Up-stairs in the nursery the lamps were lit and a bright fire glowed on the hearth. Hannah was bustling about in her own busy fashion and Priscilla lay cuddled up in the big sleepy-hollow chair with a picture-book in her lap. It was all very quiet and cozy and Little Boy Blue and Mary, Mary Quite Contrary and the rest of the dear Mother Goose people who looked out from their places in the dainty wall-paper, seemed to nod and wink at Priscilla as if they were glad it was their good fortune to be here.

The clock on the mantel-shelf chimed six.

“I wonder what’s keeping James with your supper,” murmured Hannah comfortably. “He’s generally prompt at the stroke o’ six but to-night—— Oh, there he is now!”

Priscilla did not look up from her book as the door-knob turned. She was not hungry and the prospect of James carrying a tray spread with nice things to eat was too familiar to interest her. Poor little Priscilla did not know it, but she was really pining for a change.

The door opened, swung wide upon its hinges and there, on the threshold, stood Miss Cissy clasping a little stranger-girl by the hand. Hannah gave a quick exclamation and Priscilla raised her eyes. The next moment she was in Miss Cissy’s arms.

The little stranger-girl stood by and smiled, while Simple Simon and Miss Muffet, in the wall-paper, quite grinned at each other with satisfaction. It seemed to Polly as if she had stepped right into the middle of a fairy-tale, for surely never was there so wonderful a place as this outside of fairy-land, nor a little princess who was half so fine and delicate.

Miss Cissy beckoned her to come forward saying gaily:

“See, Priscilla, I have brought you a visitor. This is Polly Carter. Won’t you shake hands with her, dear?”

Priscilla shyly put out a frail, soft little hand which Polly grasped in her thin, little chapped one.

“Polly is going to stay all night,” went on Miss Cicely, “and if she has a good time and enjoys herself, and if you get on nicely and like each other, she won’t go home for a while. They will put up a bed for her in your room, right across the way from yours and you can chatter to each other in the morning and be as jolly as you like. Just think what fun it’s going to be, Priscilla! Why, you can have breakfast-parties and dinner-parties and tea-parties together every day at your little table, all by yourselves, and you can show Polly your toys and she can show you new ways of playing with them, and you can keep house and visit and have—oh! lots of good times! And perhaps, if I’m very good, you’ll let me come and join in the sport sometimes, for I think I like your kind of play better than the sort they have down-stairs—I mean, the grown-up people. I wouldn’t tell anybody but you, of course, but it’s sometimes a little—just a little dull down there. But up here! dear me! why there’s no end to the sport you can have up here, if you want to. I don’t believe Polly ever saw anything so funny in all her life as your walking-doll was the other night, Priscilla, when you dropped her on the floor and she lay there on her back, sawing the air with her arms, and kicking.”

Priscilla smiled demurely and drew herself from Miss Cissy’s arm. “I’ll get her now,” she volunteered in a timid whisper. “If you wind her up and put her on the floor she’ll do it again.”

How Polly did laugh to see the fine French lady in such an awkward predicament and seeming to be so indignant about it! Her merry giggle was so irresistible that Priscilla, after a moment, joined in with a soft little chuckle on her own account. Then a music-box was brought out and the Parisian Mademoiselle was set upon her feet and made to walk to its tune. It appeared she could not keep step at all, though at first she flew about very fast trying to do so, but by and by she got discouraged and walked slower and slower, until, at last, she collapsed entirely and fell on the floor with a final wriggle of despair, as if she gave it up as a bad job. Polly’s giggle broke into a laughing shout at this and James, coming in with a huge tray in his arms, almost stumbled over in amazement at the unaccustomed sight and sound of such merriment in the usually quiet nursery.

