Part 16 (1/2)

”I wish you would go down to Besse and Drayton's, and get me a yard more of this ribbon,” she requested; ”I find I haven't enough.” She held out a bit of blue satin.

”I'll be back with it in a jiffy--a ten-minute jiffy,” laughed Polly.

Off she flew, tripping down the street and around the corner so briskly that she nearly ran into a little man who was proceeding at a quick, heedless pace.

”Why, Mr. Bean!” she cried.

”I declare, if 'tain't Polly! little Polly! How do you do, my dear?

How do you do?”

As soon as Mr. Bean learned that Polly was on her way down to the department store, he turned about, and walked along by her side, listening delightedly to her happy chatter.

”I'm proper sorry I hain't found that letter yit,” he mourned. ”Jane she's been kind o' upset 'n' cranky lately, or I should 'a' asked her about it before. I guess I shall speak about it to-night, yis, I guess I shall,” he a.s.sured Polly and himself.

”Oh, don't hurry to do it right away!” Polly responded understandingly. ”I can wait to know about my relatives. If Aunt Jane isn't feeling--quite well, it wouldn't be a good time.”

”No, 'twouldn't,” he agreed in a relieved tone. ”But I'll have it for yer soon's I see my way to it. Sometime when Jane's feelin' real good, I'll broach the subjec', I certain will.”

Home with her ribbon and then over to the hospital sped Polly. She found her friend impatiently striding up and down the limited s.p.a.ce of his room.

”I'd about given you up,” he told her in an aggrieved tone. ”I concluded you were tired of coming to be eyes for a poor old blind fellow like me, and so had stayed after school to play.”

Polly looked at him keenly. Sometimes she did not quite know whether to take him in fun or in earnest. Now his face was serious; but she felt almost sure there was a twinkle behind that tantalizing bandage.

”You know I couldn't be tired of coming to see you,” she said simply, ”and I never stay to play after school. I went on an errand for mother, and then I met Mr. Bean, and he stopped to apologize for not finding a letter that is--lost, a letter about my May relatives.”

”What!” His tone startled Polly. ”Are you related to the Mays? how?

Tell me!” He was waiting with eager, parted lips.

”Why,” she hesitated, vaguely abashed all at once, ”I'm Polly May, you know--or was. I guess I haven't told you.” Polly never talked of her adoption, instinctively guarding as a precious secret what was naturally well known throughout the city.

”No, you haven't; but won't you tell me now, please?”

”Father and mother adopted me the day they were married,” she explained simply. ”Papa and mamma were dead, and I didn't belong to Aunt Jane or anybody.”

”Polly, who was your father--your own father?” The words tumbled close on the heels of her sentence.

”Chester May,” she answered dazedly. Something was imminent. She knew not what.

”Chester May! And your mother's name? Was it Illingworth? Phebe Illingworth?” The words shot like bullets.

”Why, yes!” gasped Polly. ”How did you know?”

”Polly! Polly!” He thrust out his hands--they touched Polly's, which he caught in a strong grip. ”My mother was your father's sister, his eldest sister! We are cousins, Polly, own cousins!”

Dr. Dudley came, with the nurse, before the story was ended, and then it had to be begun and told all over again,--the old, old story of a quarrel between the father and the ”baby” of his family, of the hasty leaving home of the boy, of the meagre news of his early marriage, and lastly of the years that were empty of tidings. These Polly was able to fill up in part, when the story-teller turned listener, with interest almost as great as Polly's own.

Floyd Westwood begged the physician to allow him one little glimpse of his new-found cousin; but Dr. Dudley was firm, and the eager eyes were not uncovered. Polly soon slipped away to share her joy with her mother, leaving the Doctor and his patient to talk over present plans and future possibilities.