Free An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott

stay mad, and always made it up again as soon as we could. Jimmy used to come round
     first, and say, ’All serene, Polly,’ so kind and jolly, that I couldn’t help laughing and being friends right away.”
    “Did he not know a lot?”
    “Yes, I think he did, for he liked to study, and wanted to get on, so he could help father. People used to call him a fine
     boy, and I felt so proud to hear it; but they didn’t know half how wise he was, because he didn’t show off a bit. I suppose
     sisters always are grand of their brothers; but I don’t believe many girls had as much right to be as I had.”
    “Most girls don’t care two pins about their brothers; so that shows you don’t know much about it.”
    “Well, they ought to, if they don’t; and they would if the boys were as kind to them as Jimmy was to me.”
    “Why, what did he do?”
    “Loved me dearly, and wasn’t ashamed to show it,” cried Polly, with a sob in her voice, that made her answer very eloquent.
    “What made him die, Polly?” asked Tom, soberly, after a little pause.
    “He got hurt coasting, last winter; but he never told which boy did it, and he only lived a week. I helped take care of him;
     and he was so patient, I used to wonder at him, for he was in dreadful pain all the time. He gave me his books, and his dog,
     and his speckled hens, and his big knife, and said, ’Good-by, Polly’ — and kissed me the last thing — and then — O Jimmy!
     Jimmy! If he only could come back!”
    Poor Polly’s eyes had been getting fuller and fuller, her lips trembling more and more, as she went on; and when she came
     to that “good-by,” she couldn’t get any further, but covered up her face, and cried as if her heart would break. Tom was full
     of sympathy, but didn’t know how to show it; so he sat shaking up the camphor bottle, and trying to think of something proper
     and comfortable to say, when Fanny came to the rescue, and cuddled Polly in her arms, with soothing little pats and whispers
     and kisses, till the tears stopped, and Polly said, she “didn’t mean to, and wouldn’t any more. I’ve been thinking about my
     dear boy all the evening, for Tom reminds me of him,” she added, with a sigh.
    “Me? How can I, when I ain’t a bit like him?” cried Tom, amazed.
    “But you are in some ways.”
    “Wish I was; but I can’t be, for he was good, you know.”
    “So are you, when you choose. Hasn’t he been good and patient, and don’t we all like to pet him when he’s clever, Fan?” said
     Polly, whose heart was still aching for her brother, and ready for his sake to find virtues even in tormenting Tom.
    “Yes; I don’t know the boy lately; but he’ll be as bad as ever when he’s well,” returned Fanny, who hadn’t much faith in sickbed
     repentances.
    “Much you know about it,” growled Tom, lying down again, for he had sat bolt upright when Polly made the astounding declaration
     that
he
was like the well-beloved Jimmy. That simple little history had made a deep impression on Tom, and the tearful ending touched
     the tender spot that most boys hide so carefully. It is very pleasant to be loved and admired, very sweet to think we shall
     be missed and mourned when we die; and Tom was seized with a sudden desire to imitate this boy, who hadn’t done anything wonderful,
     yet was so dear to his sister, that she cried for him a whole year after he was dead; so studious and clever, the people called
     him “a fine fellow”; and so anxious to be good, that he kept on trying, till he was better even than Polly, whom Tom privately
     considered a model of virtue, as girls go.
    “I just wish I had a sister like you,” he broke out, all of a sudden.
    “And I just wish I had a brother like Jim,” cried Fanny, for she felt the reproach in Tom’s words, and knew she deserved it.
    “I shouldn’t think you’d envy anybody, for you’ve got one another,” said Polly, with such a wistful look, that it suddenly
     set Tom