CHAPTER VI.
GRANDMA.
"WHERE'S Polly?" asked Fan one snowy afternoon, as she came into the dining-room where Tom was reposing on the sofa with his boots in the air, absorbed in one of those delightful books in which boys are cast away on desert islands, where every known fruit, vegetable and flower is in its prime all the year round; or lost in boundless forests, where the young heroes have thrilling adventures, kill impossible beasts, and, when the author's invention gives out, suddenly find their way home, laden with tiger skins, tame buffalos and other pleasing trophies of their prowess.
"Dun no," was Tom's brief reply, for he was just escaping from an alligator of the largest size.
"Do put down that stupid book, and let's do something," said Fanny, after a listless stroll round the room.
"Hi, they've got him!" was the only answer vouchsafed by the absorbed reader.
"Where's Polly?" asked Maud, joining the party with her hands full of paper dolls all suffering for ball-dresses.
"Do get along, and don't bother me," cried Tom, exasperated at the interruption.
