“I will!  And I won’t say a word to Miss Lucy about it till Popover is here!  It’s her birthday to-day, and it’ll be such a beautiful surprise!  I’ve been wishing and wishing we had something to give her.”

“Oh, not me darlin’ kitty!” returned Brida, in sudden dismay.

“No, no!” laughed Polly reassuringly.  “I only meant the surprise.  Popover can amuse the whole ward, and won’t Miss Lucy be pleased!”

“It’ll be splendid!” beamed Brida.  “How’d yer ever think of it?”

“I don’t know; but I’m glad I did,” Polly went on happily.  “And perhaps we can keep her a week or so, if we’ll let her have a little of our milk—­just you and I. You would n’t mind, would you?”

“Sure, I’ll let her have all she can drink!” declared Brida.

“I guess I’d better go now,” said Polly.  “What is the number 7——­”

“It’s 739 Liberty Street,” repeated Brida; “an old brown house next to the corner.”

Miss Lucy thought it was rather too warm for a walk, especially as Polly was not very strong yet; but the little girl urged it with such sparkling eyes that she finally let her go, bidding her keep on the shady side of the street and not to stay out too long.

Polly reached Liberty Street where it was crossed by Union, but was taken somewhat aback when she looked at a number on the west side and found it to be only 452.

“Never mind!” was her second thought; “there are not quite three hundred numbers more, and half of those are on the other side; besides, they skip lots of them.”

So she walked on contentedly, keeping track of the numbers as she passed along.  They counted up fast, the houses were so thickly set.  Polly thought the occupants must all be out of doors, for lounging men and women filled the doorways, and the sidewalks were scattered with children.  The air grew hot and stifling and full of disagreeable odors.  The little girl half wished that she had not come.  Then she remembered how pleased Brida would be to see her kitten again, and that gave her new strength and courage.

She was very tired when she came to the little shop numbered 703; but with the glad thought that the “brown house” could not be far off she began to look for it.

Directly across her way was stretched a jumping rope, which, as she was about to step over, the girls at either end whirled up in front of her.  To the astonishment of the mischievous tricksters, Polly skipped into time as adroitly as the most expert rope-jumper could have wished, and the giggling pair almost forgot their part.  But they recovered themselves to give Polly a half-dozen skips.  Then, clearing the rope with a graceful bound, she turned to one of the girls.

“Can you tell me, please, where Mrs. MacCarthy lives?—­Brida MacCarthy’s mother?”

With a second surprise on her freckled face, the child pointed to a fat, red-cheeked woman, who was cooling herself with a big palm-leaf fan, in a basement doorway just beyond.