pockets, he stopped whistling, buttoned his jacket, gave his cap a
pull, and went off at a great pace.

The train was just in when he reached the station, panting like a
race-horse, and as red as a lobster with the wind and the run.

"Suppose she 'll wear a top-knot and a thingumbob, like every one
else; and however shall I know her? Too bad of Fan to make me
come alone!" thought Tom, as he stood watching the crowd stream
through the depot, and feeling rather daunted at the array of young
ladies who passed. As none of them seemed looking for any one,
he did not accost them, but eyed each new batch with the air of a
martyr. "That 's her," he said to himself, as he presently caught
sight of a girl in gorgeous array, standing with her hands folded,
and a very small hat perched on the top of a very large "chig-non,"
as Tom pronounced it. "I suppose I 've got to speak to her, so here
goes;" and, nerving himself to the task, Tom slowly approached
the damsel, who looked as if the wind had blown her clothes into
rags, such a flapping of sashes, scallops, ruffles, curls, and feathers
was there.

"I say, if you please, is your name Polly Milton?" meekly asked
Tom, pausing before the breezy stranger.

"No, it is n't," answered the young lady, with a cool stare that
utterly quenched him.

"Where in thunder is she?" growled Tom, walking off in high
dudgeon. The quick tap of feet behind him made him turn in time
to see a fresh-faced little girl running down the long station, and