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CHAPTER VII. GOOD-BY "OH, dear! Must you really go home Saturday?"
said Fan, some days after what Tom called the "grand scrimmage."
"I really must; for I only came to stay a month and here I've been nearly six weeks,"
answered Polly, feeling as if she had been absent a year.
"Make it two months and stay over Christmas. Come, do, now," urged Tom, heartily.
"You are very kind; but I wouldn't miss Christmas at home for anything. Besides, mother says
they can't possibly do without me." "Neither can we. Can't you tease your mother,
and make up your mind to stay?" began Fan. "Polly never teases. She says it's selfish;
and I don't do it now much," put in Maud, with a virtuous air.
"Don't you bother Polly. She'd rather go, and I don't wonder. Let's be just as jolly
as we can while she stays, and finish up with your party, Fan," said Tom, in a tone that
settled the matter. Polly had expected to be very happy in getting
ready for the party; but when the time came, she was disappointed; for somehow that naughty
thing called envy took possession of her, and spoiled her pleasure. Before she left
home, she thought her new white muslin dress, with its fresh blue ribbons, the most elegant
and proper costume she could have; but now, when she saw ***'s pink silk, with a white
tarlatan tunic, and innumerable puffings, bows, and streamers, her own simple little
toilet lost all its charms in her eyes, and looked very babyish and old-fashioned.
Even Maud was much better dressed than herself, and looked very splendid in her cherry-colored
and white suit, with a sash so big she could hardly carry it, and little white boots with
red buttons. They both had necklaces and bracelets, ear-rings and brooches; but Polly had no ornament,
except the plain locket on a bit of blue velvet. Her sash was only a wide ribbon, tied in a
simple bow, and nothing but a blue snood in the pretty curls. Her only comfort was the
knowledge that the modest tucker drawn up round the plump shoulders was real lace, and
that her bronze boots cost nine dollars. Poor Polly, with all her efforts to be contented,
and not to mind looking unlike other people, found it hard work to keep her face bright
and her voice happy that night. No one dreamed what was going an under the muslin frock,
till grandma's wise old eyes spied out the little shadow on Polly's spirits, and guessed
the cause of it. When dressed, the three girls went up to show themselves to the elders,
who were in grandma's room, where Tom was being helped into an agonizingly stiff collar.
Maud pranced like a small peacock, and Fan made a splendid courtesy as every one turned
to survey them; but Polly stood still, and her eyes went from face to face, with an anxious,
wistful air, which seemed to say, "I know I'm not right; but I hope I don't look very
bad." Grandma read the look in a minute; and when
*** said, with a satisfied smile, "How do we look?" she answered, drawing Polly toward
her so kindly. "Very like the fashion-plates you got the
patterns of your dresses from. But this little costume suits me best."
"Do you really think I look nice?" and Polly's face brightened, for she valued the old lady's
opinion very much. "Yes, my dear; you look just as I like to
see a child of your age look. What particularly pleases me is that you have kept your promise
to your mother, and haven't let anyone persuade you to wear borrowed finery. Young things
like you don't need any ornaments but those you wear to-night, youth, health, intelligence,
and modesty." As she spoke, grandma gave a tender kiss that
made Polly glow like a rose, and for a minute she forgot that there were such things as
pink silk and coral ear-rings in the world. She only said, "Thank you, ma'am," and heartily
returned the kiss; but the words did her good, and her plain dress looked charming all of
a sudden. "Polly's so pretty, it don't matter what she
wears," observed Tom, surveying her over his collar with an air of calm approval.
"She hasn't got any bwetelles to her dwess, and I have," said Maud, settling her ruffled
bands over her shoulders, which looked like cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.
"I did wish she'd just wear my blue set, ribbon is so very plain; but, as Tom says, it don't
much matter;" and *** gave an effective touch to the blue bow above Polly's left temple.
"She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls," said Mrs. Shaw, privately thinking
that her own daughters looked much the best, yet conscious that blooming Polly had the
most attractive face. "Bless me! I forgot my posies in admiring the belles. Hand them
out, Tom;" and Mr. Shaw nodded toward an interesting looking box that stood on the table.
Seizing them wrong side-up, Tom produced three little bouquets, all different in color, size,
and construction. "Why, papa! how very kind of you," cried ***,
who had not dared to receive even a geranium leaf since the late scrape.
"Your father used to be a very gallant young gentleman, once upon a time," said Mrs. Shaw,
with a simper. "Ah, Tom, it's a good sign when you find time
to think of giving pleasure to your little girls!" And grandma patted her son's bald
head as if he wasn't more than eighteen. Thomas Jr. had given a somewhat scornful sniff
at first; but when grandma praised his father, the young man thought better of the matter,
and regarded the flowers with more respect, as he asked, "Which is for which?"
"Guess," said Mr. Shaw, pleased that his unusual demonstration had produced such an effect.
The largest was a regular hothouse bouquet, of tea-rosebuds, scentless heath, and smilax;
the second was just a handful of sweet-peas and mignonette, with a few cheerful pansies,
and one fragrant little rose in the middle; the third, a small posy of scarlet verbenas,
white feverfew, and green leaves. "Not hard to guess. The smart one for Fan,
the sweet one for Polly, and the gay one for Pug. Now, then, catch hold, girls." And Tom
proceeded to deliver the nosegays, with as much grace as could be expected from a youth
in a new suit of clothes and very tight boots. "That finishes you off just right, and is
a very pretty attention of papa's. Now run down, for the bell has rung; and remember,
not to dance too often, Fan; be as quiet as you can, Tom; and Maud, don't eat too much
supper. Grandma will attend to things, for my poor nerves won't allow me to come down."
With that, Mrs. Shaw dismissed them, and the four descended to receive the first batch
of visitors, several little girls who had been asked for the express purpose of keeping
Maud out of her sister's way. Tom had likewise been propitiated, by being allowed to bring
his three *** friends, who went by the school-boy names of Rumple, Sherry, and Spider.
"They will do to make up sets, as gentlemen are scarce; and the party is for Polly, so
I must have some young folks on her account," said ***, when sending out her invitations.
Of course, the boys came early, and stood about in corners, looking as if they had more
arms and legs than they knew what to do with. Tom did his best to be a good host; but ceremony
oppressed his spirits, and he was forced to struggle manfully with the wild desire to
propose a game of leap-frog, for the long drawing-rooms, cleared for dancing, tempted
him sorely. Polly sat where she was told, and suffered
bashful agonies as Fan introduced very fine young ladies and very stiff young gentlemen,
who all said about the same civil things, and then appeared to forget all about her.
When the first dance was called, *** cornered Tom, who had been dodging her, for he knew
what she wanted, and said, in an earnest whisper: "Now, Tom, you must dance this with Polly.
You are the young gentleman of the house, and it's only proper that you should ask your
company first." "Polly don't care for manners. I hate dancing;
don't know how. Let go my jacket, and don't bother, or I'll cut away altogether," growled
Tom, daunted by the awful prospect of opening the ball with Polly.
"I'll never forgive you if you do. Come, be clever, and help me, there's a dear. You know
we both were dreadfully rude to Polly, and agreed that we'd be as kind and civil to her
as ever we could. I shall keep my word, and see that she isn't slighted at my party, for
I want her to love me, and go home feeling all right."
This artful speech made an impression on the rebellious Thomas, who glanced at Polly's
happy face, remembered his promise, and, with a groan, resolved to do his duty.
"Well, I'll take her; but I shall come to grief, for I don't know anything about your
old dances." "Yes, you do. I've taught you the steps a
dozen times. I'm going to begin with a redowa, because the girls like it, and it's better
fun than square dances. Now, put on your gloves, and go and ask Polly like a gentleman."
"Oh, thunder!" muttered Tom. And having split the detested gloves in dragging them on, he
nerved himself for the effort, walked up to Polly, made a stiff bow, stuck out his elbow,
and said, solemnly, "May I have the pleasure, Miss Milton?"
He did it as much like the big fellows as he could, and expected that Polly would be
impressed. But she wasn't a bit; for after a surprised look she laughed in his face,
and took him by the hand, saying, heartily, "Of course you may; but don't be a goose,
Tommy." "Well, Fan told me to be elegant, so I tried
to," whispered Tom, adding, as he clutched his partner with a somewhat desperate air,
"Hold on tight, and we'll get through somehow." The music struck up, and away they went; Tom
hopping one way and Polly the other, in a most ungraceful manner.
"Keep time to the music," gasped Polly. "Can't; never could," returned Tom.
"Keep step with me, then, and don't tread on my toes," pleaded Polly.
"Never mind; keep bobbing, and we'll come right by and by," muttered Tom, giving his
unfortunate partner a sudden whisk, which nearly landed both on the floor.
But they did not "get right by and by"; for Tom, In his frantic efforts to do his duty,
nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the
right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her
feet, rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed;
but as everyone else was flying about also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing
that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.
"Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!" cried Polly, breathlessly, after a few wild turns.
"Isn't it?" said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense relief, that Polly
had not the heart to scold him, but said, "Thank you," and dropped into a chair exhausted.
"I know I've made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear you'd be offended
if I didn't go the first dance with you," said Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as
she settled the bow of her crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which
to turn and twist her; "I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won't ever want to dance
with me any more," he added, as he began to fan her so violently, that her hair flew about
as if in a gale of wind. "Yes, I will. I'd like to; and you shall put
your name down here on the sticks of my fan. That's the way, Trix says, when you don't
have a ball-book." Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump
of a lead-pencil, and wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it back, "Now
I'm going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the redowa well, so you can have a
real good go before the music stops." Off went Tom; but before he could catch any
eligible partner, Polly was provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney had
seen and heard the whole thing; and though he had laughed quietly, he liked honest Tom
and good-natured Polly all the better for their simplicity. Polly's foot was keeping
time to the lively music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully on the smoothly-gliding couples
before her, when Mr. Sydney came to her, saying, in the pleasant yet respectful way she liked
so much, "Miss Polly, can you give me a turn?" "Oh, yes; I'm dying for another." And Polly
jumped up, with both hands out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved she
should have as many turns as she liked. This time all went well; and Tom, returning
from an unsuccessful search, was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully about the
room, guided by a most accomplished partner. "Ah, that's something like," he thought, as
he watched the bronze boots retreating and advancing in perfect time to the music. "Don't
see how Sydney does the steering so well; but it must be fun; and, by Jupiter! I'll
learn it!" added Shaw, Jr., with an emphatic gesture which burst the last button off his
gloves. Polly enjoyed herself till the music stopped;
and before she had time to thank Mr. Sydney as warmly as she wished, Tom came up to say,
with his most lordly air, "You dance splendidly, Polly. Now, you just show me any one you like
the looks of, and I'll get him for you, no matter who he is."
"I don't want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don't care to dance with me;
but I like those boys over there, and I'll dance with any of them if they are willing,"
said Polly, after a survey. "I'll trot out the whole lot." And Tom gladly
brought up his friends, who all admired Polly immensely, and were proud to be chosen instead
of the "big fellows." There was no sitting still for Polly after
that, for the lads kept her going at a great pace; and she was so happy, she never saw
or suspected how many little manoeuvres, heart-burnings, displays of vanity, affectation, and nonsense
were going on all round her. She loved dancing, and entered into the gayety of the scene with
a heartiness that was pleasant to see. Her eyes shone, her face glowed, her lips smiled,
and the brown curls waved in the air, as she danced, with a heart as light as her feet.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Polly?" asked Mr. Shaw, who looked in, now and then, to
report to grandma that all was going well. "Oh, such a splendid time!" cried Polly, with
an enthusiastic little gesture, as she chassed into the corner where he stood.
