to-morrow; and perhaps you'll be good enough to keep the girls from bothering me with questions and gabble," he added, as if, on second thoughts, he was relieved to have the communication made to Polly first.
"I don't wonder you looked upset. If the other letter is as bad, I'd better have a chair before I read it," said Polly, feeling that she began to tremble with excitement.
"It's a million times better, but it knocked me worse than the other; kindness always does." Tom stopped short there, and stood a minute turning the letter about in his hand as if it contained a sweet which neutralized the bitter in that smaller note, and touched him very much. Then he drew up an armchair, and beckoning Polly to take it, said in a sober, steady tone, that surprised her greatly,—
"Whenever I was in a quandary, I used to go and consult grandma, and she always had something sensible or comfortable to say to me. She's gone now, but somehow, Polly, you seem to take her place. Would you mind sitting in her chair, and letting me tell you two or three things, as Will does?"
Mind it? Polly felt that Tom had paid her the highest and most beautiful compliment he could have devised. She had often longed to do it, for, being brought up in the most affectionate and frank relations with her brothers, she had early learned what it takes most women some time to discover, that sex does not make nearly as much difference in hearts and souls as we fancy. Joy and sorrow, love and fear, life and death bring so many of the same needs to all,
