 Chapter 18. The Woman Who Did Not Dare Polly wrote enthusiastically. Ned answered satisfactorily, and after much corresponding, talking and planning, it was decided that Tom should go west. Never mind what the business was, it suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative class of the most conceited city in New England, needed just the healthy, hearty social influences of the west to widen his views and make a man of him. Of course, there was much lamentation among the women, but everyone felt it was the best thing for him. So while they sighed, they sued, packed visions of a brilliant future away with his new pocket-handkerchief, and rejoiced that the way was open before him, even in the act of beduring his boots with tears. Sydney stood by him to the last, like a man and a brother, which expression of Tom's gave any infinite satisfaction, but Will felt entirely consoled for Ned's disappointment at his refusal to go and join him, since Tom was to take the place Ned had kept for him. Fortunately, everyone was so busy with the necessary preparations that there was no time for Romans of any sort, and the four young people worked together as soberly and sensibly as if all sorts of emotions were not bottled up in their respective hearts. But in spite of the silence, the work, and the hurry, I think they came to know one another better in their busy little space of time than in all the years that had come before, for the best and bravest in each was up and stirring, and the small house was as full of the magnetism of love and friendship, self-sacrifice, and enthusiasm as the world outside was full of spring sunshine and enchantment. Pity that the end should come so soon, but the hour did its work and went its way, leaving a clearer atmosphere behind, but the young folks did not see it then, for their eyes were dim because of the partings that must be. Tom was off to the west, Polly went home for the summer, Maud was taken to the seaside with Belle, and Fanny left alone to wrestle with housekeeping, help, and heartache. If it had not been for two things, I fear she never would have stood a summer in town, but Sidney often called, till his vacation came, and the voluminous correspondence with Polly beguiled the long days. Tom wrote once a week to his mother, but the letters were short and not very satisfactory, for men never do tell the interesting little things that women best like to hear. Fanny forwarded her bits of news to Polly, Polly sent back all the extracts from Nett's letters concerning Tom, and by putting the two reports together they gained the comfortable assurance that Tom was well, in good spirits, hard at work, and intent on coming out strong in spite of all obstacles. Polly had a quiet summer at home, resting and getting ready in mind and body for another winter's work. From the autumn she tried her plan again, to the satisfaction of her pupils, and the great joy of her friends. She never said much of herself in her letters, and Fanny's first exclamation when they met again was anxious. Why, Polly dear, have you been sick and never told me? Now I'm only tired, had a good deal to do lately, and the dull weather makes me just a travel-brew. I shall soon brighten up when I get to my work again, answered Polly, bustling about to put away her things. You don't look a bit natural. What have you been doing to your precious little self? Persisted Fanny, troubled by the change, yet finding it hard to savour in a distant lay. Polly did not look sick, though her cheeks were thinner and her collar paler than formerly, but she seemed spiritless, and there was a tired look in her eyes that went to Fanny's heart. I'm all right enough. As you see when I'm in order, I'm proper glad to find you looking so well and happy. Does all go smoothly, Fanny? asked Polly, beginning to brush her hair industriously. Answer me one question first, said Fanny, looking as if a sudden fear had come over her. Tell me, Julie, have you never repented of your hint to Sidney? Never, quite Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which she had half-hidden her face at first. On your honour, as an honest girl. On my honour, as anything you please, why do you suspect me of it, demanded Polly, almost angrily? Because something is wrong with you. It's no use to deny it, for you've got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face, and I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can't help saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were to me if I can. Fanny's face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly, for she was trying to be generous and found it very hard. Polly understood now and put her fear at rest by saying almost passionately, I'll tell you, I don't love him. If he was the only man in the world, I wouldn't marry him, because I don't want to. The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there, with a half-fried look, and turned her way to hide her face behind her hair again. Then, if it's not him, it's someone else. You've