Polly, trying to look demure, while her eyes danced in spite of her.

"She was afraid of spoiling her curls;" and Tom smiled at his base betrayal of confidence.

I'm

"You and I don't mind the dampness, do we? much obliged to you for coming to take care of me.' It was kind of Polly to say that, and Tom felt it. He hadn'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 her 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.

IV.

Fanny came flying out 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 upstairs; and having danced a double shuffle on the doormat, Tom retired to the dining-room, to restore exhausted nature with half a dozen cookies.

"Aren't you tired to death? Don't you want to lie down?" said Fanny, sitting on the side of the bed in Polly's room, and chattering hard while she examined everything her friend had on.

"Not at all. I had a very pleasant time coming; and then, to change the conversation, she looked admiringly about the large, handsome room, and said, "How splendid it is! I never slept in a bed with curtains, or had such a fine toilet table as this.'

"I'm glad you like it; but don't, for mercy sake, say

such things before the other girls!" replied Fanny, wishing Polly would wear ear-rings, as every one else did. "Why not?"

“Oh, they laugh at everything the least bit odd, and that isn't pleasant." Fanny didn't say "countrified," but she meant it, and Polly felt uncomfortable. So she shook out her little black-silk apron with a thoughtful face, and resolved not to allude to her home, if she could avoid it. But, never fear," continued Fanny, "I'll take care of you, and fix you up, so that no one will think you are odd."

66

"Am I odd?" asked Polly, struck by the repetition of the word, and hoping it didn't mean anything very bad. "You are a dear, and ever so much prettier than you were last summer; but you have been brought up differently from us, and your ways are not like ours, you see," said Fanny, finding it rather hard to explain.

"How different?" asked Polly.

"Well, you dress like a little girl, for one thing."

"I am a little girl; so, why shouldn't I?" and Polly looked at her simple blue merino frock, stout boots, and short hair, with a puzzled air.

"You are fourteen; and we consider ourselves young ladies at that age," replied Fanny. "But come, the din

ner bell has rung. Let us go down;" and she got up, pluming herself as a bird does before its flight.

V.

Polly hoped that Tom would not be present; but he was, and stared at her in a most trying manner.

Mr. Shaw, a busy-looking gentleman, said: "How do Hope you'll enjoy yourself," and

you do, my dear?

then appeared to forget her entirely. Mrs. Shaw, a pale, nervous woman, greeted her little guest kindly, and took care that she wanted for nothing.

Madam Shaw, a quiet old lady, with an imposing cap, exclaimed, on seeing Polly, "Bless my heart! the image of her mother. a sweet woman how is she, dear?" and kept peering at the newcomer over her glasses till between Madam and Tom poor Polly lost her appetite.

It was, altogether, an uncomfortable dinner, and Polly was very glad when it was over. They all went about their own affairs; and, after doing the honors of the house, Fan was called to the dressmaker, leaving Polly to amuse herself in the great drawing-room.

Polly was glad to be alone for a few minutes; and, having examined all the pretty things about her, began to walk up and down over the soft, flowery carpet, humming to herself, as the daylight faded, and only the ruddy glow of the fire filled the room.

Presently Madam came slowly in and sat down in her armchair, saying: "That's a fine old tune; sing it to me, my dear. I haven't heard it this many a day."

Polly didn't like to sing before strangers, for she had no teaching but such as her busy mother could give her; but she had been taught the utmost respect for old people, and, having no reason for refusing, she directly went. to the piano and did as she was bid.

"That's the sort of music it's a pleasure to hear. Sing some more, dear," said Madam, in her gentle way.

Pleased with this praise, Polly sang away in a fresh little voice that went straight to the listener's heart and nestled there. The sweet old tunes that one is never tired of were all Polly's store; and when she wound up

with "A Health to King Charlie," the room was quite filled with stirring music.

"That's a jolly tune! Sing it again, please," cried Tom's voice; and there was Tom's red head bobbing up over the high back of the chair where he had hidden himself. It gave Polly quite a turn, for she thought no one was hearing her but the old lady dozing by the fire. "I can't sing any more; I'm tired," she said, and walked away to Madam in the other room.

VI.

The old lady put out her hand, and, drawing Polly to her knee, looked into her face with such kind eyes that Polly forgot the impressive cap, and smiled at her confidently; for she saw that her simple music had pleased her listener, and she felt glad to know it.

"You mustn't mind my staring, dear," said Madam, softly pinching her rosy cheek; "I haven't seen a little girl for so long it does my old eyes good to look at you.” Polly thought that a very odd speech, and couldn't help saying, "Aren't Fan and Maud little girls, too?"

"Oh, dear, no! not what I call little girls. Fan has been a young lady these two years, and Maud is a spoiled baby. Your mother's a very sensible woman, my child."

"What a queer old lady!" thought Polly; but she said "Yes'm," respectfully, and looked at the fire.

"You don't understand what I mean, do you?" asked Madam, still holding her by the chin.

"No'm; not quite.”

"Well, dear, I'll tell you. In my day, children of fourteen and fifteen didn't dress in the height of the fashion, go to parties as nearly like those of grown