And Tom laughed, as he recalled the frolic he had been on the
night before.
Maud established herself with great satisfaction, and Tom owned
that a silk apron was nicer than a fuzzy cushion.
“Do you like it?” she asked, after a few strokes over the hot
forehead, which she thought was fevered by intense application to
Greek and Latin.
“Not bad; play away,” was the gracious reply, as Tom shut his
eyes, and lay so still that Maud was charmed at the success of her
attempt. Presently, she said, softly, “Tom, are you asleep?”
“Just turning the comer.”
“Before you get quite round would you please tell me what a
Public Admonition is?”
“What do you want to know for?” demanded Tom, opening his
eyes very wide.
“I heard Will talking about Publics and Privates, and I meant to ask
him, but I forgot.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t remember; it was about somebody who cut prayers, and
got a Private, and had done all sorts of bad things, and had one or
two Publics. I did n’t hear the name and did n’t care; I only wanted
to know what the words meant.”
“So Will tells tales, does he?” and Tom’s forehead wrinkled with a
frown.
“No, he did n’t; Polly knew about it and asked him.”
“Will’s a ‘dig,'” growled Tom, shutting his eyes again, as if nothing
more could be said of the delinquent William.
“I don’t care if he is; I like him very much, and so does Polly.”
“Happy Fresh!” said Tom, with a comical groan.
“You need n’t sniff at him, for he is nice, and treats me with
respect,” cried Maud, with an energy that made Tom laugh in her
face.
“He ‘s good to Polly always, and puts on her cloak for her, and says
‘my dear,’ and kisses her ‘goodnight,’ and don’t think it ‘s silly, and I
wish I had a brother just like him, yes, I do!” And Maud showed
signs of woe, for her disappointment about going was very great.
“Bless my boots! what’s the chicken ruffling up her little feathers
and pecking at me for? Is that the way Polly soothes the best of
brothers?” said Tom, still laughing.
“Oh, I forgot! there, I won’t cry; but I do want to go,” and Maud
swallowed her tears, and began to stroke again.
Now Tom’s horse and sleigh were in the stable, for he meant to
drive out to College that evening, but he did n’t take Maud’s hint. It
was less trouble to lie still, and say in a conciliatory tone, “Tell
me some more about this good boy, it ‘s very interesting.”
“No, I shan’t, but I ‘ll tell about Puttel’s playing on the piano,” said
Maud, anxious to efface the memory of her momentary weakness.
“Polly points to the right key with a little stick, and Puttel sits on
the stool and pats each key as it ‘s touched, and it makes a tune. It
‘s so funny to see her, and Nick perches on the rack and sings as if
he ‘d kill himself.”
“Very thrilling,” said Tom, in a sleepy tone.
Maud felt that her conversation was not as interesting as she
hoped, and tried again.
“Polly thinks you are handsomer than Mr. Sydney.”
“Much obliged.”
“I asked which she thought had the nicest face, and she said yours
was the handsomest, and his the best.”
“Does he ever go there?” asked a sharp voice behind them; and
looking round Maud saw Fanny in the big chair, cooking her feet
over the register.
“I never saw him there; he sent up some books one day, and Will
teased her about it.”
“What did she do?” demanded Fanny. “Oh, she shook him.”
“What a spectacle!” and Tom looked as if he would have enjoyed
seeing it, but Fanny’s face grew so forbidding, that Tom’s little dog,
who was approaching to welcome her, put his tail between his legs
and fled under the table.
“Then there is n’t any ‘Sparking Sunday night’?” sung Tom, who
appeared to have waked up again.
“Of course not. Polly is n’t going to marry anybody; she ‘s going to