got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine, said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly's men had troubled her. There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied in putting her arm around her friend, she said in her most persuasive tone, My precious Polly, do I know him? You have seen him. And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear? No. He ought to be if you love him. I hope he isn't a bad, quite Fanny, anxiously still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned. I'm suited, that's enough. Oh, please, just tell me one thing more. Don't he love back again? No. No, don't say another word. I can't bear it. And Polly threw herself away as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone. I won't, but now I'm not afraid to tell you that I think. I hope I do believe that Sidney cares a little for me. He's been very kind to us all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he comes, and miss me if I'm gone. I do not dare to hope anything till Pavel observed something in his manner and teased me about it. I tried not to deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance of happiness for me. Thank heaven for that! Quite Polly with the hardiest satisfaction in her voice. Now come and tell me all about it, she added, sitting down on the couch with the air of one who has escaped a great peril. I've got some notes and things I want to ask your opinion about. If they really mean anything, you know, said Fanny, getting out a bundle of papers from the inmost recesses of her desk. There's a photograph of Tom, came in his last letter. Good, isn't it? He looks older, but that's the beard in the rough coat, I suppose. Dear old fellow, he is doing so well I really begin to feel quite proud of him. Fann tossed her the photograph and went on remorging for a certain note. She did not see Polly catch up the picture and look at it with hungry eyes, but she did hear something in the low tone in which Polly said, I don't do him justice. And glancing over her shoulder, Fann's quick eye caught a glimpse of the truth, though Polly was half turned away from her. Without stopping to think, Fann dropped her letters, took Polly by the shoulders, and cried in a tone full of astonishment. Polly, is it Tom? Poor Polly was so taken by surprise that she had not a word to say. None were needed, her tell-tale face answered for her, as well as the impulse which made her hide her head in the sofa cushion, like a foolish ostrich, and the hunters are after it. Oh Polly, I am so glad. I never thought of it, you are so good. And he's such a white boy, I can't believe it, but it is so dear of you to care for him. Couldn't help it, try it not to, but it was so hard, you know, then, you know, so distraught voice from the depths of the very fuzzy cushion which Tom had once condemned. The last words and the appealing hand outstretched to her, told Fanny the secret of her friend's tender sympathy for her own love troubles, and seemed so pathetic that she took Polly in her arms and cried over her, in the fond foolish way girls have of doing, and their hearts are full, and tears can say more than tongues. The silence never lasts long, however, for the feminine desire to talk it over usually gets the better of the deepest emotion. So presently the girls were hearted it, Polly very humble and downcast, Fanny excited and overflowing with curiosity and delight. Really, my sister, your dear thing, how heavenly that will be, she cried, it never will be, answered Polly in a tone of calm despair. What have they prevented? Maria Bailey must have tried to reply. What do you mean? Is she the rustling girl? She shan't have Tom, I'll kill her first. Too late, let me tell you, is that door shut and more safe? Fanny recanointed and returning listened breathlessly, while Polly poured into her ear the bitter secret which was praying on her soul. Hasn't he mentioned Maria in his letters? Once or twice, but sort of chokingly, and I thought it was only some little flotation. He can't have time for much of that fun, he's so busy. Ned writes good gossipy letters, I taught him how, and he tells me all that's going on. And he'd spoken of this girl several times, they bought with her mother, you know, I asked about her quite carelessly, and he told me she was pretty good and well educated, and he thought Tom was rather smitten. That was a blow for you see, Fen, since tricks broke the engagement, and it was not wrong to think of Tom. I let myself hope, just a little, and was so happy. Now I must give it up, and now I see how much I hoped, and what a dreadful loss it's going to be. Two great tears rolled down Polly's cheeks, and Fanny wiped them away, feeling an intense desire to go west by the next train, with a Maria Bailey with a single look, and bring Tom back as a gift to Polly. It was so stupid of me not to guess before, but you see Tom always seems to like a boy, and you are more womanly for your age than any girl I know, so I never thought of your caring for him in that way. I know