“I’ll write to-night. Would you like me to tell the girls about Trix and Sydney?” she asked as she rose, feeling that the council was over.

“I wish you would. I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me; I wish to Heaven I did,” said Tom, holding out his hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the little she had done.

As she gave him her hand, and looked up at him with those confiding eyes of hers, Tom’s gratitude seemed to fly to his head, for without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her,—a proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered himself at once, and retreated to his den with the incoherent apology,—

“I beg pardon—couldn’t help it—grandma always let me on my birthday.”

While Polly took refuge upstairs, forgetting all about Fan, as she sat in the dark with her face hidden, wondering why she wasn’t very angry, and resolving never again to indulge in the delightful but dangerous pastime of playing grandmother.