For a few minutes no one spoke, Tom whistled and Maud hummed but Fan and Polly were each soberly thinking of something, for they had reached an age when children, girls especially, begin to observe, contrast, and speculate upon the words, acts, manners, and looks of those about them.
A good deal of thinking goes on in the heads of these shrewd little folks, and the elders should mind their ways, for they get criticised pretty sharply and imitated very closely.
Two little things had happened that day, and the influence of a few words, a careless action, was still working in the active minds of the girls.
Mr.Sydney had called, and while Fanny was talking with him she saw his eye rest on Polly, who sat apart watching the faces round her with the modest, intelligent look which many found so attractive.

At that minute Madam Shaw came in, and stopped to speak to the little girl.

Polly rose at once, and remained standing till the old lady passed on.
"Are you laughing at Polly's prim ways ?" Fanny had asked, as she saw Mr.
Sydney smile.
"No, I am admiring Miss Polly's fine manners," he answered in a grave, respectful tone, which had impressed Fanny very much, for Mr.Sydney was considered by all the girls as a model of good breeding, and that indescribable something which they called "elegance." Fanny wished she had done that little thing, and won that approving look, for she valued the young man's good opinion, because it was so hard to win, by her set at least.

So, when Polly talked about old people, it recalled this scene and made Fan cross.
Polly was remembering how, when Mrs.Shaw came home that day in her fine visiting costume, and Maud ran to welcome her with unusual affection, she gathered up her lustrous silk and pushed the little girl away saying, impatiently, "Don't touch me, child, your hands are dirty." Then the thought had come to Polly that the velvet cloak did n't cover a right motherly heart, that the fretful face under the nodding purple plumes was not a tender motherly face, and that the hands in the delicate primrose gloves had put away something very sweet and precious.
She thought of another woman, whose dress never was too fine for little wet cheeks to lie against, or loving little arms to press; whose face, in spite of many lines and the gray hairs above it, was never sour or unsympathetic when children's eyes turned towards it; and whose hands never were too busy, too full or too nice to welcome and serve the little sons and daughters who freely brought their small hopes and fears, sins and sorrows, to her, who dealt out justice and mercy with such wise love.

"Ah, that 's a mother!" thought Polly, as the memory came warm into her heart, making her feel very rich, and pity Maud for being so poor.
This it was that caused such sudden indignation at Fanny's dreadful speech, and this it was that made quick-tempered Polly try to calm her wrath before she used toward Fanny's mother the disrespectful tone she so resented toward her own.