“I’ve got to stay with my sister over Sunday,” was the reply, the word so unfamiliar to her lips slipping out smoothly. “After that, Sereno thinks he and Oscarlucy can get along. My, it’s amazin’ly marvelous the things that ten-year-old kid can do--and do as well as I could. She’s an extraordinary wonder. But, then, she has a mighty smart grandfather and grandmother. Why, that house was like waxwork when I got there, the patient all fixed up in bed as nice as you please. I d’n’ know what I’d ’a’ done without Oscarlucy when she was so sick. But the doctor says she’ll be all right in a little while--There! I forgot! I sh’d think I was losin’ my mind! Where’s my bag? Oh, thanks! There’s a letter to pay you for it,” handing the thick missive across Clementina’s head to Sardis Merrifield. “I thought I might as well bring up all the mail there was, seein’ I was comin’.” She handed out the letters and papers, and then went upstairs with the girls. The children were in bed, Lilith and Dr. Abbe had gone for a moonlight walk, Benedicta had “stepped down” to see “Young Ben,” Mrs. Daybill was sewing, and Polly was alone on the veranda, when Sardis came across from the Study. “Want to walk about on ‘Top o’ the World’ a few minutes?” he smiled. Polly ran down to him, and they went up the road together. “I’d like a little advice,” he began. “I’m afraid I shall not be very wise at that,” she returned; “but I will do my best.” “Suppose we go to the point at once,” he said; “then we will see. The letter that Benedicta brought me was from a New York friend. He is a Yale man and one of a number from the University that are planning what will doubtless be of untold benefit to one of the worst sections of the city. They have acquired the land already, sufficient for their purpose. The scheme is to put up a few buildings at first and if successful to add to them as needed. They are planning a church, a school, a homey hotel for young women, a lodging-house and restaurant for men and boys, a club-house with gymnasium, and so on. They want me to help.” “To be pastor of the church?” questioned Polly eagerly. “If they can get a congregation,” he nodded. “It would be my ideal life,” he went on; “though it would not be easy. For myself I should not mind the hardness, or the discouragement--which must be expected; but”--for an instant he paused--“if I should wish to marry, a woman well might hesitate to share the responsibilities of such a future.” “Why?” asked Polly in a surprised tone. “You cannot know girls very well, if you think they must have velvet cushions and paths of roses.” “You are right,” he responded; “I have known but few girls in all my life. Still, I am very sure that those--nearly all, at least--would not be attracted by the great opportunities, they would not be willing to make the sacrifice.”