With a second surprise on her freckled face, the child pointed to a
fat, red-cheeked woman, who was cooling herself with a big palm-leaf
fan, in a basement doorway just beyond.

"Thank you," was the polite response, and Polly descended the
short flight of steps into the bricked area.

The woman looked up expectantly.

"I'm Polly May, of the hospital staff," the little girl
announced modestly, "and Brida would like her kitten, please."

The smile on Mrs. MacCarthy's face expanded into a big, joyous
laugh.

"Does she now? Moira! Katie! D'ye here that? Brida's sint f'r her
cat! Sure an' she moost be gittin' 'long rale well! An' ye're
from th' hospital! Moira! Where's yer manners? Fetch th' little
lady a chair! Katie, git a mug o' wather an' wan o' thim big
crackers. Don't ye know how to trate comp'ny?"

In a minute Polly was seated, a china mug of water in one hand,
and a crisp soda biscuit in the other, while the MacCarthy family
circled around her, eager for news from the beloved Brida. There
were only encouraging accounts to give of the little girl with the
broken ankle; but they led to so many questions that Polly began
to wonder how she should ever escape from these friendly people,
when Popover herself solved the question.