"She is a regular belle among the boys," said ***, as she promenaded by.
"They are so kind in asking me and I'm not afraid of them," explained Polly, prancing,
simply because she couldn't keep still. "So you are afraid of the young gentlemen,
hey?" and Mr. Shaw held her by one curl. "All but Mr. Sydney. He don't put on airs
and talk nonsense; and, oh! he does'dance like an angel,' as Trix says."
"Papa, I wish you'd come and waltz with me. Fan told me not to go near her,'cause my wed
dwess makes her pink one look ugly; and Tom won't; and I want to dwedfully."
"I've forgotten how, Maudie. Ask Polly; she'll spin you round like a teetotum."
"Mr. Sydney's name is down for that," answered Polly, looking at her fan with a pretty little
air of importance. "But I guess he wouldn't mind my taking poor Maud instead. She hasn't
danced hardly any, and I've had more than my share. Would it be very improper to change
my mind?" And Polly looked up at her tall partner with eye which plainly showed that
the change was a sacrifice. "Not a bit. Give the little dear a good waltz,
and we will look on," answered Mr. Sydney, with a nod and smile.
"That is a refreshing little piece of nature," said Mr. Shaw, as Polly and Maud whirled away.
"She will make a charming little woman, if she isn't spoilt."
"No danger of that. She has got a sensible mother."
"I thought so." And Sydney sighed, for he had lately lost his own good mother.
When supper was announced, Polly happened to be talking, or trying to talk, to one of
the "poky" gentlemen whom Fan had introduced. He took Miss Milton down, of course, put her
in a corner, and having served her to a dab of ice and one macaroon, he devoted himself
to his own supper with such interest, that Polly would have fared badly, if Tom had not
come and rescued her. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Come
with me, and don't sit starving here," said Tom, with a scornful look from her empty plate
to that of her recreant escort, which was piled with good things.
Following her guide, Polly was taken to the big china closet, opening from the dining-room
to the kitchen, and here she found a jovial little party feasting at ease. Maud and her
*** friend, "Gwace," were seated on tin cake-boxes; Sherry and Spider adorned the
refrigerator; while Tom and Rumple foraged for the party.
"Here's fun," said Polly, as she was received with a clash of spoons and a waving of napkins.
"You just perch on that cracker-keg, and I'll see that you get enough," said Tom, putting
a dumbwaiter before her, and issuing his orders with a fine air of authority.
"We are a band of robbers in our cave, and I'm the captain; and we pitch into the folks
passing by, and go out and bring home plunder. Now, Rumple, you go and carry off a basket
of cake, and I'll watch here till Katy comes by with a fresh lot of oysters; Polly must
have some. Sherry, cut into the kitchen, and bring a cup of coffee. Spider, scrape up the
salad, and poke the dish through the slide for more. Eat away, Polly, and my men will
be back with supplies in a jiffy." Such fun as they had in that closet; such
daring robberies of jelly-pots and cake-boxes; such successful raids into the dining-room
and kitchen; such base assaults upon poor Katy and the colored waiter, who did his best,
but was helpless in the hands of the robber horde. A very harmless little revel; for no
wine was allowed, and the gallant band were so busy skirmishing to supply the ladies,
that they had not time to eat too much. No one missed them; and when they emerged, the
feast was over, except for a few voracious young gentlemen, who still lingered among
the ruins. "That's the way they always do; poke the girls
in corners, give'em just one taste of something, and then go and stuff like pigs," whispered
Tom, with a superior air, forgetting certain private banquets of his own, after company
had departed. The rest of the evening was to be devoted
to the German; and, as Polly knew nothing about it, she established herself in a window
recess to watch the mysteries. For a time she enjoyed it, for it was all new to her,
and the various pretty devices were very charming; but, by and by, that bitter weed, envy, cropped
up again, and she could not feel happy to be left out in the cold, while the other girls
were getting gay tissue-paper suits, droll bonbons, flowers, ribbons, and all manner
of tasteful trifles in which girlish souls delight. Everyone was absorbed; Mr. Sydney
was dancing; Tom and his friends were discussing base-ball on the stairs; and Maud's set had
returned to the library to play. Polly tried to conquer the bad feeling; but
it worried her, till she remembered something her mother once said to her, "When you feel
out of sorts, try to make some one else happy, and you will soon be so yourself."
"I will try it," thought Polly, and looked round to see what she could do. Sounds of
strife in the library led her to enter. Maud and the young ladies were sitting on the sofa,
talking about each other's clothes, as they had seen their mammas do.
"Was your dress imported?" asked Grace. "No; was yours?" returned Blanche.
"Yes; and it cost oh, ever so much." "I don't think it is as pretty as Maud's."
"Mine was made in New York," said Miss Shaw, smoothing her skirts complacently.
"I can't dress much now, you know,'cause mamma's in black for somebody," observed Miss Alice
Lovett, feeling the importance which affliction conferred upon her when it took the form of
a jet necklace. "Well, I don't care if my dress isn't imported;
my cousin had three kinds of wine at her party; so, now," said Blanche.
"Did she?" And all the little girls looked deeply impressed, till Maud observed, with
a funny imitation of her father's manner, "My papa said it was scan-dill-us; for some
of the little boys got tipsy, and had to be tooked home. He wouldn't let us have any wine;
and gwandma said it was vewy impwoper for childwen to do so."
"My mother says your mother's coup, isn't half so stylish as ours," put in Alice.
"Yes, it is, too. It's all lined with gween silk, and that's nicer than old wed cloth,"
cried Maud, ruffling up like an insulted chicken. "Well, my brother don't wear a horrid old
cap, and he's got nice hair. I wouldn't have a brother like Tom. He's horrid rude, my sister
says," retorted Alice. "He isn't. Your brother is a pig."
"You're a fib!" "So are you!"
Here, I regret to say, Miss Shaw slapped Miss Lovett, who promptly returned the compliment,
and both began to cry. Polly, who had paused to listen to the edifying
chat, parted the belligerents, and finding the poor things tired, cross, and sleepy,
yet unable to go home till sent for, proposed to play games. The young ladies consented,
and "*** in the corner" proved a peacemaker. Presently, in came the boys; and being exiles
from the German, gladly joined in the games, which soon were lively enough to wake the
sleepiest. "Blind-man's-buff" was in full swing when Mr. Shaw peeped in, and seeing
Polly flying about with band-aged eyes, joined in the fun to puzzle her. He got caught directly;
and great merriment was caused by Polly's bewilderment, for she couldn't guess who he
was, till she felt the bald spot on his head. This frolic put every one in such spirits,
that Polly forgot her trouble, and the little girls kissed each other good-night as affectionately
as if such things as imported frocks, coups, and rival brothers didn't exist "Well, Polly,
do you like parties?" asked Fan when the last guest was gone.
"Very much; but I don't think it would be good for me to go to many," answered Polly,
slowly. "Why not?"
"I shouldn't enjoy them if I didn't have a fine dress, and dance all the time, and be
admired, and all the rest of it." "I didn't know you cared for such things,"
cried ***, surprised. "Neither did I till to-night; but I do; and
as I can't have'em, it's lucky I'm going home tomorrow."
"Oh, dear! So you are! What shall I do without my'sweet P.,' as Sydney calls you?" sighed
***, bearing Polly away to be cuddled. Every one echoed the exclamation next day;
and many loving eyes followed the little figure in the drab frock as it went quietly about,
doing for the last time the small services which would help to make its absence keenly
felt. Polly was to go directly after an early dinner, and having packed her trunk, all but
one tray, she was told to go and take a run while grandma finished. Polly suspected that
some pleasant surprise was going to be put in; for Fan didn't offer to go with her, Maud
kept dodging about with something under her apron, and Tom had just whisked into his mother's
room in a mysterious manner. So Polly took the hint and went away, rejoicing in the thought
of the unknown treasures she was to carry home.
Mr. Shaw had not said he should come home so early, but Polly thought he might, and
went to meet him. Mr. Shaw didn't expect to see Polly, for he had left her very busy,
and now a light snow was falling; but, as he turned into the mall there was the round
hat, and under it the bright face, looking all the rosier for being powdered with snow-flakes,
as Polly came running to meet him. "There won't be any one to help the old gentleman
safely home to-morrow," he said, as Polly took his hand in both hers with an affectionate
squeeze. "Yes, there will; see if there isn't," cried
Polly, nodding and smiling, for Fan had confided to her that she meant to try it after her
friend had gone. "I'm glad of it. But, my dear, I want you
to promise that you will come and make us a visit every winter, a good long one," said
Mr. Shaw, patting the blue mittens folded round his hand.
"If they can spare me from home, I'd love to come dearly."
"They must lend you for a little while, because you do us all good, and we need you."
"Do I? I don't see how; but I'm glad to hear you say so," cried Polly, much touched.
"I can't tell you how, exactly; but you brought something into my house that makes it warmer
and pleasanter, and won't quite vanish, I hope, when you go away, my child."
Polly had never heard Mr. Shaw speak like that before, and didn't know what to say,
she felt so proud and happy at this proof of the truth of her mother's words, when she
said that "even a little girl could exert an influence, and do some good in this big,
busy world." She only gave her friend a grateful look sweeter than any words, and they went
on together, hand in hand, through the "soft-falling snow."
If Polly could have seen what went into that top tray, she would have been entirely overcome;
for *** had told grandma about the poor little presents she had once laughed at, and
they had all laid their heads together to provide something really fine and appropriate
for every member of the Milton family. Such a mine of riches! and so much good-will, affection,
and kindly forethought was packed away in the tempting bundles, that no one could feel
offended, but would find an unusual charm about the pretty gifts that made them doubly
welcome. I only know that if Polly had suspected that a little watch was ticking away in a
little case, with her name on it, inside that trunk, she never could have left it locked
as grandma advised, or have eaten her dinner so quietly. As it was, her heart was very
full, and the tears rose to her eyes more than once, everyone was so kind, and so sorry
to have her go. Tom didn't need any urging to play escort
now; and both Fan and Maud insisted on going too. Mrs. Shaw forgot her nerves, and put
up some ginger-bread with her own hands; Mr. Shaw kissed Polly as if she had been his dearest
daughter; and grandma held her close, whispering in a tremulous tone, "My little comfort, come
again soon"; while Katy waved her apron from the nursery window, crying, as they drove,
away, "The saints bless ye, Miss Polly, dear, and sind ye the best of lucks!"
But the crowning joke of all was Tom's good-by, for, when Polly was fairly settled in the
car, the last "All aboard!" uttered, and the train in motion, Tom suddenly produced a knobby
little bundle, and thrusting it in at the window, while he hung on in some breakneck
fashion, said, with a droll mixture of fun and feeling in his face, "It's horrid; but
you wanted it, so I put it in to make you laugh. Good-by, Polly; good-by, good-by!"
The last adieu was a trifle husky, and Tom vanished as it was uttered, leaving Polly
to laugh over his parting souvenir till the tears ran down her cheeks. It was a paper
bag of peanuts, and poked down at the very bottom a photograph of Tom. It was "horrid,"
for he looked as if taken by a flash of lightning, so black, wild, and staring was it; but Polly
liked it, and whenever she felt a little pensive at parting with her friends, she took a peanut,
or a peep at Tom's funny picture, which made her merry again.
