and Sydney?” she asked as she rose, feeling that the council was
over.
“I wish you would. I don’t know how to thank you for all you ‘ve
done for me; I wish to heaven I did,” said Tom, holding out his
hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the
little she had done.
As she gave him her hand, and looked up at him with those
confiding eyes of hers, Tom’s gratitude seemed to fly to his head,
for, without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her,
a proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered himself at
once, and retreated into his den with the incoherent apology, “I
beg pardon could n’t help it grandma always let me on my
birthday.”
While Polly took refuge up stairs, forgetting all about Fan, as she
sat in the dark with her face hidden, wondering why she was n’t
very angry, and resolving never again to indulge in the delightful
but dangerous pastime of playing grandmother.
CHAPTER XVIII THE WOMAN WHO DID NOT DARE
POLLY wrote enthusiastically, Ned answered satisfactorily, and
after much corresponding, talking, and planning, it was decided
that Tom should go West. Never mind what the business was; it
suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like
Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative
class of the most conceited city in New England, needed just the
healthy, hearty, social influences of the West to widen his views
and make a man of him.
Of course there was much lamentation among the women, but
every one felt it was the best thing for him; so while they sighed
they sewed, packed visions of a brilliant future away with his new
pocket handkerchiefs, and rejoiced that the way was open before
him even in the act of bedewing his boots with tears. Sydney stood
by him to the last, “like a man and a brother” (which expression of
Tom’s gave Fanny infinite satisfaction), and Will felt entirely
consoled for Ned’s disappointment at his refusal to go and join
him, since Tom was to take the place Ned had kept for him.
Fortunately every one was so busy with the necessary preparations
that there was no time for romance of any sort, and the four young
people worked together as soberly and sensibly as if all sorts of
emotions were not bottled up in their respective hearts. But in spite
of the silence, the work, and the hurry, I think they came to know
one another better in that busy little space of time than in all the
years that had gone before, for the best and bravest in each was up
and stirring, and the small house was as full of the magnetism of
love and friendship, self-sacrifice and enthusiasm, as the world
outside was full of spring sunshine and enchantment. Pity that the
end should come so soon, but the hour did its work and went its
way, leaving a clearer atmosphere behind, though the young folks
did not see it then, for their eyes were dim because of the partings
that must be.
Tom was off to the West; Polly went home for the summer; Maud
was taken to the seaside with Belle; and Fanny left alone to wrestle
with housekeeping, “help,” and heartache. If it had not been for
two things, I fear she never would have stood a summer in town,
but Sydney often called, till his vacation came, and a voluminous
correspondence with Polly beguiled the long days. Tom wrote
once a week to his mother, but the letters were short and not very
satisfactory, for men never do tell the interesting little things that
women best like to hear. Fanny forwarded her bits of news to
Polly. Polly sent back all the extracts from Ned’s letters concerning
Tom, and by putting the two reports together, they gained the
comfortable assurance that Tom was well, in good spirits, hard at
work, and intent on coming out strong in spite of all obstacles.
Polly had a quiet summer at home, resting and getting ready in
mind and body for another winter’s work, for in the autumn she