you were very good to him. You are to everyone, my precious, and I knew that he was fond of you as he is of me, fond of anything, because he thinks you are perfect, but still I never dreamed of his loving you as more than a dear friend. He doesn't, said Polly. Well, he ought, and if I could get hold of him, he should. Polly clutched Fen at that, and held her tight, saying sternly, if you ever breathe a word, drop a hint, look and look that will tell him or anyone else about me. Yes, as sure as my name is Mary Milton, I proclaim from the housetops that you, like us, Polly, got no further, for Fen's hand was on her mouth, and Fen's alarmed voice vehemently protested. I won't. I promise solemnly I'll never say a word to a mortal creature. Don't be so fierce, Polly, you quite frighten me. It's bad enough to love someone who don't love you, but to have them told of it is perfectly awful. It makes me wild just to think of it. Oh, Fen, I'm getting so ill-tempered and envious and wicked. I don't know what will happen to me. I'm not afraid for you, my dear, and I do believe things will go right because you are so good to everyone. I don't could help adoring you. I don't see. I know you would if he had stayed at home longer after he got rid of tricks. It would be the making of him. But though he is my brother, I don't think he's good enough for you, Polly, and I don't quite see how you can care for him so much when you might have had a person so infinitely superior. I don't want a superior person. He tired me if he was like he is. Besides, I do think Tom is superior to him in many things. Well, you need not stare. I know he is, or will be. He's so different, and very young, and has lots of thoughts, I know, but I like him of the better for it. And he's honest and brave, and has got a big, warm heart. And in what I have him care for me, then the wisest, best, most accomplished man in the world, simply because I love him. If Tom could only have seen Polly's face when she said that. It was so tender, earnest, and defiant that Fanny forgot the defense of her own love and admiration of Polly's loyalty to hers. For this faithful, all-absorbing love was a new revelation to Fanny, who was used to hearing her friends boast of two or three lovers a year, and calculate their respective values, with almost as much coolness as the young men discussed the fortunes of the girls they wished for, but could not afford to marry. She had fought her love for Sydney very romantic, because she did not really care whether he was rich or poor, though she never dared to say so even to Polly for fear of being laughed at. She began to see now what true love was, and to fear that a sentiment which she could not conquer was a treasure to be accepted with reference, and cherished with devotion. I don't know when I began to love Tom, but I found out that I did last winter, and was as much surprised as you are, continued Polly, as if glad to unburden her heart. I didn't approve of him at all. I thought he was extravagant, reckless, and dandified. I was very much disappointed when he chose Triggs, and the more I thought and saw of it, the worse I felt for Tom was too good for her, and I hated to see her do so little for him, and she might have done so much, because he is one of the men who can be led by their affection, and the woman he marries can make or mar him. That's true, great fan, as Polly paused to look at the picture which appeared to regard her with a grave-study look, which seemed rather to belie her assertions. I don't mean that he's weak or bad. If he was, I should hate him, but he doesn't need someone to love him very much, and make him happy, as a good woman best knows how, said Polly, as if answering the mute language of Tom's face. I hope Maria Bailey is only thinksher, she added softly, for I could not bear to have him disappointed again. I dare say he don't care thick for her, and you are only borrowing trouble. But do you say that answered when you asked about this inconvenient girl, said Fanny, turning hopeful all at once? Polly repeated it, and added, I asked him another letter if he did not admire Miss B as much as Tom, and he wrote back that she was a nice girl, but he had no time for nonsense, and I need not get my white kids ready for some use yet, unless to dance at Tom's wedding. Since then he has not mentioned Maria, so I was sure there was something serious going on, and being in Tom's confidence he kept quiet. It does look bad. Suppose I say a word to Tom, just inquire after his heart in a general way, you know, and give him a chance to tell me if there's anything to tell. I'm willing, but you must let me see the letter. I can't trust you not to hint or say too much. You shall. I keep my promise in spite of everything, but it will be hard to see things going wrong when the word would set it right. You know what will happen if you do, and Polly looked so threatening that Fann troubled before her, discovering that the gentlest girls engrossed are more unprocessed than any shrew, for even turtle doves peck