as his eyes
followed Polly up the shaded walk under the pepper-trees.

"Oh, these young things, these young things, how one's heart yearns
over them!" he sighed. "There she goes, full tilt, notwithstanding the
heat; hat swinging in her hand instead of being on her pretty head; her
heart bursting with fond schemes to keep that precious mother alive.
It's a splendid nature, that girl's; one that is in danger of being
wrecked by its own impetuosity, but one so full and rich that it is
capable of bubbling over and enriching all the dull and sterile ones
about it. Now, if all the money I can rake and scrape together need
not go to those languid, boneless children of my languid, boneless
sister-in-law, I could put that brave little girl on her feet. I think
she will be able to do battle with the world so long as she has her
mother for a motive-power. The question is, how will she do it
without?"

CHAPTER IV.

THE BOARDERS STAY, AND THE OLIVERS GO.

Dr. George found Mrs. Oliver too ill to be anything but reasonable.
After a long talk about her own condition and Polly's future, she gave
a somewhat tearful assent to all his plans for their welfare, and
agreed to make the change when a suitable tenant was found for the
house.

So Polly eased the anxiety that gnawed at her heart by incredible
energy in the direction of house-cleaning; superintending all sorts of
scrubbings, polishings, and renovating of carpets with the aid of an
extra Chinaman, who was fresh from his native rice-fields and stupid
enough to occupy any one's mind to the exclusion of other matters.

Each boarder in turn was asked to make a trip to the country on a
certain day, and on his return found his room in spotless order; while
all this time the tired mother lay quietly in her bed, knowing little
or nothing of her daughter's superhuman efforts to be "good." But a
month of rest worked wonders, and Mrs. Oliver finally became so like
her usual delicate but energetic self that Polly almost forgot her
fears, although she remitted none of her nursing and fond but rigid
discipline.

At length something happened; and one glorious Saturday morning in
October, Polly saddled Blanquita, the white mare which Bell Winship had
left in Polly's care during her European trip, and galloped over to the
Nobles' ranch in a breathless state of excitement.

Blanquita was happy too, for Polly had a light hand on the rein and a
light seat in the saddle. She knew