She hid her face against his coat. "Don't ask me, please!" she begged.
"Is it as bad as that?" His tone would usually have sent her off in an amused chuckle; now she was miserably silent, pressing closer into the friendly folds.
"If it is an all-afternoon affair, we may as well sit down," and, wheeling about, he took the chair she had just left, drawing her to his knee.
"Now let's look at this together, Thistledown. Two heads ought to be wiser than one, you know. Just give me a chance to show my skill at helping."
"I--can't! It would make you feel bad--awfully bad!"
"Something you did at school? I promise my forgiveness."
"Oh, no! I haven't done anything--only told Ilga Barron what I thought of her. And I'm glad I did!"
"That the pudgy girl we met the other day?--the one that didn't have cloth enough for a decent dress?"
In spite of herself, Polly let go a giggle with her assent. "Why, father," she remonstrated, "she could have her skirts longer if she wanted to! She's Senator Barron's daughter!"
A quiver of laughter stirred the Doctor's face.
"All right, we'll let the Senator's daughter wear her frocks as short as she pleases. But what else has she been doing?"
"She said," began Polly, "that you--oh, I can't!" She caught her breath in a sob.
"About me, was it? I see! You've been carrying a burden intended for me on your small shoulders, when mine are broad enough to bear a whole pack of abuse! Drop the load at once, Thistledown!"
Despite his tender humor, Polly detected in his voice a note of command, and she strove to obey.
"She said--that you--that you--were a nobody!"
"Is that all?" he laughed. "Well, so I am, measured by her standard, for I am neither a man of wealth nor an influential politician. But, Thistledown, don't you think you are a bit foolish to let that trouble you?"
"There's something else," she replied plaintively.
"She told some girls--she meant I should hear--that--that your sister is--an idiot!" The sentence ended in a wail.
Dr. Dudley's arms tightened around the slender little figure, and for a moment he did not speak.
When words came they were in a soft, sad voice.
"I have no sister on earth. She went to Heaven two years ago. I will tell you about it. Until Ruth was six years old she was a bright, beautiful little girl, beloved by everybody. She was eight years younger than I, and my especial pet. Then came the terrible fever, and for days we thought she could not live. Finally she rallied, only for us to discover that we had lost her--her brain was a wreck. The semblance of Ruth stayed with us twelve years longer, until she was eighteen years old; then she went Home. That is undoubtedly the foundation for Ilga's malicious little story; but, you see, Thistledown, there is no present cause for sorrow, only thankfulness that Ruth's journey is safely ended. We can remember her now for the dear child she was."