pricked her head, the leaves tickled her ear, and the flower was
upside down.
Fanny laughed at his want of skill, but Polly would n’t have it
altered, and everybody fell to eating cake, as if indigestion was one
of the lost arts. They had a lively tea, and were getting on famously
afterward, when two letters were brought for Tom, who glanced at
one, and retired rather precipitately to his den, leaving Maud
consumed with curiosity, and the older girls slightly excited, for
Fan thought she recognized the handwriting on one, and Polly, on
the other.
One half an hour and then another elapsed, and Tom did not
return. Mr. Shaw went out, Mrs. Shaw retired to her room escorted
by Maud, and the two girls sat together wondering if anything
dreadful had happened. All of a sudden a voice called, “Polly!” and
that young lady started out of her chair, as if the sound had been a
thunder-clap.
“Do run! I ‘m perfectly fainting to know what the matter is,” said
Fan.
“You ‘d better go,” began Polly, wishing to obey, yet feeling a little
shy.
“He don’t want me; besides, I could n’t say a word for myself if that
letter was from Sydney,” cried Fanny, hustling her friend towards
the door, in a great flutter.
Polly went without another word, but she wore a curiously anxious
look, and stopped on the threshold of the den, as if a little afraid of
its occupant. Tom was sitting in his favorite attitude, astride of a
chair, with his arms folded and his chin on the top rail; not an
elegant posture, but the only one in which, he said, he could think
well.
“Did you want me, Tom?”
“Yes. Come in, please, and don’t look scared; I only want to show
you a present I ‘ve had, and ask your advice about accepting it.”
“Why, Tom, you look as if you had been knocked down!”
exclaimed Polly, forgetting all about herself, as she saw his face
when he rose and turned to meet her.
“I have; regularly floored; but I ‘m up again, and steadier than ever.
Just you read that, and tell me what you think of it.”
Tom snatched a letter off the table, put it into her hands, and began
to walk up and down the little room, like a veritable bear in its
cage. As Polly read that short note, all the color went out of her
face, and her eyes began to kindle. When she came to the end, she
stood a minute, as if too indignant to speak, then gave the paper a
nervous sort of crumple and dropped it on the floor, saying, all in
one breath, “I think she is a mercenary, heartless, ungrateful girl!
That ‘s what I think.”
“Oh, the deuce! I did n’t mean to show that one; it ‘s the other.”
And Tom took up a second paper, looking half angry, half
ashamed at his own mistake. “I don’t care, though; every one will
know to-morrow; and perhaps you ‘ll be good enough to keep the
girls from bothering me with questions and gabble,” he added, as
if, on second thoughts, he was relieved to have the communication
made to Polly first.
“I don’t wonder you looked upset. If the other letter is as bad, I ‘d
better have a chair before I read it,” said Polly, feeling that she
began to tremble with excitement.
“It ‘s a million times better, but it knocked me worse than the
other; kindness always does.” Tom stopped short there, and stood a
minute turning the letter about in his hand as if it contained a
sweet which neutralized the bitter in that smaller note, and touched
him very much. Then he drew up an armchair, and beckoning
Polly to take it, said in a sober, steady tone, that surprised her
greatly, “Whenever I was in a quandary, I used to go and consult
grandma, and she always had something sensible or comfortable to
say to me. She ‘s gone now, but somehow, Polly, you seem to take
her place. Would you mind sitting in her chair, and letting me tell