don't want a dewlap!"

"Dewlap?" scowled Polly. "What's a dewlap?"

"Polly! You know!" came from down among the feathers.

"I don't!" Polly protested. "Is it some kind of—cancer?"

"Cancer! Polly!" Miss Sterling laughed out.

"Well, I don't know what it is." Polly laughed in sympathy.

"Look here!" The little lady raised herself on her elbow and lifted her chin. "See that!"

Polly peered at the fair, pink skin.

"What? I don't see anything."

"Why, that! It's getting wabbly." Her slim forefinger pushed the flesh back and forth.

"Oh!" Polly's face brightened. "I remember! That's what Grandaunt Susie called it! She said she used to have an awful one—it hung 'way down. And she cured it! You'd never dream she had one ever!"

"Oh, yes, you can do away with such things if you have money—if you can go to a beauty-doctor!" The tone was bitter.

"No, she didn't!" hastened the eager voice. "She did it herself!"

"Of course, if you have expensive creams and all the paraphernalia—"

"But she didn't—she said so! She just used olive oil!"

"How old was she?" Miss Sterling inquired with a now-I-'ve-got-you air.

"She was seventy when she had the dewlap; now she's seventy-three or four."

"Polly Dudley! I don't believe it!"

"Why, Miss Nita, I'm telling you the solemn truth!"

"Yes, yes, child! I didn't mean you! But this Aunt Susie—"

"Oh, she's just as honest! Why, she's mother's grandaunt, and she's lovely! She was sick and couldn't do anything, and her hair was thin and her cheeks hung down and she was all wrinkles and she had the dewlap—she said she looked dreadful. Now you ought to see her! She's perfectly well, and her hair is as thick, and it's smooth and solid all under her chin, and her face is 'most as round as mine!"

"How did she work the miracle?" Miss Sterling's eyes twinkled.

"Why, I guess by massage and exercises. She didn't take anything. She did lots of stunts; she had piles of them for her legs and arms and neck and face and feet and all over. She made up mighty funny faces. You lie over this way, and I'll show you one.

"First you must smile—just as hard as you can." Polly laughed to see the prompt grin. "Now I'll put my hands so, and you must do exactly as I tell you." Polly's little palms were pressed against the other's cheeks, and she began a rotary motion.

"Open your mouth—wide, and then shut it again—oh, keep on smiling! And keep your mouth going all the time, while I do the massaging."

"Goodness!" Miss Sterling broke into a laugh. "I should think that was a stunt! It ought to do something." She turned on the pillow in another paroxysm of mirth.

"But you made me stop too soon," objected Polly. "You ought to open and shut your mouth twenty-five times. 'Most everything Aunt Susie did twenty-five or fifty or a hundred times."

"I don't wonder she got well! She'd have to if she didn't die. I should laugh before I got through twenty-five times, I'm sure. What's it for, anyhow?"

"To make the cheeks plump up and not sag—oh, yours look so pink!"
Polly danced over to the dresser and back.

The handglass showed a face of surprise. The thin, white cheeks had taken on a soft rose tint and—yes, an extra fullness!

"Queer!" Miss Sterling ejaculated. "I wouldn't have believed it!"

"Oh, let's try it again! Then you get up and go to walk with me—won't you?"

"I can't, Polly! Wish I could! But I don't feel as if I could even stand up. I suppose I shall have to go down to dinner. I don't dare not."

"Haven't you had any breakfast?"

"No. Folks that can't get up don't need to eat." She laughed sadly. "It's well I'm not hungry."

"But you ought—"

"Tap! tap!"

The matron opened the door while Polly was on the way.

"Mr. Randolph is at the other end of the building and will be here presently to see about the new wing."

Mrs. Nobbs was gone.

"Nelson Randolph!" cried Miss Sterling. "Hand me my blue kimono,
Polly, quick! It's right there in the closet, by the door!"

She swung her feet to the floor and caught up her stockings.

"You going to get up?"

"Of course! Hurry! I believe he's coming—no, he isn't! Oh, I can get this on all right! You fix the bed! Never mind the wrinkles—plump up the pillows! Yes, hang my clothes anywhere you can find room. There! Does my hair look all right?"

"Lovely! That kimono is very becoming."

"Little flatterer!"

By the time Nelson Randolph, president of the June Holiday Home, appeared in the doorway, what he saw was a well-appointed bedroom, a little blue-clad lady demurely reading a small volume, and Polly hovering near. With a perfunctory good-morning to Miss Sterling, and a genial handshake for Dr. Dudley's daughter, he passed with Mrs. Nobbs to the southwest corner of the apartment. He took a glance around the ceiling, a look from the window, and some measurements with a foot-rule; then he walked briskly across the room, nodded politely, and departed.

"What a lovable man he is!" commented Polly, as the retreating footsteps told of their safe distance.

"Is he?"

"Don't you know him?" Polly queried.

"Not very well. Probably he doesn't remember me at all. He used to come to the house occasionally to see father. That was before he was married. I was only seventeen or eighteen."

"I like to look at him, he is so handsome." Polly's head wagged admiringly. "I guess he'd remember you all right, only he doesn't know you're here. He hasn't been president very long, just since Mr. Macy died. What are they going to build now?"

"I don't know. First I've heard of it. They have more money than they know what to do with, so they've decided to put up an L and spoil my view," laughed Miss Sterling.

"I could tell them lots of things better than an L—some new dresses for Mrs. Crump and Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly. They've been here longest and look the worst. That brown one of Mrs. Crump's is just full of darns."

"Same as mine will be when I've been here as long," added Miss
Sterling.

"Strange, when they have so much money, they don't give the ladies nice things to wear," mused Polly. "Perhaps that is what makes Mrs. Crump so cross-grained. Mrs. Albright isn't. She's sweet, I think."

"She is a dear," Miss Sterling agreed. "But she's had enough trouble to crush most women. I wonder sometimes if anything could make her blue."

"Miss Crilly's cheerful," observed Polly. "I like her pretty well."

"She is kind-hearted. If only she weren't all gush and giggle! She raves over everything, cathedral or apron trimming—it's all the same to her."

Polly laughed. "She's rather pretty, I think."

"Too fat."

"No, you can't call her fat; only her bones don't show. I wish Miss Castlevaine could thin up and show her bones just a little, and I do feel sorry for her because she can't curl her hair. She'd look a thousand per cent better with some little fluffs."

"Why