Light raps at the door made Polly slip to her feet, and sent Dr. Dudley across the room. Polly hurriedly brushed away the only remaining tear, and looked up to greet Miss Hortensia Price.
The nurse had come to talk with Dr. Dudley about a patient, and Polly went over to the couch, and searched among the parcels for a certain package. Her fingers trembled with joyous excitement. The world had suddenly turned rose color. Every sorrow had flown away. Even the grief which had been ever present with her for nearly three years was for the moment swallowed up in the joy of believing that mamma knew! She came upon the package she sought, examined it carefully to make sure that it was the right one, and then went, a little shyly, to Miss Price. She waited for Dr. Dudley stopped talking.
The lady received the holiday-attired parcel with a surprised look.
"Mrs. Jocelyn bought some presents," explained Polly, "for me to give to my friends, a I chose Robert Browning's 'Poems' for you. I hope you'll like it."
"Like it! Why, you dear child!" Miss Price dropped the book in her lap, and caught Polly's hands in hers. "How did you ever guess that Browning is my favorite poet?"
"You said so, one day, when we were playing Authors, up in the ward."
"And you remembered!" She began untying the ribbon. "I was thinking only yesterday that I must have a copy."
The volume was richly bound, and beautiful with illustrations. Miss Price fingered it with the caressing tough of a booklover. If her thanks were a bit conventional, Polly knew that back of them lay real gratitude and appreciation.
The little girl went back to her parcels with an added gladness. She began piling them on her arm.
"Don't carry too many," warned Dr. Dudley. "I'll take them up for you."