Little Miss Oliver's attitude on the question of the boarders must
stand quite without justification.

"It is a part of Polly," sighed her mother, "and must be borne with
Christian fortitude."

Colonel Oliver had never fully recovered from a wound received in the
last battle of the civil war, and when he was laid to rest in a quiet
New England churchyard, so much of Mrs. Oliver's heart was buried with
him that it was difficult to take up the burden of life with any sort
of courage. At last her delicate health prompted her to take the baby
daughter, born after her husband's death, and go to southern
California, where she invested her small property in a house in Santa
Barbara. She could not add to her income by any occupation that kept
her away from the baby; so the boarders followed as a matter of course
(a house being suitable neither for food nor clothing), and a
constantly changing family of pleasant people helped her to make both
ends meet, and to educate the little daughter as she grew from babyhood
into childhood.

Now, as Polly had grown up among the boarders, most of whom petted her,
no one can account for her slightly ungrateful reception of their
good-will; but it is certain that the first time she was old enough to
be trusted at the table, she grew very red in the face, slipped down
from her high chair, and took her bowl of bread and milk on to the
porch. She was followed and gently reasoned with, but her only
explanation was that she did n't "yike to eat wiv so many peoples."
Persuasion bore no fruit, and for a long time Miss Polly ate in
solitary grandeur. Indeed, the feeling increased rather than
diminished, until the child grew old enough to realize her mother's