the Doctor.

"You don't quite understand that, do you?" he laughed. "Well, it
means that Polly is n't going home to her aunt. Polly is going to
stay with you!"

Then what squeals and shouts and shrieks of joy from all over the
ward!



Chapter III

Popover

For a week the convalescent ward laughed and sang and almost
forgot that it was part of the big House of Suffering. Polly
herself beamed on everybody, and all the hospital people seemed to
agree that very good fortune had come to her, and to be glad in
it.

Then there came a hot day which tried the patience of the small
invalids. Polly flitted from cot to cot with her little
fluttering fan and her cooling drinks. The afternoon breeze had
not yet arrived when Brida MacCarthy begged for a story.

"It will have to be and old one," was the smiling response, for
Polly's supply of cat tales--the kind which the little Irish
girl invariably wanted--was limited.