"I'm afraid there is n't to-day," responded Polly; "but maybe I
can stay longer when I come again."

"I hope so," returned David politely. "My mother read me a story
the evening before I was hurt. It was about a king and queen that
lived beautiful stories, and I was going to live such a brave,
splendid one every day--and then the horse knocked me down!
Such a lot of miserable stories as I've lived since I came here,
not much like the ones I'd planned! But to-day's will be better,
because you'll be in it," he ended brightly.

Polly's eyes had been growing rounder and rounder with surprise
and delight.

"Oh! Was it a Cherry-Pudding Story?" she asked eagerly.

"Why, have you read it?" and the little white face actually grew
pink. "My aunt wrote it, and sent us a paper that had it in!"

"Why--ee!" cried Polly. "is n't that funny! And we've been
trying to live nice stories, too--all of us, up in the ward!
Miss Lucy said we'd see which could live the best one. A lady
told me the story. And your aunt really made it all up?"

"Yes; she writes lots of stories," smiled David. "Then she sends
them to mamma and me and wen they're printed."

"How splendid!" beamed Polly. "When you get well enough to come
down in our ward, you can tell us some, can't you?"