Polly of the Hospital Staff | Page 2

enough along to be up and dressed had left their cots, and were grouped around Elsie Meyer's bed, each solicitous for the closest seat to the story-teller.
"Everybody ready?" questioned Polly, settling herself comfortable in the little rocker. Then she popped up. "You need this chair, Leonora, more than I do;" and before the lame girl had time to protest the exchange had been made.
"Polly, talk loud, so I can hear!" piped up a shrill voice in the corner of the ward.
"Sure I will, Linus," was the cherry response. "You must n't miss a word of the 'Cherry-Pudding story.'"
"Once upon a time," she began, in the beautiful old way that all fanciful stories should begin; and not the breath of a rustle broke the sound of her gentle voice, while she narrated the fortunes of the young king who loved stories so much that he decided to wed only the girl that would write him a fresh one every day.
As the little people followed the outcome of the royal edict, their interest grew intense, for Polly was a real story-teller, sweeping her listeners along with the narrative until all else was forgotten.
When after long despairing days, young King Cerise found his future queen in the very last girl, one who lived her stories instead of writing them, and was as charming and good as she was clever, the small folks became radiantly glad, and the tale drew to a happy end with the king and queen living beautiful stories and cherry puddings in every home all over the land.
Nobody spoke as Polly stopped. Then little Linus, away over in the corner, piped up:--
"I wasn't some cherry pudding!"
Than made them laugh, and set the tongues going.
"Aw, ye'll have ter wait till ye git home!" returned Cornelius O'Shaughnessy.
"Why will he? Why can't we all have some, Miss Lucy?"
The rest fairly held their breath at Elsie Meyer's boldness.
The nurse laughed. "Perhaps," she began slowly,--"mind, I don't say for sure, but only perhaps,--if you'll all live a brave, patient, cheerful story, with never a bit of a whine in it, from now until to-morrow noon,--well, who knows what may happen!"
"A cherry pudding may!" cried the irrepressible Elsie. "Oh, Miss Lucy, I won't whine or cry, no matter how bad you hurt my hip when you dress it--not the teentiest bit! See if I do!"
"Will Polly make up our stories for us?" queried Leonora Hewitt.
"Why, Miss Lucy has made one for all of us," laughed Polly. "We are to be brave and patient and not make a fuss about anything, and help everybody else to be happy--is n't that what you meant, Miss Lucy?"
"Oh," replied the little lame girl, "guess that'll be a hard kind!"
"Beautiful stories are not often easy to live," smiled the young nurse; "but let's see which of us can live the best one."
"Polly will!" cried Maggie O'Donnell and Otto Kriloff together.

Chapter II
The Election of Polly
The convalescent ward was finishing its noonday feast when Miss Hortensia Price appeared. Miss Hortensia Price was straight and tall, with somber black eyes and thin, serious lips. Many of the children were greatly in awe of the dignified nurse; but Elsie Meyer was bold enough to announce:--
"We're livin' a cherry-pudding story!" And she beamed up from her ruby-colored plate.
"What?" scowled the visitor.
The tone was puzzled rather tan harsh, yet Elsie shrank back in sudden abashment.
"Polly told us a story yesterday," explained Miss Lucy, the pink deepening on her delicate cheeks, "and it made the children want some cherry pudding for dinner. It is not rich," she added apologetically.
The elder nurse responded only with a courteous "Oh!" and then remarked, "What I came down to say is this: I shall send you three cases from my ward at half-past two o'clock this afternoon."
"All right," was the cordial answer. "We shall be glad to welcome them to our little family."
"High Price is awful solemn to-day," whispered Maggie O'Donnell to Ethel Jones, as the door shut.
"High Price?" repeated Ethel, in a perplexed voice.
"Sh!" breathed the other. "She's 'High Price,' and Miss Lucy's 'Low Price,' 'cause she's so high and mighty and tall and everything, and Miss Lucy's kind o' short and little and so darling, and they ain't any relation either. I'm glad they ain't," she added decidedly. "I would n't have Miss Lucy related to her for anything!"
"Oh, no!" returned Ethel, comprehendingly, as she scraped her plate for a last morsel of pudding.
The three "cases," which appeared in the convalescent ward promptly at the hour named, proved to be two girls and a boy,-- Brida MacCarthy, Isabel Smith, and Moses Cohn. Polly did her share in routing the evident fears of the small strangers, their wide, anxious eye showing that they dreaded what might lie ahead of them in these unknown quarters.
The wonderful giant story, which ended merrily,--as all