rocked to and fro, muttering rapidly, while Polly twisted the little
curl on her forehead and stared at the wall, gabbling with all her
might.
“Done!” cried Tom, presently.
“Done!” echoed Polly; and then they heard each other recite till
both were perfect “That ‘s pretty good fun,” said Tom, joyfully,
tossing poor Harkness away, and feeling that the pleasant
excitement of companionship could lend a charm even to Latin
Grammar.
“Now, ma’am, we ‘ll take a turn at algibbera. I like that as much as
I hate Latin.”
Polly accepted the invitation, and soon owned that Tom could beat
her here. This fact restored his equnimity; but he did n’t crow over
her, far from it; for he helped her with a paternal patience that
made her eyes twinkle with suppressed fun, as he soberly
explained and illustrated, unconsciously imitating Dominie Deane,
till Polly found it difficult to keep from laughing in his face.
“You may have another go at it any, time you like,” generously
remarked Tom, as he shied the algebra after the Latin Reader.
“I ‘ll come every evening, then. I ‘d like to, for I have n’t studied a
bit since I came. You shall try and make me like algebra, and I ‘ll
try and make you like Latin, will you?”
“Oh, I ‘d like it well enough, if there was any one explain it to me.
Old Deane puts us through double-quick, and don’t give a fellow
time to ask questions when we read.”
“Ask your father; he knows.”
“Don’t believe he does; should n’t dare to bother him, if he did.”
“Why not?”
“He ‘d pull my ears, and call me a ‘stupid,’ or tell me not to worry
him.”
“I don’t think he would. He ‘s very kind to me, and I ask lots of
questions.”
“He likes you better than he does me.”
“Now, Tom! it ‘s wrong of you to say so. Of course he loves you
ever so much more than he does me,” cried Polly, reprovingly.
“Why don’t he show it then?” muttered Tom, with a half-wistful,
half-defiant glance toward the library door, which stood ajar.
“You act so, how can he?” asked Polly, after a pause, in which she
put Tom’s question to herself, and could find no better reply than
the one she gave him.
“Why don’t he give me my velocipede? He said, if I did well at
school for a month, I should have it; and I ‘ve been pegging away
like fury for most six weeks, and he don’t do a thing about it. The
girls get their duds, because they tease. I won’t do that anyway; but
you don’t catch me studying myself to death, and no pay for it.”
“It is too bad; but you ought to do it because it ‘s right, and never
mind being paid,” began Polly, trying to be moral, but secretly
sympathizing heartily with poor Tom.
“Don’t you preach, Polly. If the governor took any notice of me,
and cared how I got on, I would n’t mind the presents so much; but
he don’t care a hang, and never even asked if I did well last
declamation day, when I ‘d gone and learned ‘The Battle of Lake
Regillus,’ because he said he liked it.”
“Oh, Tom! Did you say that? It ‘s splendid! Jim and I used to say
Horatius together, and it was such fun. Do speak your piece to me,
I do so like ‘Macaulay’s Lays.'”
“It ‘s dreadful long,” began Tom; but his face brightened, for
Polly’s interest soothed his injured feelings, and he was glad to
prove his elocutionary powers. He began without much spirit; but
soon the martial ring of the lines fired him, and before he knew it,
he was on his legs thundering away in grand style, while Polly
listened with kindling face and absorbed attention. Tom did
declaim well, for he quite forgot himself, and delivered the stirring
ballad with an energy that made Polly flush and tingle with
admiration and delight, and quite electrified a second listener, who
had heard all that went on, and watched the little scene from
behind his newspaper.
As Tom paused, breathless, and Polly clapped her hands