When Mrs. Hapgood came back again, after a few moments, she found Polly sitting beside the bed, with a happier face than she had worn since the memorable Monday noon, while Alan looked as blissful as she; and when Polly took her departure, a little later, the boy called after her,-- "Come again as soon as you can, Poll. You're a jolly little nurse, and I like to have you round." CHAPTER XV. THE PLAY. It was the last week in March, and the time had finally come for giving the long-discussed play, which had been delayed for some weeks on account of Alan's illness. After the first acute attack had passed, there followed, as a result of his drenching, a slow, tedious form of rheumatism which kept him shut up in the house, where he was forced to amuse himself as best he might. His sister and cousins did what they could to make the time pass quickly and pleasantly; but between school and their cooking club and their frequent calls on Bridget, they had little time for the boy except during the evenings, and he was mainly left to the society of his mother. This had been the state of affairs for more than a week, and Alan was becoming somewhat restless. He was not a saint, but only one of the next best things, a bright, lovable boy; and having rather exhausted his resources of reading, playing solitaire, and talking to his mother, the evening usually found him decidedly cross after his dull day, and he only half responded to the girls' attempts to be entertaining. "I don't see what's come over Alan," said Molly, one afternoon, as the girls were walking home from school together. "Pie's always been so jolly, and now he's cross as can be. He doesn't act as if he wanted to have anything to say to us, and goes off to bed as soon as he can, after supper. I told him last night I thought he'd better be ashamed of himself." As Molly spoke, they were just passing the Hapgood house. Polly glanced up at Alan's window, in the wing, to see the back of a yellow head, inside the glass. Molly followed the direction of her eyes, and said, by way of explanation,-- "Alan's not down-stairs to-day. He said he didn't feel like it." "He isn't?" Polly paused irresolutely at the gate, then turned in. "What are you going to do, Polly?" asked Florence. "I'm going up to see Alan," responded Polly. "But I thought we were all going down to see Bridget." "Bother Bridget!" returned Polly, with some energy. "The rest of you can go all the time, if you want to; but it's my impression that charity begins at home. Here we've all of us had that everlasting old Bridget on the brain, and let Alan get along as best he can." "But Alan has mamma, and Bridget hasn't anybody but us," said Molly, in a virtuous tone of self-denial.