To-night she sat alone in the living-room, apparently reading; but David kept obtruding himself into the story, so that it did not run smoothly. Every little while the reader would sigh, and yet the tale was supposed to be humorous. Finally she became aware of voices in the room adjoining, a little room where Dr. Dudley went whenever he could spare a few minutes’ time, to rest or to think over cases that troubled him. At first she did not recognize the woman’s voice; then she knew that it belonged to Miss French, one of the nurses. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” the nurse was saying. “I hoped she could stay to-night; but her mother is so much worse that she was just about crazy. She said she must go, and you can’t blame her.” “We’ll have to get somebody outside,” said Dr. Dudley. “We can’t!” asserted Miss French. “There’s a shortage of nurses everywhere, so many are off on vacations. I’ve telephoned and telephoned--I didn’t want to bother you if I could help it--and Dr. Macy told me to engage the best I could find; but there isn’t a soul to be had.” “If Mrs. Dudley were at home she would go in for to-night; but we’ll get along somehow. They are all pretty well in there, that’s a good thing.” “Yes, Paradise Ward is the easiest to handle,” assented the nurse. Polly had been listening, listening closely, while red spots fluttered in and out of her cheeks. “I will take care of Paradise Ward,” she said quietly. Dr. Dudley and Miss French looked up to see Polly standing in the doorway. “That is,” she added, “if father thinks I am competent.” She had appeared to be addressing the nurse; now her eyes met the physician’s. “You are perfectly capable, as far as that goes; there is no acute illness there. But you might not wake if you were needed.” “Of course I should!” she declared. “I wake very easily.” “You can try it. I dare say to-morrow we can find somebody.” “I’ll be ready right away,” she told Miss French, and ran upstairs. Polly opened softly the door of Paradise Ward. The dozen small occupants were in bed, and a dim night-lamp was burning. The nurse who had made ready for the night had flitted away to those that were waiting for her. Polly did not think her entrance had awakened anybody; but a small head was raised from its pillow, and a voice called out in a low, delighted tone, “’Llo, Mi’ Duddy!” The girl hastened across the room, to pat the mop of yellow hair and to hush any tendency to talk. She was acquainted with little Marmaduke Bill, and she knew the importance of cutting off his flow of prattle before it became an uncontrollable stream. “So long you didn’ come, Mi’ Duddy, My thought My should die.” Polly smiled down on him, and said softly, “Now you will go to sleep, for I shall be right here all night.” A little hand was reached out, to stroke Polly’s. “My’s glad, My’s very glad, Mi’ Duddy.” And he shut his eyes in content.