don't tease," said Polly, with dignity; "this is in sober
earnest. What do you think, Fairy Godmother? I 've written to my dear
Miss Mary Denison in Santa Barbara, and she likes the idea."

"I think it is charming. In fact, I can hardly wait to begin. I will
be your business manager, my Pollykins, and we 'll make it a success,
if it is possible. If you 'll take me into your confidence and tell me
what you mean to do, I will plan the hows and whens and wheres."

"You see, dear people," continued Polly, "it is really the only thing
that I know how to do; and I have had several months' experience, so
that I 'm not entirely untrained. I 'm not afraid any more, so long as
it is only children; though the presence of one grown person makes me
tongue-tied. Grown-up people never know how to listen, somehow, and
they make you more conscious of yourself. But when the children gaze
up at you with their shining eyes and their parted lips,--the smiles
just longing to be smiled and the tear-drops just waiting to
glisten,--I don't know what there is about it, but it makes you wish
you could go on forever and never break the spell. And it makes you
tremble, too, for fear you should say anything wrong. You seem so
close to children when you are telling them stories; just as if a
little, little silken thread spun itself out from one side of your
heart through each of theirs, until it came back to be fastened in your
own again; and it holds so tight, so tight, when you have done your
best and the children are pleased and grateful."

For days after this discussion Polly felt as if she were dwelling on a
mysterious height from which she could see all the kingdoms of the
earth. She said little and thought much (oh, that this should come to
be written of Polly Oliver!). The past which she had regretted with
such passionate fervor still fought for a place among present plans and
future hopes. But she was almost convinced in these days that a
benevolent Power might after all be helping her to work out her own
salvation in an appointed way, with occasional weariness and tears,
like the rest of the world.

It was in such a softened mood that she sat alone in church one Sunday
afternoon at vespers. She had chosen a place where she was sure of
sitting quietly by herself, and where the rumble of the organ and the
words of the service would come to her soothingly. The late afternoon
sun shone through the stained-glass windows, bringi