"I don't care what 't is," whined Brida,--"anything 'bout a
kitty. Oh, don't I wisht I had me own darlin' Popover right here
in me arms!--Why don't yer begin?" urged the fretful voice,
for Polly sat gazing at the polished floor.

A kindly, fascinating scheme was taking shape in the story-teller's
brain.

"Oh, Brida," she cried, in suppressed eagerness, lowering her
voice to a whisper that should not reach Miss Lucy at the other
end of the ward, "I've thought of the loveliest thing! Your home
is n't very far from here, is it?"

"A good ways--why?" and Brida's little pale, freckled face
showed only mild interest.

"But where do you live--when you're home?" Polly insisted.

"'T 739 Liberty Street is right down by Union! I can find that
easy enough! Say, don't you s'pose your mother 'd let me take
Popover and bring her up here? You know Miss Lucy wants me to go
out to walk every day now."

"Oh, Polly!" the pale face grew pink with joy. "Sure, me mother
'd let her come! Oh, Polly, if you would!"

"I will! And I won't say a word to Miss Lucy about it till
Popover is here! It's her birthday to-day, and it'll be such a
beautiful surprise! I've been wishing and wishing we had
something to give her."