“I think I do,” said the minister, gently, “but I am sure you will help Miss Pomeroy’s eyes, and not hurt them, by talking freely to her.” “Yes, sir,” said Polly, doubtfully. “Do your little sisters like to read, Mr. Endicott? I am reading a book called ‘Seesame and Lilies,’ by Mr. Ruskin.” “Phew!” said the minister. “That’s a fine book, Mary, but I should say it was a little old for you. Who chose it--Miss Pomeroy?” “No, sir, I chose it myself,” said Polly, proudly, “off the shelf where all the little books are, under the window. Miss Pomeroy said I could choose.” “When we go in the house,” said the minister, as they started on together, swinging hands, “I’ll show you a book to read; I saw it on one of the shelves. It’s a big book, but the stories are short. If I were in your place, Mary, I’d read one of them to-morrow. My little sisters love them all.” So it came about that when Miss Pomeroy and the minister drove away they left on the piazza a little girl whose heart was almost gay, for the book the minister had chosen, and which Miss Pomeroy had told Polly she might keep in her own room, was full of delightful pictures, and on the cover was printed in gold letters. “Wonder Stories, by Hans Christian Andersen.” “And mind you try to remember them just as you do the sermon on Sunday,” the minister had said, as he parted from Polly, “for they are sure to give you happy thoughts.” And Polly, running to Arctura, who was seated on the south porch in a chair that rocked with a loud squeak, cried joyfully: “Oh, Miss Arctura, the minister has chosen a book for me, one that his sisters love! And I’m not going to read another word in ‘Seesame and Lilies’ till I’m most grown up! For Miss Pomeroy said ’twas a wise thought and an inper--impterposition of Providence!” CHAPTER XIV IN THE WOODS Polly’s worry about being satisfactory to Miss Pomeroy had departed with the minister’s words, down by the brook, but as she lay in bed the next morning, listening to the birds out in a big elm tree, the branches of which came near one of her windows, she had some sober thoughts. “The reason Miss Pomeroy is going to adopt me,” said Polly, to herself, “is because she thinks I’m like Eleanor. I’m not like her, inside, of course, but I’m trying to be. Now, don’t you be a selfish girl, Polly Prentiss. You’ve got a beautiful home with a lovely, kind lady, that does things for you all the time, and Miss Arctura and Mr. Hiram besides, just as good as they can be, and the kittens to play with, and Daisy out in her stall, and you can go off into the woods this afternoon, and take the book that the minister’s sisters love, and perhaps they’ll let you go again some other day.