"It's time to go to the station, Tom."
"Come on then."
"Oh, I'm not going," said Fanny. "It's raining too hard. My curls will be ruined if I go out on a day like this — and I want to look nice when Polly comes."
"You don't expect me to go and bring home a strange girl alone, do you?" said Tom, horrified at the idea.
"Of course I do! It's your job to fetch her. And if you weren't such a bear, you might even enjoy it."
"Well, that's mean! You said you'd go too. Catch me helping you again! No, sir!" Tom jumped up, looking offended — though his messy hair and wrinkled clothes made him anything but dignified.
"Don't be cross," said Fanny, "and I'll ask Mama to let that horrid Ned Miller you like so much come over after Polly's gone."
"How long is she staying?" Tom asked, straightening his cap.
"A month or two, maybe. She's nice, and I'll keep her as long as she's happy."
"She won't stay long then, if I can help it," Tom muttered.
He hated girls — most boys of fourteen did, until they suddenly stopped hating them one day.
"How am I supposed to know her?" he grumbled. "I've never seen her, and she's never seen me."
"You'll find her easily," said Fanny. "She'll be looking for us. I told her about you, so she'll recognise you."
"Guess she won't," Tom said, running a hand through his curls and glancing in the mirror. "Sisters never describe you right."
"Go on or you'll be late! What will Polly think of me?" cried Fanny.
"She'll think you care more about your curls than your friends," said Tom smartly — and feeling rather proud of himself, he sauntered out.