giggling school-girls. The young ladies gabbled over the
lesson, wrote an exercise, and read a little French history. But it did
not seem to make much impression upon them, though Monsieur was very
ready to explain; and Polly quite blushed for her friend, when, on
being asked what famous Frenchman fought in our Revolution, she answered
Lamartine, instead of Lafayette.

The hour was soon over; and when Fan had taken a music lesson in another
room, while Polly looked on, it was time for recess. The younger girls
walked up and down the court, arm in arm, eating bread an butter; others
stayed in the school-room to read and gossip; but Belle, Trix, and
Fanny went to lunch at a fashionable ice-cream saloon near by, and Polly
meekly followed, not daring to hint at the ginger-bread grandma had put
in her pocket for luncheon. So the honest, brown cookies crumbled away
in obscurity, while Polly tried to satisfy her hearty appetite on one
ice and three macaroons.

The girls seemed in great spirits, particularly after they were joined
by a short gentleman with such a young face that Polly would have called
him a boy, if he had not worn a tall beaver. Escorted by this impressive
youth, Fanny left her unfortunate friends to return to school, and went
to walk, as she called a slow promenade down the most crowded
streets. Polly discreetly fell behind, and amused herself looking
into shop-windows, till Fanny, mindful of her manners, even at such an
interesting time, took her into a picture gallery, and bade her enjoy
the works of art while they rested. Obedient Polly went through the room
several times, apparently examining the pictures with the interest of a
connoisseur, and trying not to hear the mild prattle of the pair on the
round seat. But she could n't help wondering what Fan found so absorbing
in an account of a recent German, and why she need promise so solemnly
not to forget the concert that afternoon.

When Fanny rose at last, Polly's tired face reproached her; and taking
a hasty leave of the small gentleman, she turned homeward, saying,
confidentially, as she put one hand in Polly's muff, "Now, my dear, you
must n't say a word about Frank Moore, or papa will take my head off. I
don't care a bit for him, and he likes Trix; only they have quarrelled,
and he wants to make her mad by flirting a little with me. I scolded him
well, and he promised to make up with her. We all go to the afternoon
concerts, and have a gay time, an