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An Old-Fashioned Girl.

anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched.

"Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him."

"Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?"

"Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see 'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name.

"Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud was troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose."

"They are safe enough. Father hasn't touched mother's money; he 'couldn't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for 'em. Isn't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling.

"If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness.

"You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him."