Polly instantly decided that she wouldn’t borrow Becky’s best bonnet, as she at first intended, but get a new one, for in her present excited state no extravagance seemed too prodigal in honour of this grand occasion. I am afraid that Maud’s lesson was not as thorough as it should have been, for Polly’s head was such a chaos of bonnets, gloves, operacloaks, and fans, that Maud blundered through, murdering time and tune at her own sweet will. The instant it was over, Polly rushed away, and bought not only the kids, but a bonnet frame, a bit of illusion, and a pink crape rose, which had tempted her for weeks in a certain shop-window; then home and to work with all the skill and speed of a distracted milliner.

“I’m rushing madly into expense, I’m afraid; but the fit is on me, and I’ll eat bread and water for a week to make up for it. I must look nice, for Tom seldom takes me, and ought to be gratified when he does. I want to do like other girls just for once, and enjoy myself without thinking about right and wrong. Now a bit of pink ribbon to tie it with, and I shall be done in time to do up my best collar,” she said, turning her boxes topsy-turvy for the necessary ribbon, in that delightful flurry which young ladies feel on such occasions.

It is my private opinion, that the little shifts and struggles we poor girls have to undergo beforehand, give a peculiar relish to our fun when we get it. This fact will account for the rapturous mood in which Polly found herself when, after making her bonnet, washing and ironing her best set, blacking her boots, and mending her fan, she at last, like Consuelo, “put on a little dress of black silk”, and with the smaller adornments pinned up in a paper, started for the Shaws’, finding it difficult to walk decorously, when her heart was dancing in her bosom.

Maud happened to be playing a redowa up in the parlour, and Polly came prancing into the room so evidently spoiling for a dance that Tom, who was there, found it impossible to resist catching her about the waist, and putting her through the most intricate evolutions, till Maud’s fingers gave out.

“That was splendid! Oh Tom, thank you so much for asking me to-night. I feel just like having a regular good time,” cried Polly, when she stopped, with her hat hanging round her neck, and her hair looking as if she had been out in a high wind.

“Glad of it. I felt so myself, and thought we’d have a jolly little party all in the family,” said Tom, looking much gratified at her delight.

“Is Trix sick?” asked Polly.

“Gone to New York for a week.”

“Ah, when the cat’s away the mice will play.”

“Exactly; come and have another turn.”

Before they could start, however, the awful spectacle of a little dog trotting out of the room with a paper parcel in his mouth, made Polly clasp her hands with the despairing cry,—

“My bonnet! Oh, my bonnet!”

“Where? what? which?” and Tom looked about him bewildered.

“Snip’s got it. Save it! save it!”

“I will!” and Tom gave chase with more vigour than discretion.

Snip evidently regarded it as a game got up for his especial benefit, enjoyed the race immensely, and scampered all over the house, shaking the precious parcel like a rat, while his master ran and whistled, commanded and coaxed in vain. Polly followed, consumed with anxiety, and Maud laughed till Mrs. Shaw sent down to know who was in hysterics. A piteous yelp from the lower regions at last announced


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