ravages committed by this bad boy are beyond the power of language to describe, as he revelled in the interesting drawers, boxes, and cases which held his sister’s treasures.

When the curls had been put on, with much pricking of fingers, and a blue ribbon added, à la Fan, he surveyed himself with satisfaction, and considered the effect so fine, that he was inspired to try a still greater metamorphosis. The dress Fan had taken off lay on a chair, and into it got Tom, chuckling with suppressed laughter, for Polly was absorbed, and the bed-curtains hid his iniquity. Fan’s best velvet jacket and hat, ermine muff, and a sofa-pillar for pannier, finished off the costume, and tripping along with elbows out, Tom appeared before the amazed Polly just as the chapter ended. She enjoyed the joke so heartily, that Tom forgot consequences, and proposed going down into the parlour to surprise the girls.

“Goodness, no! Fanny never would forgive us if you showed her curls and things to those people. There are gentlemen among them, and it wouldn’t be proper,” said Polly, alarmed at the idea.

“All the more fun. Fan hasn’t treated you well, and it will serve her right if you introduce me as your dear friend Miss Shaw. Come on, it will be a jolly lark.”

“I wouldn’t for the world; it would be so mean. Take ’em off, Tom, and I’ll play anything else you like.”

“I ain’t going to dress up for nothing; I look so lovely, someone must admire me. Take me down, Polly, and see if they don’t call me ‘a sweet creature’.”

Tom looked so unutterably ridiculous as he tossed his curls and pranced, that Polly went off into another gale of merriment; but even while she laughed, she resolved not to let him mortify his sister.

“Now, then, get out of the way if you won’t come; I’m going down,” said Tom.

“No, you’re not.”

“How will you help it, Miss Prim?”

“So.” And Polly locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and nodded at him defiantly.

Tom was a pepper-pot as to temper, and anything like opposition always had a bad effect. Forgetting his costume, he strode up to Polly, saying, with a threatening wag of the head, “None of that. I won’t stand it.”

“Promise not to plague Fan, and I’ll let you out.”

“Won’t promise anything. Give me that key, or I’ll make you.”

“Now, Tom, don’t be savage. I only want to keep you out of a scrape, for Fan will be raging if you go. Take off her things, and I’ll give up.”

Tom vouchsafed no reply, but marched to the other door, which was fast, as Polly knew, looked out of the three-story window, and finding no escape possible, came back with a wrathful face. “Will you give me that key?”

“No, I won’t,” said Polly, valiantly.

“I’m stronger than you are; so you’d better hand over.”

“I know you are; but it’s cowardly for a great boy like you to rob a girl.”

“I don’t want to hurt you; but, by George! I won’t stand this.”


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