stories as I've lived since I came here,
not much like the ones I'd planned! But to-day's will be better,
because you'll be in it," he ended brightly.

Polly's eyes had been growing rounder and rounder with surprise
and delight.

"Oh! Was it a Cherry-Pudding Story?" she asked eagerly.

"Why, have you read it?" and the little white face actually grew
pink. "My aunt wrote it, and sent us a paper that had it in!"

"Why--ee!" cried Polly. "is n't that funny! And we've been
trying to live nice stories, too--all of us, up in the ward!
Miss Lucy said we'd see which could live the best one. A lady
told me the story. And your aunt really made it all up?"

"Yes; she writes lots of stories," smiled David. "Then she sends
them to mamma and me and wen they're printed."

"How splendid!" beamed Polly. "When you get well enough to come
down in our ward, you can tell us some, can't you?"

The boy's face saddened. "I guess I can't ever come," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I was hurt so badly. I don't think I'm going to get
well."

"Oh, yes, you will!" asserted Polly. "Of course Dr. Dudley will
cure you! Goodness! You ought to have seen how I was all smashed
up! But Dr. Dudley cured me--he can cure anybody!"

"He can?" echoed David, a little doubtfully. "How 'd you get
hurt? Were you run over?"

"Yes, by a building," Polly laughed. "Only it did n't run; it
fell. I was 'way up on the third floor, and all of a sudden it
went--just like that!" Polly's little hands dropped flat in
her lap. "I heard a great noise, and felt myself going, and I
remember I clutched hold of Uncle Gregory. Then I did n't know
another thing till I woke up over in that corner. See that bed
with the dark-haired little girl in it, the third from the end?
That was my cot."

"Was your leg broken?" asked David, in a most interested tone.

"Yes, my leg was broken, and my hip was _discolated_ (Polly
sometimes twisted her long words a little), and my ankle was
hurt, and two ribs, and, oh, lots of things! Doctor says now that
he really did n't think I'd ever walk again--I mean, without
crutches."

"And you're not lame a bit?" David returned incredulously.

"Not a mite, not the least mite!" Polly assured him.

"Then perhaps I shall get well," the boy began brightly.

"Of course you will!" broke in Dr. Dudley's happy voice.

He put his hand on the lad's wrist, and stood for a moment, noting
his pulse.

"It does n't seem to hurt you to h