"
"Not for myself, ma'am--not for myself," was her earnest reply.
"For whom, then, Polly?"
The girl did not answer for some moments. Then with a long, deep
sigh, she said:
"You never saw my brother Tom, ma'am. Oh, he was such a nice boy,
and I was so fond of him! He had a hard place where he worked, and
they paid him so little that, poor fellow! if I hadn't spent half my
wages on him, he'd never have looked fit to be seen among folks.
When he was eighteen he seemed to me perfect. He was so good and
kind. But--" and the girl's voice almost broke down--"somehow, he
began to change after that. I think he fell into bad company. Oh,
ma'am! It seemed as if it would have killed me the first time I
found that he had been drinking, and was not himself. I cried all
night for two or three nights. When we met again I tried to talk
with Tom about it, but he wouldn't hear a word, and, for the first
time in his life, got angry with his sister.
"It has been going on from bad, to worse ever since, and I've almost
given up hope."
"He's several years younger than you are, Polly."
"Yes, ma'am. He was only ten years old when our mother died. I am
glad she is dead now, what I've never said before. There were only
two of us--Tom and I; and I being nearly six years the oldest, felt
like a mother as well as a sister to him. I've never spent much on
myself as you know, and never had as good clothes as other girls
with my wages.
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