Creative Books

Unfortunately, Mrs. Shaw was out driving with grandma, and
Fanny was making calls; so that there was no one but Polly to
stand by Tom, for the parlor-maid turned faint at the sight of
blood, and the chamber-maid lost her wits in the flurry. It was a
bad cut, and must be sewed up at once, the doctor said, as soon as
he came. "Somebody must hold his head;" he added, as he
threaded his queer little needle.
"I 'll keep still, but if anybody must hold me, let Polly. You ain't
afraid, are you?" asked Tom, with imploring look, for he did n't
like the idea of being sewed a bit.
Polly was just going to shrink away, saying, "Oh I can't!" when she
remembered that Tom once called her a coward. Here was a
chance to prove that she was n't; besides, poor Tom had no one
else to help him; so she came up to the sofa where he lay, and
nodded reassuringly, as she put a soft little hand on either side of
the damaged head.
"You are a trump, Polly," whispered Tom. Then he set his teeth,
clenched his hands, lay quite still, and bore it like a man.


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