"Very thrilling," said Tom, in a sleepy tone.
Maud felt that her conversation was not as interesting as she hoped, and tried again.
"Polly thinks you are handsomer than Mr. Sydney."
"Much obliged."
"I asked which she thought had the nicest face, and she said yours was the handsomest, and his the best."
"Does he ever go there?" asked a sharp voice behind them; and looking round Maud saw Fanny in the big chair, cooking her feet over the register.
"I never saw him there; he sent up some books one day, and Will teased her about it."
"What did she do?" demanded Fanny.
"Oh, she shook him."
"What a spectacle!" and Tom looked as if he would have enjoyed seeing it, but Fanny's face grew so forbidding, that Tom's little dog, who was approaching to welcome her, put his tail between his legs and fled under the table.
"Then there isn't any 'Sparking Sunday night,'" sung Tom, who appeared to have waked up again.
"Of course not. Polly isn't going to marry anybody; she's going to keep house for Will when he's a minister, I heard her say so," cried Maud, with importance.
"What a fate for pretty Polly!" ejaculated Tom.
"She likes it, and I'm sure I should think she would; it's beautiful to hear 'em plan it all out."
"Any more gossip to retail, Pug?" asked Tom a minute after, as Maud seemed absorbed in visions of the future.
