Returning at noon, Polly ran nearly all the way, so eager was she to see if her uncle's car were in front of the house. To her disappointment the only vehicle in sight was a grocer's team at Colonel Gresham's side gate. "I'm afraid he's gone," she lamented under her breath; yet she hurried round to the kitchen door, and was relieved of her fear by hearing voices in the living-room, her mother's and a deeper one that she did not know. Uncle Maurice looked a little as Polly had pictured, patterning him by his young son; but she had not made sufficient allowance for years, and he was older and very much bigger than she had imagined he would be. His smile was pleasant, like Floyd's, and his greeting cordial and even fatherly. When Dr. Dudley came in he found her chatting familiarly upon her uncle's knee. It was not until after dinner that Mr. Westwood spoke of Polly's future. Then his first sentence almost caught away her breath. "Well, Doctor, I suppose you are going to give this little girl to me." "It will be as Polly says," replied the physician, with a grave smile. He did not look at Polly, who sat in a low chair near by; but she turned to him with an exclamation on her lips. It was arrested, however, by her uncle's response. "It surely seems to be the only way to fix matters. To begin with, she is my brother-in-law's daughter, and it doesn't seem fair to have her out of the family. If my wife were living she would never hear to such a thing, and Floyd wishes her to come to us as much as I do. She will have a mother in my sister, who has kept house for me the last three years, and I can give her every advantage that a girl should have. Of course, she can visit you occasionally, and we shall always be glad to see you in our New York home or in California. I bought a place down on the Pacific Coast, some six years ago, and I have kept adding to it until I have quite a ranch. It gives us an ideal home for the coldest weather, though this last winter we made only a flying trip there. Business called me across the water, and Floyd would rather dabble in chemicals, and incidentally put his eyes out, than do anything worth while. He doesn't take to manufacturing. Wish he did! My two younger boys, Harold and Julian, I put in a military school last fall, and they're having a dandy time. They will be home soon for their spring vacation, and then Polly can make their acquaintance. They are fine little fellows. Julian is captain of the junior football team, but Harold doesn't go in for athletics. You'll find him curled up with a book at almost any hour. Let's see--he must be about your age. How old did you tell me you are?" Polly, thus addressed, murmured, "Eleven"; but only her lips moved. It was as if an automaton spoke. Mrs. Dudley, glancing that way, was startled. The soft brown eyes were wide and brilliant, and a scarlet spot on either cheek lighted the pallid face. Polly was gazing at her uncle as if held by some strange power.