the hour named, proved to be two girls and a boy,--
Brida MacCarthy, Isabel Smith, and Moses Cohn. Polly did her
share in routing the evident fears of the small strangers, their
wide, anxious eye showing that they dreaded what might lie ahead
of them in these unknown quarters.

The wonderful giant story, which ended merrily,--as all of
Polly's stories did end,--made Moses her valiant follower as
long as he remained in the ward; the tender little slumber song,
which Polly's mother had taught her, put the tiny Isabel to sleep;
and the verses about the "Kit-Cat Luncheon" completely won the
heart of Irish Brida.

"I got a kitty, too!" she confided. "Her name's Popover, 'cause
when the kitties was all little, an' runnin' round, an' playin',
she'd pop right over on her back, jus' as funny! She's all black
concept[sic] a little spot o' white--oh, me kitty is the
prettiest kitty in town!"

"How shall I ever get along without her!" sighed the young
nurse, as she watched Polly flitting about like a sprite,
comforting restless little patients, hushing, with her ready tact,
quarrelsome tongues, and winning every heart by her gentle, loving
ways. Oh, the ward would be lonely indeed without Polly May!
None realized this more than Miss Lucy, unless it were Dr. Dudley,
the cherry house physician, whom all the children adored.

As the day set for Polly's going came near and nearer, the
mourning of the small convalescents increased, until the ward
would have been in danger of continual tears if it had not been
for Polly herself. She was gayer than ever, telling the funniest
stories and singing the merriest songs, and making her little
friends half forget that the good times were not going to last.
The children never guessed that this was almost as much to help
herself over the hard place as to cheer them. In fact, they
believed that her unusual high spirits came of her being glad to
leave the hospital. Even Miss Lucy could n't quite understand it
all. But Dr. Dudley knew; he had seen her face when she had been
told that she was soon to go.

It was not strange that Polly should dread parting from the people
with whom she had been so happy, for no mother or father or
pleasant home was waiting for her,--only Aunt Jane, in the
cramped, dingy little tenement,--Aunt Jane and her six unruly
girls and boys. Poly did not permit herself to think much about
going away, however, and the last evening found her cheerful
still. Then