"Well, I might do worse; and I think, of the two, I 'd rather amuse
myself so, than as some young ladies do, who get into the papers
for their pranks," returned Belle, with a moral air.
"Suppose we have a little recess, and rest while Polly plays to us.
Will you, Polly? It will do us good; they all want to hear you, and
begged I 'd ask."
"Then I will, with pleasure"; and Polly went to the piano with such
obliging readiness, that several reproachful glances fell upon Trix,
who did n't need her glass to see them.
Polly was never too sad, perturbed, or lazy to sing, for it was
almost as easy to her as breathing, and seemed the most natural
outlet for her emotions. For a minute her hands wandered over the
keys, as if uncertain what to play; then, falling into a sad, sweet
strain, she sang "The Bridge of Sighs." Polly did n't know why she
chose it, but the instinct seemed to have been a true one, for, old as
the song was, it went straight to the hearts of the hearers, and Polly
sung it better than she ever had before, for now the memory of
little Jane lent it a tender pathos which no art could give.
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