their interest grew intense, for Polly was a real story-teller,
sweeping her listeners along with the narrative until all else was
forgotten.

When after long despairing days, young King Cerise found his
future queen in the very last girl, one who lived her stories
instead of writing them, and was as charming and good as she was
clever, the small folks became radiantly glad, and the tale drew
to a happy end with the king and queen living beautiful stories
and cherry puddings in every home all over the land.

Nobody spoke as Polly stopped. Then little Linus, away over in
the corner, piped up:--

"I wasn't some cherry pudding!"

Than made them laugh, and set the tongues going.

"Aw, ye'll have ter wait till ye git home!" returned Cornelius
O'Shaughnessy.

"Why will he? Why can't we all have some, Miss Lucy?"

The rest fairly held their breath at Elsie Meyer's boldness.

The nurse laughed. "Perhaps," she began slowly,--"mind, I
don't say for sure, but only perhaps,--if you'll all live a
brave, patient, cheerful story, with never a bit of a whine in it,
from now until to-morrow noon,--well, who knows what may
happen!"