orgive; but, as she listened
to Tom's honest voice, getting gruff with remorse now and then, she
could n't harden her heart against him, or refuse to make up when he so
frankly owned that it "was confounded mean to read her book that way."
She liked his coming and begging pardon at once; it was a handsome thing
to do; she appreciated it, and forgave him in her heart some time before
she did with her lips; for, to tell the truth, Polly had a spice of
girlish malice, and rather liked to see domineering Tom eat humble-pie,
just enough to do him good, you know. She felt that atonement was
proper, and considered it no more than just that Fan should drench a
handkerchief or two with repentant tears, and that Tom should sit on
a very uncomfortable seat and call himself hard names for five or ten
minutes before she relented.

"Come, now, do say a word to a fellow. I 'm getting the worst of it,
anyway; for there 's Fan, crying her eyes out upstairs, and here are
you stowed away in a dark closet as dumb as a fish, and nobody but me to
bring you both round. I 'd have cut over to the Smythes and got ma home
to fix things, only it looked like backing out of the scrape; so I did
n't," said Tom, as a last appeal.

Polly was glad to hear that Fan was crying. It would do her good; but
she could n't help softening to Tom, who did seem in a predicament
between two weeping damsels. A little smile began to dimple the cheek
that was n't hidden, and then a hand came slowly out from under the
curly head, and was stretched toward him silently. Tom was just going
to give it a hearty shake, when he saw a red mark on the wrist, and knew
what made it. His face changed, and he took the chubby hand so gently,
that Polly peeped to see what it meant.

"Will you forgive that, too?" he asked, in a whisper, stroking the red
wrist.

"Yes, it don't hurt much now." And Polly drew her hand away, sorry he
had seen it.

"I was a beast, that 's what I was!" said Tom, in a tone of great
disgust. And just at that awkward minute down tumbled his father's
old beaver over his head and face, putting a comical quencher on his
self-reproaches. Of course, neither could help laughing at that; and
when he emerged, Polly was sitting up, looking as much better for her
shower as he did for his momentary eclipse.

"Fan feels dreadfully. Will you kiss and be friends, if I trot her
down?" asked Tom, remembering his fellow-sinner.

"I 'll go to her." And Polly whisked ou