“You have given me more pleasure than I can express,” Miss Polly said, when they had all stopped laughing over “The Ruler of the Queen’s Navee,” and Paul had been forced to admit that his throat was getting tired. “You have a beautiful voice, my boy; your mother must be very proud of you.” “She is,” said Paul, innocently. “She’s always wanting to show me off; that’s why I hate it so.” “We should not hate to do anything that gives other people pleasure,” said Miss Polly gently. Paul reddened. “I don’t hate singing for you,” he said, bluntly. “I’d do it every day, only we’re going back to Boston next Monday. Would you like to have me say some poetry?” “I would indeed,” said Miss Polly, whereupon Paul proceeded to give them “Young Lochinvar,” “The Baron’s Last Banquet,” and several more of the famous old ballads, known to almost every schoolboy of the past generation. He had been well taught, and as he was really fond of poetry, the recitations were given in a spirit which quite thrilled the younger members of his audience. “You really are an awfully clever boy, Paul,” remarked Molly, in a tone of some awe, at the conclusion of “Bingen on the Rhine.” “Aunt Julia always said you were, but since we’ve known you we thought perhaps she might have made a mistake.” “That’s because I don’t like showing off,” said Paul, quite unruffled by this rather uncomplimentary observation. “I don’t mind doing things for Miss Polly, though. I say, Miss Polly, if you’d like to have that organ-man with the monkey come every day, I think perhaps I could arrange it. I’ve got ’most three dollars, and I could leave it with the girls, and tell them to give him ten cents every time he came. An organ-man will come very often to a place if he knows he’s going to get ten cents every time.” Miss Polly laughed her old merry laugh, and then she suddenly drew Paul to her side. “You dear, kind little boy,” she said, and before the embarrassed Paul fully realized her intention, she had kissed him. Paul drew away; he had grown very red. “I don’t like to have anybody kiss me except Mother,” he said, ungraciously, “but I’d be real glad to leave that money for the organ-man.” But in spite of the ungracious words, Paul was not nearly so much offended as he would like to appear, and perhaps Miss Polly understood, for she only smiled. “I’m afraid we must go now,” said Dulcie, rising reluctantly. “It’s nearly dinner-time, and Aunt Julia will wonder where Paul is.” “Well, you have given me a very happy afternoon,” said Miss Polly, “and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is very kind of you to want to give me the pleasure of that hand-organ, Paul, but I think I would a little rather have you spend your money in some other way. I shall not forget your offer, though, and I hope you may be able to make me another visit before you go back to Boston.”