umble pleasures of these Sundays quite as
much as Polly and Will. Maud used to beg to come to tea, and Polly, glad
to do anything for those who had done a good deal for her, made a point
of calling for the little girl as they came home from their walk, or
sending Will to escort her in the carriage, which Maud always managed
to secure if bad weather threatened to quench her hopes. Tom and Fanny
laughed at her fancy, but she did not tire of it, for the child was
lonely, and found something in that little room which the great house
could not give her.

Maud was twelve now; a pale, plain child, with sharp, intelligent eyes,
and a busy little mind, that did a good deal more thinking than anybody
imagined. She was just at the unattractive, fidgety age when no one
knew what to do with her, and so let her fumble her way up as she could,
finding pleasure in odd things, and living much alone, for she did not
go to school, because her shoulders were growing round, and Mrs.
Shaw would not "allow her figure to be spoiled." That suited Maud
excellently; and whenever her father spoke of sending her again, or
getting a governess, she was seized with bad headaches, a pain in her
back, or weakness of the eyes, at which Mr. Shaw laughed, but let her
holiday go on. Nobody seemed to care much for plain, pug-nosed little
Maudie; her father was busy, her mother nervous and sick, Fanny absorbed
in her own affairs, and Tom regarded her as most young men do their
younger sisters, as a person born for his amusement and convenience,
nothing more. Maud admired Tom with all her heart, and made a little
slave of herself to him, feeling well repaid if he merely said, "Thank
you, chicken," or did n't pinch her nose, or nip her ear, as he had a
way of doing, "just as if I was a doll, or a dog, and had n't got any
feelings," she sometimes said to Fanny, when some service or sacrifice
had been accepted without gratitude or respect. It never occurred to
Tom, when Maud sat watching him with her face full of wistfulness, that
she wanted to be petted as much as ever he did in his neglected boyhood,
or that when he called her "Pug" before people, her little feelings were
as deeply wounded as his used to be, when the boys called him "Carrots."
He was fond of her in his fashion, but he did n't take the trouble to
show it, so Maud worshipped him afar off, afraid to betray the affection
that no rebuff could kill or cool.

One snowy Sunday afternoon Tom lay on the