o
buy valentines with."

"What's an heiress?" inquired Polly.

"Oh, a girl that has a bankful of money," replied Martha, carelessly.

Polly gave one of her long-drawn "O--hs," then slipped out of bed, and
began to dress so slowly that Martha said to her,--

"What are you dreaming about now, Polly?"

But Polly didn't answer. She was too busy pulling on her stockings, and
thinking of something else that Martha had said, and this "something"
was "a girl with a bankful of money." Martha little suspected what
effect her words had had, little thought what a fine scheme she had set
going. If she had, the scheme would certainly never have been carried
out, or never have been carried out as Polly planned it. And Polly knew
this perfectly well, and kept as still as a mouse all through
breakfast,--so still that the matron, Mrs. Banks, asked, "Don't you feel
well, Polly?" whereat Polly choked over her oatmeal as she confusedly
answered, "Yes, 'm."

If it had been any other child, Mrs. Banks would have suspected that
there was some mischief brewing behind this stillness; but Polly had
never been given to mischief, so she was not further questioned or
observed, and thus left to herself she scampered back to the dormitory
after the chamber-work was done, and, going straight to a small bureau
that stood between Jane's bed and her own, she cautiously pulled out the
lower drawer, and took from it a little toy house. This pretty toy house
was nothing more nor less than a child's bank that had been given to
Polly one Christmas, and into which she had dropped the pennies that had
been bestowed upon her from time to time. Polly had long yearned for a
paint-box; and whenever she went out, she used to stop at a certain
shop-window where these tempting things were displayed, and wonder how
much they cost. One day she summoned up courage to go in and ask the
price of the smallest.

"Twenty-five cents," the clerk told her. Polly at first was dismayed.
Twenty-five cents seemed a vast sum to her. But it was a long time yet
to next Christmas, and perhaps by then she _might_ find even as much as
that in her bank. This hope had warmed her heart for weeks, so that when
she was smarting under the first sense of disappointment about the
valentines, she consoled herself with the thought of the little
paint-box that might soon be hers. But when Martha had said, "Some time
you'll dream you're an heiress, and wake up counting your money out,"
and ha