"We'll do it, just the same." "I am glad to hear you say so," remarked Aunt Jane approvingly. "I have felt that it was high time you girls were made to take an interest in something really useful." "What is it, Dr. Adams?" implored Jessie, whose curiosity was by this time fired. "Well, it's just this: down in the hospital there's a girl about Katharine's age shut up in a room by herself, where she must stay a year. She isn't pretty; she isn't especially bright; she is an Irish girl from one of the hill towns in the northern part of the state. But she has something the matter with her back, so all she can do is to lie there on a sort of frame, and look at the wall of her room." The doctor paused. While he had been talking, he had watched the faces of the girls, curious to see the effect which his short story would have on them. Polly's cheeks were flushed, Jean's eyes were shining with her interest, but Katharine's lashes drooped on her cheek, and were a little moist. He nodded approvingly to himself, as he looked at her. "Go on, papa," urged Polly. "There isn't much more to say," returned her father, resting his arm on the back of her chair. "It occurred to me to-day to wonder if you girls couldn't each of you take a day a week,--there are just the six of you, you know,--and run in to see her for a few minutes after school. She is perfectly well, except for her back, and you can imagine how dull it must be for her there. Now, suppose you could drop in for half an hour and get acquainted with her, or read something simple to her? She's not up to 'Pilgrim's Progress' yet." And he pinched Polly's cheek playfully. He stopped again. This time there was a murmur of assent from his hearers. Then he resumed,-- "Now, talk this over among yourselves and see what you think of it. I don't say you ought to do it, remember; you all have a good deal to do, I know. I only suggest the chance to you. I would think of it well, for unless you could be regular, it might be worse than nothing, for she would come to depend on it, and be disappointed. I warn you, she isn't very attractive, she is only ill and lonely." "What's her name?" asked Florence, as the doctor started to leave the table. "Bridget O'Keefe." "What!" And in spite of herself, Jessie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Yes, I told you she was Irish, you know," answered the doctor briskly. "Now I must be off. Think it over till Monday and then let me know." And a moment later, the front door shut behind him.