lessly.
She could not see any reason or justification in "their"
cruelties,--for that was the only term she could apply to her
afflictions.

Mrs. Bird had known sorrow, and she did her best to minister to the
troubled and wrong little heart; but it was so torn that it could be
healed only by the soft balm of Time.

Perhaps, a long while after such a grief,--it is always "perhaps" in a
great crisis, though the certainty is ours if we will but grasp
it,--perhaps the hidden meaning of the sorrow steals gently into our
softened hearts. We see, as in a vision, a new light by which to work;
we rise, cast off the out-grown shell, and build us a more stately
mansion, in which to dwell till God makes that home also too small to
hold the ever-growing soul!

CHAPTER XIII.

A GARDEN FLOWER, OR A BANIAN-TREE.

In August Mr. John Bird took Polly to the Nobles' ranch in Santa
Barbara, in the hope that the old scenes and old friends might soothe
her, and give her strength to take up the burden of life with something
of her former sunshiny spirit.

Edgar was a junior now, back at his work, sunburned and strong from his
summer's outing. He had seen Polly twice after his return to San
Francisco; but the first meeting was an utter failure, and the second
nearly as trying. Neither of them could speak of the subject that
absorbed their thoughts, nor had either courage enough to begin other
topics of conversation. The mere sight of Edgar was painful to the
girl now, it brought to mind so much that was dear, so much that was
past and gone.

In the serenity of the ranch-life, the long drives with Margery and
Philip, the quiet chats with Mrs. Noble, Polly gained somewhat in
strength; but the old "spring," vitality, and enthusiasm had vanished
for the time, and the little circle of friends marveled at this Polly
without her nonsense, her ready smiles, her dancing dimples, her
extravagances of speech.

Once a week, at least, Dr. George would steal an hour or two, and
saddle his horse to take Polly for a gallop over the hills, through the
canons, or on the beach.

His half-grave, half-cheery talks on these rides did her much good. He
sympathized and understood and helped, even when he chided, and Polly
sometimes forgot her own troubles in wondering whether Dr. George had
not suffered and overcome a good many of his own.

"You make one great error, my child," he once said, in response to one
of Polly's outbursts of grief; "