And Mr. Shaw put out the other hand to Fanny, who gave him a
daughterly kiss, quite forgetting everything but the tender feeling
that sprung up in her heart at the renewal of the childish custom
which we never need outgrow.
Mrs. Shaw was a nervous, fussy invalid, who wanted something
every five minutes; so Polly found plenty of small things to do for
her and did, them so cheerfully, that the poor lady loved to have
the quiet, helpful child near, to wait upon her, read to her, run
errands, or hand the seven different shawls which were continually
being put on or off.
Grandma, too, was glad to find willing hands and feet to serve her;
and Polly passed many happy hours in the quaint rooms, learning
all sorts of pretty arts, and listening to pleasant chat, never
dreaming how much sunshine she brought to the solitary old lady.
Tom was Polly’s rock ahead for a long time, because he was
always breaking out in a new place, and one never knew where to
find him. He tormented yet amused her; was kind one day, and a
bear the next; at times she fancied he was never going to be bad
again, and the next thing she knew he was deep in mischief, and
hooted at the idea of repentance and reformation. Polly gave him
up as a hard case; but was so in the habit of helping any one who
seemed in trouble, that she was good to him simply because she
could n’t help it.
“What ‘s the matter? Is your lesson too hard for you?” she asked
one evening, as a groan made her look across the table to where
Tom sat scowling over a pile of dilapidated books, with his hands
in his hair, as if his head was in danger of flying asunder with the
tremendous effort he was making.
“Hard! Guess it is. What in thunder do I care about the old
Carthaginians? Regulus was n’t bad; but I ‘m sick of him!” And
Tom dealt “Harkness’s Latin Reader” a thump, which expressed his
feelings better than words.
“I like Latin, and used to get on well when I studied it with Jimmy.
Perhaps I can help you a little bit,” said Polly, as Tom wiped his
hot face and refreshed himself with a peanut.
“You? pooh! girls’ Latin don’t amount to much anyway,” was the
grateful reply.
But Polly was used to him now, and, nothing daunted, took a look
at the grimy page in the middle of which Tom had stuck. She read
it so well, that the young gentleman stopped munching to regard
her with respectful astonishment, and when she stopped, he said,
suspiciously, “You are a sly one, Polly, to study up so you can
show off before me. But it won’t do, ma’am; turn over a dozen
pages, and try again.”
Polly obeyed, and did even better than before, saying, as she
looked up, with a laugh, “I ‘ve been through the whole book; so
you won’t catch me that way, Tom.”
“I say, how came you to know such a lot?” asked Tom, much
impressed.
“I studied with Jimmy, and kept up with him, for father let us be
together in all our lessons. It was so nice, and we learned so fast!”
“Tell me about Jimmy. He ‘s your brother, is n’t he?”
“Yes; but he ‘s dead, you know. I ‘ll tell about him some other time;
you ought to study now, and perhaps I can help you,” said Polly,
with a little quiver of the lips.
“Should n’t wonder if you could.” And Tom spread the book
between them with a grave and business-like air, for he felt that
Polly had got the better of him, and it behooved him to do his best
for the honor of his sex. He went at the lesson with a will, and
soon floundered out of his difficulties, for Polly gave him a lift
here and there, and they went on swimmingly, till they came to
some rules to be learned. Polly had forgotten them, so they, both
committed them to memory; Tom, with hands in his pockets,