Polly was fourteen on that hot July afternoon when she lay on the grass and skillfully captured the living thrushes, and held them to her smooth, glowing young cheeks. Her birthday had been over for a whole fortnight; it had been a day full of delight, love, and happiness, and mother had said a word or two to the exultant, radiant child at the close. Something about her putting away some of the childish things, and taking up the gentler and nobler ways of first young girlhood now. She thought in an almost undefined way of mother's words as she held the fluttering thrushes to her lips and kissed their downy breasts. Then had come the unlooked-for interruption. Polly's life seemed cloudless, and all of a sudden there appeared a speck in the firmament--a little cloud which grew rapidly, until the whole heavens were covered with it. Mother had gone away for ever, and there were now nine children in the old gray house. CHAPTER III. "BE BRAVE, DEAR." "Wasn't father with her?" Polly had said when she could find her voice late that evening. "Wasn't father there? I thought father--I always thought father could keep death away." She was lying on her pretty white bed when she spoke. She had lain there now for a couple of days--not crying nor moaning, but very still, taking no notice of any one. She looked dull and heavy--her sisters thought her very ill. Dr. Maybright said to Helen-- "You must be very careful of Polly, she has had a shock, and she may take some time recovering. I want you to nurse her yourself, Nell, and to keep the others from the room. For the present, at least, she must be kept absolutely quiet--the least excitement would be very bad for her." "Polly never cries," said Helen, whose own blue eyes were swollen almost past recognition; "she never cries, she does not even moan. I think, father, what really upset Polly so was when she heard that you--you were there. Polly thinks, she always did think that you could keep death away." Here poor Helen burst into fresh sobs herself. "I think," she added, choking as she spoke, "that was what quite broke Polly down--losing mother, and losing faith in your power at the same time." "I am glad you told me this, Helen," said Dr. Maybright, quietly. "This alters the case. In a measure I can now set Polly's heart at rest. I will see her presently."