Tom had n't even a whistle at his command; Maud was so
scared at gentle Polly's outbreak, that she sat as still as a mouse;
while Fanny, conscience stricken, laid back the poor little presents
with a respectful hand, for somehow the thought of Polly's poverty
came over her as it never had done before; and these odds and
ends, so carefully treasured up for those at home, touched Fanny,
and grew beautiful in her eyes. As she laid by the little book, the
confessions in it reproached her more sharply that any words Polly
could have spoken; for she had laughed at her friend, had slighted
her sometimes, and been unforgiving for an innocent offence. That
last page, where Polly took the blame on herself, and promised to
"truly try" to be more kind and patient, went to Fanny's heart,
melting all the coldness away, and she could only lay her head on
the trunk, sobbing, "It was n't Polly's fault; it was all mine."
Tom, still red with shame at being caught in such a scrape, left
Fanny to her tears, and went manfully away to find the injured
Polly, and confess his manifold transgressions.
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