“What are you doing down here, Polly May?”

The question was pleasant, but the answer was miserably halting.

“I—­I—­thought—­I’d just—­come—­”

“Did Miss Price send you for anything?”

This time the child detected a ring of suspicion.

“Oh, no!  I—­I—­”

“Well, you’d better go right back.  It is too late to be running around for play.  The halls must be kept quiet.”

“Yes, Miss Bemont,” responded Polly meekly, and turned to see Dr. Dudley at the head of the flight.

There was nothing to do but to go forward, which she did, with downcast eyes and a throbbing heart.

“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed the physician.  “I’ve been looking for you.  I thought you would like to take a ride up to Warringford.  I shall be back before your bedtime, and Miss Lucy says—­why, Thistledown!  What is the matter?”

The revulsion had been to great, and, leaning against the Doctor’s arm, Polly was softly sobbing.

The physician sat down on the stairs, and drew the fair little head to his shoulder.  In a minute he knew it all,—­the sudden fear that had assailed her, the creeping flight across the ward, and the baffled attempt at hiding.  As he listened, his eyes grew grave and tender, for in the broken little confession he comprehended the child’s unspoken abhorrence of the life she had left behind when she had come to the hospital five months before.

“I would n’t worry about going back to Aunt Jane’s,” he said brightly.  “You may be sure I shan’t let her monopolize my little Polly.  Now, run along and get on your hat and coat, for the air is growing cool.  We’ll have a nice spin up to Warringford, and you’ll sleep all the better for it.”

Polly skipped away smiling, but presently was down in the office, —­without her wraps.

“The children feel so bad to have me go,” she said soberly, “I guess I’d better stay with them—­seeing it’s the last night.”  Her lip quivered.

“Selfish little pigs!” returned the Doctor.  “They are n’t willing anybody else shall have a taste of you.”

Polly laughed.  “Well, they want me to tell them a story, so I’d better, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it’s kinder to them than to go for a joy ride; but it’s hard on me.”

Dr. Dudley assumed a scowl of disapproval.

The child hesitated.  “You know I’d rather go with you,” she said sweetly; “but they—­”

“I understand all about it, brave little woman,” throwing an arm around the slender shoulders, “and I won’t make it any harder for you.  Go and tell your story, and let it be a merry one.  Remember, that’s the Doctor’s order!  Good-night.”

Polly threw him a kiss from the doorway, and then he heard her light footfalls on the stairs.