“Helen, here’s a letter.”

“Yes. Who is it for?”

“I think it’s for us all. See: ‘the Misses Maybright and Miss Dalrymple.’”

“Well, where’s Flower? We can’t open it till Flower comes down. It must be—yes, it must be about father! You know it was yesterday his eyes were to be operated on.”

“As if I didn’t know it, Nell! I never closed my eyes last night. I felt nearly as bad as that awful day a year ago now. I wish I might tear open this envelope. Where is Flower? Need we wait for her?”

“It would be unkind not to wait! No one feels about father as Flower does.”

“David, please call her this instant!”

David flew out of the room, and Polly began to finger the precious letter.

“It’s thick,” she said; “but I don’t think there’s much writing inside. Yes,” she continued, “Flower is certainly very sensitive about father. She’s a dear girl. All the same, I’m sometimes jealous of her.”

“Oh, dear Polly! why?”

“Father thinks so much of her. Yes, I know it’s wrong, but I do feel a little sore now and then. Not often though, and never when I look into Flower’s lovely eyes.”

“She is very sweet with father,” said Helen. “It seems to me that during this past year she has given up her very life to him. And did you ever hear any one read better?”

“No, that’s one of the reasons why I’m devoured with jealousy. Don’t talk to me about it, it’s an enemy............