was rather ashamed of having run away from the sewing-circle,
and she had serious thoughts of going back. It was the first time in
her life that she had allowed herself to be routed by circumstances;
but somehow she felt as if she could not find it in her heart to hand
about tea and seed-cakes, sandwiches and quince-preserve, to people
who could think such dreadful thoughts of Dan. And then, besides, she
knew what a pleasant surprise it would be for Dan to have her all to
himself for an evening. Uncle Seth would be sure to go for his weekly
game of checkers with Deacon White, and she could help Dan with his
algebra and Latin, and see that he was warm and "comfy," and perhaps
find that he did not cough so much as he did the evening before.

They had a very cozy evening, she and Dan, just as she had planned it
in every particular but one, namely, the cough. There was no
improvement in that since the night before, and for the first time the
boy spoke of it.

"I say, Polly! Isn't it stupid, the way this cold hangs on? Do you
remember how long it is since I caught it?"

"Why, no, Dan. It does seem a good while, doesn't it? I guess it must
be about over by this time. Don't you know how suddenly those things
go?"

Dan, who was on his way to bed, had stopped, close to the air-tight
stove, to warm his hands.

"I wish it were summer, Polly," he said, with a wistful look in his
great black eyes that cut Polly to the heart. "It's been such a cold
winter; and a fellow gets kind of tired of barking all the time."

"It'll be spring before you know it, Dan, you see if it isn't, and
you'll forget you ever had a cold in your life."

And when, half an hour later, the evening was over, and Polly was safe
in her bed, she buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to
sleep.

But tears and bewailings were not a natural resource with Polly, whose
forte was action. Her first thought in the morning was: what should
she do about it? Something must be done, of course, and she was the
only one to do it. What it was she had not the faintest idea, but
then it was her business to find out. Here was she, eighteen years
old, strong and hearty, and with good practical common sense, the
natural guardian and protector of her younger brother. It was time she
bestirred herself!

As a first step, she got up with the sun and dressed herself, and then
she slipped down-stairs to the parlour where such of her father's
books as had been rescued f