So the short journey came blithely to an end, and in the twilight she saw a group of loving
faces at the door of a humble little house, which was more beautiful than any palace in
her eyes, for it was home. End of Chapter VII
CHAPTER VIII. SIX YEARS AFTERWARD "WHAT do you think Polly is going to do this
winter?" exclaimed ***, looking up from the letter she had been eagerly reading.
"Going to deliver lectures on Woman's Rights," said the young gentleman who was carefully
examining his luxuriant crop of decidedly auburn hair, as he lounged with both elbows
on the chimney-piece. "Going to set her cap for some young minister
and marry him in the spring," added Mrs. Shaw, whose mind ran a good deal upon match-making
just now. "I think she is going to stay at home, and
do all the work,'cause servants cost so much; it would be just like her," observed Maud,
who could pronounce the letter R now. "It's my opinion she is going to open a school,
or something of that sort, to help those brothers of hers along," said Mr. Shaw, who had put
down his paper at the sound of Polly's name. "Every one of you wrong, though papa comes
nearest the truth," cried ***; "she is going to give music lessons, and support herself,
so that Will may go to college. He is the studious one, and Polly is very proud of him.
Ned, the other brother, has a business talent, and don't care for books, so he has gone out
West, and will make his own way anywhere. Polly says she isn't needed at home now, the
family is so small, and Kitty can take her place nicely; so she is actually going to
earn her own living, and hand over her share of the family income to Will. What a martyr
that girl does make of herself," and *** looked as solemn as if Polly had proposed
some awful self-sacrifice. "She is a sensible, brave-hearted girl, and
I respect her for doing it," said Mr. Shaw, emphatically. "One never knows what may happen,
and it does no harm for young people to learn to be independent."
"If she is as pretty as she was last time I saw her, she'll get pupils fast enough.
I wouldn't mind taking lessons myself," was the gracious observation of Shaw, Jr., as
he turned from the mirror, with the soothing certainty that his objectionable hair actually
was growing darker. "She wouldn't take you at any price," said
***, remembering Polly's look of disappointment and disapproval when she came on her last
visit and found him an unmistakable dandy. "You just wait and see," was the placid reply.
"If Polly does carry out her plan, I wish Maud to take lessons of her; *** can do
as she likes, but it would please me very much to have one of my girls sing as Polly
sings. It suits old people better than your opera things, and mother used to enjoy it
so much." As he spoke, Mr. Shaw's eye turned toward
the corner of the fire where grandma used to sit. The easy-chair was empty now, the
kind old face was gone, and nothing but a very tender memory remained.
"I'd like to learn, papa, and Polly is a splendid teacher, I know; she's always so patient,
and makes everything so pleasant. I do hope she will get scholars enough to begin right
away," said Maud. "When is she coming?" asked Mrs. Shaw, quite
willing to help Polly, but privately resolving that Maud should be finished off by the most
fashionable master in the city. "She doesn't say. She thanks me for asking
her here, as usual, but says she shall go right to work and had better begin with her
own little room at once. Won't it seem strange to have Polly in town, and yet not with us?"
"We'll get her somehow. The little room will cost something, and she can stay with us just
as well as not, even if she does teach. Tell her I say so," said Mr. Shaw.
"She won't come, I know; for if she undertakes to be independent, she'll do it in the most
thorough manner," answered ***, and Mrs. Shaw sincerely hoped she would. It was all
very well to patronize the little music-teacher, but it was not so pleasant to have her settled
in the family. "I shall do what I can for her among my friends,
and I dare say she will get on very well with young pupils to begin with. If she starts
right, puts her terms high enough, and gets a few good names to give her the entre into
our first families, I don't doubt she will do nicely, for I must say Polly has the manners
of a lady," observed Mrs. Shaw. "She's a mighty taking little body, and I'm
glad she's to be in town, though I'd like it better if she didn't bother about teaching,
but just stayed here and enjoyed herself," said Tom, lazily.
"I've no doubt she would feel highly honored to be allowed to devote her time to your amusement;
but she can't afford expensive luxuries, and she don't approve of flirting, so you will
have to let her go her own way, and refresh herself with such glimpses of you as her engagements
permit," answered ***, in the sarcastic tone which was becoming habitual to her.
"You are getting to be a regular old maid, Fan; as sharp as a lemon, and twice as sour,"
returned Tom, looking down at her with an air of calm superiority.
"Do be quiet, children; you know I can't bear anything like contention. Maud, give me my
Shetland shawl, and put a cushion at my back." As Maud obeyed her mother, with a reproving
look at her erring brother and sister, a pause followed, for which every one seemed grateful.
They were sitting about the fire after dinner, and all looked as if a little sunshine would
do them good. It had been a dull November day, but all of a sudden the clouds lifted,
and a bright ray shot into the room. Every one turned involuntarily to welcome it, and
every one cried out, "Why, Polly!" for there on the threshold stood a bright-faced girl,
smiling as if there was no such thing as November weather in the world.
"You dear thing, when did you come?" cried ***, kissing both the blooming checks with
real affection, while the rest hovered near, waiting for a chance.
"I came yesterday, and have been getting my nest in order; but I couldn't keep away any
longer, so I ran up to say'How do you do?'" answered Polly, in the cheery voice that did
one's heart good to hear. "My Polly always brings the sunshine with
her," and Mr. Shaw held out his hands to his little friend, for she was his favorite still.
It was good to see her put both arms about his neck, and give him a tender kiss, that
said a great deal, for grandma had died since Polly met him last and she longed to comfort
him, seeing how gray and old he had grown. If Tom had had any thoughts of following his
father's example, something in Polly's manner made him change his mind, and shake hands
with a hearty "I'm very glad to see you, Polly," adding to himself, as he looked at the face
in the modest little bonnet: "Prettier than ever, by Jove!"
There was something more than mere prettiness in Polly's face, though Tom had not learned
to see it yet. The blue eyes were clear and steady, the fresh mouth frank and sweet, the
white chin was a very firm one in spite of the dimple, and the smooth forehead under
the little curls had a broad, benevolent arch; while all about the face were those unmistakable
lines and curves which can make even a plain countenance comely, by breathing into it the
beauty of a lovely character. Polly had grown up, but she had no more style now than in
the days of the round hat and rough coat, for she was all in gray, like a young Quakeress,
with no ornament but a blue bow at the throat and another in the hair. Yet the plain suit
became her excellently, and one never thought of the dress, looking at the active figure
that wore it, for the freedom of her childhood gave to Polly that good gift, health, and
every movement was full of the vigor, grace, and ease, which nothing else can so surely
bestow. A happy soul in a healthy body is a rare sight in these days, when doctors flourish
and every one is ill, and this pleasant union was the charm which Polly possessed without
knowing it. "It does seem so good to have you here again,"
said Maud, cuddling Polly's cold hand, as she sat at her feet, when she was fairly established
between *** and Mr. Shaw, while Tom leaned on the back of his mother's chair, and enjoyed
the prospect. "How do you get on? When do you begin? Where
is your nest? Now tell all about it," began ***, who was full of curiosity about the
new plan. "I shall get on very well, I think, for I've
got twelve scholars to begin with, all able to pay a good price, and I shall give my first
lesson on Monday." "Don't you dread it?" asked ***.
"Not much; why should I?" answered Polly, stoutly.
"Well, I don't know; it's a new thing, and must be a little bit hard at first," stammered
***, not liking to say that working for one's living seemed a dreadful hardship to
her. "It will be tiresome, of course, but I shall
get used to it; I shall like the exercise, and the new people and places I must see will
amuse me. Then the independence will be delightful, and if I can save a little to help Kitty along
with, that will be best of all." Polly's face shone as if the prospect was
full of pleasure instead of work, and the hearty good will with which she undertook
the new task, seemed to dignify her humble hopes and plans, and make them interesting
in the sight of others. "Who have you got for pupils?" asked Mrs.
Shaw, forgetting her nerves for a minute. Polly named her list, and took a secret satisfaction
in seeing the impression which certain names made upon her hearers.
"How in the world did you get the Davenports and the Greys, my dear?" said Mrs. Shaw, sitting
erect in her surprise. "Mrs. Davenport and mother are relations,
you know." "You never told us that before!"
"The Davenports have been away some years, and I forgot all about them. But when I was
making my plan, I knew I must have a good name or two to set me going, so I just wrote
and asked Mrs. D. if she would help me. She came and saw us and was very kind, and has
got these pupils for me, like a dear, good woman as she is."
"Where did you learn so much worldly wisdom, Polly?" asked Mr. Shaw, as his wife fell back
in her chair, and took out her salts, as if this discovery had been too much for her.
"I learnt it here, sir," answered Polly, laughing. "I used to think patronage and things of that
sort very disagreeable and not worth having, but I've got wiser, and to a certain extent
I'm glad to use whatever advantages I have in my power, if they can be honestly got."
"Why didn't you let us help you in the beginning? We should have been very glad to, I'm sure,"
put in Mrs. Shaw, who quite burned to be known as a joint patroness with Mrs. Davenport.
"I know you would, but you have all been so kind to me I didn't want to trouble you with
my little plans till the first steps were taken. Besides, I didn't know as you would
like to recommend me as a teacher, though you like me well enough as plain Polly."
"My dear, of course I would, and we want you to take Maud at once, and teach her your sweet
songs. She has a fine voice, and is really suffering for a teacher."
A slight smile passed over Polly's face as she returned her thanks for the new pupil,
for she remembered a time when Mrs. Shaw considered her "sweet songs" quite unfit for a fashionable
young lady's repertoire. "Where is your room?" asked Maud.
"My old friend Miss Mills has taken me in, and I am nicely settled. Mother didn't like
the idea of my going to a strange boarding-house, so Miss Mills kindly made a place for me.
You know she lets her rooms without board, but she is going to give me my dinners, and
I'm to get my own breakfast and tea, quite independently. I like that way, and it's very
little trouble, my habits are so simple; a bowl of bread and milk night and morning,
with baked apples or something of that sort, is all I want, and I can have it when I like."
"Is your room comfortably furnished? Can't we lend you anything, my dear? An easy-chair
now, or a little couch, so necessary when one comes in tired," said Mrs. Shaw, taking
unusual interest in the affair. "Thank you, but I don't need anything, for
I brought all sorts of home comforts with me. Oh, Fan, you ought to have seen my triumphal
entry into the city, sitting among my goods and chattels, in a farmer's cart." Polly's
laugh was so infectious that every one smiled and forgot to be shocked at her performance.
"Yes," she added, "I kept wishing I could meet you, just to see your horrified face
when you saw me sitting on my little sofa, with boxes and bundles all round me, a bird-cage
on one side, a fishing basket, with a kitten's head popping in and out of the hole, on the
other side, and jolly old Mr. Brown, in his blue frock, perched on a keg of apples in
front. It was a lovely bright day, and I enjoyed the ride immensely, for we had all sorts of
adventures." "Oh, tell about it," begged Maud, when the
general laugh at Polly's picture had subsided. "Well, in the first place, we forgot my ivy,
and Kitty came running after me, with it. Then we started again, but were soon stopped
by a great shouting, and there was Will racing down the hill, waving a pillow in one hand
and a squash pie in the other. How we did laugh when he came up and explained that our
neighbor, old Mrs. Dodd, had sent in a hop-pillow for me, in case of headache, and a pie to
begin housekeeping with. She seemed so disappointed at being too late that Will promised to get
them to me, if he ran all the way to town. The pillow was easily disposed of, but that
pie! I do believe it was stowed in every part of the wagon, and never staid anywhere. I
found it in my lap, then on the floor, next, upside down among the books, then just on
the point of coasting off a trunk into the road, and at last it landed in my rocking-chair.
