ampness. 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,
sitting on the side of the bed in Polly's room, and chattering hard,
while she examined everything her friend had on.

"Not a bit. I