"Polly! Poll-ee! " sounded musically from the direction of the kitchen doorway in a ranchhouse, and reached Polly Brewster as she knelt beside her pet in the barn. "Run outside and see what Maw wants, Poll, " said Mr. Brewster, who was working faithfully over the object of Polly"s solicitous devotion. Obediently, Polly ran out and shaded her eyes as she gazed across the great depression of the volcanic crater which had made such a wonderful farm for the Brewsters. At the door of the long, squat homestead, stood Mrs. Brewster, waiting for an answer. "