sed all the fuss, down to
the special licence by which she had been married; but this particular
one had not come her way. And on Richard explaining to her the liberty
poets allowed themselves, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and
was sorry to think he approved. It seemed to her just a fine name for
wanton exaggeration--if not something worse.

There were also those long evenings they spent over the first hundred
pages of WAVERLEY. Mahony, eager for her to share his enthusiasm,
comforted her each night anew that they would soon reach the story
proper, and then, how interested she would be! But the opening chapters
were a sandy desert of words, all about people duller than any Polly
had known alive; and sometimes, before the book was brought out, she
would heave a secret sigh--although, of course, she enjoyed sitting
cosily together with Richard, watching him and listening to his voice.
But they might have put their time to a pleasanter use: by talking of
themselves, or their friends, or how further to improve their home, or
what the store was doing.

Mahony saw her smiling to herself one evening; and after assuring
himself that there was nothing on the page before him to call that
pleased look to her young face, he laid the book down and offered her a
penny for her thoughts. But Polly was loath to confess to
wool-gathering.

"I haven't succeeded in interesting you, have I, Pollikins?"

She made haste to contradict him. Oh, it was very nice, and she loved
to hear him read.

"Come, honestly now, little woman!"

She faced him squarely at that, though with pink cheeks. "Well, not
much, Richard."

He took her on his knee. "And what were you smiling at?"

"Me? Oh, I was just thinking of something that happened yesterday"--and
Polly sat up, agog to tell.

It appeared that the day before, while he was out, the digger's wife
who did Polly's rough work for her had rushed in, crying that her
youngest was choking. Bonnetless, Polly had flown across to the woman's
hut. There she discovered the child, a fat youngster of a year or so,
purple in the face, with a button wedged in its throat. Taking it by
the heels she shook the child vigorously, upside-down; and, lo and
behold! this had the opposite effect to what she intended. When they
straightened the child out again the button was found to have passed
the danger-point and gone down. Quickly resolved, Polly cut slice on
slice of thin bread-and-butter, and with this