gallantly to defend their nests. If it is true about Maria, what shall we do? said Fanny after a pause. Bear it. People always do bear things somehow, and said Polly, looking as if sentence had been passed upon her. But if it isn't, cried Fann, unable to endure the sight. Then I shall wait, and Polly's face changed so beautifully that Fann hugged her on the spot, fearfully wishing that Maria Bailey never had been born. Then the conversation turned to lover number two, and after a long confabulation Polly gave it as her firm belief that A.S. had forgotten M.M., and was rapidly finding consolation in the regard of F.S. With this satisfactory decision the council ended after the ratification of a lawyer league, by which the friends pledged themselves to stand staunchly by one another, for the triers of the coming year. It was a very different winter from the last for both the girls. Fanny applied herself to her duties with redoubled ardour, for A.S. was a domestic man, and admired housewifely accomplishments. If Fanny wanted to show him what she could do toward making a pleasant home, she certainly succeeded better than she suspected. For in spite of many failures and discouragements behind the scenes, the little house became a most attractive place, to Mr. Sidney at least, for he was more the house-friend than ever, and seemed determined to prove that change of fortune made no difference to him. Fanny had been afraid that Polly's return might endanger her hopes, but Sidney met Polly with the old friendliness, and very soon convinced her that the nipping in the bad process had been effectual. For being taken early, the sprouting affection had died easy, and left room for an older friendship to blossom into a happier laugh. Fanny seemed glad of this, and Polly soon set her heart at rest by proving that she had no wish to try her power. She kept much at home when the day's work was done, finding it pleasanter to see dreaming of a book or sewing alone, than to exert herself even to go to the shores. Fan don't need me, and Sidney didn't care whether I come or not, so I'll keep out of the way, she would say, as if to excuse her seeming indolence. Polly was not at all like herself that winter, and those nearest to her saw and wandered at it most. Will got very anxious, she was so quiet, pale and spiritless, and distracted poor Polly by his affectionate stupidity, that she completed his bewilderment by getting cross and scouting him. So he consoled himself with more, who, now being in her teens, assumed dignified heirs, and ordered him about in a style that afforded him continued amusement and employment. Western news continued vague, for fans' general inquiries produced only provokingly unsatisfactory replies from Tom, who sang the praises of the beautiful Miss Bailey, and professed to be consumed by a hopeless passion for somebody in such half-comic, half-tragic terms that the girls could not decide whether it was all that boys mischief or only a cloak to hide the dreadful truth. We'll have it out of him when he comes home in the spring, said Fanny to Polly, as they compared the letters of their brothers, and agreed that men were the most uncommunicative and provoking animals under the sun. For Ned was so absorbed in business, that he ignored the whole Bailey question and left them in utter darkness. Hunger of any sort is a hard thing to bear, especially when the sufferer has a youthful appetite, and Polly was kept on such a short allowance of happiness for six months, that she got quite thin and interesting, and often when she saw how big her eyes were getting and how plainly the veins on her temples showed, indulged a pensive thought that perhaps spring dandelions might blossom over her grave. She had no intention of dying till Tom's visit was over, however, and as the time drew near, she went through such alternations of hope and fear, and lived in such a state of feverish excitement that spirits and color came back, and she saw that the interesting pallor she had counted on would be an entire failure. May came at last, and with it a burst of sunshine, which she had even poor Polly's much enduring heart. Fanny came walking in upon her one day, looking as if she brought tidings of such great joy that she hardly knew how to tell them. Prepare yourself, somebody is engaged, she said in a solemn tone, that made Polly put up her hand as if to ward off in an expected blow. No, don't look like that, my poor dear, it isn't Tom, it's I. Of course, there was a rapture followed by one of the deliciously confidential talks which Boss and Friends enjoy in this burst of tears and kisses, smiles and sighs. Oh, Polly, though I've waited and hoped so long, I could not believe it when it came, and don't deserve it. But I will, for the knowledge that he lost me seems to make everything possible, said Fanny with an expression which made her really beautiful for the first time in her life. You happy girl, sighed Polly, then smiled and added, I think you deserve all that's come to you, for you have truly tried to be worthy