and sing at the good news. Slowly she sat down, and hesitatingly she said, with her eyes on the ground, and a very humble voice,—
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t fill grandma’s place, or give you any wise, good advice. I wish I could!”
“You’ll do it better than anyone else. Talk troubles mother, father has enough to think of without any of my worries. Fan is a good soul, but she isn’t practical, and we always get into a snarl, if we try to work together, so who have I but my other sister, Polly? The pleasure that letter will give you may make up for my boring you.”
As he spoke, Tom laid the other paper in her lap, and went off to the window, as if to leave her free to enjoy it unseen; but he could not help a glance now and then, and as Polly’s face brightened, his own fell.
“Oh Tom, that’s a birthday present worth having, for it’s so beautifully given I don’t see how you can refuse it. Arthur Sydney is a real nobleman!” cried Polly, looking up at last, with her face glowing, and her eyes full of delight.
“So he is! I don’t know another man living, except father, who would have done such a thing, or who I could bring myself to take it from. Do you see, he’s not only paid the confounded debts, but has done it in my name, to spare me all he could?”
“I see, it’s like him; and I think he must be very happy to be able to do such a thing.”
“It is an immense weight off my shoulders, for some of those men couldn’t afford to wait till I’d begged, borrowed, or earned the money. Sydney can wait, but he won’t long, if I know myself.”
“You won’t take it as a gift, then?”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“Then don’t think I will. I’m a pretty poor affair, Polly, but I’m not mean enough to do that, while I’ve got a conscience and a pair of hands.”
A rough speech, but it pleased Polly better than the smoothest Tom had ever made in her hearing, for something in his face and voice told her that the friendly act had roused a nobler sentiment than gratitude, making the cancelled obligations of the boy, debts of honour to the man.
“What will you do, Tom?”
“I’ll tell you; may I sit here?” And Tom took the low footstool that always stood near grandma’s old chair. “I’ve had so many plans in my head lately, that sometimes it seems as if it would split,” continued the poor fellow, rubbing his tired forehead, as if to polish up his wits. “I’ve thought seriously of going to California, Australia, or some out-of-the-way place where men get rich in a hurry.”
“Oh, no!” cried Polly, putting out her hand as if to keep him, and then snatching it back again before he could turn round.
“It would be hard on mother and the girls, I suppose; besides, I don’t quite like it myself; looks as if I shirked and ran away.”
“So it does,” said Polly, decidedly.