Priscilla discovered that supper was a very different affair when one did not have to sit and eat it alone. When Hannah served her and Polly to the bread and butter they bit into their slices and compared the impressions made by their teeth. Polly’s arch was wide and shallow with a little uneven place in the centre where one of her front teeth lapped a trifle, and Priscilla’s was narrower but quite exact all around. By biting carefully on one side and another of this first shape they found they could make different figures, new patterns being disclosed by each nibble, a fact which was so amusing that though Priscilla had not been hungry and Polly had thought she had had as much as she could possibly eat down-stairs, they managed to dispose of several slices before they were aware. Hannah shook her head at such “bad table-manners” but Miss Cissy would not have the children disturbed “just for once.” They sipped their creamy milk and ate their fruit and, what she said she used to call “good-for-you pudding” when she was a little girl, with as much relish as if neither of them had tasted a mouthful since morning, and by the end of the meal Polly had told Priscilla about sister and Priscilla had confided to Polly that she did not like to have her hair combed “’cause it pulled so and hurt most aw’fly.”

“That’s ’cause it’s so fine and curly,” explained Polly. “Mine is straight and the tangles come out easy, but I’d rather have yours if I were you. Yours looks like fine silk—the kind ladies buy at the embroidery counter to do fancy-work with. Floss, that’s what they call it. Your hair is just like floss.”

Since Polly appeared to think it was nice to have hair like floss Priscilla felt it might be easier to bear the pulling of the comb. At any rate she made up her mind, then and there, that she would be “as brave as a soldier” after that and show Polly how she could bear pain without a whimper.

Miss Cicely stayed until the supper-table was cleared and the two Sweet P’s, as she called them, were contentedly cutting out paper dolls in the light of the lamp, and then she slipped quietly away down-stairs to join the rest of the family, who were going in to dinner.

Polly passed the evening in a sort of happy dream of delight. The warmth of the cheerful fire, its soft light and the pleasant coziness of the room, were so different from anything she had ever known before that she felt she would certainly wake up, in a minute or so and find it all vanished and herself back in the little room down-town, where the kerosene lamp gave out a sickening odor, and the fire in the stove couldn’t be kept burning after supper was prepared because coal was so high this winter. The wind came in through the chinks of the windows and door in chilling gusts, and even when one cuddled up in bed under the blankets and snuggled next to sister, one hardly got warmed through before morning. And then, to have to get up before it was light, and go shivering about in the dark, groping around blind with sleep, and have to hurry out into the icy, wintry streets to a weary day of cash-running at the store! She was so full of her own thoughts that her scissors had almost snipped the head off the splendid paper lady she was cutting out before she knew it, and Priscilla seeing the narrow escape, gave a little low exclamation of dismay.

“I guess you’re pretty tired, aren’t you?” Hannah asked kindly, coming and standing beside her chair and looking down at her benevolently. Polly nodded, but could not answer in words. The memory of the cold, bare little down-town room had awakened another memory: the memory of sister, and all at once her heart sickened of the warmth and comfort and light here and just turned hungrily to the poorer place where sister was, in longing to go back.

“Come, you two little ladies, it’s time for bed,” cried Hannah briskly. “Now, which one can get her clothes off first? I warrant I know.”

Poor little Priscilla tugged and wrenched in vain; she was not accustomed to do for herself, and Polly stood undressed and clad in her “nightie” before she even had her slippers untied. At sight of her disappointed little face Hannah caught her up in her arms and gave her a good hug, and the next moment all her buttons were unfastened as if by magic. It was an old story to Priscilla to sit before the fire wrapped in her downy bath-robe and have her hair brushed and braided for the night, while Hannah told her stories of kings and queens or repeated the exciting history of “The Little Schmall Rid Hin.” But to Polly it was a new and curious experience which made her forget for the moment the strange, sickening ache in her heart. She thrust her feet out toward the pleasant fire-glow and laughed approvingly when the fox, having planned to “git the little schmall rid hin” and carry her home in a bag to be “biled and ate up, shure, by his ould marm and he” was cleverly fooled by the wonderful biddy and, with his wicked mother, was killed outright when “the pot o’ boilin’ wather came over thim, kersplash,

Priscilla’s head was fairly nodding by the time prayers were said and Hannah ready to carry her off to bed and tuck her in. But long after she was breathing softly on her pillow, Polly lay awake and thought and thought and thought of sister in her loneliness, at home in the cold and dark, until, at length, she could bear it no longer and the tears came in a flood, quite drenching the fine, embroidered handkerchief Miss Cissy had given her and of whose new crispness she had been so proud.

