"About me, was it? I see! You've been carrying a burden intended for me on your small shoulders, when mine are broad enough to bear a whole pack of abuse! Drop the load at once, Thistledown!" Despite his tender humor, Polly detected in his voice a note of command, and she strove to obey. "She said--that you--that you--were a nobody!" "Is that all?" he laughed. "Well, so I am, measured by her standard, for I am neither a man of wealth nor an influential politician. But, Thistledown, don't you think you are a bit foolish to let that trouble you?" "There's something else," she replied plaintively. "I am ready." "She told some girls--she meant I should hear--that--that your sister is--an idiot!" The sentence ended in a wail. Dr. Dudley's arms tightened around the slender little figure, and for a moment he did not speak. When words came they were in a soft, sad voice. "I have no sister on earth. She went to Heaven two years ago. I will tell you about it. Until Ruth was six years old she was a bright, beautiful little girl, beloved by everybody. She was eight years younger than I, and my especial pet. Then came the terrible fever, and for days we thought she could not live. Finally she rallied, only for us to discover that we had lost her--her brain was a wreck. The semblance of Ruth stayed with us twelve years longer, until she was eighteen years old; then she went Home. That is undoubtedly the foundation for Ilga's malicious little story; but, you see, Thistledown, there is no present cause for sorrow, only thankfulness that Ruth's journey is safely ended. We can remember her now for the dear child she was." Polly was crying softly on her father's shoulder. Presently she asked:-- "May I tell Ilga?" "I wouldn't bring up the subject. If it should ever be referred to again, you might let her know the truth, as simply as possible; but sometimes things are better left unexplained." Polly was silent, and Dr. Dudley went on. "I think it will be well for you to keep out of the way of Miss Barron as much as you can. Should there be an opportunity for any little kindness, do it unobtrusively and sweetly, as I know you would; otherwise give her a wide berth--she needs it." "I'll try to," Polly agreed. "But, father, don't you really care 'cause she called you that?"