“‘S-e-s-a-m-e and Lilies;’ that’s a pretty name,” she said, approvingly. “I don’t know what sesame means, but probably I shall when I’ve read far enough. There aren’t any pictures, but Uncle Sam Blodgett’s book didn’t have any pictures, either, except one in the front, of the gentleman that wrote it. I’ll go out on the porch and begin right off.” On the south porch there were two low wooden chairs, and Polly seated herself in one of these, resolutely facing away from the big oaks which waved their branches so alluringly, and appeared to be inviting her to play with them and follow their beckoning down the road. The book seemed very strange and hard to understand, but Polly read on bravely page after page, stopping now and then to spell a word softly, and shake her curly head over it. When she had read ten pages she closed the book with a little sigh of relief. “If I read it by tens I can remember the place better,” said Polly, to the oaks, “and I don’t believe it makes much difference where I stop, because it goes right on and on, and there doesn’t seem to be any story to it. I didn’t suppose there were so many long words in the world, but Uncle Sam Blodgett always says ‘understanding comes with experience,’ and I guess I shall have a good deal of experience before I finish this book,” said Polly, soberly. She felt a little bit lonely in spite of all the good things that had been showered upon her. “I wish I could paddle in that brook down in the meadow, and I wish I could see what’s growing in the woods,” said Polly, wistfully. “I guess I’m not very much like Eleanor yet. I don’t suppose she ever wanted to go barefoot.” This was rather sorrowful, but after Mrs. Talcott had gone Miss Pomeroy and Polly took a pleasant walk under the big oaks, and Miss Pomeroy smiled, with pleasure, Polly thought, when she saw the book the little girl had chosen. And after supper there was a delightful time in the barn while Hiram milked. Altogether Polly felt modestly contented when she got into bed that night. She had composed a short prayer, which she added to her usual petitions: “Dear Father in heaven,” prayed little Polly, “please make me just as much like Eleanor as You think it’s best for me to be, for You know all about her. Amen.” CHAPTER XI A PLEASANT PLAN Saturday was a busy day. Polly not only helped Arctura in the kitchen, but together they made the beds, for Miss Hetty, who usually preferred to take that duty upon herself, had to go away unexpectedly for an hour or so after breakfast. So Arctura and Polly turned the feather-beds and “plumped them up,” putting the mattresses squarely over them without any bulging out of the soft beds below, then stretched the sheets as smooth and tight as they could be drawn, and over them the fleecy blankets--Polly’s were striped with pink--and last of all they put on the snowy counterpanes and patted the stout pillows till they lay round and even at the head of each bed.