So, Polly tucked herself up in front, Tom hung on behind in some mysterious manner, and Mazeppa proved that he fully merited his master's sincere if inelegant praise. They got on capitally now, for Tom was in his proper sphere, and showed his best side, being civil and gay in the bluff boy-fashion that was natural to him; while Polly forgot to be shy, and liked this sort of "toughening" much better than the other. They laughed and talked, and kept taking "just one more," till the sunshine was all gone, and the clocks struck dinner-time.
"We shall be late; let's run," said Polly, as they came into the path after the last coast.
"You just sit still, and I'll get you home in a jiffy;" and before she could unpack herself, Tom trotted off with her at a fine pace.
"Here's a pair of cheeks! I wish you'd get a color like this, Fanny," said Mr. Shaw, as Polly came into the dining-room after smoothing her hair.
"Your nose is as red as that cranberry sauce," answered Fan, coming out of the big chair where she had been curled up for an hour or two, deep in "Lady Audley's Secret."
"So it is," said Polly, shutting one eye to look at the offending feature. "Never mind; I've had a good time, anyway," she added, giving a little prance in her chair."I don't see much fun in these cold runs you are so fond of taking," said Fanny, with a yawn and a shiver.