"Oh I can't!" when she
remembered that Tom once called her a coward. Here was a chance to prove
that she was n't; besides, poor Tom had no one else to help him; so she
came up to the sofa where he lay, and nodded reassuringly, as she put a
soft little hand on either side of the damaged head.

"You are a trump, Polly," whispered Tom. Then he set his teeth, clenched
his hands, lay quite still, and bore it like a man. It was all over in
a minute or two, and when he had had a glass of wine, and was nicely
settled on his bed, he felt pretty comfortable, in spite of the pain in
his head; and being ordered to keep quiet, he said, "Thank you ever so
much, Polly," and watched her with a grateful face as she crept away.

He had to keep the house for a week, and laid about looking very
interesting with a great black patch on his forehead. Every one 'petted
him;' for the doctor said, that if the blow had been an inch nearer
the temple, it would have been fatal, and the thought of losing him so
suddenly made bluff old Tom very precious all at once. His father asked
him how he was a dozen times a day; his mother talked continually of
"that dear boy's narrow escape"; and grandma cockered him up with every
delicacy she could invent; and the girls waited on him like devoted
slaves. This new treatment had an excellent effect; for when neglected
Tom got over his first amazement at this change of base, he blossomed
out delightfully, as sick people do sometimes, and surprised his family
by being unexpectedly patient, grateful, and amiable. Nobody ever knew
how much good it did him; for boys seldom have confidences of this sort
except with their mothers, and Mrs. Shaw had never found the key to her
son's heart. But a little seed was sowed then that took root, and though
it grew very slowly, it came to something in the end. Perhaps Polly
helped it a little. Evening was his hardest time, for want of exercise
made him as restless and nervous as it was possible for a hearty lad to
be on such a short notice.

He could n't sleep so the girls amused him; Fanny played and read aloud;
Polly sung, and told stories; and did the latter so well, that it got
to be a regular thing for her to begin as soon as twilight came, and Tom
was settled in his favorite place on grandma's sofa.

"Fire away, Polly," said the young sultan, one evening, as his little
Scheherazade sat down in her low chair, after stirring up the fire till
the room was bright and cosy.