, and relics of a past
for which no one cared but herself. Her son went up every evening for a
little call, was very kind to her, and saw that she wanted nothing money
could buy; but he was a busy man, so intent on getting rich that he
had no time to enjoy what he already possessed. Madam never complained,
interfered, or suggested; but there was a sad sort of quietude about
her, a wistful look in her faded eyes, as if she wanted something which
money could not buy, and when children were near, she hovered about
them, evidently longing to cuddle and caress them as only grandmothers
can. Polly felt this; and as she missed the home-petting, gladly showed
that she liked to see the quiet old face brighten, as she entered the
solitary room, where few children came, except the phantoms of little
sons and daughters, who, to the motherly heart that loved them, never
faded or grew up. Polly wished the children would be kinder to grandma;
but it was not for her to tell them so, although it troubled her a good
deal, and she could only try to make up for it by being as dutiful and
affectionate as if their grandma was her own.

Another thing that disturbed Polly was the want of exercise. To dress
up and parade certain streets for an hour every day, to stand talking in
doorways, or drive out in a fine carriage, was not the sort of exercise
she liked, and Fan would take no other. Indeed, she was so shocked,
when Polly, one day, proposed a run down the mall, that her friend never
dared suggest such a thing again. At home, Polly ran and rode, coasted
and skated, jumped rope and raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed
her boat; so no wonder she longed for something more lively than a daily
promenade with a flock of giddy girls, who tilted along in high-heeled
boots, and costumes which made Polly ashamed to be seen with some of
them. So she used to slip out alone sometimes, when Fanny was absorbed
in novels, company, or millinery, and get fine brisk walks round the
park, on the unfashionable side, where the babies took their airings; or
she went inside, to watch the boys coasting, and to wish she could coast
too, as she did at home. She never went far, and always came back rosy
and gay.

One afternoon, just before dinner, she felt so tired of doing nothing,
that she slipped out for a run. It had been a dull day; but the sun was
visible now, setting brightly below the clouds. It was cold but still
and Polly trotted down the smooth, snow-