efforts
to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he
skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her
up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress,
and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed;
but as everyone else was flying about also, she bore it as long as
she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling
grateful to him for the sacrifice.

"Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!" cried Polly, breathlessly, after a
few wild turns.

"Is n't it?" said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense
relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, "Thank
you," and dropped into a chair exhausted.

"I know I 've made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear
you 'd be offended if I did n't go the first dance with you," said Tom,
remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her crushed sash,
which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to turn and twist her;
"I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won't ever want to dance with me
any more," he added, as he began to fan her so violently, that her hair
flew about as if in a gale of wind.

"Yes, I will. I 'd like to; and you shall put your name down here on
the sticks of my fan. That 's the way, Trix says, when you don't have a
ball-book."

Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump of a lead-pencil, and
wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it back, "Now I 'm
going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the redowa well, so
you can have a real good go before the music stops."

Off went Tom; but before he could catch any eligible partner, Polly was
provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney had seen and heard
the whole thing; and though he had laughed quietly, he liked honest Tom
and good-natured Polly all the better for their simplicity. Polly's foot
was keeping time to the lively music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully
on the smoothly-gliding couples before her, when Mr. Sydney came to
her, saying, in the pleasant yet respectful way she liked so much, "Miss
Polly, can you give me a turn?"

"Oh, yes; I 'm dying for another." And Polly jumped up, with both hands
out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved she should have
as many turns as she liked.

This time all went well; and Tom, returning from an unsuccessful search,
was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully ab