The old lady put out her hand, and drawing Polly to her knee,
looked into her face with such kind eyes, that Polly forgot the
impressive cap, and smiled at her confidingly; for she saw that her
simple music had pleased her listener, and she felt glad to know it.

"You must n't mind my staring, dear," said Madam, softly pinching
her rosy cheek. "I have n't seen a little girl for so long, it does my
old eyes good to look at you."

Polly thought that a very odd speech, and could n't help saying,
"Are n't Fan and Maud little girls, too?"

"Oh, dear, no! not what I call little girls. Fan has been a young lady
this two years, and Maud is a spoiled baby. Your mother 's a very
sensible woman, my child."

"What a very queer old lady!" thought Polly; but she said "Yes 'm"
respectfully, and looked at the fire.

"You don't understand what I mean, do you?" asked Madam, still
holding her by the chin.

"No 'm; not quite."

"Well, dear, I 'll tell you. In my day, children of fourteen and
fifteen did n't dress in the height of the fashion; go to parties, as
nearly like those of grown people as it 's possible to make them;
lead idle, giddy, unhealthy lives, and get blas, at twenty. We were
little folks till eighteen or so; worked and studied, dressed and
played, like children; honored our parents; and our days were