Polly threw him a kiss from the doorway, and then he heard her
light footfalls on the stairs.

It was one of his few leisure hours, and he sat for a long time
looking out on the quiet street, where his small motor car stood
waiting. He had no inclination for a spin to Warringford now; he
was thinking too deeply about the little girl who had held so
large a share of his big heart since the day when he had first
seen her, lying so white and still, with the life all but crushed
out of her. It had not seemed possible then that she would ever
again dance around like the other children; yet her she was,
without even the bit of a limp--and going home to-morrow! Home!
He could imagine the kind of place it was, and he shook his head
gravely over the picture. Twice in the first months of Polly's
stay at the hospital her aunt had been to visit her; recently she
had not appeared. He recollected her well,--a tall, lean
woman, with unshapely garments, and a strident voice.

At eight o'clock Dr. Dudley cranked up his machine, and started
away; but he did not go in the direction of Warringford. He
turned down one of the narrow streets that led to Aunt Jane's
home.

Meantime, up in the ward, Polly had been following the Doctor's
directions until the children had laughed themselves happy.

"I did n't let on that I saw you scoot under the bed when the
Doctor came," Elsie Meyer whispered to Polly, at the first
chance. "Aimee saw you, an' Brida saw you, an' Francesca saw
you; but we did n't say nothin' when Miss Lucy an' the Doctor was