Mrs. Shaw was a nervous, fussy invalid, who wanted something every five minutes; so Polly found plenty of small things to do for her, and did them so cheerfully, that the poor lady loved to have the quiet, helpful child near, to wait upon her, read to her, run errands or hand the seven different shawls which were continually being put on or off.
Grandma, too, was glad to find willing hands and feet to serve her; and Polly passed many happy hours in the quaint rooms, learning all sorts of pretty arts, and listening to pleasant chat, never dreaming how much sunshine she brought to the solitary old lady.
Tom was Polly's rock ahead for a long time, because he was always breaking out in a new place, and one never knew where to have him. He tormented yet amused her; was kind one day, and a bear the next; at times she fancied he was never going to be bad again, and the next thing she knew, he was deep in mischief, and hooted at the idea of repentance and reformation. Polly gave him up as a hard case; but was so in the habit of helping any one who seemed in trouble, that she was good to him simply because she couldn't help it.
"What's the matter? Is your lesson too hard for you?" she asked, one evening, as a groan made her look across the table to where Tom sat scowling over a pile of dilapidated books, with his hands in his hair, as if his head was in danger of flying asunder with the tremendous effort he was making.
"Hard! Guess it is. What in thunder do I care about the old Carthagenians? Regulus wasn't bad; but I'm sick of him!" And Tom dealt "Harkness's
