“Why, I had to!” replied Polly simply.  “But one day—­I never told anybody this, even Miss Lucy—­one day Aunt Jane took the children to a circus, and I stayed home all alone.  After they’d been gone about half an hour I went and dug as deep a hole as I could right in the middle of the clothes-yard—­the woman upstairs was gone, too, so she could n’t see me—­and I wrapped Phebe up in a clean piece of paper, after I’d kissed her and bid her good-bye—­and then I buried her!  It ’most killed me to do it; but I could n’t see any other way.  Do you think it was dreadfully wicked?”

Polly looked up with wet, appealing eyes, and, to her amazement, saw that tears were running down the little lady’s cheeks.

“Wicked!” Mrs. Jocelyn ejaculated.  “If nobody ever did anything more wicked than that it would be a blessed sort of world!  No, dearest; I’m glad you were brave enough to do it—­as glad as can be!  But what did they say when the came home?  Did n’t they miss the doll?”

“Not that night; they were so excited about the circus.  They never said a word till some time the next morning; then Maude wondered where Phebe was.  I was dreadfully afraid they’d ask me if I knew; but Maude only looked for her a little while—­she did n’t love her a bit.  Aunt Jane told her she was probably kicking round somewhere, and it served her right for not taking better of her.  I guess they forgot all about her pretty soon; but I did n’t—­I never shall forget Phebe!”

Mrs. Jocelyn put her arm around Polly, and held her close, murmuring sympathetic words, which were very comforting to the bereft little mother.

“How did Phebe look?” asked Mrs. Jocelyn, at last.  “Do you want to tell me?”

“Oh, yes!  She had light curly hair, just like mine, and such pretty blue eyes and red cheeks!  She was about so tall,” measuring a foot or more with her hands.  “She had on a little white muslin dress, with blue sprigs on it—­the other dresses Maude spoiled.  She was just as sweet as she could be!” Polly’s eyes almost brimmed over, and the lady gently led her thoughts to other things.

Soon Dr. Dudley came in, and then the little girl said good-bye.

On the stairs she heard her name called and looking back she saw Miss Hortensia Price, a bunch of sweet peas in her hand.

“I was bringing these to you,” the nurse smiled.  “How do you do, my dear?  Are you feeling quite well again?”

“Oh, yes, thank you!” cried Polly, her little nose among the flowers.  “Doctor would n’t let me get up day before yesterday, and now I’m so rested I don’t feel as if I’d ever get tired.”

“I am very glad.  I meant to come up to see you sooner, but I did n’t wish to disturb you that first day, and yesterday I was extremely busy.”

“Burton is not worse, is he?” asked Polly quickly.

“Oh, no! his is doing even better than we anticipated.  And at last he has decided to keep still—­did Dr. Dudley tell you?”