spread the book between them with a grave and business-like air, for he felt that Polly had got the better of him, and it behooved him to do his best for the honor of his sex. He went at the lesson with a will, and soon floundered out of his difficulties, for Polly gave him a lift here and there, and they went on swimmingly, till they came to some rules to be learned. Polly had forgotten them, so they both committed them to memory;—Tom, with hands in his pockets, rocked to and fro, muttering rapidly, while Polly twisted the little curl on her forehead and stared at the wall, gabbling with all her might.
"Done!" cried Tom, presently.
"Done!" echoed Polly; and then they heard each other recite till both were perfect.
"That's pretty good fun," said Tom, joyfully, tossing poor Harkness away, and feeling that the pleasant excitement of companionship could lend a charm even to Latin Grammar.
"Now, ma'am, we'll take a turn at algebra. I like that as much as I hate Latin."
Polly accepted the invitation, and soon owned that Tom could beat her here. This fact restored his equanimity; but he didn't crow over her, far from it; for he helped her with a paternal patience that made her eyes twinkle with suppressed fun, as he soberly explained and illustrated, unconsciously imitating Dominie Deane, till Polly found it difficult to keep from laughing in his face.
"You may have another go at it any time you like," generously remarked Tom, as he shied the Algebra after the Latin Reader.
