re big, juicy blackberries,
with which Dr. Dudley piled Polly's dish high.

When they returned to the office the story of the afternoon was
finished, Polly holding back nothing, even repeating her saucy
speech to the nurse.

The Doctor received it with a queer little smile.

"It was dreadfully impolite things when I get mad."

"Most people do," he responded. "One of the worst features of
anger is that it robs us of self-control, and that is a terrible
loss, if only for a moment."

Polly did not speak and after a bit of a pause the Doctor went on.

"Miss Price is going through a pretty hard place just now. Word
came yesterday that her only sister, who is a missionary in
Turkey, is very sick and not expected to live."

"Oh, I wish I had n't said that!" Polly broke out penitently. "I
might go up and tell her I'm sorry," she hesitated.

"It would n't be a bad plan," Dr. Dudley replied.

So Polly said good-night rather soberly, although carrying away
with her the gay-colored book and the happy belief that David was
going to get well.

Her feet lagged, as they drew near the ward. What would Miss
Price say? Would she make it easy or hard for her to apologize?
Then the thought of the sick sister far away in Turkey, and half
forgot herself.

The nurse was writing at her little table, when she looked up to
see Polly by her side.

"I'm sorry I was so saucy this afternoon," came in a soft voice.
"I did n't know about your sister then. I hope she'll get
well."

For a moment Miss Price did not speak, and Polly fancied she saw
tears in the black eyes.

"Thank you, my dear," she replied then. "Perhaps I was too
severe. But we will be friends now, won't we?"

Polly gave a serious assent, in doubt whether she should proffer a
kiss or not; but finally went away without giving the token. She
had a vague feeling that Miss Hortensia Price would not care for
kisses.

Chapter VI

Elsie's Birthday

For a week Elsie Meyers had been talking about her coming
birthday, and half wishing that she could be discharged early
enough to allow its celebration at home.

"Mamma always makes a cake for our birthdays," she told the
children, plaintively. "Last year mine was choc'late, and year
before that, jelly. Mamma said next time she'd have it orange,
same's she did Ida's. Now I can't have no cake or nothin', 'count
o' this old hip!" and she pouted discontentedly.

"But your arm is 'most well," suggested Polly. "Th