was so quiet,
pale and spiritless, and distracted poor Polly by his affectionate
stupidity, till she completed his bewilderment by getting cross and
scolding him. So he consoled himself with Maud, who, now being in her
teens, assumed dignified airs, and ordered him about in a style that
afforded him continued amusement and employment.

Western news continued vague, for Fan's general inquiries produced only
provokingly unsatisfactory replies from Tom, who sang the praises of
"the beautiful Miss Bailey," and professed to be consumed by a hopeless
passion for somebody, in such half-comic, half-tragic terms, that the
girls could not decide whether it was "all that boy's mischief," or only
a cloak to hide the dreadful truth.

"We 'll have it out of him when he comes home in the spring," said Fanny
to Polly, as they compared the letters of their brothers, and agreed
that "men were the most uncommunicative and provoking animals under
the sun." For Ned was so absorbed in business that he ignored the whole
Bailey question and left them in utter darkness.

Hunger of any sort is a hard thing to bear, especially when the sufferer
has a youthful appetite, and Polly was kept on such a short allowance of
happiness for six months, that she got quite thin and interesting; and
often, when she saw how big her eyes were getting, and how plainly the
veins on her temples showed, indulged the pensive thought that perhaps
spring dandelions might blossom o'er her grave. She had no intention of
dying till Tom's visit was over, however, and as the time drew near,
she went through such alternations of hope and fear, and lived in such a
state of feverish excitement, that spirits and color came back, and she
saw that the interesting pallor she had counted on would be an entire
failure.

May came at last, and with it a burst of sunshine which cheered even
poor Polly's much-enduring heart. Fanny came walking in upon her one
day, looking as if she brought tidings of such great joy that she hardly
knew how to tell them.

"Prepare yourself somebody is engaged!" she said, in a solemn tone,
that made Polly put up her hand as if to ward off an expected blow. "No,
don't look like that, my poor dear; it is n't Tom, it 's I!"

Of course there was a rapture, followed by one of the deliciously
confidential talks which bosom friends enjoy, interspersed with tears
and kisses, smiles and sighs.

"Oh, Polly, though I 've waited and hoped so long I could n't