One afternoon, just before dinner, she felt so tired of doing nothing, that she slipped out for a run. It had been a dull day; but the sun was visible now, setting brightly below the clouds. It was cold but still, and Polly trotted down the smooth, snow-covered mall, humming to herself, and trying not to feel homesick. The coasters were at it with all their might, and she watched them, till her longing to join the fun grew irresistible. On the hill, some little girls were playing with their sleds,—real little girls, in warm hoods and coats, rubber boots and mittens,—and Polly felt drawn toward them in spite of her fear of Fan.
"I want to go down, but I darsn't, it's so steep," said one of these "common children," as Maud called them.
"If you'll lend me your sled, and sit in my lap, I'll take you down all nice," answered Polly, in a confidential tone.
The little girls took a look at her, seemed satisfied, and accepted her offer, Polly looked carefully round to see that no fashionable eye beheld the awful deed, and finding all safe, settled her freight, and spun away down hill, feeling all over the delightsome excitement of swift motion which makes coasting such a favorite pastime with the more sensible portion of the child-world. One after another, she took the little girls down the hill and dragged them up again, while they regarded her in the light of a gray-coated angel, descended for their express benefit. Polly was just finishing off with one delicious "go" all by herself, when she heard a familiar whistle behind her, and before she could get off, up came Tom, looking