“It would have been a triumphant descent, if a big dog had not bounced suddenly through one of the openings.”
POLLY ARRIVES.
THE train was just in when Tom 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 how ever 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 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.