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An Old-Fashioned Girl.

"You're a good little soul, to remember poor mum," said Tom, with an approving nod.

"Well, she was so pleased with the grapes you brought her, I thought I'd try something, and maybe she'd say 'Thank you, darling,' to me too. Do you think she will?" whispered Maud, with the wistful look so often seen on her little plain face.

"See if she don't"; and to Maud's great surprise Tom didn't laugh at her project.

"Good night, dear; take care of yourself, and keep your muffler round your mouth going over the bridge, or you'll be as hoarse as a crow to-morrow," said Polly, as she kissed her brother, who returned it without looking as if he thought it "girl's nonsense." Then the three piled into the sleigh and drove off, leaving Polly nodding on the doorstep.

Maud found the drive altogether too short, but was consoled by the promise of a longer one if the sleighing lasted till next Saturday; and when Tom ran up to bid his mother good-by, and give her a hint about Maud's gift, she stayed below to say, at the last minute, in unconscious imitation of Polly,—

"Good night: take care of yourself, my dear."

Tom laughed, and was about to pinch the much-enduring little nose; but as if the words reminded him of something, he gave her a kiss instead, a piece of forbearance which almost took Maud's breath away with surprise and gratification.

It was rather a silent drive, for Will obediently kept his muffler up, and Tom fell into a brown study.

He was not much given to reflection, but occasionally indulged when something gave him a turn in that