ybody, for you 've got one another,"
said Polly, with such a wistful look, that it suddenly set Tom and Fanny
to wondering why they did n't have better times together, and enjoy
themselves, as Polly and Jim did.

"Fan don't care for anybody but herself," said Tom.

"Tom is such a bear," retorted Fanny.

"I would n't say such things, for if anything should happen to either of
you, the other one would feel so sorry. Every cross word I ever said to
Jimmy comes back now, and makes me wish I had n't."

Two great tears rolled down Polly's cheeks, and were quietly wiped away;
but I think they watered that sweet sentiment, called fraternal love,
which till now had been neglected in the hearts of this brother and
sister. They did n't say anything then, or make any plans, or confess
any faults; but when they parted for the night, Fanny gave the wounded
head a gentle pat (Tom never would have forgiven her if she had kissed
him), and said, in a whisper, "I hope you 'll have a good sleep, Tommy,
dear."

And Tom nodded back at her, with a hearty "Same to you, Fan."

That was all; but it meant a good deal, for the voices were kind,
and the eyes met full of that affection which makes words of little
consequence. Polly saw it; and though she did n't know that she had
made the sunshine, it shone back upon her so pleasantly, that she fell
happily asleep, though her Jimmy was n't there to say "good-night."

CHAPTER V. SCRAPES

AFTER being unusually good, children are apt to turn short round and
refresh themselves by acting like Sancho. For a week after Tom's mishap,
the young folks were quite angelic, so much so that grandma said she was
afraid "something was going to happen to them." The dear old lady need
n't have felt anxious, for such excessive virtue does n't last long
enough to lead to translation, except with little prigs in the goody
story-books; and no sooner was Tom on his legs again, when the whole
party went astray, and much tribulation was the consequence.

It all began with "Polly's stupidity," as Fan said afterward. Just as
Polly ran down to meet Mr. Shaw one evening, and was helping him off
with his coat, the bell rang, and a fine bouquet of hothouse flowers was
left in Polly's hands, for she never could learn city ways, and opened
the door herself.

"Hey! what's this? My little Polly is beginning early, after all," said
Mr. Shaw, laughing, as he watched the girl's face dimple and flush, as
she smelt the