Such a remarkable pie as it was, too, for in spite of all its wanderings, it never got
spilt or broken, and we finally ate it for lunch, in order to be left in peace. Next,
my kitty got away, and I had a chase over walls and brooks before I got her, while Mr.
Brown sat shaking with fun, to see me run. We finished off by having the book-shelves
tumble on our heads as we went down a hill, and losing my chair off behind, as we went
up a hill. A shout made us pause, and, looking back, there was the poor little chair rocking
all by itself in the middle of the road, while a small boy sat on the fence and whooped.
It was great fun, I do assure you." Polly had run on in her lively way, not because
she thought her adventures amounted to much, but from a wish to cheer up her friends, who
had struck her as looking rather dull and out of sorts, especially Mr. Shaw; and when
she saw him lean back in his chair with the old hearty laugh, she was satisfied, and blessed
the unlucky pie for amusing him. "Oh, Polly, you do tell such interesting things!"
sighed Maud, wiping her eyes. "I wish I'd met you, I'd have given you three
cheers and a tiger, for it must have been an imposing spectacle," said Tom.
"No, you wouldn't; you'd have whisked round the corner when you saw me coming or have
stared straight before you, utterly unconscious of the young woman in the baggage wagon."
Polly laughed in his face just as she used to do, when she said that, and, in spite of
the doubt cast upon his courtesy, Tom rather liked it, though he had nothing to say for
himself but a reproachful, "Now, Polly, that's too bad."
"True, nevertheless. You must come and see my pets, Maud, for my cat and bird live together
as happily as brother and sister," said Polly, turning to Maud, who devoured every word she
said. "That's not saying much for them," muttered
Tom, feeling that Polly ought to address more of her conversation to him.
"Polly knows what she's talking about; her brothers appreciate their sisters," observed
***, in her sharp tone. "And Polly appreciates her brothers, don't
forget to add that, ma'am," answered Tom. "Did I tell you that Will was going to college?"
broke in Polly, to avert the rising storm. "Hope he'll enjoy himself," observed Tom,
with the air of a man who had passed through all the mysteries, and reached that state
of sublime indifference which juniors seem to pride themselves upon.
"I think he will, he is so fond of study, and is so anxious to improve every opportunity.
I only hope he won't overwork and get sick, as so many boys do," said simple Polly, with
such a respectful belief in the eager thirst for knowledge of collegians as a class, that
Tom regarded the deluded girl with a smile of lofty pity, from the heights of his vast
and varied experience. "Guess he won't hurt himself. I'll see that
he don't study too hard." And Tom's eyes twinkled as they used to do, when he planned his boyish
pranks. "I'm afraid you can't be trusted as a guide,
if various rumors I've heard are true," said Polly, looking up at him with a wistful expression,
that caused his face to assume the sobriety of an owl's.
"Base slanders; I'm as steady as a clock, an ornament to my class, and a model young
man, ain't I, mother?" And Tom patted her thin cheek with a caressing hand, sure of
one firm friend in her; for when he ceased to be a harum-scarum boy, Mrs. Shaw began
to take great pride in her son, and he, missing grandma, tried to fill her place with his
feeble mother. "Yes, dear, you are all I could ask," and
Mrs. Shaw looked up at him with such affection and confidence in her eyes, that Polly gave
Tom the first approving look she had vouchsafed him since she came.
Why Tom should look troubled and turn grave all at once, she couldn't understand, but
she liked to see him stroke his mother's cheek so softly, as he stood with his head resting
on the high back of her chair, for Polly fancied that he felt a man's pity for her weakness,
and was learning a son's patient love for a mother who had had much to bear with him.
"I'm so glad you are going to be here all winter, for we are to be very gay, and I shall
enjoy taking you round with me," began ***, forgetting Polly's plan for a moment.
Polly shook her head decidedly. "It sounds very nice, but it can't be done, Fan, for
I've come to work, not play; to save, not spend; and parties will be quite out of the
question for me." "You don't intend to work all the time, without
a bit of fun, I hope," cried ***, dismayed at the idea.
"I mean to do what I've undertaken, and not to be tempted away from my purpose by anything.
I shouldn't be fit to give lessons if I was up late, should I? And how far would my earnings
go towards dress, carriages, and all the little expenses which would come if I set up for
a young lady in society? I can't do both, and I'm not going to try, but I can pick up
bits of fun as I go along, and be contented with free concerts and lectures, seeing you
pretty often, and every Sunday Will is to spend with me, so I shall have quite as much
dissipation as is good for me." "If you don't come to my parties, I'll never
forgive you," said ***, as Polly paused, while Tom chuckled inwardly at the idea of
calling visits from a brother "dissipation." "Any small party, where it will do to wear
a plain black silk, I can come to; but the big ones mustn't be thought of, thank you."
It was charming to see the resolution of Polly's face when she said that; for she knew her
weakness, and beyond that black silk she had determined not to go. *** said no more,
for she felt quite sure that Polly would relent when the time came, and she planned to give
her a pretty dress for a Christmas present, so that one excuse should be removed.
"I say, Polly, won't you give some of us fellows music lessons? Somebody wants me to play,
and I'd rather learn of you than any Senor Twankydillo," said Tom, who didn't find the
conversation interesting. "Oh, yes; if any of you boys honestly want
to learn, and will behave yourselves, I'll take you; but I shall charge extra," answered
Polly, with a wicked sparkle of the eye, though her face was quite sober, and her tone delightfully
business-like. "Why, Polly, Tom isn't a boy; he's twenty,
and he says I must treat him with respect. Besides, he's engaged, and does put on such
airs," broke in Maud who regarded her brother as a venerable being.
"Who is the little girl?" asked Polly taking the news as a joke.
"Trix; why, didn't you know it?" answered Maud, as if it had been an event of national
importance. "No! is it true, Fan?" and Polly turned to
her friend with a face full of surprise, while Tom struck an imposing attitude, and affected
absence of mind. "I forgot to tell you in my last letter; it's
just out, and we don't like it very well," observed ***, who would have preferred to
be engaged first herself. "It's a very nice thing, and I am perfectly
satisfied," announced Mrs. Shaw, rousing from a slight doze.
"Polly looks as if she didn't believe it. Haven't I the appearance of'the happiest man
alive'?" asked Tom, wondering if it could be pity which he saw in the steady eyes fixed
on him. "No, I don't think you have," she said, slowly.
"How the deuce should a man look, then?" cried Tom, rather nettled at her sober reception
of the grand news. "As if he had learned to care for some one
a great deal more than for himself," answered Polly, with sudden color in her cheeks, and
a sudden softening of the voice, as her eyes turned away from Tom, who was the picture
of a complacent dandy, from the topmost curl of his auburn head to the tips of his aristocratic
boots. "Tommy's quenched; I agree with you, Polly;
I never liked Trix, and I hope it's only a boy-and-girl fancy, that will soon die a natural
death," said Mr. Shaw, who seemed to find it difficult to help falling into a brown
study, in spite of the lively chatter going on about him.
Shaw, Jr., being highly incensed at the disrespectful manner in which his engagement was treated,
tried to assume a superb air of indifference, and finding that a decided failure, was about
to stroll out of the room with a comprehensive nod, when his mother called after him: "Where
are you going, dear?" "To see Trix, of course. Good-by, Polly,"
and Mr. Thomas departed, hoping that by the skillful change of tone, from ardent impatience
to condescending coolness, he had impressed one hearer at least with the fact that he
regarded Trix as the star of his existence, and Polly as a presuming little chit.
If he could have heard her laugh, and ***'s remarks, his wrath would have boiled over;
fortunately he was spared the trial, and went away hoping that the coquetries of his Trix
would make him forget Polly's look when she answered his question.
"My dear, that boy is the most deluded creature you ever saw," began ***, as soon as the
front door banged. "Belle and Trix both tried to catch him, and the slyest got him; for,
in spite of his airs, he is as soft-hearted as a baby. You see Trix has broken off two
engagements already, and the third time she got jilted herself. Such a fuss as she made!
I declare, it really was absurd. But I do think she felt it very much, for she wouldn't
go out at all, and got thin, and pale, and blue, and was really quite touching. I pitied
her, and had her here a good deal, and Tom took her part; he always does stand up for
the crushed ones, and that's good of him, I allow. Well, she did the forsaken very prettily;
let Tom amuse her, and led him on till the poor fellow lost his wits, and finding her
crying one day (about her hat, which wasn't becoming), he thought she was mourning for
Mr. Banks, and so, to comfort her, the goose proposed. That was all she wanted; she snapped
him up at once, and there he is in a nice scrape; for since her engagement she is as
gay as ever, flirts awfully with any one who comes along, and keeps Tom in a fume all the
time. I really don't think he cares for her half as much as he makes believe, but he'll
stand by her through thick and thin, rather than do as Banks did."
"Poor Tom!" was all Polly said, when Fan had poured the story into her ear, as they sat
whispering in the sofa corner. "My only consolation is that Trix will break
off the affair before spring; she always does, so that she may be free for the summer campaign.
It won't hurt Tom, but I hate to have him make a fool of himself out of pity, for he
is more of a man than he seems, and I don't want any one to plague him."
"No one but yourself," said Polly, smiling. "Well, that's all fair; he is a torment sometimes,
but I'm rather fond of him in spite of it. I get so tired of the other fellows, they
are such absurd things and when Tom is in his good mood he is very nice and quite refreshing."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Polly, making a mental note of the fact.
"Yes, and when grandma was ill he was perfectly devoted. I didn't know the boy had so much
gentleness in him. He took her death sadly to heart, for, though he didn't say much,
he was very grave and steady for a long time. I tried to comfort him, and we had two or
three real sweet little talks together, and seemed to get acquainted for the first time.
It was very nice, but it didn't last; good times never do with us. We soon got back into
the old way, and now we hector one another just as before."
*** sighed, then yawned, and fell into her usual listless attitude, as if the brief excitement
of Polly's coming had begun to subside. "Walk home with me and see my funny little
room. It's bright now, and the air will do you good. Come, both of you, and have a frolic
as we used to," said Polly, for the red sunset now burning in the west seemed to invite them
out. They agreed, and soon the three were walking
briskly away to Polly's new home, in a quiet street, where a few old trees rustled in the
summer, and the morning sun shone pleasantly in winter time.
"The way into my parlor
Is up a winding stair," sang Polly, running up two flights of broad,
old-fashioned steps, and opening the door of a back room, out of which streamed the
welcome glow of firelight. "These are my pets, Maud," she added, pausing
on the threshold, and beckoning the girls to look in quietly.
On the rug, luxuriously basking in the warmth, lay a gray kitten, and close by, meditatively
roosting on one leg, stood a plump canary, who cocked his bright eye at the new-comers,
gave a loud chirp as if to wake his comrade, and then flew straight to Polly's shoulder,
where he broke into a joyful song to welcome his mistress home.
"Allow me to introduce my family," said Polly; "this noisy little chap the boys named Nicodemus;
and this dozy cat is called Ashputtel, because the joy of her life is to get among the cinders.
