MR. PARCELL'S LESSON
Polly carried the portfolio home with her, and later, alone in her room, read the poems it contained. Tears blurred her eyes as she read and read again the verses dated the day before. Such a lilting, joyous song it was! And now—!
"Oh, but she will get well and write again!" Polly said softly. Then she sighed, thinking of the bright plans that had so suddenly ceased.
Her thoughts went farther back, to the days of watching and waiting for the message that had never come, to the sleepless nights of grieving—
"Oh!" she burst out impetuously, "he's got to know it! Somebody must tell him how he has made her suffer! Miss Nita would do it beautifully; but I don't suppose I could hire her to! Maybe father will."
When this suggestion was made to him, however, Dr. Dudley shook his head promptly, and his impulsive daughter began at once to form other plans. "Mother wouldn't," she told herself. "No use asking her. Dear! dear! if there were only somebody besides me! Perhaps I can coax Miss Nita—"
A telephone call broke in upon her musings, and the disturbing thoughts were exchanged for a ride and a luncheon with Patricia Illingworth. On her way home in the afternoon, the matter came up again.
"I may as well go now and have it over with," she decided suddenly, and she turned into a street which led to the home of the Reverend Norman Parcell.
Yes, he was in and alone, the maid said, and Polly was shown directly to the study.
"How do you do, Miss Polly!" The minister grasped her hand cordially. "This is a pleasant surprise." He drew forward an easy chair and saw her comfortably seated.