In a moment Hannah was at her side.

“What is it, honey? Tell Hannah,” she urged very tenderly, as she knelt down and slid her arm under Polly’s head. Then it all came out: about the dreadful ache and longing in her heart and the choking in her throat.

“Why, bless you, you’re homesick and so you are,” explained Priscilla’s nurse encouragingly. “And no wonder at all—not the least in the world. Lots of folks are homesick and they get over it in no time at all, if they just make up their minds to it. Why, think of me! I came over,—away from my father and mother, across the wide sea, when I was but a slip of a girl, not seven years older than you. And think of the gain that’ll come to your sister if you are good and contented here. Why, the hospital doctors will look at her and they’ll say: ‘Now, here is a young woman we must certainly manage to cure whether or not for Miss Cicely Duer says so.’ And the nurses will say the same thing. And they’ll give her a room all to herself with sun coming in at the windows, and there’ll be flowers on the bureau that Miss Cicely and Priscilla’s mamma will send. And her bed will be all soft and white, and the nurses will have on white caps and aprons and cuffs, just spick and spandy and they’ll give her lovely things to eat and then—and then—before you know it almost, sister will be well and walking around as fine as can be. And that will be your doing if you’re a good girl and don’t get mopey and homesick.”

Polly’s eyes were quite dry by the time Hannah paused to take breath. The picture of sister in such pleasant surroundings almost reconciled her to her own good fortune. She saw the sunlight coming in at the windows and the flowers nodding on the bureau and the white-capped nurses hovering round and then, by and by, Hannah’s voice seemed to melt into a gentle drone—the drone of a sleepy fly bobbing against sister’s hospital-room window in the sunlight and then——

Polly opened her eyes to see the sunlight really slanting in at the window of the pretty bedroom in which she and Priscilla had slept. For a moment she lay still, trying to remember where she was and how she came to be in this splendid gold bed, between soft, fleecy blankets and smooth linen. There was another bed just like her own standing against the wall across the room—but the other bed was empty. Then it all came back to her. Priscilla had slept in that other bed. Where was Priscilla?

A sound of splashing and running water seemed to answer her and in another moment Hannah appeared carrying Priscilla wrapped in bath-sheets, fresh from her morning tub.

“Just wait a moment till I have Priscilla dry and then in you go,” threatened Hannah with a pretended frown.

But Polly was not in the least alarmed. She reveled in the warm water and plunged about in the white tub as energetically as if she had been a canary taking a morning dip in a china dish. Then she and Priscilla had breakfast in the nursery, with Peter Pumpkin-Eater and Jack Sprat-Could-Eat-No-Fat looking down at them from the walls and probably wishing they had such delicious milk-toast and cream-of-wheat and poached eggs to feast upon.

Priscilla’s mother came to visit them soon after the meal was over and she proved so sweet and beautiful a lady that Polly felt there was only one person in the whole world who was more wonderful than she and that Miss Cicely was that one. She talked to Priscilla and Polly for a long time and seemed sorry when some one—the haughty Theresa—came to summon her down-stairs and she had to leave them.

Then hats and coats were brought out and the Sweet P’s made ready for a walk. There was not much fun in pacing slowly up the avenue and around the windy paths of the Park. Before they had gone three blocks Polly was stiff and chilly and poor little Priscilla was having the cold shivers inside her fur coat.

“Let’s play las’-tag,” suggested Polly. “Then we can run, and running makes you warm. Why, I used to get as hot as anything at the store, just with running.”

“What’s las’-tag?” asked Priscilla listlessly.