of it, and whether it ever came or not that would have been a thing to be proud of. He says that is what made him love me, answered Fanny, never calling her lover by his name, but making the little person a prone on a very sweet word by the tone in which she uttered it. He was disappointed in me last year, he told me, but you said good things about me, and though he didn't care much then, yet when he lost you and came back to me, he found that you were not altogether mistaken, and he has watched me all this winter, learning to respect and love me better every day. Oh, Polly, when he said that, I couldn't bear it, because in spite of all my trying, I'm still so weak and poor and silly. We don't think so, and I know you'll be all he hopes to find you, for he's just the husband you ought to have. Thank you all the more, then, for not keeping him yourself, said Fanny, loving the old play of laugh again. That was only a slight aberration of his. He knew better all the time. It was your white cloak in my idiotic behaviour the night we went to the opera that put the idea into his head, said Polly, feeling as if the events of that evening had happened some twenty years ago, and she was a giddy young thing, fond of gay bonnets and girlish pranks. I'm not going to tell Tom a word about it, but keep it for surprise till he comes. He will be here next week, and then we'll have a grand clearing up of mysteries, said Van, evidently feeling that the millennium was at hand. Perhaps, said Polly, as her heart flooded and then sunk, for this was a case where she could do nothing but hope, and keep her hands busy with world's new set of shirts. There's a good deal more of this sort of sudden suffering than the world suspects, for the women who dare, of you, the women who stand and wait, are many. But if work baskets were gifted with powers of speech, they could tell stories more true and tender than any we read. For women often suit the tragedy or comedy of life into their work, as they sit apparently safe in serene at home, yet are thinking deeply living whole heart histories, and praying fiefden prayers while they employ the pretty travels or do the weekly mending. CHAPTER XIX Tom's Success Come, Philander, let us be a-marching, everyone his true love a-searching, would be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because, intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to pair off everybody I can lay my hands on. Occasionally a matrimonial epidemic appears, especially toward spring, devastating society, thinning the ranks of bachelor dumb, and leaving mothers lamenting for their fairest daughters. That spring the disease broke out with great violence in the Shah circle, causing paternal heads much bewilderment, as one case after another appeared with alarming rapidity. Fanny, as we have seen, was stricken first, and hardly had she been carried safely through the crisis when Tom returned to swell the list of victims. As Fanny was out a good deal with her Arthur, who was sure that exercise was necessary for the convalescent, Holly went every day to see Mrs. Shah, who found herself lonely, though much better than usual, for the engagement had a finer effect upon her constitution than any tonic she ever tried. Some three days after fan's joyful call, Polly was startled on entering the Shah's door by Maad, who came tumbling downstairs, sending an avalanche of words before her. He's come before he said he should to surprise us. He's up in Mama's room and was just saying, How's Polly, when I heard you come in your creep-mouse way, and you must go right up. He looks so funny with whiskers, but he's ever so nice, real big and brown, and he swung me right up when he kissed me. Never mind your bonnet, I can't wait. And pouncing upon Polly, Maad dragged her away like a captured ship towed by a noisy little steam-tug. The sooner it's over, the better for me, was the only thought Polly had time for before she plunged into the room above, propelled by Maad, who cried triumphantly. There he is, ain't he splendid? For a minute everything danced before Polly's eyes, as a hand shook hers warmly and a gruffish voice said heartily, How are you, Polly? Then she slipped into a chair beside Mrs. Shah, hoping that her reply had been all right and proper, for she had not the least idea what she said. Things got steady again directly, and while Maad expatiated on the great surprise, Polly ventured to look at Tom, feeling glad that her back was toward the light and his was not. It was not a large room, and Tom seemed to fill it entirely. Not that he had grown so very much, except broader in the shoulders, but there was a brisk, genial, free and easy air about him, suggestive of a stirring out of door life, with people who kept their eyes wide open and were not very particular what they did with their arms and legs. The rough and ready traveling suit, stout boots, brown face, and manly beard, changed him so much that Polly could find scarcely a trace of elegant Tom Shah in the hearty-looking young man who stood with