Poor Polly's eyes had been getting fuller and fuller, her lips trembling more and more, as she went on; and when she came to that "good-by," she couldn't get any further, but covered up her face, and cried as if her heart would break. Tom was full of sympathy, but didn't know how to show it; so he sat shaking up the camphor bottle, and trying to think of something proper and comfortable to say, when Fanny came to the rescue, and cuddled Polly in her arms, with soothing little pats and whispers and kisses, till the tears stopped, and Polly said, she "didn't mean to, and wouldn't any more. I've been thinking about my dear boy all the evening, for Tom reminds me of him," she added, with a sigh.
"Me? How can I, when I ain't a bit like him?" cried Tom, amazed.
"But you are in some ways."
"Wish I was; but I can't be, for he was good, you know."
"So are you, when you choose. Hasn't he been good and patient, and don't we all like to pet him when he's clever, Fan?" said Polly, whose heart was still aching for her brother, and ready for his sake to find virtues even in tormenting Tom.
"Yes; I don't know the boy lately; but he'll be as bad as ever when he's well," returned Fanny, who hadn't much faith in sick-bed repentances.
"Much you know about it," growled Tom, lying down again, for he had sat bolt upright when Polly made the astounding declaration that he was like the well-beloved Jimmy. That simple little history had made a deep impression on Tom, and the tearful end-
