him. I hope he is n't bad?" cried Fan,
anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned.

"I 'm suited, that 's enough."

"Oh, please just tell me one thing more. Don't he love back again?"

"No. Now don't say another word, I can't bear it!" and Polly drew
herself away, as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone.

"I won't, but now I 'm not afraid to tell you that I think, I hope, I
do believe that Sydney cares a little for me. He 's been very kind to us
all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he comes
and miss me if I 'm gone. I did n't dare to hope anything, till Papa
observed something in his manner, and teased me about it. I try not to
deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance of happiness
for me."

"Thank heaven for that!" cried Polly, with the heartiest satisfaction in
her voice. "Now come and tell me all about it," she added, sitting down
on the couch with the air of one who has escaped a great peril.

"I 've got some notes and things I want to ask your opinion about, if
they really mean anything, you know," said Fanny, getting out a bundle
of papers from the inmost recesses of her desk. "There 's a photograph
of Tom, came in his last letter. Good, is n't it? He looks older, but
that 's the beard and the rough coat, I suppose. Dear old fellow, he is
doing so well I really begin to feel quite proud of him."

Fan tossed her the photograph, and went on rummaging for a certain note.
She did not see Polly catch up the picture and look at it with hungry
eyes, but she did hear something in the low tone in which Polly said,
"It don't do him justice," and glancing over her shoulder, Fan's quick
eye caught a glimpse of the truth, though Polly was half turned away
from her. Without stopping to think, Fan dropped her letters, took Polly
by the shoulders, and cried in a tone full of astonishment, "Polly, is
it Tom?"

Poor Polly was so taken by surprise, that she had not a word to say.
None were needed; her telltale face answered for her, as well as the
impulse which made her hide her head in the sofa cushion, like a foolish
ostrich when the hunters are after it.

"Oh, Polly, I am so glad! I never thought of it you are so good, and he
's such a wild boy, I can't believe it but it is so dear of you to care
for him."

"Could n't help it tried not to but it was so hard you know, Fan, you
know," said a stifled voice from the depths of the very fuzzy cushion
which To