ou do me so much good."

CHAPTER IX. LESSONS

THE first few weeks were hard ones, for Polly had not yet outgrown her
natural shyness and going among so many strangers caused her frequent
panics. But her purpose gave her courage, and when the ice was once
broken, her little pupils quickly learned to love her. The novelty soon
wore off, and though she thought she was prepared for drudgery, she
found it very tedious to go on doing the same thing day after day. Then
she was lonely, for Will could only come once a week, her leisure hours
were Fanny's busiest, and the "bits of pleasure" were so few and far
between that they only tantalized her. Even her small housekeeping lost
its charms, for Polly was a social creature, and the solitary meals were
often sad ones. Ashputtel and Nick did their best to cheer her, but
they too, seemed to pine for country freedom and home atmosphere. Poor
Puttel, after gazing wistfully out of the window at the gaunt city cats
skulking about the yard, would retire to the rug, and curl herself up as
if all hope of finding congenial society had failed; while little Nick
would sing till he vibrated on his perch, without receiving any response
except an inquisitive chirp from the pert sparrows, who seemed to twit
him with his captivity. Yes, by the time the little teakettle had lost
its brightness, Polly had decided that getting one's living was no
joke, and many of her brilliant hopes had shared the fate of the little
kettle.

If one could only make the sacrifice all at once, and done with it, then
it would seem easier; but to keep up a daily sacrifice of one's wishes,
tastes, and pleasures, is rather a hard task, especially when one is
pretty, young, and gay. Lessons all day, a highly instructive lecture,
books over a solitary fire, or music with no audience but a sleepy
cat and a bird with his head tucked under his wing, for evening
entertainment, was not exactly what might be called festive; so,
in spite of her brave resolutions, Polly did long for a little fun
sometimes, and after saying virtuously to herself at nine: "Yes, it is
much wiser and better for me to go to bed early, and be ready for work
tomorrow," she would lie awake hearing the carriages roll to and fro,
and imagining the gay girls inside, going to party, opera, or play, till
Mrs. Dodd's hop pillow might as well have been stuffed with nettles, for
any sleep it brought, or any use it was, except to catch and hide the
tears