carefully impressed upon her memory.
“Where are your trunks?” asked Tom, as he was reminded of his
duty by her handing him the bag, which he had not offered to take.
“Father told me not to wait for any one, else I ‘d lose my chance of
a hack; so I gave my check to a man, and there he is with my
trunk;” and Polly walked off after her one modest piece of
baggage, followed by Tom, who felt a trifle depressed by his own
remissness in polite attentions. “She is n’t a bit of a young lady,
thank goodness! Fan did n’t tell me she was pretty. Don’t look like
city girls, nor act like ’em, neither,” he thought, trudging in the
rear, and eyeing with favor the brown curls bobbing along in front.
As the carriage drove off, Polly gave a little bounce on the springy
seat, and laughed like a delighted child. “I do like to ride in these
nice hacks, and see all the fine things, and have a good time, don’t
you?” she said, composing herself the next minute, as if it
suddenly occurred to her that she was going a-visiting.
“Not much,” said Tom, not minding what he said, for the fact that
he was shut up with the strange girl suddenly oppressed his soul.
“How ‘s Fan? Why did n’t she come, too?” asked Polly, trying to
look demure, while her eyes danced in spite of her.
“Afraid of spoiling her crinkles;” and Tom smiled, for this base
betrayal of confidence made him feel his own man again.
“You and I don’t mind dampness. I ‘m much obliged to you for
coming to take care of me.”
It was kind of Polly to say that, and Tom felt it; for his red crop
was a tender point, and to be associated with Polly’s pretty brown
curls seemed to lessen its coppery glow. Then he had n’t done
anything for her but carry the bag a few steps; yet, she thanked
him. He felt grateful, and in a burst of confidence, offered a
handful of peanuts, for his pockets were always supplied with this
agreeable delicacy, and he might be traced anywhere by the trail of
shells he left behind him.
As soon as he had done it, he remembered that Fanny considered
them vulgar, and felt that he had disgraced his family. So he stuck
his head out of the window, and kept it there so long, that Polly
asked if anything was the matter. “Pooh! who cares for a
countrified little thing like her,” said Tom manfully to himself; and
then the spirit of mischief entered in and took possession of him.
“He ‘s pretty drunk; but I guess he can hold his horses,” replied this
evil-minded boy, with an air of calm resignation.
“Is the man tipsy? Oh, dear! let ‘s get out! Are the horses bad? It ‘s
very steep here; do you think it ‘s safe?” cried poor Polly, making a
cocked hat of her little beaver, by thrusting it out of the half-open
window on her side.
“There ‘s plenty of folks to pick us up if anything happens; but
perhaps it would be safer if I got out and sat with the man;” and
Tom quite beamed with the brilliancy of this sudden mode of
relief.
“Oh, do, if you ain’t afraid! Mother would be so anxious if
anything should happen to me, so far away!” cried Polly, much
distressed.
“Don’t you be worried. I ‘ll manage the old chap, and the horses
too;” and opening the door, Tom vanished aloft, leaving poor
victimized Polly to quake inside, while he placidly revelled in
freedom and peanuts outside, with the staid old driver.
Fanny came flying down to meet her “darling Polly,” as Tom
presented her, with the graceful remark, “I ‘ve got her!” and the air
of a dauntless hunter, producing the trophies of his skill. Polly was
instantly whisked up stairs; and having danced a double-shuffle on
the door-mat, Tom retired to the dining-room, to restore exhausted
nature with half a dozen cookies.
“Ain’t you tired to death? Don’t you want to lie down?” said Fanny,