An Old-Fashioned Girl
WHERE 'S Polly?" asked Fan one snowy afternoon, as she came into the dining-room
where Tom was reposing on the sofa with his boots in the air, absorbed in one of those
delightful books in which boys are cast away on desert islands, where every known fruit,
vegetable and flower is in its prime all the year round; or, lost in boundless forests,
where the young heroes have thrilling adventures, kill impossible beasts, and, when the
author's invention gives out, suddenly find their way home, laden with tiger skins, tame
buffaloes and other pleasing trophies of their prowess.
"Dun no," was Tom's brief reply, for he was just escaping from an alligator of the largest
"Do put down that stupid book, and let 's do something," said Fanny, after a listless stroll
round the room.
"Hi, they 've got him!" was the only answer vouchsafed by the absorbed reader.
"Where 's Polly?" asked Maud, joining the party with her hands full of paper dolls all
suffering for ball-dresses.
"Do get along, and don't bother me," cried Tom exasperated at the interruption.
"Then tell us where she is. I 'm sure you know, for she was down here a little while ago,"
"Up in grandma's room, maybe."
"Provoking thing! you knew it all the time, and did n't tell, just to plague us," scolded
But Tom was now under water stabbing his alligator, and took no notice of the indignant
departure of the young ladies.
"Polly 's always poking up in grandma's room. I don't see what fun there is in it," said
Fanny as they went up stairs.
"Polly 's a verwy queer girl, and gwandma pets her a gweat deal more than she does
me," observed Maud, with an injured air.
"Let 's peek and see what they are doing," whispered Fan, pausing at the half-open