Polly of Lady Gay Cottage Part 15

"How does it feel to be eleven?" broke in the Doctor's happy voice.

"Why, I was eleven day before yesterday," laughed Polly. "I've had time to get used to it."

"But that was a birthday, and yesterday was a party day; it is when you get back to the everydayness that you begin to feel things."

"It isn't a bit different from ten," she declared. "Yes, a little, because I have all these roses to give away. Aren't they sweet?" She held them up for her father to sniff.

"Come to breakfast!" was the gentle command from the dining-room, and Polly skipped on ahead, cautioning the Doctor to be sure not to spill the water from the vase with which she had entrusted him.

The hour before school found Polly and the pink roses on their way to the big white house. Having the freedom of the hospital almost as much as Dr. Dudley himself, she flitted in and out whenever she chose, never in anybody's way, and greeted with smiles from nurses and patients.

Her errand this morning carried her first to the children's convalescent ward, where she was so eagerly seized upon that she escaped only by pleading her additional flowers to distribute, and school time not far away.

With the eighth rose still in her hand, and debating whether to carry it up to the children, or to give it to a boy in the surgical ward with whom she had once spoken, she pa.s.sed a half-open door on one of the private-room corridors.

Glancing inside, she saw a young man, with bandaged eyes, lying on a couch. He was quite alone, and his mouth looked sad.

"I wonder if he would like it," she questioned, and a breath of fragrance from the half-blown rose answered her. "He can smell it, even if he can't see it," she thought, and stepped inside the room.

The man turned his head.

"Would you like one of my birthday roses?" she asked. "It is very sweet." She put it in his hand.

"I thank you, indeed." The sad lips smiled. "This is quite outside of my programme. In fact, I had almost forgotten there were such pleasant times as birthdays."

"It was day before yesterday," she ventured.

"And I judge by your voice that the number of roses needed was not large."

She laughed softly. "Only eleven."

"About as I guessed! I hope the rest of the birthday matched the roses. This is very beautiful." His fingers gave it a caressing touch.

"Oh, I had a lovelicious birthday! I really had two of them!"

"Two? That sounds interesting. Can't you sit down here and tell me about it?"

"If I wouldn't be late to school," she hesitated. "I don't know what time it is."

He pulled a watch from his pocket, and held it up for her view.

"Oh, I've twenty-seven minutes! I can stay a little while."

She took the chair beside him, and recounted the story of the intermediate entertainment, intuitively omitting the part which Ilga played. That it was appreciated by her listener Polly could not doubt.

"You must come and see me again," he invited, as she rose to go. "I think you may do me more good than the Doctor."

"Oh, no!" she objected softly; "I couldn't do anything better than father! He cures everybody."

The young man smiled doubtfully.

"May I ask who 'father' is? Not Dr. Dudley?"

"Why, yes, sir. I s'posed you knew. I'm Polly Dudley, Dr. Dudley's little girl."

"Are you! Well, Miss Polly, I am surely glad to have made your acquaintance." He ran hurriedly through his pockets. "I had a card somewhere. Probably it was seized with the rest of my belongings. That seems to be a way they have at hospitals--hide a man's things so he can't get at them! Never mind, I haven't forgotten my name. I am Floyd Westwood of New York."

"That's a lovelicious name," Polly told him frankly.

The corners of his mouth curled up.

"I hope you will not fail to come often," he told her, as she put her little hand in his for good-bye.

"Oh, I'll come!" she promised. "But it's father that will cure you."

"I hope so, but," he added soberly, "it doesn't look much like it at present."

Polly's eyes went troubled.

Perhaps the other read her silence, for he said brightly:--

"Now that I know the Doctor's little girl, it may be I shall have more confidence in the Doctor's a.s.surances."

"Oh, if he says you'll get well," she laughed, "you needn't worry a single mite! Father doesn't ever lie to people."

"That sounds pleasant and mighty rea.s.suring. I am glad you came in. I was getting blue."

"Perhaps you were 'scared,' like Magdalene," she chuckled. "I do wish you could see her! She is the funniest little German girl! She had appendicitis, and the doctors sent for father. He knew right off she couldn't live without an operation, and he told her father and mother, and then he went and talked to her. He didn't tell her she'd die, for she's only six years old; but he said she couldn't ever go out to play, or have any more good times, unless they took her to the hospital to cure her. And she looked up at him, just as sober, and said, 'I'm scared! I'm scared!'--not a thing else! They brought her up here in the ambulance, and she never said a word all the way. But when she got downstairs, where there were lots of doctors and nurses, father happened to go near her, and she looked straight up into his face, and said, 'I'm scared! I'm scared!' Poor little thing! I should think she would have been; but she is so funny."

"Did she come out all right?"

"Oh, yes, of course!--father performed the operation. The next day when he saw her she was looking as happy as could be, and he asked her if she was scared, and she didn't speak, only just shook her head this way, and grinned." Polly's curls waved vigorously. "After a few days she grew worse, and they had a consultation, and three or four doctors were there. Father thought she looked frightened, and he asked her if she was scared, and she bowed her head hard--oh, she is so funny! I just carried her one of my roses, and I'm sure she liked it, but she didn't say a single word."

"I have a fellow-feeling for that little girl," smiled Mr. Westwood.

"I know all right what it is to be 'scared,' and it isn't pleasant."

As Polly's lips parted for a response, her eyes fell upon the watch which the young man was still fingering.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, "I forgot all about school! Good-bye!" And she flashed away.

At dinner she told where she had left her eighth rose.

"I am glad you happened in there," returned the Doctor. "He seems to be a fine young fellow, a chemist, just out of college. He came up from New York to see a friend, and while he was a.s.sisting with some chemical work he was temporarily blinded by an explosion. He is coming on all right; but for a few days I have noticed that he has seemed rather gloomy. Go again! You will do him good."

Several times during the next week Polly obeyed her father's injunction, and accepted Mr. Westwood's repeated invitations. With every visit the two became better friends, and Polly waited almost as eagerly as the patient himself for the day when his bandaged eyes should be released. Only in Polly's heart there was not a little regret mingled with her antic.i.p.ated joy, for that would herald Mr.

Westwood's going away. Still she would not let the disturbing thought detract from her present pleasure, and she ran in and out of the young man's room in a happy, quite-at-home fas.h.i.+on.

She was starting for one of these little visits, when her mother called to her.