"I guess so. We had nice things to eat, and pretty things to wear."
"You never heard of any will, I suppose?"
The curls shook slowly.
"Your mother was not sick long, was she?" the Doctor asked gently.
"She was never sick. She was giving a music lesson, one afternoon, and she fainted away—they could n't make her live." The sorrowful voice softened almost to a whisper, and the golden head drooped to Dr. Dudley's shoulder.
He touched his lips to the white forehead, and tightened his clasp of the slender little form.
"I am sorry enough to have to bring all this back," he said; "but, Thistledown, I must discover a way, if possible, to keep you from that woman. I want to find out just how much legal right she has in regard to you. If we could only obtain sufficient evidence to prove that she is not a proper person to care for you —"
Polly had suddenly sat up straight, her eyes round with the startling, beautiful thought.
"Do you mean," she broke in excitedly, "that I should n't have to go back to Aunt Jane?"
The Doctor bowed. "But—" he began.