lives. But I fear the substitute will never be Polly! She may 'rattle
round in your place' (as somebody said under different circumstances),
but she can never fill it! Why not spend the winter with us, and do
this lovely work, keeping up other studies if you are strong enough?
It will be so sweet for you to feel that out of your own sadness you
can comfort and brighten the lives of these lonely, suffering children
and these motherless or fatherless ones. It will seem hard to begin,
no doubt; but new life will flow in your veins when you take up your
active, useful work again. The joyousness that God put into your soul
before you were born, my Polly, is a sacred trust. You must not hide
it in a napkin, dear, or bury it, or lose it. It was given to you only
that you should share it with others. It was intended for the world at
large, though it was bestowed upon you in particular. Come, dear, to
one who knows all about it,--one whom you are sweet enough to call

"YOUR FAIRY GODMOTHER."

"Mrs. Noble," said Polly, with a sober smile, "the Ancon sails on the
20th, and I am going to sail with her."

"So soon? What for, dear?"

"I am going to be a banian-tree, if you please," answered Polly.

CHAPTER XV.

LIFE IN THE BIRDS' NEST.

Polly settled down in the Birds' Nest under the protecting wing of Mrs.
Bird, and a very soft and unaccustomed sort of shelter it was.

A room had been refurnished expressly for the welcome guest, and as
Mrs. Bird pushed her gently in alone, the night of her arrival, she
said, "This is the Pilgrim Chamber, Polly. It will speak our wishes
for us."

It was not the room in which Polly had been ill for so many weeks; for
Mrs. Bird knew the power of associations, and was unwilling to leave
any reminder of those painful days to sadden the girl's new life.

As Polly looked about her, she was almost awed by the dazzling
whiteness. The room was white enough for an angel, she thought. The
straw matting was almost concealed by a mammoth rug made of white
Japanese goatskins sewed together; the paint was like snow, and the
furniture had all been painted white, save for the delicate silver
lines that relieved it. There were soft, full curtains of white
bunting fringed with something that looked like thistle-down, and the
bedstead had an overhanging canopy of the same. An open fire burned in
the little grate, and a big white and silver rattan chair was drawn
cosily before it