from school she found her father and
mother in the living-room. There was a note of tenseness in the
atmosphere. Polly felt it vaguely as she threw off hat and coat. She
went over to her mother with a caress, and Mrs. Dudley drew her down
into her lap.

"I had a call from Mrs. Illingworth this afternoon," began the Doctor.

Polly was instantly eager.

"About the business?" she asked.

"Yes."

She gazed at him wistfully, her heart in her eyes.

"Your mother will tell you about it," he said, rising from his chair.

"No, no, Robert!" protested his wife. "Stay and tell her yourself!"

Polly looked from one to the other. Was it something dreadful, this
mysterious "business"? They smiled, to be sure, but not at all as if
they felt merry.

Dr. Dudley sat down again, and leaned forward, his arms upon his
knees.

"Patricia wants you for her sister," he announced.

"That's queer!" Polly puckered her forehead. "I don't see why it isn't
enough for me to be a cousin."

"But they would like you to come and live with them, and--"

"Well, I shan't!" she burst out. "The idea! They might know I
wouldn't. Did you s'pose I'd want to?" she queried. "Did you, mother?"

Mrs. Dudley shook her head.

"Let me tell you what Mrs. Illingworth says," the Doctor went on. "She
thinks she can give you greater advantages than I can--of education,
society, and travel."

"Travel!" Polly cried scornfully; "I don't want to travel anywhere!
Why isn't Miss Townsend's school as good for me as it is for Patricia
and David? And I guess society at The Trowbridge isn't any better than
it is here!"

The Doctor and his wife laughed. Mrs. Dudley's arms tightened their
clasp.

"You haven't heard all," the Doctor resumed. "Mrs. Illingworth offers
you a thousand dollars, to use exactly as you choose, if you will
come."

The indignant blood rushed to Polly's fair face.

"Do I look as if I were for sale?" she demanded. "Do I?"

Mrs. Dudley drew her down for a kiss and a "Polly, darling!"

"I haven't noticed any price tag," her father responded, twinkling.

"Well," between a sob and a chuckle, "I think I'll tie a card round my
neck, and print on it, 'Not for sale.' As if money'd make up for you
and mother!" She hid her face on the snug shoulder. Then she popped
up.

"How would the minister like it, if you should go to him and say,
'Here, I want your wife' (I heard you tell mother, the other day, that
you thought she was beautiful), 'and I'