Polly walked straight to the seat designated, but there was no meekness in her obedience.  She carried her head defiantly, and her face was hot with anger.  To think that “High Price” should dare to find fault with Miss Lucy!  That rankled in her loyal little heart.

Chapter V

With the Assistance of Lone Star

A strain of music floated up from the street, and the children that were able to be on their feet rushed for the windows.

“It’s a band wagon!” cried Ethel.

“Two!” amended Moses.  “Say, Miss Price, can’t Polly just come and look at ’em?”

“No,” was the quiet answer, while Cornelius O’Shaughnessy made faces at the young woman’s back.

But Polly was not missing as much as the children feared.  At first her mind was in too great a tumult for her to care for band wagons.  Then, as the music soothed her excited nerves and drew her thoughts into pleasanter paths, she pictured the great wagons, and ther performers in scarlet and gold, as she had seen them scores of times, and she seemed to watch their progress under the arch of elms as perfectly as if she were not in the idle of the room with her eyes shut.

Them music grew faint and fainter, and was finally lost in the noise of the street.  The children returned to their various occupations, giving Polly furtive tokens of sympathy on their way back.  Leonora squeezed her hand; Cornelius patted her shoulder; Moses gently pulled a curl—­one of his friendly amusements; and Brida, who was now about on crutches, stooped to kiss her cheek.

“Brida, do not talk to Polly!”

The sudden command startled the child almost into tripping.

“I was n’t talkin’!” she protested.  “I was only kissin’ her.”

“Well, come away from her—­clear away,” for the little girl was not making very quick time.

“I’m comin’ s’ fas’ ’s I can!” she pouted.  “I can’t run on these old crutches—­so there!”

Polly almost giggled aloud at Brida’s daring, but promptly subsided into a safe look of gravity.  It was pleasant to feel sure of her friends.  She was still thinking in this vein when a rap on the half-closed door was at once followed by the frightened face of one of the upstairs young nurses.

“Oh, Polly!” she cried, at sight of her, “run quick, and catch Dr. Dudley for David!  He’s out there cranking up, and I can’t—­”

But Polly had shot past her, and was already on the stairs.

The physician was starting his car, as she gained the front entrance.

“Doctor!  Doctor!  Oh, Doctor!” she screamed, dashing down steps and walk at a reckless speed; but he did not look round and her voice was lost in the noise of the machine.

Her feet never slackened.  Straight on she flew, like a real thistledown, her fair curls streaming on the wind, her eyes big with a vague terror.  As the Doctor sped farther and farther away from her, she ceased calling realizing that she must reach him in some other way.