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of confusion and distress. She used to beg him not to plague her; but he said he did it for her good; she was too shy,
     and needed toughening like the other girls. In vain she protested that she didn’t want to be like the other girls in that
     respect; he only laughed in her face, stuck his red hair straight up all over his head, and glared at her, till she fled in
     dismay.
    Yet Polly rather liked Tom, for she soon saw that he was neglected, hustled out of the way, and left to get on pretty much
     by himself. She often wondered why his mother didn’t pet him as she did the girls; why his father ordered him about as if
     he was a born rebel, and took so little interest in his only son. Fanny considered him a bear, and was ashamed of him, but
     never tried to polish him up a bit; and Maud and he lived together like a cat and dog who did not belong to a “happy family.”
     Grandma was the only one who stood by poor old Tom; and Polly more than once discovered him doing something kind for Madam,
     and seeming very much ashamed when it was found out. He wasn’t respectful at all; he called her “the old lady,” and told her
     he “wouldn’t be fussed over”; but when anything was the matter, he always went to “the old lady,” and was very grateful for
     the “fussing.” Polly liked him for this, and often wanted to speak of it; but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t do, for in
     praising their affection, she was reproaching others with neglect; so she held her tongue, and thought about it all the more.
    Grandma was rather neglected, too, and perhaps that is the reason why Tom and she were such good friends. She was even more
     old-fashioned than Polly; but people didn’t seem to mind it so much in her, as her day was supposed to be over, and nothing
     was expected of her but to keep out of everybody’s way, and to be handsomely dressed when she appeared “before people.” Grandma
     led a quiet, solitary life up in her own rooms, full of old furniture, pictures, books, and relics of a past for which no
     one cared but herself. Her son went up every evening for a little call, was very kind to her, and saw that she wanted nothing
     money could buy; but he was a busy man, so intent on getting rich that he had no time to enjoy what he already possessed.
     Madam never complained, interfered, or suggested; but there was a sad sort of quietude about her, a wistful look in her faded
     eyes, as if she wanted something which money could not buy, and when children were near, she hovered about them, evidently
     longing to cuddle and caress them as only grandmothers can. Polly felt this; and, as she missed the home-petting, gladly showed
     that she liked to see the quiet old face brighten as she entered the solitary room, where few children came, except the phantoms
     of little sons and daughters, who, to the motherly heart that loved them, never faded or grew up. Polly wished the children
     would be kinder to grandma; but it was not for her to tell them so, although it troubled her a good deal, and she could only
     try to make up for it by being as dutiful and affectionate as if their grandma was her own.
    Another thing that disturbed Polly was the want of exercise. To dress up and parade certain streets for an hour every day,
     to stand talking in doorways, or drive out in a fine carriage, was not the sort of exercise she liked, and Fan would take
     no other. Indeed, she was so shocked, when Polly, one day, proposed a run down the mall, that her friend never dared suggest
     such a thing again. At home, Polly ran and rode, coasted and skated, jumped rope and raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed
     her boat; so no wonder she longed for something more lively than a daily promenade with a flock of giddy girls, who tilted
     along in high-heeled boots, and costumes which made Polly ashamed to be seen with some of them. So she used to slip out alone
     sometimes, when Fanny was absorbed in novels, company, or millinery, and