Now, take off your things, and let me do the honors, for you are to stop to tea, and the
carriage is to come for you at eight. I arranged it with your mother while you were upstairs."
"I want to see everything," said Maud, when the hats were off, and the hands warmed.
"So you shall; for I think my housekeeping arrangements will amuse you."
Then Polly showed her kingdom, and the three had a merry time over it. The big piano took
up so much room there was no place for a bed; but Polly proudly displayed the resources
of her chintz-covered couch, for the back let down, the seat lifted up, and inside were
all the pillows and blankets. "So convenient, you see, and yet out of the way in the daytime,
for two or three of my pupils come to me," explained Polly.
Then there was a bright drugget over the faded carpet, the little rocking-chair and sewing-table
stood at one window, the ivy ran all over the other, and hid the banqueting performances
which went on in that corner. Book-shelves hung over the sofa, a picture or two on the
walls, and a great vase of autumn leaves and grasses beautified the low chimney-piece.
It was a very humble little room, but Polly had done her best to make it pleasant, and
it already had a home-like look, with the cheery fire, and the household pets chirping
and purring confidingly on the rug. "How nice it is!" exclaimed Maud, as she emerged
from the big closet where Polly kept her stores. "Such a cunning teakettle and saucepan, and
a tete-a-tete set, and lots of good things to eat. Do have toast for tea, Polly, and
let me make it with the new toasting fork; it's such fun to play cook."
*** was not so enthusiastic as her sister, for her eyes saw many traces of what seemed
like poverty to her; but Polly was so gay, so satisfied with her small establishment,
so full of happy hopes and plans, that her friend had not the heart to find a fault or
suggest an improvement, and sat where she was told, laughing and talking while the others
got tea. "This will be a country supper, girls," said
Polly, bustling about. "Here is real cream, brown bread, home-made cake, and honey from
my own beehives. Mother fitted me out with such a supply, I'm glad to have a party, for
I can't eat it all quick enough. Butter the toast, Maudie, and put that little cover over
it. Tell me when the kettle boils, and don't step on Nicodemus, whatever you do."
"What a capital house-keeper you will make some day," said ***, as she watched Polly
spread her table with a neatness and despatch which was pleasant to behold.
"Yes, it's good practice," laughed Polly, filling her tiny teapot, and taking her place
behind the tray, with a matronly air, which was the best joke of the whole.
"This is the most delicious party I ever went to," observed Maud, with her mouth full of
honey, when the feast was well under way. "I do wish I could have a nice room like this,
and a cat and a bird that wouldn't eat each other up, and a dear little teakettle, and
make just as much toast as I like." Such a peal of laughter greeted Maud's pensive
aspiration, that Miss Mills smiled over her solitary cup of tea, and little Nick burst
into a perfect ecstasy of song, as he sat on the sugar-bowl helping himself.
"I don't care for the toast and the kettle, but I do envy you your good spirits, Polly,"
said ***, as the merriment subsided. "I'm so tired of everybody and everything, it seems
sometimes as if I should die of ennui. Don't you ever feel so?"
"Things worry me sometimes, but I just catch up a broom and sweep, or wash hard, or walk,
or go at something with all my might, and I usually find that by the time I get through
the worry is gone, or I've got courage enough to bear it without grumbling," answered Polly,
cutting the brown loaf energetically. "I can't do those things, you know; there's
no need of it, and I don't think they'd cure my worrying," said ***, languidly feeding
Ashputtel, who sat decorously beside her, at the table, winking at the cream pot.
"A little poverty would do you good, Fan; just enough necessity to keep you busy till
you find how good work is; and when you once learn that, you won't complain of ennui any
more," returned Polly, who had taken kindly the hard lesson which twenty years of cheerful
poverty had taught her. "Mercy, no, I should hate that; but I wish
some one would invent a new amusement for rich people. I'm dead sick of parties, and
flirtations, trying to out-dress my neighbors, and going the same round year after year,
like a squirrel in a cage." ***'s tone was bitter as well as discontented,
her face sad as well as listless, and Polly had an instinctive feeling that some trouble,
more real than any she had ever known before, was lying heavy at her friend's heart. That
was not the time to speak of it, but Polly resolved to stand ready to offer sympathy,
if nothing more, whenever the confidential minute came; and her manner was so kind, so
comfortable, that *** felt its silent magic, grew more cheerful in the quiet atmosphere
of that little room, and when they said good-night, after an old-time gossip by the fire, she
kissed her hostess warmly, saying, with a grateful look, "Polly, dear, I shall come
often, you do me so much good." End of Chapter VIII
CHAPTER IX. LESSONS THE first few weeks were hard ones, for Polly
had not yet outgrown her natural shyness and going among so many strangers caused her frequent
panics. But her purpose gave her courage, and when the ice was once broken, her little
pupils quickly learned to love her. The novelty soon wore off, and though she thought she
was prepared for drudgery, she found it very tedious to go on doing the same thing day
after day. Then she was lonely, for Will could only come once a week, her leisure hours were
***'s busiest, and the "bits of pleasure" were so few and far between that they only
tantalized her. Even her small housekeeping lost its charms, for Polly was a social creature,
and the solitary meals were often sad ones. Ashputtel and Nick did their best to cheer
her, but they too, seemed to pine for country freedom and home atmosphere. Poor Puttel,
after gazing wistfully out of the window at the gaunt city cats skulking about the yard,
would retire to the rug, and curl herself up as if all hope of finding congenial society
had failed; while little Nick would sing till he vibrated on his perch, without receiving
any response except an inquisitive chirp from the pert sparrows, who seemed to twit him
with his captivity. Yes, by the time the little teakettle had lost its brightness, Polly had
decided that getting one's living was no joke, and many of her brilliant hopes had shared
the fate of the little kettle. If one could only make the sacrifice all at
once, and done with it, then it would seem easier; but to keep up a daily sacrifice of
one's wishes, tastes, and pleasures, is rather a hard task, especially when one is pretty,
young, and gay. Lessons all day, a highly instructive lecture, books over a solitary
fire, or music with no audience but a sleepy cat and a bird with his head tucked under
his wing, for evening entertainment, was not exactly what might be called festive; so,
in spite of her brave resolutions, Polly did long for a little fun sometimes, and after
saying virtuously to herself at nine: "Yes, it is much wiser and better for me to go to
bed early, and be ready for work tomorrow," she would lie awake hearing the carriages
roll to and fro, and imagining the gay girls inside, going to party, opera, or play, till
Mrs. Dodd's hop pillow might as well have been stuffed with nettles, for any sleep it
brought, or any use it was, except to catch and hide the tears that dropped on it when
Polly's heart was very full. Another thorn that wounded our Polly in her
first attempt to make her way through the thicket that always bars a woman's progress,
was the discovery that working for a living shuts a good many doors in one's face even
in democratic America. As ***'s guest she had been, in spite of poverty, kindly received
wherever her friend took her, both as child and woman. Now, things were changed; the kindly
people patronized, the careless forgot all about her, and even ***, with all her affection,
felt that Polly the music teacher would not be welcome in many places where Polly the
young lady had been accepted as "Miss Shaw's friend."
Some of the girls still nodded amiably, but never invited her to visit them; others merely
dropped their eyelids, and went by without speaking, while a good many ignored her as
entirely as if she had been invisible. These things hurt Polly more than she would confess,
for at home every one worked, and every one was respected for it. She tried not to care,
but girls feel little slights keenly, and more than once Polly was severely tempted
to give up her plan, and run away to the safe shelter at home.
*** never failed to ask her to every sort of festivity in the Shaw mansion; but after
a few trials, Polly firmly declined everything but informal visits when the family were alone.
She soon found that even the new black silk wasn't fine enough for ***'s smallest party,
and, after receiving a few of the expressive glances by which women convey their opinion
of their neighbor's toilet, and overhearing a joke or two "about that inevitable dress,"
and "the little blackbird," Polly folded away the once treasured frock, saying, with a choke
in her voice: "I'll wear it for Will, he likes it, and clothes can't change his love for
me." I am afraid the wholesome sweetness of Polly's
nature was getting a little soured by these troubles; but before lasting harm was done,
she received, from an unexpected source, some of the real help which teaches young people
how to bear these small crosses, by showing them the heavier ones they have escaped, and
by giving them an idea of the higher pleasures one may earn in the good, old-fashioned ways
that keep hearts sweet, heads sane, hands busy.
Everybody has their days of misfortune like little Rosamond, and Polly was beginning to
think she had more than her share. One of these ended in a way which influenced her
whole life, and so we will record it. It began early; for the hard-hearted little grate wouldn't
behave itself till she had used up a ruinous quantity of kindlings. Then she scalded poor
Puttel by upsetting her coffee-pot; and instead of a leisurely, cosy meal, had to hurry away
uncomfortably, for everything went wrong even to the coming off of both bonnet strings in
the last dreadful scramble. Being late, she of course forgot her music, and hurrying back
for it, fell into a puddle, which capped the climax of her despair.
Such a trying morning as that was! Polly felt out of tune herself, and all the pianos seemed
to need a tuner as much as she did. The pupils were unusually stupid, and two of them announced
that their mamma was going to take them to the South, whither she was suddenly called.
This was a blow, for they had just begun, and Polly hadn't the face to send in a bill
for a whole quarter, though her plans and calculations were sadly disturbed by the failure
of that sum. Trudging home to dinner, tired and disappointed,
poor Polly received another blow, which hurt her more than the loss of all her pupils.
As she went hurrying along with a big music book in one hand and a paper bag of rolls
for tea in the other, she saw Tom and Trix coming. As she watched them while they slowly
approached, looking so gay and handsome and happy, it seemed to Polly as if all the sunshine
and good walking was on their side of the street, all the wintry wind and mud on hers.
Longing to see a friendly face and receive a kind word, she crossed over, meaning to
nod and smile at least. Trix saw her first, and suddenly became absorbed in the distant
horizon. Tom apparently did not see her, for his eyes were fixed on a fine horse just prancing
by. Polly thought that he had seen her, and approached with a curious little flutter at
her heart, for if Tom cut her she felt that her cup would be full.
On they came, Trix intent on the view, Tom staring at the handsome horse, and Polly,
with red checks, expectant eyes, and the brown bundle, in full sight. One dreadful minute
as they came parallel, and no one spoke or bowed, then it was all over, and Polly went
on, feeling as if some one had slapped her in the face. "She wouldn't have believed it
of Tom; it was all the doings of that horrid Trix; well, she wouldn't trouble him any more,
if he was such a snob as to be ashamed of her just because she carried bundles and worked
for her bread." She clutched the paper bag fiercely as she said this to herself, then
her eyes filled, and her lips trembled, as she added, "How could he do it, before her,
too?" Now Tom was quite guiltless of this offence,
and had always nodded to Polly when they met; but it so happened he had always been alone
till now, and that was why it cut so deeply, especially as Polly never had approved of
Trix. Before she could clear her eyes or steady her face, a gentleman met her, lifted his
hat, smiled, and said pleasantly, "Good morning, Miss Polly, I'm glad to meet you." Then, with
a sudden change of voice and manner, he added, "I beg pardon is anything the matter can I
be of service?" It was very awkward, but it couldn't be helped,
and all Polly could do was to tell the truth and make the best of it.
