“I wish Grandma would believe us,” she said. “We don’t tell stories, but she thinks we do, and it makes Dulcie so angry. We try to remember that she’s an old lady, and that we are only her step-grandchildren, anyway, but it is a little hard sometimes, especially when we know she doesn’t like having us stay with her. Paul heard his mother say we were an incumbrance. Dulcie looked up that word in the dictionary, and it means the same thing as being a burden.” Involuntarily Miss Polly’s thin fingers closed more tightly over the little hand she was holding. “How soon is your father coming home?” she asked abruptly. Daisy’s face brightened. “Oh, we are very happy about that,” she said; “we think he may come this summer. He hasn’t promised, but in his last letter he said we might see him sooner than we expected, and we expected him next winter, anyway.” “That is good news indeed,” said Miss Polly, heartily, “although I suppose it will mean that I shall lose my little neighbors. By the way, won’t you be leaving town for the summer before long?” “Not till the fifteenth of June,” said Daisy. “Grandma says that makes a long enough summer for her. She doesn’t enjoy the country as much as we do.” Miss Polly sighed, and glanced lovingly at her bunch of syringa. “The country must be very beautiful just now,” she said a little wistfully. “Tom wrote me the lilac-bush in his garden was in full bloom. I should love to see blooming flowers again.” “If you wheel your chair into the back room you can see our syringa-bush,” suggested Daisy. “Next month there will be some roses, too, but of course a back yard isn’t like the real country. Do you love the country very much, Miss Polly?” “Oh, my dear, I love it more than words can express. I lie here thinking of it these warm days, and almost every night I dream of my little room at home. There used to be a robin’s nest in the tree just outside my window. I hope the people who live in the parsonage now keep the lily bed weeded; Father was so proud of that bed.” “Your brother lives in the country, doesn’t he?” Daisy asked, rather timidly. “Yes, right on the shore of Lake Michigan. It is only half an hour by train from Chicago, but Tom says the country is lovely. I have been writing to Tom to-day, and I think it was the hardest letter I have ever had to write, because I was obliged to say something that I knew would cause him pain.” “Oh, Miss Polly, why?” cried tender-hearted Daisy. “He’s so fond of you. Did you really have to make him unhappy?” “I am afraid so, dear, and the thought is very hard to bear. I had a letter from him yesterday, such a dear, kind letter.” “Does he want you to come and make him a visit?” inquired Daisy, in a tone of breathless interest. Miss Polly nodded.