one foot on a chair while he talked business to his father in a sensible way, which delighted the old gentleman. Polly liked the change immensely, and sat listening to the state of Western trade with as much interest as if it had been the most thrilling romance, for, as he talked, Tom kept looking at her with a nod or a smile so like old times that for a little while she forgot Maria Bailey and was in bliss. By and by Fanny came flying in and gave Tom a greater surprise than his had been. He had not the least suspicion of what had been going on at home, for Fanny had said to herself, with girlish malice, if he don't choose to tell me his secrets I'm not going to tell mine, and had said nothing about Sydney, except an occasional allusion to his being often there and very kind. Therefore, when she announced her engagement, Tom looked so staggered for a minute that fan thought he didn't like it. But after the first surprise passed, he showed such an affectionate satisfaction that she was both touched and flattered. What do you think of this performance? asked Tom, wheeling round to Polly, who still sat by Mrs. Shah in the shadow of the bed curtains. I like it very much, she said in such a hearty tone, that Tom could not doubt the genuineness of her pleasure. Glad of that, hope you'll be as well pleased with another engagement that's coming out before long, and with an odd laugh, Tom carried Sydney off to his den, leaving the girls to telegraph to one another the awful message, it is Maria Bailey. How she managed to get through that evening Polly never knew, yet it was not a long one, for at eight o'clock she slipped out of the room, meaning to run home alone and not compel anyone to serve as escort. But she did not succeed, for as she stood warming her rubbers at the dining room fire, wondering pensively as she did so if Maria Bailey had small feet, and if Tom ever put her rubbers on for her, the little overshoes were taken out of her hands, and Tom's voice said reproachfully, Did you really mean to run away and not let me go home with you? I'm not afraid, I didn't want to take you away, began Polly, secretly hoping she didn't look too pleased. But I like to be taken away. Why, it's a whole year since I went home with you, do you remember that? said Tom, slapping the rubbers about without any signs of haste. Does it seem long? Everlasting. Polly meant to say that quite easily and smiling credulously at his answer, but in spite of the coquettish little rose-colored hood she wore, in which she knew was very becoming, she did not look or speak gaily, and Tom saw something in the altered face that made him say hastily, I'm afraid you've been doing too much this winter, you look tired out, Polly. Oh no, it suits me to be very busy, and she began to drag on her gloves as if to prove it. But it doesn't suit me to have you get thin and pale, you know. Polly looked up to thank him, but never did, for there was something deeper than gratitude in the honest blue eyes that could not hide the truth entirely. Tom sighed, flushed all over his brown face, and dropping the rubbers with a crash took her hands, saying in his old impetuous way, Polly, I want to tell you something. Yes, I know, we've been expecting it. I hope you'll be very happy, Tom. And Polly shook his hands with a smile that was more pathetic than a flood of tears. What! cried Tom, looking as if he thought she had lost her mind. Ned told us all about her. He thought it would be so, and when you spoke of another engagement, we knew you meant your own. But I didn't. Ned's the man. He told me to tell you. It's just settled. Is it Maria? cried Polly, holding onto a chair as if to be prepared for anything. Of course, who else should it be? He didn't say you talked about her most, and so we thought, stammered Polly falling into a sudden flutter. That I was in love? Well, I am, but not with her. Oh! and Polly caught her breath as if a dash of cold water had fallen on her, for the more in earnest Tom grew the blunter he became. Do you want to know the name of the girl I've loved for more than a year? Well, it's Polly. As he spoke, Tom stretched out his arms to her with a sort of mute eloquence that cannot be resisted, and Polly went straight into them without a word. Never mind what happened for a little bit. Love scenes, if genuine, are indescribable, for to those who have enacted them the most elaborate description seems tame, and to those who have not the simplest picture seems overdone. So romances had better let imagination paint for them that which is above all art, and leave their lovers to themselves during the happiest minutes of their lives. Before long Tom and Polly were sitting side by side, enjoying the blissful state of mind which usually follows the first step out of our work-a-day world into the glorified region wherein lovers rapturously exist for a month or two. Tom just sat and looked at Polly as if he found it difficult to believe that the winter of his discontent had ended in this glorious spring. But Polly, being a true woman, asked