“But the minister is not a boy, my dear,” she added; “you must not always take what Arctura says word for word. She used to call me her little girl until I was more than thirty years old.” Then Miss Pomeroy and Polly had a laugh together, though Polly could not help feeling that Arctura was very brave indeed ever to have called the tall mistress of Pomeroy Oaks her little girl. After dinner came the two naps, or at least Miss Pomeroy’s nap and Polly’s hour on the bed. Yesterday’s experience had taught Polly that an hour’s nap would be considered enough for her, so at the end of that time she got off the bed softly, and after making herself tidy for the rest of the day, she stole softly downstairs. It was a mild afternoon, and the big front door had been half opened so that the spring air might blow through the screen. “Of course, if she asks me if I’ve been asleep, I shall have to say no,” said Polly, looking a little bit troubled as she stood at the door, “but I don’t believe she will ask me. Of course, big girls that want to be adopted can learn to go to sleep in the day-time, just as grand grown-up folks do, and I shall learn as soon as ever I can.” Polly stepped out on the piazza and walked softly up and down, sniffing the air, and thinking how little fear she would have had of the damp ground if she could have run out barefoot as she did so often at Manser farm: and she gave a little sigh as she looked down at the shiny shoes Miss Pomeroy had brought home for her that morning. But Snip and Snap came racing up on the piazza from somewhere, ready for a frolic, and Polly did not disappoint them. Arctura appeared on the kitchen porch, collecting the milk pans that had been sunning all day, and snapped her fingers to attract Polly’s attention. “Look here,” she called, “my brother, Hiram, is feeling real neglected because you haven’t been nigh the barn since you came. Can’t you step out and visit with him for a spell now? I’ll call you whenever Miss Hetty wants you.” Polly needed no second invitation. She was ready to go wherever anyone wished, but, above all things, she had longed to see the barn, with Daisy in it; and Hiram reminded her in some way of Uncle Sam Blodgett, though she could not have told just how. Certainly the two men did not look alike, for Uncle Blodgett was lean and wiry, with a long, thin, nervous face, while Hiram was stout and ruddy, and never in a hurry about anything. [TO BE CONTINUED.] WOOD-FOLK TALK By J. ALLISON ATWOOD BOBOLINK AND THE STRANGER