Polly accepted the invitation, and soon owned that Tom could beat her here. This fact restored his equanimity; but he did n't crow over her, far from it; for he helped her with a paternal patience that made her eyes twinkle with suppressed fun, as he soberly explained and illustrated, unconsciously imitating Dominie Deane, till Polly found it difficult to keep from laughing in his face.
“You may have another go at it any, time you like,” generously remarked Tom, as he shied the algebra after the Latin Reader.
“I'll come every evening, then. I'd like to, for I have n't studied a bit since I came. You shall try and make me like algebra, and I'll try and make you like Latin, will you?”
“Oh, I'd like it well enough, if there was any one explain it to me. Old Deane puts us through double-quick, and don't give a fellow time to ask questions when we read.”
“Ask your father; he knows.”
“Don't believe he does; should n't dare to bother him, if he did.”
“Why not?”
“He'd pull my ears, and call me a'stupid,' or tell me not to worry him.”
“I don't think he would. He's very kind to me, and I ask lots of questions.”
“He likes you better than he does me.”