questions, even while she laughed and cried for joy. Now, Tom, how could I know you loved me when you went away and never said a word, she began, in a tenderly reproachful tone, thinking of the hard year she had spent? And how could I have the courage to say a word when I had nothing on the face of the earth to offer you but my worthless self? answered Tom warmly. That was all I wanted, whispered Polly, in a tone which caused him to feel that the race of angels was not entirely extinct. I've always been fond of you, my Polly, but I never realized how fond till just before I went away. I wasn't free, you know, and besides I had a strong impression that you liked Sidney in spite of the damper which Fan hinted you gave him last winter. He's such a capital fellow, I really don't see how you could help it. It is strange, I don't understand it myself, but women are queer creatures and there's no accounting for their tastes, said Polly, with a sly look which Tom fully appreciated. You are so good to me those last days that I came very near speaking out but couldn't bear to seem to be offering you a poor, disgraced sort of fellow whom tricks wouldn't have and no one seemed to think worth much. No, I said to myself, Polly ought to have the best. If Sid can get her, let him, and I won't say a word. I'll try to be better worthy her friendship anyway, and perhaps when I've proved that I can do something and I'm not ashamed to work, then, if Polly is free, I shan't be afraid to try my chance. So I held my tongue, worked like a horse, satisfied myself and others that I could get my living honestly, and then came home to see if there was any hope for me. And I was waiting for you all the time, said a soft voice close to his shoulder, for Polly was much touched by Tom's manly efforts to deserve her. I didn't mean to do it the first minute, but look about me a little and be sure Sid was all right. But fans' news settled that point, and just now the look on my Polly's face settled the other. I couldn't wait another minute, or let you either, and I couldn't help stretching all my arms to my little wife, God bless her, though I know I don't deserve her. Tom's voice got lower and lower as he spoke, and his face was full of an emotion of which he need not be ashamed, for a very sincere love ennobled him, making him humble, where a shallower affection would have been proud of its success. Polly understood this and found the honest, hearty speech of her lover more eloquent than poetry itself. Her hand stole up to his cheek, and she leaned her own confidingly against the rough coat, as she said in her frank simple way. Tom, dear, don't say that, as if I was the best girl in the world. I've got ever so many faults, and I want you to know them all and help me cure them as you have your own. Waiting has not done us any harm, and I love you all the better for your trial. But I'm afraid your year has been harder than mine. You look so much older and graver than when you went away. You never would complain, but I've had a feeling that you were going through a good deal more than any of us guessed. Pretty tough work at first I own. It was also new and strange. I'm afraid I shouldn't have stood it if it had not been for Ned. He'd laugh and say poo if he heard me say it, but it's true, nevertheless, that he's a grandfellow and helped me through the first six months like a, well, a brother as he is. There was no reason why he should go out of his way to back up a shiftless party like me, yet he did, and made many things easy and safe that would have been confoundingly hard and dangerous if I'd been left to myself. The only way I can explain it is that it's a family trait, and as natural to the brother as it is to the sister. It's a shot trait to do the same, but tell me about Maria. Is Ned really engaged to her? Very much so. You'll get a letter full of raptures tomorrow. He hadn't time to send by me. I came off in such a hurry. Maria is a sensible pretty girl, and Ned will be a happy old fellow. Why did you let us think it was you? I only teased fan a little. I did like Maria, for she reminded me of you sometimes, and was such a kind, cozy little woman I couldn't help enjoying her society after a hard day's work. But Ned got jealous, and then I knew he wasn't earnest, so I left him a clear field and promised not to breathe the word to anyone till he had got a yes or no from his Maria. I wish I'd known it, sighed Polly. People in love always do such stupid things. So they do, for neither you nor fan gave us poor fellows the least hint about Sid, and there I've been having all sorts of scares about you. Serves us right. Brothers and sisters shouldn't have secrets from each other. We never will again. Did you miss me very much? Yes, Tom, very, very much. My patient little Polly. Did you really care for me before you went? See if I didn't. And with great pride Tom produced a portly pocketbook stuffed with business-like documents of a most imposing appearance, opened a private compartment, and took out a worn-looking paper, unfolded