Trudging home to dinner, tired and disappointed, poor Polly
received another blow, which hurt her more than the loss of all her
pupils. As she went hurrying along with a big music book in one
hand and a paper bag of rolls for tea in the other, she saw Tom and
Trix coming. As she watched them while they slowly approached,
looking so gay and handsome and happy, it seemed to Polly as if
all the sunshine and good walking was on their side of the street,
all the wintry wind and mud on hers. Longing to see a friendly face
and receive a kind word, she crossed over, meaning to nod and
smile at least. Trix saw her first, and suddenly became absorbed in
the distant horizon. Tom apparently did not see her, for his eyes
were fixed on a fine horse just prancing by. Polly thought that he
had seen her, and approached with a curious little flutter at her
heart, for if Tom cut her she felt that her cup would be full.
On they came, Trix intent on the view, Tom staring at the
handsome horse, and Polly, with red checks, expectant eyes, and
the brown bundle, in full sight.
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