kindest, best old lady that ever lived, and I love her dearly!"
"I didn't say she wasn't, only old people are sort of tedious and fussy, so I keep out of their way," said Fanny.
"Well, you ought not to, and you miss lots of pleasant times. My mother says we ought to be kind and patient and respectful to all old folks just because they are old, and I always mean to be."
"Your mother's everlastingly preaching," muttered Fan, nettled by the consciousness of her own shortcomings with regard to grandma.
"She don't preach!" cried Polly, filing up like a flash; "she only explains things to us, and helps us be good, and never scolds, and I'd rather have her than any other mother in the world, though she don't wear velvet cloaks and splendid bonnets,—so now!"
"Go it, Polly!" called Tom, who was gracefully hanging head downward from the bar put up for his special benefit.
"Polly's mad! Polly's mad!" sung Maud, skipping rope round the room.
"If Mr. Sydney could see you now he wouldn't think you such an angel any more," added Fanny, tossing a bean-bag and her head at the same time.
Polly was mad, her face was very red, her eyes very bright and her lips twitched, but she held her tongue and began to swing as hard as she could, fearing to say something she would be sorry for afterwards. For a few minutes no one spoke, Tom whistled and Maud hummed, but Fan and Polly were each soberly thinking of something, for they had reached an age