it carefully, and displayed a small brown object which gave out a faint fragrance. That's the rose you put in the birthday cake, and next week we'll have a fresh one in another jolly little cake which you'll make me. You left it on the floor of my den the night we talked there, and I've kept it ever since. There's love and romance for you. Polly touched the little relic, treasured for a year, and smiled to read the words My Polly's Rose, scribbled under the crumbling leaves. I didn't know you could be so sentimental, she said, looking so pleased that he did not regret confessing his folly. I never was till I loved you, my dear, and I'm not very bad yet, for I don't wear my posy necks in my heart, but where I can see it every day, and so never forget for whom I am working. I shouldn't wonder if that bit of nonsense had kept me economical, honest, and hard at it, for I never opened my pocket-book that I didn't think of you. That's lovely, Tom, and Polly found it so touching that she felt for her handkerchief, but Tom took it away and made her laugh instead of cry by saying in a weedle-some tone, I don't believe you did as much for all your romance, did you now? If you won't laugh, I'll show you my treasures. I began first and I've worn them longest. As she spoke, Polly drew out the old blocket, opened it, and showed the picture Tom gave her in the bag of peanuts, cut small and fitted in on one side. On the other was a curl of reddish hair and a black button. How Tom laughed when he saw them. You don't mean you've kept that frightful guy of a boy all this time? Polly, Polly, you are the most faithful loveress, as Maude says, that was ever known. Don't flatter yourself that I've worn it all these years, sir. I only put it in last spring because I didn't dare to ask for one of the new ones. The button came off the old coat you insisted on wearing after the failure, as if it was your duty to look as shabby as possible in the curl I stole from Maude. Aren't we silly? He didn't seem to think so, and after a short pause for refreshments Polly turned serious and said anxiously, when must you go back to your hard work? In a week or two, but it won't seem drudgery now, for you'll write every day and I shall feel that I'm working to get a home for you. That will give me a forty-man power, and I'll pay up my debts and get a good start, and then Ned and I will be married and go into partnership, and we'll all be the happiest, busiest people in the West. It sounds delightful, but won't it take a long time, Tom? Only a few years, and we needn't wait a minute after SID is paid, if you don't mind beginning rather low down, Polly. I'd rather work up with you than SID idle while you toil away all alone. That's the way father and mother did, and I think they were very happy in spite of the poverty and hard work. Then we'll do it by another year, for I must get more salary before I take you away from a good home here. I wish, oh, Polly, how I wish I had half of the money I've wasted to make you comfortable now. Never mind, I don't want it. I'd rather have less and know you earned it all yourself, cried Polly, as Tom struck his hand on his knee with an acute pang of regret at the power he had lost. It's like you to say it, and I won't waste any words bewailing myself because I was a fool. We will work up together, my brave Polly, and you shall yet be proud of your husband, though he is poor Tom Shah. She was as sure of that as if an oracle had foretold it, and was not deceived. For the loving heart that had always seen, believed, and tried to strengthen all good impulses in Tom was well repaid for its instinctive trust by the happiness of the years to come. Yes, she said hopefully, I know you will succeed, for the best thing a man can have is work with a purpose in it and the will to do it heartily. There is one other thing Polly, answered Tom, turning her face up a little that he might see his inspiration shining in her eyes. What is it, dear? A good woman to love and help him all his life, as you will me, please God. Even though she is old-fashioned, whispered Polly, with happy eyes, the brighter for their tears, as she looked up at the young man who, through her, had caught a glimpse of the truest success, and was not ashamed to owe it to love and labor, two beautiful old fashions that began long ago with the first pair in Eden. Lest any of my young readers who have honored Maude with their interest should suffer the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity as to her future, I will add for the benefit that she did not marry Will, but remained a busy, lively spinster all her days and kept house for her father in the most delightful manner. Will's ministerial dream came to pass in the course of time, however, and a gentle bright-eyed lady ruled over the parsonage whom the reverend William called his little Jane. Farther into futurity even this brash pen dares not proceed, but pauses here concluding in the words of the dear old fairy tales, and so they were married and all lived happily till they died.