to bring it over yesterday or not," he laughed;
"but I finally thought I'd better wait for the intermediate day."

"It wouldn't make any difference," returned Polly, fingering the book
admiringly. "Thank you ever and ever so much! I've wanted to know more
about the 'Little Colonel.' But what kind of a day did you call it?"

"Intermediate," he replied. "Isn't that right?"

"Of course," she assured him promptly, always secretly marveling at
David's ability to use words with which she was unfamiliar. "It
sounds beautiful."

"It means halfway between, I think," he explained; "so I thought it
was an appropriate word."

"It is," declared Polly, "a great deal better than just between. It
makes it seem more important."

David laughed, and then, spying the piano, admired Polly's new
instrument to her full satisfaction, and ended by sitting down and
singing a little song which she called "another birthday present."

Shortly before two o'clock the birthday guests began to arrive at Mrs.
Jocelyn's beautiful home. The two mothers, one in white and the other
in gray, and the two girls, dressed exactly alike in soft white wool,
with pink sashes and ribbons, received informally in the east
drawing-room, and when the girls and boys were all there Mrs. Dudley
started a game.

They were in the midst of the fun, when Polly, glancing at Ilga
Barron, was troubled to see an ugly scowl. The children were in a
circle, alternate girls and boys, secretly passing a ring from hand
to hand, and it chanced that Ilga had a place between Otto Kriloff and
Cornelius O'Shaughnessy.

"Oh, if she makes a fuss!" thought Polly, and straightway the charm of
the game vanished.

Ilga's face grew black and ominous. Suddenly, with a scornful "I guess
I won't play any more!" she dropped the hands she held, and, with head
high, walked mincingly over to the window, and stood with her back to
the others.

"What's the matter?" broke from several mouths and showed in every
face--every face but Polly's. Polly knew, or thought she knew.

"We'll keep right on," she said in a soft, tense voice; and the play
proceeded, yet not as before.

Wondering glances were continually cast towards the window, where the
yellow-clad figure stood dark against the light. The Senator's
daughter received more attention than the ring.

Meantime Ilga grew tired of waiting for the game to end, and, with a
furtive look in the direction of the players, she sauntered off
towards