Pollyanna Grows Up

Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat imposing steps of her sister's CommonwealthAvenue home and pressed an energetic finger against the electric-bell button. From the tipof her wing-trimmed hat to the toe of her low-heeled shoe she radiated health, capability, and alert decision. Even her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened the door, vibratedwith the joy of living."Good morning, Mary. Is my sister in?""Y-yes, ma'am, Mrs. Carew is in," hesitated the girl; "but-she gave orders she'd see noone.""Did she? Well, I'm no one," smiled Miss Wetherby, "so she'll see me. Don't worry-I'll takethe blame," she nodded, in answer to the frightened remonstrance in the girl's eyes. "Whereis she-in her sitting-room?""Y-yes, ma'am; but-that is, she said-" Miss Wetherby, however, was already halfway upthe broad stairway; and, with a despairing backward glance, the maid turned away. In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly walked toward a half-open door, andknocked."Well, Mary," answered a "dear-me-what-now" voice. "Haven't I-Oh, Della!" The voicegrew suddenly warm with love and surprise. "You dear girl, where did you come from?""Yes, it's Della," smiled that young woman, blithely, already halfway across the room. "I'vecome from an over-Sunday at the beach with two of the other nurses, and I'm on my wayback to the Sanatorium now. That is, I'm here now, but I sha'n't be long. I stepped in for-this," she finished, giving the owner of the "dear-me-what-now" voice a hearty kiss. Mrs. Carew frowned and drew back a little coldly. The slight touch of joy and animationthat had come into her face fled, leaving only a dispirited fretfulness that was plainly verymuch at home there."Oh, of course! I might have known," she said. "You never stay-here.""Here!" Della Wetherby laughed merrily, and threw up her hands; then, abruptly, her voiceand manner changed. She regarded her sister with grave, tender eyes. "Ruth, dear, Icouldn't-I just couldn't live in this house. You know I couldn't," she finished gently. Mrs. Carew stirred irritably."I'm sure I don't see why not," she fenced. Della Wetherby shook her head."Yes, you do, dear. You know I'm entirely out of sympathy with it all: the gloom, the lack ofaim, the insistence on misery and bitterness.""But I AM miserable and bitter.""You ought not to be.""Why not? What have I to make me otherwise?"Della Wetherby gave an impatient gesture