Polly explained. “And I’ll be ‘It’ if you like,” she said. “Now, you run and I’ll try to catch you. Hannah’ll be ‘Hunk.’ One, two, three! Off goes she!”

In no time at all they were both in a glow, their cheeks ruddy and tingling with warmth and their eyes sparkling with fun. Priscilla was delighted and she and Polly las’-tagged each other merrily all the way home. Certainly the hated morning walk was going to be a different affair after this. James could hardly believe his eyes at the change he saw in Priscilla’s appearance when he opened the door to them at one o’clock.

“Why, she looks like another child,” he said to Theresa who was passing through the hall.

Theresa curled her lip.

“You and Hannah may do as you like,” she snapped pettishly, “but nobody’ll get me to wait on any beggar-child—not if I know it. Why couldn’t they have taken that sweet little Angeline Montague, if they must have some one, and not given the place to a common little thing like this Polly-one. I know Angeline’s mother well. I got her the job at Mrs. Hamilton’s and she’s a lady,—I tell you. And Angeline herself is a little angel! Who knows anything about this child they have taken in?” and Theresa tossed her head spitefully.

James pursed his lips as if he were going to whistle. “I don’t know anything about her, that’s certain,” he admitted, “and if you don’t either, Theresa, why, I guess there ain’t any call for you to clap names on her like what you’ve done. After all, she ain’t harming you. Fair play is a jewel. If she don’t interfere with you, you don’t need to interfere with her!”

“Interfere with me!” cried Theresa hotly. “Much you know about it, James Craig. That’s just what she has done, with a vengeance!”

James shrugged his shoulders. “Why, I don’t see what concern it is of yours, if the family chooses to get a companion for Miss Priscilla. You ain’t got to pay for her board and keep.”

“Perhaps I ain’t,” returned Theresa with added sharpness, “but perhaps, on the other hand, I got to pay for the board and keep of somebody else, that she has done out of a rare chance.”

The butler’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t mean to say——” he stammered.

“I don’t mean to say nothing,” the maid retorted quickly. “I just ain’t going to do anything that’s outside my work, that’s all. I respect myself too much to lay a hand to anything I didn’t engage for, and if you and Hannah choose to fetch and carry for strangers from no-one-knows-where, you can do it and welcome! But the more sillies you, that’s all!”

The good-natured James watched the irate woman as she flounced up-stairs and then drew in his breath with a long whistling sound. He thought Theresa was “a terror” and he made up his mind then and there that he would “steer clear of her” in the future.

In the meantime Polly, who was quite unconscious of having given offense to any one in the world and who felt at peace with all men, was astonished and dismayed, as the days went by, to find that Theresa did not like her. At first she did not realize that anything was amiss. The maid seemed to her a very haughty lady whose manners were proud and overbearing to be sure, and not at all gentle and sweet as Priscilla’s mother’s and Miss Cicely’s were, but who was probably, nevertheless, good and kind at heart, like all the rest of the world. Once or twice she brushed roughly against Polly in the halls, but Polly said, “Excuse me,” as sister had taught her to do when she got in any one’s way, and then thought no more about it.

Then, another time, Polly was going down-stairs on an errand for Hannah and just as she reached the second flight Theresa came out of the sitting-room and began to busy herself dusting the top of the baluster-rail. Polly said, “Good-morning!” as politely as she could, but Theresa did not appear to hear her and the next minute Polly’s dress had caught in a nail or something, it could not have been Theresa’s hand, of course, and she was crashing down-stairs, heels over head, bumpety-bump! as hard as she could go. She was so badly frightened that it took her some time to recover herself, but her bruises were not serious and James brought a chocolate spice-cake out of the butler’s pantry, which he said he would give her if she did not cry any more. So she dried her tears and promised she would “look where she walked” after that and was happy again in no time at all.

But before she went up-stairs James whispered in her ear: “Say, I wouldn’t get in Theresa’s way, if I were you. Theresa is—er—nervous and little girls bother her, I guess, and it’s always better when folks is like that to keep yourself to yourself. See?”