Polly and the Princess

by Emma C. Dowd

"Who is that boy?" Nelson Randolph asked. "Some relation of
Colonel Gresham's, isn't he?"

"His grandnephew, David Collins."

"He has a fine voice."

"Excellent. Polly Dudley has a sweet voice, too. I hope she will sing before the evening is over. And Doodles is wonderful! Have you ever heard him?"

"No. He told me he was in the choir at St. Bartholomew's."

"There he comes! Oh, Polly is to play for him!"

A very sympathetic accompanist was Polly. Juanita Sterling listened in surprise and wonder. How could such a child do so well!

"Young Davie was the brawest lad
In a' the Lairnie Glen,
An' Jennie was the bonniest lass
That e'er stole hearts o' men;
But Davie was a cotter's lad,
A lad o' low degree,
An' Jennie, bonnie, sonsie lass,
A highborn lass was she."

Applause burst upon the hush that hung on the last note. It was insistent—it would not be denied. Doodles must sing again.

"He is a marvel!" Nelson Randolph spoke it softly, as the young singer returned to the piano.