demanded Tom, opening his eyes very
wide.

"I heard Will talking about Publics and Privates, and I meant to ask
him, but I forgot."

"What did he say?"

"I don't remember; it was about somebody who cut prayers, and got
a Private, and had done all sorts of bad things, and had one or two
Publics. I did n't hear the name and did n't care; I only wanted to know
what the words meant."

"So Will tells tales, does he?" and Tom's forehead wrinkled with a
frown.

"No, he did n't; Polly knew about it and asked him."

"Will's a 'dig,'" growled Tom, shutting his eyes again, as if nothing
more could be said of the delinquent William.

"I don't care if he is; I like him very much, and so does Polly."

"Happy Fresh!" said Tom, with a comical groan.

"You need n't sniff at him, for he is nice, and treats me with respect,"
cried Maud, with an energy that made Tom laugh in her face.

"He 's good to Polly always, and puts on her cloak for her, and says 'my
dear,' and kisses her 'good-night,' and don't think it 's silly, and I
wish I had a brother just like him, yes, I do!" And Maud showed signs of
woe, for her disappointment about going was very great.

"Bless my boots! what's the chicken ruffling up her little feathers and
pecking at me for? Is that the way Polly soothes the best of brothers?"
said Tom, still laughing.

"Oh, I forgot! there, I won't cry; but I do want to go," and Maud
swallowed her tears, and began to stroke again.

Now Tom's horse and sleigh were in the stable, for he meant to drive out
to College that evening, but he did n't take Maud's hint. It was less
trouble to lie still, and say in a conciliatory tone, "Tell me some more
about this good boy, it 's very interesting."

"No, I shan't, but I 'll tell about Puttel's playing on the piano," said
Maud, anxious to efface the memory of her momentary weakness. "Polly
points to the right key with a little stick, and Puttel sits on the
stool and pats each key as it 's touched, and it makes a tune. It 's
so funny to see her, and Nick perches on the rack and sings as if he 'd
kill himself."

"Very thrilling," said Tom, in a sleepy tone.

Maud felt that her conversation was not as interesting as she hoped, and
tried again.

"Polly thinks you are handsomer than Mr. Sydney."

"Much obliged."

"I asked which she thought had the nicest face, and she said yours was
the handsomest, and his the best."

"Does he ever go there?" asked a sharp voice behind them;