a spice of the old Eve in her composition. So day after day she trudged through the dull back streets, longing for the sunny park, the face that always brightened when it saw her coming, and most of all the chance of meeting—well, it wasn't Trix.
When Saturday came, Polly started as usual for a visit to Beck and Bess, but couldn't resist stopping at the Shaws', to leave a little parcel for Fan, though it was calling time. As she stepped in, meaning to run up for a word, if Fanny should chance to be alone, two hats on the hall table arrested her.
"Who is here, Katy?"
"Only Mr. Sydney and Master Tom. Won't you stop a bit, Miss Polly?"
"Not this morning, I'm rather in a hurry;" and away went Polly, as if a dozen eager pupils were clamoring for her presence. But as the door shut behind her, she felt so left out in the cold, that her eyes filled, and when Nep, Tom's great Newfoundland, came blundering after her, she stopped and hugged his shaggy head, saying softly, as she looked into the brown, benevolent eyes, full of almost human sympathy,—
"Now, go back, old dear; you mustn't follow me. Oh, Nep, it's so hard to put love away when you want it very much, and it isn't right to take it."
A foolish little speech to make to a dog; but you see Polly was only a tender-hearted girl, trying to do her duty.
"Since he is safe with Fanny, I may venture to walk where I like. It's such a lovely day, all the babies will be out, and it always does me good to see
