piggish again!"

"No, but I wish you weren't quite so suspicious. I'll have to make
a bargain with you,--how will this do? If anybody steals my heart
away, I'll notify you at once."

David stood up straight. "I must go," he said. "It is later than
I thought. No, Polly, you needn't promise me anything! I can
trust you. Only--" He smiled, looking down at her. "Good-bye!"

CHAPTER XXXII

THE TALE IS TOLD

Nelson Randolph gained steadily,--so Polly heard through
Doodles,--and she planned to see him soon. Then, one morning, the
boy appeared with a sorrowful face. Even before he spoke Polly
guessed that something was wrong.

"I can't go to see Mr. Randolph any more," announced the little lad
mournfully.

"Why not? What's the matter?"

"That Miss Puddicombe!" The boy's face told more than his words.
"She said Mr. Randolph was worse, and for me not to come again till
he got well."

"0-o-h!" cried Polly. "What has she got to do about it! She'd
better wait till she's married before she begins to dictate!"

Doodles shook his head sorrowfully. "I don't see how my singing
could hurt him. She talked as if it was all my fault!"

"Nonsense!" scorned Polly. "More likely it is she herself! Don't
worry, Doodles! He will get well pretty soon, and then things will
be all right again; but--oh, dear, I wish he would hurry up!"

The next evening David brought the dismaying word that the
president of the Paper Company had gone to Atlantic City for
several weeks.

Polly was distressed over the situation until her mother suggested
the happy thought that no doubt he would recover more rapidly than
at home. Then Polly smiled again and was ready to enjoy David's
new flute solo.

In her weeks of waiting Polly came to a new appreciation of David.
Her closest girl friends were out of town, her mother unusually
busy with some church work, her intercourse with Juanita Sterling
limited to a few perfunctory calls; and except for David's cheery
visits she would have been lonely indeed. Not a day but the boy
appeared, often with flute or banjo, and he made himself so
delightfully entertaining that Polly would forget the June Holiday
Home and its troubles.

Lurking in the background, however, ready to leap forward as soon
as she should be alone, was the torturing fact that Miss Sniffen
still kept cruel wardship over her prisoners, and she counted over
and over, joyfully marking them off one by one on her calendar