and-new!"

"Where'd you get it?"

"A lady told me--a lady Dr. Dudley took me to see. It's a
'Cherry-Pudding Story.'--Oh, you just wait till I put my coat
and hat away, and change my dress!" Polly danced off, the young
nurse following with a soft sigh. What should she do without this
little sunshine-maker!

The ward was wide awake when Polly returned. The few that were
far enough along to be up and dressed had left their cots, and
were grouped around Elsie Meyer's bed, each solicitous for the
closest seat to the story-teller.

"Everybody ready?" questioned Polly, settling herself
comfortable in the little rocker. Then she popped up. "You need
this chair, Leonora, more than I do;" and before the lame girl
had time to protest the exchange had been made.

"Polly, talk loud, so I can hear!" piped up a shrill voice in
the corner of the ward.

"Sure I will, Linus," was the cherry response. "You must n't
miss a word of the 'Cherry-Pudding story.'"

"Once upon a time," she began, in the beautiful old way that all
fanciful stories should begin; and not the breath of a rustle
broke the sound of her gentle voice, while she narrated the
fortunes of the young king who loved stories so much that he
decided to wed only the girl that would write him a fresh one
every day.

As the little people followed the outcome of the royal edict,
their interest grew intense, for Polly was a real story-teller,
sweeping her listeners along with the narrative until all else was
forgotten.

When after long despairing days, young King Cerise found his
future queen in the very last girl, one who lived her stories
instead of writing them, and was as charming and good as she was
clever, the small folks became radiantly glad, and the tale drew
to a happy end with the king and queen living beautiful stories
and cherry puddings in every home all over the land.

Nobody spoke as Polly stopped. Then little Linus, away over in
the corner, piped up:--

"I wasn't some cherry pudding!"

Than made them laugh, and set the tongues going.

"Aw, ye'll have ter wait till ye git home!" returned Cornelius
O'Shaughnessy.

"Why will he? Why can't we all have some, Miss Lucy?"

The rest fairly held their breath at Elsie Meyer's boldness.

The nurse laughed. "Perhaps," she began slowly,--"mind, I
don't say for sure, but only perhaps,--if you'll all live a
brave, patient, cheerful story, with never a bit of a whine in it,
from now until to-morrow no