Creative Books

As the carriage drove off, Polly gave a little bounce on the springy
seat, and laughed like a delighted child. "I do like to ride in these
nice hacks, and see all the fine things, and have a good time, don't
you?" she said, composing herself the next minute, as if it
suddenly occurred to her that she was going a-visiting.
"Not much," said Tom, not minding what he said, for the fact that
he was shut up with the strange girl suddenly oppressed his soul.
"How 's Fan? Why did n't she come, too?" asked Polly, trying to
look demure, while her eyes danced in spite of her.
"Afraid of spoiling her crinkles;" and Tom smiled, for this base
betrayal of confidence made him feel his own man again.
"You and I don't mind dampness. I 'm much obliged to you for
coming to take care of me."
It was kind of Polly to say that, and Tom felt it; for his red crop
was a tender point, and to be associated with Polly's pretty brown
curls seemed to lessen its coppery glow. Then he had n't done
anything for her but carry the bag a few steps; yet, she thanked
him.


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