"It's very silly, but it hurts me to be cut by my old friends. I shall get used to it
presently, I dare say." Mr. Sydney glanced back, recognized the couple
behind them, and turned round with a disgusted expression. Polly was fumbling for her handkerchief,
and without a word he took both book and bundle from her, a little bit of kindness that meant
a good deal just then. Polly felt it, and it did her good; hastily wiping the traitorous
eyes, she laughed and said cheerfully, "There, I'm all right again; thank you, don't trouble
yourself with my parcels." "No trouble, I assure you, and this book reminds
me of what I was about to say. Have you an hour to spare for my little niece? Her mother
wants her to begin, and desired me to make the inquiry."
"Did she, really?" and Polly looked up at him, as if she suspected him of inventing
the whole thing, out of kindness. Mr. Sydney smiled, and taking a note from
his pocket, presented it, saying, with a reproachful look, "Behold the proof of my truth, and never
doubt again." Polly begged pardon, read the note from the
little girl's mother, which was to have been left at her room if she was absent, and gave
the bearer a very grateful look as she accepted this welcome addition to her pupils. Well
pleased at the success of his mission, Sydney artfully led the conversation to music, and
for a time Polly forgot her woes, talking enthusiastically on her favorite theme. As
she reclaimed her book and bag, at her own door, she said, in her honest way, "Thank
you very much for trying to make me forget my foolish little troubles."
"Then let me say one thing more; though appearances are against him, I don't believe Tom Shaw
saw you. Miss Trix is equal to that sort of thing, but it isn't like Tom, for with all
his foppery he is a good fellow at heart." As Mr. Sydney said this, Polly held out her
hand with a hearty "Thank you for that." The young man shook the little hand in the gray
woollen glove, gave her exactly the same bow which he did the Honorable Mrs. Davenport,
and went away, leaving Polly to walk up stairs and address Puttel with the peculiar remark,
"You are a true gentleman! so kind to say that about Tom. I'll think it's so, anyway;
and won't I teach Minnie in my very best style!" Puttel purred, Nick chirped approvingly, and
Polly ate her dinner with a better appetite than she had expected. But at the bottom of
her heart there was a sore spot still, and the afternoon lessons dragged dismally. It
was dusk when she got home, and as she sat in the firelight eating her bread and milk,
several tears bedewed the little rolls, and even the home honey had a bitter taste.
"Now this won't do," she broke out all at once; "this is silly and wicked, and can't
be allowed. I'll try the old plan and put myself right by doing some little kindness
to somebody. Now what shall it be? O, I know! Fan is going to a party to-night; I'll run
up and help her dress; she likes to have me, and I enjoy seeing the pretty things. Yes,
and I'll take her two or three clusters of my daphne, it's so sweet."
Up got Polly, and taking her little posy, trotted away to the Shaws', determined to
be happy and contented in spite of Trix and hard work.
She found *** enduring torment under the hands of the hair-dresser, who was doing his
best to spoil her hair, and distort her head with a mass of curls, braids, frizzles, and
puffs; for though I discreetly refrain from any particular description, still, judging
from the present fashions, I think one may venture to predict that six years hence they
would be something frightful. "How kind of you, Polly; I was just wishing
you were here to arrange my flowers. These lovely daphnes will give odor to my camellias,
and you were a dear to bring them. There's my dress; how do you like it?" said ***,
hardly daring to lift her eyes from under the yellow tower on her head.
"It's regularly splendid; but how do you ever get into it?" answered Polly, surveying with
girlish interest the cloud of pink and white lace that lay upon the bed.
"It's fearfully and wonderfully made, but distractingly becoming, as you shall see.
Trix thinks I'm going to wear blue, so she has got a green one, and told Belle it would
spoil the effect of mine, as we are much together, of course. Wasn't that sweet of her? Belle
came and told me in, time, and I just got pink, so my amiable sister, that is to be,
won't succeed in her pretty little plot." "I guess she has been reading the life of
Josephine. You know she made a pretty lady, of whom she was jealous, sit beside her on
a green sofa, which set off her own white dress and spoilt the blue one of her guest,"
answered Polly, busy with the flowers. "Trix never reads anything; you are the one
to pick up clever little stories. I'll remember and use this one. Am I done? Yes, that is
charming, isn't it, Polly?" and Fan rose to inspect the success of Monsieur's long labor.
"You know I don't appreciate a stylish coiffure as I ought, so I like your hair in the old
way best. But this is'the thing,' I suppose, and not a word must be said."
"Of course it is. Why, child, I have frizzed and burnt my hair so that I look like an old
maniac with it in its natural state, and have to repair damages as well as I can. Now put
the flowers just here," and *** laid a pink camellia in a nest of fuzz, and stuck a spray
of daphne straight up at the back of her head. "O, Fan, don't, it looks horridly so!" cried
Polly, longing to add a little beauty to her friend's sallow face by a graceful adjustment
of the flowers. "Can't help it, that's the way, and so it
must be," answered Fan, planting another sprig half-way up the tower.
Polly groaned and offered no more suggestions as the work went on; but when Fan was finished
from top to toe, she admired all she honestly could, and tried to keep her thoughts to herself.
But her frank face betrayed her, for *** turned on her suddenly, saying, "You may as
well free your mind, Polly, for I see by your eyes that something don't suit."
"I was only thinking of what grandma once said, that modesty had gone out of fashion,"
answered Polly, glancing at the waist of her friend's dress, which consisted of a belt,
a bit of lace, and a pair of shoulder straps. *** laughed good-naturedly, saying, as she
clasped her necklace, "If I had such shoulders as yours, I shouldn't care what the fashion
was. Now don't preach, but put my cloak on nicely, and come along, for I'm to meet Tom
and Trix, and promised to be there early." Polly was to be left at home after depositing
Fan at Belle's. "I feel as if I was going myself," she said,
as they rolled along. "I wish you were, and you would be, Polly,
if you weren't such a resolute thing. I've teased, and begged, and offered anything I
have if you'll only break your absurd vow, and come and enjoy yourself."
"Thank you; but I won't, so don't trouble your kind heart about me; I'm all right,"
said Polly, stoutly. But when they drew up before the lighted house,
and she found herself in the midst of the pleasant stir of festivity, the coming and
going of carriages, the glimpses of bright colors, forms, and faces, the bursts of music,
and a general atmosphere of gayety, Polly felt that she wasn't all right, and as she
drove away for a dull evening in her lonely little room, she just cried as heartily as
any child denied a stick of candy. "It's dreadful wicked of me, but I can't help
it," she sobbed to herself, in the corner of the carriage. "That music sets me all in
a twitter, and I should have looked nice in Fan's blue tarlatan, and I know I could behave
as well as any one, and have lots of partners, though I'm not in that set. Oh, just one good
gallop with Mr. Sydney or Tom! No, Tom wouldn't ask me there, and I wouldn't accept if he
did. Oh, me! oh, me! I wish I was as old and homely, and good and happy, as Miss Mills!"
So Polly made her moan, and by the time she got home, was just in the mood to go to bed
and cry herself to sleep, as girls have a way of doing when their small affliction becomes
unbearable. But Polly didn't get a chance to be miserable
very long, for as she went up stairs feeling like the most injured girl in the world, she
caught a glimpse of Miss Mills, sewing away with such a bright face that she couldn't
resist stopping for a word or two. "Sit down, my dear, I'm glad to see you, but
excuse me if I go on with my work, as I'm in a driving hurry to get these things done
to-night," said the brisk little lady, with a smile and a nod, as she took a new needleful
of thread, and ran up a seam as if for a wager. "Let me help you, then; I'm lazy and cross,
and it will do me good," said Polly, sitting down with the resigned feeling. "Well, if
I can't be happy, I can be useful, perhaps." "Thank you, my dear; yes, you can just hem
the skirt while I put in the sleeves, and that will be a great lift."
Polly put on her thimble in silence, but as Miss Mills spread the white flannel over her
lap, she exclaimed, "Why, it looks like a shroud! Is it one?"
"No, dear, thank God, it isn't, but it might have been, if we hadn't saved the poor little
soul," cried Miss Mills, with a sudden brightening of the face, which made it beautiful in spite
of the stiff gray curl that bobbed on each temple, the want of teeth, and a crooked nose.
"Will you tell me about it? I like to hear your adventures and good works so much," said
Polly, ready to be amused by anything that made her forget herself.
"Ah, my dear, it's a very common story, and that's the saddest part of it. I'll tell you
all about it, for I think you may be able to help me. Last night I watched with poor
Mary Floyd. She's dying of consumption, you know," began Miss Mills, as her nimble fingers
flew, and her kind old face beamed over the work, as if she put a blessing in with every
stitch. "Mary was very low, but about midnight fell asleep, and I was trying to keep things
quiet, when Mrs. Finn she's the woman of the house came and beckoned me out, with a scared
face.'Little Jane has killed herself, and I don't know what to do,' she said, leading
me up to the attic." "Who was little Jane?" broke in Polly, dropping
her work. "I only knew her as a pale, shy young girl
who went in and out, and seldom spoke to any one. Mrs. Finn told me she was poor, but a
busy, honest, little thing, who didn't mix with the other folks, but lived and worked
alone.'She has looked so down-hearted and pale for a week, that I thought she was sick,
and asked her about it,' said Mrs. Finn,'but she thanked me in her bashful way, and said
she was pretty well, so I let her alone. But to-night, as I went up late to bed, I was
kind of impressed to look in and see how the poor thing did, for she hadn't left her room
all day. I did look in, and here's what I found.' As Mrs. Finn ended she opened the
door of the back attic, and I saw about as sad a sight as these old eyes ever looked
at." "O, what?" cried Polly, pale now with interest.
"A bare room, cold as a barn, and on the bed a little dead, white face that almost broke
my heart, it was so thin, so patient, and so young. On the table was a bottle half full
of laudanum, an old pocket-book, and a letter. Read that, my dear and don't think hard of
little Jane." Polly took the bit of paper Miss Mills gave
her, and read these words: DEAR MRS. FINN, Please forgive me for the
trouble I make you, but I don't see any other way. I can't get work that pays enough to
keep me; the Dr. says I can't be well unless I rest. I hate to be a burden, so I'm going
away not to trouble anybody anymore. I've sold my things to pay what I owe you. Please
let me be as I am, and don't let people come and look at me. I hope it isn't very wicked,
but there don't seem any room for me in the world, and I'm not afraid to die now, though
I should be if I stayed and got bad because I hadn't strength to keep right. Give my love
to the baby, and so good-by, good-by. JANE BRYANT.
"O, Miss Mills, how dreadful!" cried Polly, with her eyes so full she could hardly read
the little letter. "Not so dreadful as it might have been, but
a bitter, sad thing to see that child, only seventeen, lying there in her little clean,
old night-gown, waiting for death to come and take her, because'there didn't seem to
be any room for her in the world.' Ah, well, we saved her, for it wasn't too late, thank
heaven, and the first thing she said was,'Oh, why did you bring me back?' I've been nursing
her all day, hearing her story, and trying to show her that there is room and a welcome
for her. Her mother died a year ago, and since then she has been struggling along alone.
She is one of the timid, innocent, humble creatures who can't push their way, and so
get put aside and forgotten. She has tried all sorts of poorly paid work, couldn't live
on it decently, got discouraged, sick, frightened, and could see no refuge from the big, bad
world but to get out of it while she wasn't afraid to die. A very old story, my dear,
new and dreadful as it seems to you, and I think it won't do you any harm to see and
help this little girl, who has gone through dark places that you are never like to know."
