An Old-Fashioned Girl

"I heard Will talking about Publics and Privates, and I meant to ask him, but I forgot."

"What did he say?"

"I don't remember; it was about somebody who cut prayers, and got a Private, and had done all sorts of bad things, and had one or two Publics. I did n't hear the name and did n't care; I only wanted to know what the words meant."

"So Will tells tales, does he?" and Tom's forehead wrinkled with a frown.

"No, he did n't; Polly knew about it and asked him."

"Will's a 'dig,'" growled Tom, shutting his eyes again, as if nothing more could be said of the delinquent William.

"I don't care if he is; I like him very much, and so does Polly."

"Happy Fresh!" said Tom, with a comical groan.

"You need n't sniff at him, for he is nice, and treats me with respect," cried Maud, with an energy that made Tom laugh in her face.

"He 's good to Polly always, and puts on her cloak for her, and says 'my dear,' and kisses her 'goodnight,' and don't think it 's silly, and I wish I had a brother just like him, yes, I do!" And Maud showed signs of woe, for her disappointment about going was very great.

"Bless my boots! what's the chicken ruffling up her little feathers and pecking at me for?

Is that the way Polly soothes the best of brothers?" said Tom, still laughing.

"Oh, I forgot! there, I won't cry; but I do want to go," and Maud swallowed her tears, and began to stroke again.

Now Tom's horse and sleigh were in the stable, for he meant to drive out to College that evening, but he did n't take Maud's hint. It was less trouble to lie still, and say in a conciliatory tone, "Tell me some more about this good boy, it 's very interesting."

"No, I shan't, but I 'll tell about Puttel's playing on the piano," said Maud, anxious to efface the memory of her momentary weakness. "Polly points to the right key with a little stick, and Puttel sits on the stool and pats each key as it 's touched, and it makes a tune. It 's so funny to see her, and Nick perches on the rack and sings as if he 'd kill himself."

"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 is n't any 'Sparking Sunday night'?" sung Tom, who appeared to have waked up again.

"Of course not. Polly is n'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.

"He told a funny story about blowing up one of the professors. You never told us, so I suppose you did n't know it. Some bad fellow put a torpedo, or some sort of powder thing, under the chair, and it went off in the midst of the lesson, and the poor man flew up, frightened most to pieces, and the boys ran with pails of water to put the fire out. But the thing that made Will laugh most was, that the very fellow who did it got his trousers burnt trying to put out the fire, and he asked the is it Faculty or President? "

"Either will do," murmured Tom, who was shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Well, he asked 'em to give him some new ones, and they did give him money enough, for a nice pair; but he got some cheap ones, with horrid great stripes on 'em, and always wore 'em to that particular class, 'which was one too many for the fellows,' Will said, and with the rest of the money he had a punch party. Was n't it dreadful?"

"Awful!" And Tom exploded into a great laugh, that made Fanny cover her ears, and the little dog bark wildly.

"Did you know that bad boy?" asked innocent Maud.

"Slightly," gasped Tom, in whose wardrobe at college those identical trousers were hanging at that moment.

"Don't make such a noise, my head aches dreadfully," said Fanny, fretfully.

"Girls' heads always do ache," answered Tom, subsiding from a roar into a chuckle.

"What pleasure you boys can find in such ungentlemanly things, I don't see," said Fanny, who was evidently out of sorts.

"As much a mystery to you as it is to us, how you girls can like to gabble and prink from one week's end to the other," retorted Tom.