Evening was his hardest time, for want of exercise made him as restless and nervous as it was possible for a hearty lad to be on such a short notice.
He could n't sleep so the girls amused him; Fanny played and read aloud; Polly sung, and told stories; and did the latter so well, that it got to be a regular thing for her to begin as soon as twilight came, and Tom was settled in his favorite place on grandma's sofa.
"Fire away, Polly," said the young sultan, one evening, as his little Scheherazade sat down in her low chair, after stirring up the fire till the room was bright and cosy.
"I don't feel like stories to-night, Tom.

I 've told all I know, and can't make up any more," answered Polly, leaning her head on her hand with a sorrowful look that Tom had never seen before.

He watched her a minute, and then asked, curiously, "What were you thinking about, just now, when you sat staring at the fire, and getting soberer and soberer every minute?
"I was thinking about Jimmy." "Would you mind telling about him?
You know, you said you would some time; but don't, if you 'd rather not," said Tom, lowering his rough voice respectfully.
"I like to talk about him; but there is n't much to tell," began Polly, grateful for his interest.

"Sitting here with you reminded me of the way I used to sit with him when he was sick.

We used to have such happy times, and it 's so pleasant to think about them now." "He was awfully good, was n't he ?" "No, he was n't; but he tried to be, and mother says that is half the battle.