"I will; indeed, I will do all I can! Where is she now?" asked Polly, touched to the heart
by the story, so simple yet so sad. "There," and Miss Mills pointed to the door
of her own little bedroom. "She was well enough to be moved to-night, so I brought her home
and laid her safely in my bed. Poor little soul! she looked about her for a minute, then
the lost look went away, and she gave a great sigh, and took my hand in both her thin bits
of ones, and said,'O, ma'am, I feel as if I'd been born into a new world. Help me to
begin again, and I'll do better.' So I told her she was my child now, and might rest here,
sure of a home as long as I had one." As Miss Mills spoke in her motherly tone,
and cast a proud and happy look toward the warm and quiet nest in which she had sheltered
this friendless little sparrow, feeling sure that God meant her to keep it from falling
to the ground, Polly put both arms about her neck, and kissed her withered cheek with as
much loving reverence as if she had been a splendid saint, for in the likeness of this
plain old maid she saw the lovely charity that blesses and saves the world.
"How good you are! Dear Miss Mills, tell me what to do, let me help you, I'm ready for
anything," said Polly, very humbly, for her own troubles looked so small and foolish beside
the stern hardships which had nearly had so tragical an end, that she felt heartily ashamed
of herself, and quite burned to atone for them.
Miss, Mills stopped to stroke the fresh cheek opposite, to smile, and say, "Then, Polly,
I think I'll ask you to go in and say a friendly word to my little girl. The sight of you will
do her good; and you have just the right way of comforting people, without making a fuss."
"Have I?" said Polly, looking much gratified by the words.
"Yes, dear, you've the gift of sympathy, and the rare art of showing it without offending.
I wouldn't let many girls in to see my poor Jenny, because they'd only flutter and worry
her; but you'll know what to do; so go, and take this wrapper with you; it's done now,
thanks to your nimble fingers." Polly threw the warm garment over her arm,
feeling a thrill of gratitude that it was to wrap a living girl in, and not to hide
away a young heart that had grown cold too soon. Pushing open the door, she went quietly
into the dimly lighted room, and on the pillow saw a face that drew her to it with an irresistible
power, for it was touched by a solemn shadow that made its youth pathetic. As she paused
at the bedside, thinking the girl asleep, a pair of hollow, dark eyes opened wide, and
looked up at her; startled at first, then softening with pleasure, at sight of the bonny
face before them, and then a humble, beseeching expression filled them, as if asking pardon
for the rash act nearly committed, and pity for the hard fate that prompted it. Polly
read the language of these eyes, and answered their mute prayer with a simple eloquence
that said more than any words for she just stooped down and kissed the poor child, with
her own eyes full, and lips that trembled with the sympathy she could not tell. Jenny
put both arms about her neck, and began to shed the quiet tears that so refresh and comfort
heavy hearts when a tender touch unseals the fountain where they lie.
"Everybody is so kind," she sobbed, "and I was so wicked, I don't deserve it."
"Oh, yes, you do; don't think of that, but rest and let us pet you. The old life was
too hard for such a little thing as you, and we are going to try and make the new one ever
so much easier and happier," said Polly, forgetting everything except that this was a girl like
herself, who needed heartening up. "Do you live here?" asked Jenny, when her
tears were wiped away, still clinging to the new-found friend.
"Yes, Miss Mills lets me have a little room up stairs, and there I have my cat and bird,
my piano and my posy pots, and live like a queen. You must come up and see me to-morrow
if you are able. I'm often lonely, for there are no young people in the house to play with
me," answered Polly, smiling hospitably. "Do you sew?" asked Jenny.
"No, I'm a music teacher, and trot round giving lessons all day."
"How beautiful it sounds, and how happy you must be, so strong and pretty, and able to
go round making music all the time," sighed Jenny, looking with respectful admiration
at the plump, firm hand held in both her thin and feeble ones.
It did sound pleasant even to Polly's ears, and she felt suddenly so rich, and so contented,
that she seemed a different creature from the silly girl who cried because she couldn't
go to the party. It passed through her mind like a flash, the contrast between her life,
and that of the wan creature lying before her, and she felt as if she could not give
enough out of her abundance to this needy little sister, who had nothing in the wide
world but the life just saved to her. That minute did more for Polly than many sermons,
or the wisest books, for it brought her face to face with bitter truths, showed her the
dark side of life, and seemed to blow away her little vanities, her frivolous desires,
like a wintry wind, that left a wholesome atmosphere behind. Sitting on the bedside,
Polly listened while Jane told the story, which was so new to her listener, that every
word sank deep into her heart, and never was forgotten.
"Now you must go to sleep. Don't cry nor think, nor do anything but rest. That will please
Miss Mills best. I'll leave the doors open, and play you a lullaby that you can't resist.
Good night, dear." And with another kiss, Polly went away to sit in the darkness of
her own room, playing her softest airs till the tired eyes below were shut, and little
Jane seemed to float away on a sea of pleasant sounds, into the happier life which had just
dawned for her. Polly had fully intended to be very miserable,
and cry herself to sleep; but when she lay down at last, her pillow seemed very soft,
her little room very lovely, with the firelight flickering on all the home-like objects, and
her new-blown roses breathing her a sweet good-night. She no longer felt an injured,
hard-working, unhappy Polly, but as if quite burdened with blessings, for which she wasn't
half grateful enough. She had heard of poverty and suffering, in the vague, far-off way,
which is all that many girls, safe in happy homes, ever know of it; but now she had seen
it, in a shape which she could feel and understand, and life grew more earnest to her from that
minute. So much to do in the great, busy world, and she had done so little. Where should she
begin? Then, like an answer came little Jenny's words, now taking a'new significance' to Polly's
mind, "To be strong, and beautiful, and go round making music all the time." Yes, she
could do that; and with a very earnest prayer, Polly asked for the strength of an upright
soul, the beauty of a tender heart, the power to make her life a sweet and stirring song,
helpful while it lasted, remembered when it died.
Little Jane's last thought had been to wish with all her might, that "God would bless
the dear, kind girl up there, and give her all she asked." I think both prayers, although
too humble to be put in words, went up together, for in the fulness of time they were beautifully
answered. End of Chapter XI
CHAPTER X. BROTHERS AND SISTERS POLLY'S happiest day was Sunday, for Will
never failed to spend it with her. Instead of sleeping later than usual that morning,
she was always up bright and early, flying round to get ready for her guest, for Will
came to breakfast, and they made a long day of it. Will considered his sister the best
and prettiest girl going, and Polly, knowing well that a time would come when he would
find a better and a prettier, was grateful for his good opinion, and tried to deserve
it. So she made her room and herself as neat and inviting as possible, and always ran to
meet him with a bright face and a motherly greeting, when he came tramping in, ruddy,
brisk, and beaming, with the brown loaf and the little pot of beans from the bake-house
near by. They liked a good country breakfast, and nothing
gave Polly more satisfaction than to see her big boy clear the dishes, empty the little
coffee-pot, and then sit and laugh at her across the ravaged table. Another pleasure
was to let him help clear away, as they used to do at home, while the peals of laughter
that always accompanied this performance did Miss Mills' heart good to hear, for the room
was so small and Will so big that he seemed to be everywhere at once, and Polly and Puttel
were continually dodging his long arms and legs. Then they used to inspect the flower
pots, pay Nick a visit, and have a little music as a good beginning for the day, after
which they went to church and dined with Miss Mills, who considered Will "an excellent young
man." If the afternoon was fair, they took a long walk together over the bridges into
the country, or about the city streets full of Sabbath quietude. Most people meeting them
would have seen only an awkward young man, with a boy's face atop of his tall body, and
a quietly dressed, fresh faced little woman hanging on his arm; but a few people, with
eyes to read romances and pleasant histories everywhere, found something very attractive
in this couple, and smiled as they passed, wondering if they were young, lovers, or country
cousins "looking round." If the day was stormy, they stayed at home,
reading, writing letters, talking over their affairs, and giving each other good advice;
for, though Will was nearly three years younger than Polly, he couldn't for the life of him
help assuming amusingly venerable airs, when he became a Freshman. In the twilight he had
a good lounge on the sofa, and Polly sung to him, which arrangement he particularly
enjoyed, it was so "cosy and homey." At nine o'clock, Polly packed his bag with clean clothes,
nicely mended, such remnants of the festive tea as were transportable, and kissed him
"good-night," with many injunctions to muffle up his throat going over the bridge, and be
sure that his feet were dry and warm when he went to bed. All of which Will laughed
at, accepted graciously, and didn't obey; but he liked it, and trudged away for another
week's work, rested, cheered, and strengthened by that quiet, happy day with Polly, for he
had been brought up to believe in home influences, and this brother and sister loved one another
dearly, and were not ashamed to own it. One other person enjoyed the humble pleasures
of these Sundays quite as much as Polly and Will. Maud used to beg to come to tea, and
Polly, glad to do anything for those who had done a good deal for her, made a point of
calling for the little girl as they came home from their walk, or sending Will to escort
her in the carriage, which Maud always managed to secure if bad weather threatened to quench
her hopes. Tom and *** laughed at her fancy, but she did not tire of it, for the child
was lonely, and found something in that little room which the great house could not give
her. Maud was twelve now; a pale, plain child,
with sharp, intelligent eyes, and a busy little mind, that did a good deal more thinking than
anybody imagined. She was just at the unattractive, fidgety age when no one knew what to do with
her, and so let her fumble her way up as she could, finding pleasure in odd things, and
living much alone, for she did not go to school, because her shoulders were growing round,
and Mrs. Shaw would not "allow her figure to be spoiled." That suited Maud excellently;
and whenever her father spoke of sending her again, or getting a governess, she was seized
with bad headaches, a pain in her back, or weakness of the eyes, at which Mr. Shaw laughed,
but let her holiday go on. Nobody seemed to care much for plain, pug-nosed little Maudie;
her father was busy, her mother nervous and sick, *** absorbed in her own affairs, and
Tom regarded her as most young men do their younger sisters, as a person born for his
amusement and convenience, nothing more. Maud admired Tom with all her heart, and made a
little slave of herself to him, feeling well repaid if he merely said, "Thank you, chicken,"
or didn't pinch her nose, or nip her ear, as he had a way of doing, "just as if I was
a doll, or a dog, and hadn't got any feelings," she sometimes said to ***, when some service
or sacrifice had been accepted without gratitude or respect. It never occurred to Tom, when
Maud sat watching him with her face full of wistfulness, that she wanted to be petted
as much as ever he did in his neglected boyhood, or that when he called her "Pug" before people,
her little feelings were as deeply wounded as his used to be, when the boys called him
"Carrots." He was fond of her in his fashion, but he didn't take the trouble to show it,
so Maud worshipped him afar off, afraid to betray the affection that no rebuff could
kill or cool. One snowy Sunday afternoon Tom lay on the
sofa in his favorite attitude, reading "Pendennis" for the fourth time, and smoking like a chimney
as he did so. Maud stood at the window watching the falling flakes with an anxious countenance,
and presently a great sigh broke from her. "Don't do that again, chicken, or you'll blow
me away. What's the matter?" asked Tom, throwing down his book with a yawn that threatened
dislocation. "I'm afraid I can't go to Polly's," answered
Maud, disconsolately. "Of course you can't; it's snowing hard, and
father won't be home with the carriage till this evening. What are you always cutting
off to Polly's for?" "I like it; we have such nice times, and Will
is there, and we bake little johnny-cakes in the baker before the fire, and they sing,
and it is so pleasant." "Warbling johnny-cakes must be interesting.
