap, and rocked her to
sleep! And when little Isabel cries for her mamma, Miss Lucy's
just as nice to her, and cuddles