During breakfast the matter was discussed.

“You seem suddenly to have become a woman of affairs,” playfully remarked Dr. Dudley.

“There isn’t anybody else to do things,” said Polly plaintively.  “Miss Crilly wouldn’t amount to anything if she went.  She’d get scared first thing and make a regular fizzle of it.  Mrs. Albright has pluck enough in some ways; but she couldn’t be hired to see Mr. Randolph.  Of course, Miss Nita’d do it all right; but she just won’t!  And somebody must!”

“It is full time,” the Doctor agreed; “but it looks a big load for your shoulders.”

“Oh, I don’t mind this!” Polly said brightly.  “It was hard, going to Mr. Parcell’s; but this is—­different, you know.”

“Decidedly different.”

Polly glanced up from under her eyelashes.  She knew what he thought of her visit to the minister’s, and now she sighed a little in remembrance of his fatherly comments.

“Of course, Mr. Randolph will be surprised—­shocked, I guess; but he isn’t to blame, and he’s a lovely man to talk to.  I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

Mrs. Dudley caught the twinkle in her husband’s eyes, and laughed.

“What have I said out of the way now?” Polly laid down her fork.

“Nothing,” her father answered gravely.

“I don’t see why mother was laughing, then.”  She glanced from one to the other.

They sipped their coffee in silence, but the girl detected a lingering bit of a smile on her mother’s lips.

As soon as she had put her room in trim for the day, Polly ran over to the Home for a final talk with Miss Sterling before making her appointment with Mr. Randolph.

She found both Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly in the corner room.  A little excitement was in the air.

“Have you heard?” asked Miss Crilly.

Polly’s eyes went frightened.

“No—­what?” she said weakly.

“Don’t be scared, child!  It is nothing!” Mrs. Albright put an arm around her.  “It is only that Mr. Randolph is sick.”

“O-o-h!” mourned Polly.

“It’s in the morning paper,” added Miss Crilly.  “It says, ‘seriously ill.’”

“Yet he may not be,” interposed Miss Sterling.  “The papers seldom get it right.”

“It is too bad!” Polly sat down.  “Our paper was late,” she explained, “and father didn’t have time to read it,—­he was called off from breakfast,—­and I was thinking so much about going that I forgot the paper.  Is that all it says?”

“Yes.  It doesn’t tell what the matter is.”

“Now we shall have to wait!” said Polly dismally.  “How is Miss Twining?”

“A little brighter, I think,” answered Mrs. Albright.

“Dear me!  I hope Mr. Randolph won’t die!” Miss Crilly’s face was despairing.  “There isn’t another one we’d dare tell!”

“No,” agreed Polly, “he’s the only man we can trust.  We can’t do a single thing till he gets well.”