“And I am delighted to know you, too,” her new acquaintance said, heartily. “I have been more interested in my little neighbors than you might suppose. You see, I can hear your voices through the wall, just as you hear my singing, and when one spends a good deal of time alone, one gets interested in all sorts of little things. I hope you will come to see me again, and bring all your little sisters.” “We’d love to come,” declared Molly. “Will you please tell me your name in case we should want to ask for you at the front door?” “My name is Oliver, Mary Oliver, but everybody calls me Miss Polly, and I like it much better. My brother Tom always called me Polly. I am sorry you must go so soon, for it is a great treat to have a visitor, but I suppose you mustn’t leave your little sister any longer. I hope you will find things in better order the next time you come. Maggie is really very good about keeping the room neat, but Sunday morning----” And Miss Polly glanced regretfully at the unmade bed and the tray of breakfast dishes. “Good-bye,” said Molly, holding out her hand. Miss Polly shook the little hand--her own hand was not much bigger--and then she looked at her visitor rather anxiously. “Aren’t you afraid of taking cold without any wrap?” she questioned. “To be sure it is only next door.” “Oh, I don’t have to go out in the street at all,” said Molly, unthinkingly. “I came through the door in the wall.” “The door in the wall?” repeated Miss Polly, looking puzzled. “What door do you mean, dear?” Molly blushed. “I didn’t mean to tell,” she said, “because it’s a secret. It’s a door that was cut between the two houses when Grandpa’s brother lived here. Everybody thinks it’s locked, but it isn’t. It’s such fun coming that way--like doing a thing in a book, you know.” Miss Polly laughed merrily. “What a delightful way to come,” she said. “I won’t mention your secret to a soul, and you must often come to see me through the wall.” She looked so young and pretty, with her face all dancing with merriment, that Molly felt suddenly as if she were sharing a secret with a little girl of her own age. “I’ll tell Dulcie and Daisy as soon as they come home from church,” she promised, “and I know they’ll want to come and see you right away.” And then she hurried off. As she entered the nursery, a few minutes later, the strains of “Only an Armor-Bearer” could be distinctly heard through the wall, and Miss Polly’s piano was playing a lively accompaniment to the familiar tune. CHAPTER V MISS POLLY’S STORY “Of course, if Grandma should ever ask us, we should have to tell her, but if she doesn’t--and I don’t really believe she will--I don’t see why it’s our duty to say anything about it.”