is dog, and his speckled hens, and his big
knife, and said, 'Good-by, Polly,' and kissed me the last thing and then
O Jimmy! Jimmy! If he only could come back!"

Poor Polly's eyes had been getting fuller and fuller, lips trembling
more and more, as she went on; when she came to that "good-by," she
could n't get any further, but covered up her face, and cried as her
heart would break. Tom was full of sympathy, but did n't know how to
show it; so he sat shaking up the camphor bottle, and trying to think of
something proper and comfortable to say, when Fanny came to the rescue,
and cuddled Polly in her arms, with soothing little pats and whispers
and kisses, till the tears stopped, and Polly said, she "did n't mean
to, and would n't any more. I 've been thinking about my dear boy all
the evening, for Tom reminds me of him," she added, with a sigh.

"Me? How can I, when I ain't a bit like him?" cried Tom, amazed.

"But you are in some ways."

"Wish I was; but I can't be, for he was good, you know."

"So are you, when you choose. Has n't he been good and patient, and
don't we all like to pet him when he 's clever, Fan?"' said Polly, whose
heart was still aching for her brother, and ready for his sake to find
virtues even in tormenting Tom.

"Yes; I don't know the boy lately; but he 'll be as bad as ever when
he 's well," returned Fanny, who had n't much faith in sick-bed
repentances.

"Much you know about it," growled Tom, lying down again, for he had sat
bolt upright when Polly made the astounding declaration that he was
like the well-beloved Jimmy. That simple little history had made a deep
impression on Tom, and the tearful ending touched the tender spot
that most boys hide so carefully. It is very pleasant to be loved and
admired, very sweet to think we shall be missed and mourned when we die;
and Tom was seized with a sudden desire to imitate this boy, who had n't
done anything wonderful, yet was so dear to his sister, that she cried
for him a whole year after he was dead; so studious and clever, the
people called him "a fine fellow"; and so anxious to be good, that he
kept on trying, till he was better even than Polly, whom Tom privately
considered a model of virtue, as girls go.

"I just wish I had a sister like you," he broke out, all of a sudden.

"And I just wish I had a brother like Jim," cried Fanny, for she felt
the reproach in Tom's words, and knew she deserved it.

"I should n't think you 'd envy an