Come and tell me all about it." "No, you'll only laugh at me."
"I give you my word I won't, if I can help it; but I really am dying of curiosity to
know what you do down there. You like to hear secrets, so tell me yours, and I'll be as
dumb as an oyster." "It isn't a secret, and you wouldn't care
for it. Do you want another pillow?" she added, as Tom gave his a thump.
"This will do; but why you women always stick tassels and fringe all over a sofa-cushion,
to tease and tickle a fellow, is what I don't understand."
"One thing that Polly does Sunday nights, is to take Will's head in her lap, and smooth
his forehead. It rests him after studying so hard, she says. If you don't like the pillow,
I could do that for you,'cause you look as if you were more tired of studying than Will,"
said Maud, with some hesitation, but an evident desire to be useful and agreeable.
"Well, I don't care if you do try it, for I am confoundedly tired." And Tom laughed,
as he recalled the frolic he had been on the night before.
Maud established herself with great satisfaction, and Tom owned that a silk apron was nicer
than a fuzzy cushion. "Do you like it?" she asked, after a few strokes
over the hot forehead, which she thought was fevered by intense application to Greek and
Latin. "Not bad; play away," was the gracious reply,
as Tom shut his eyes, and lay so still that Maud was charmed at the success of her attempt.
Presently, she said, softly, "Tom, are you asleep?"
"Just turning the corner." "Before you get quite round would you please
tell me what a Public Admonition is?" "What do you want to know for?" demanded Tom,
opening his eyes very wide. "I heard Will talking about Publics and Privates,
and I meant to ask him, but I forgot." "What did he say?"
"I don't remember; it was about somebody who cut prayers, and got a Private, and had done
all sorts of bad things, and had one or two Publics. I didn't hear the name and didn't
care; I only wanted to know what the words meant."
"So Will tells tales, does he?" and Tom's forehead wrinkled with a frown.
"No, he didn't; Polly knew about it and asked him."
"Will's a'dig,'" growled Tom, shutting his eyes again, as if nothing more could be said
of the delinquent William. "I don't care if he is; I like him very much,
and so does Polly." "Happy Fresh!" said Tom, with a comical groan.
"You needn't sniff at him, for he is nice, and treats me with respect," cried Maud, with
an energy that made Tom laugh in her face. "He's good to Polly always, and puts on her
cloak for her, and says'my dear,' and kisses her'good-night,' and don't think it's silly,
and I wish I had a brother just like him, yes, I do!" And Maud showed signs of woe,
for her disappointment about going was very great.
"Bless my boots! what's the chicken ruffling up her little feathers and pecking at me for?
Is that the way Polly soothes the best of brothers?" said Tom, still laughing.
"Oh, I forgot! there, I won't cry; but I do want to go," and Maud swallowed her tears,
and began to stroke again. Now Tom's horse and sleigh were in the stable,
for he meant to drive out to College that evening, but he didn't take Maud's hint. It
was less trouble to lie still, and say in a conciliatory tone, "Tell me some more about
this good boy, it's very interesting." "No, I shan't, but I'll tell about Puttel's
playing on the piano," said Maud, anxious to efface the memory of her momentary weakness.
"Polly points to the right key with a little stick, and Puttel sits on the stool and pats
each key as it's touched, and it makes a tune. It's so funny to see her, and Nick perches
on the rack and sings as if he'd kill himself." "Very thrilling," said Tom, in a sleepy tone.
Maud felt that her conversation was not as interesting as she hoped, and tried again.
"Polly thinks you are handsomer than Mr. Sydney." "Much obliged."
"I asked which she thought had the nicest face, and she said yours was the handsomest,
and his the best." "Does he ever go there?" asked a sharp voice
behind them; and looking round Maud saw *** in the big chair, cooking her feet over the
register. "I never saw him there; he sent up some books
one day, and Will teased her about it." "What did she do?" demanded ***. "Oh, she
shook him." "What a spectacle!" and Tom looked as if he
would have enjoyed seeing it, but ***'s face grew so forbidding, that Tom's little
dog, who was approaching to welcome her, put his tail between his legs and fled under the
table. "Then there isn't any'Sparking Sunday night'?"
sung Tom, who appeared to have waked up again. "Of course not. Polly isn't going to marry
anybody; she's going to keep house for Will when he's a minister, I heard her say so,"
cried Maud, with importance. "What a fate for pretty Polly!" ***
Tom. "She likes it, and I'm sure I should think
she would; it's beautiful to hear'em plan it all out."
"Any more gossip to retail, Pug?" asked Tom a minute after, as Maud seemed absorbed in
visions of the future. "He told a funny story about blowing up one
of the professors. You never told us, so I suppose you didn't know it. Some bad fellow
put a torpedo, or some sort of powder thing, under the chair, and it went off in the midst
of the lesson, and the poor man flew up, frightened most to pieces, and the boys ran with pails
of water to put the fire out. But the thing that made Will laugh most was, that the very
fellow who did it got his trousers burnt trying to put out the fire, and he asked the is it
Faculty or President?" "Either will do," murmured Tom, who was shaking
with suppressed laughter. "Well, he asked'em to give him some new ones,
and they did give him money enough, for a nice pair; but he got some cheap ones, with
horrid great stripes on'em, and always wore'em to that particular class,'which was one too
many for the fellows,' Will said, and with the rest of the money he had a punch party.
Wasn't it dreadful?" "Awful!" And Tom exploded into a great laugh,
that made *** cover her ears, and the little dog bark wildly.
"Did you know that bad boy?" asked innocent Maud.
"Slightly," gasped Tom, in whose wardrobe at college those identical trousers were hanging
at that moment. "Don't make such a noise, my head aches dreadfully,"
said ***, fretfully. "Girls' heads always do ache," answered Tom,
subsiding from a roar into a chuckle. "What pleasure you boys can find in such ungentlemanly
things, I don't see," said ***, who was evidently out of sorts.
"As much a mystery to you as it is to us, how you girls can like to gabble and prink
from one week's end to the other," retorted Tom.
There was a pause after this little passage-at-arms, but Fan wanted to be amused, for time hung
heavily on her hands, so she asked, in a more amiable tone, "How's Trix?"
"As sweet as ever," answered Tom, gruffly. "Did she scold you, as usual?"
"She just did." "What was the matter?"
"Well, I'll leave it to you if this isn't unreasonable: she won't dance with me herself,
yet don't like me to go it with anybody else. I said, I thought, if a fellow took a girl
to a party, she ought to dance with him once, at least, especially if they were engaged.
She said that was the very reason why she shouldn't do it; so, at the last hop, I let
her alone, and had a gay time with Belle, and to-day Trix gave it to me hot and heavy,
coming home from church." "If you go and engage yourself to a girl like
that, I don't know what you can expect. Did she wear her Paris hat to-day?" added Fan,
with sudden interest in her voice. "She wore some sort of a blue thing, with
a confounded bird of Paradise in it, that kept whisking into my face every time she
turned her head." "Men never know a pretty thing when they see
it. That hat is perfectly lovely." "They know a lady when they see her, and Trix
don't look like one; I can't say where the trouble is, but there's too much fuss and
feathers for my taste. You are twice as stylish, yet you never look loud or fast."
Touched by this unusual compliment, *** drew her chair nearer as she replied with
complacency, "Yes, I flatter myself I do know how to dress well. Trix never did; she's fond
of gay colors, and generally looks like a walking rainbow."
"Can't you give her a hint? Tell her not to wear blue gloves anyway, she knows I hate'em."
"I've done my best for your sake, Tom, but she is a perverse creature, and don't mind
a word I say, even about things much more objectionable than blue gloves."
"Maudie, run and bring me my other cigar case, it's lying round somewhere."
Maud went; and as soon as the door was shut, Tom rose on his elbow, saying in a cautiously
lowered voice, "Fan, does Trix paint?" "Yes, and draws too," answered ***, with
a sly laugh. "Come, you know what I mean; I've a right
to ask and you ought to tell," said Tom, soberly, for he was beginning to find that being engaged
was not unmitigated bliss. "What makes you think she does?"
"Well, between ourselves," said Tom, looking a little sheepish, but anxious to set his
mind at rest, "she never will let me kiss her on her cheek, nothing but an unsatisfactory
peck at her lips. Then the other day, as I took a bit of heliotrope out of a vase to
put in my button-hole, I whisked a drop of water into her face; I was going to wipe it
off, but she pushed my hand away, and ran to the glass, where she carefully dabbed it
dry, and came back with one cheek redder than the other. I didn't say anything, but I had
my suspicions. Come now, does she?" "Yes, she does; but don't say a word to her,
for she'll never forgive my telling if she knew it."
"I don't care for that; I don't like it, and I won't have it," said Tom, decidedly.
"You can't help yourself. Half the girls do it, either paint or powder, darken their lashes
with burnt hair-pins, or take cologne on lumps of sugar or belladonna to make their eyes
bright. Clara tried arsenic for her complexion, but her mother stopped it," said ***, betraying
the secrets of the prison-house in the basest manner.
"I knew you girls were a set of humbugs, and very pretty ones, too, some of you, but I
can't say I like to see you painted up like a lot of actresses," said Tom, with an air
of disgust. "I don't do anything of the sort, or need
it, but Trix does; and having chosen her, you must abide your choice, for better or
worse." "It hasn't come to that yet," muttered Tom,
as he lay down again with a rebellious air. Maud's return put an end to these confidences,
though Tom excited her curiosity by asking the mysterious question, "I say, Fan, is Polly
up to that sort of thing?" "No, she thinks it's awful. When she gets
pale and dragged out she will probably change her mind."
"I doubt it," said Tom. "Polly says it isn't proper to talk secrets
before people who ain't in'em," observed Maud, with dignity.
"Do, for mercy sake, stop talking about Polly, I'm sick to death of it," cried ***, snappishly.
"Hullo!" and Tom sat up to take a survey. "I thought you were *** friends, and as
spoony as ever." "Well, I am fond of Polly, but I get tired
of hearing Maud sing her praises everlastingly. Now don't go and repeat that, chatterbox."
"My goodness, isn't she cross?" whispered Maud to Tom.
"As two sticks; let her be. There's the bell; see who it is, Pug," answered Tom, as a tingle
broke the silence of the house. Maud went to peep over the banisters, and
came flying back in a rapture. "It's Will come for me! Can't I go? It don't
snow hard, and I'll bundle up, and you can send for me when papa comes."
"I don't care what you do," answered Fan, who was in a very bad temper.
Without waiting for any other permission, Maud rushed away to get ready. Will wouldn't
come up, he was so snowy, and *** was glad, because with her he was bashful, awkward,
and silent, so Tom went down and entertained him with Maud's report. They were very good
friends, but led entirely different lives, Will being a "dig," and Tom a "bird," or,
in plain English, one was a hard student, and the other a jolly young gentleman. Tom
had rather patronized Will, who didn't like it, and showed that he didn't by refusing
to borrow money of him, or accept any of his invitations to join the clubs and societies
to which Tom belonged. So Shaw let Milton alone, and he got on very well in his own
way, doggedly sticking to his books, and resisting all temptations but those of certain libraries,
athletic games, and such inexpensive pleasures as were within his means; for this benighted
youth had not yet discovered that college nowadays is a place in which to "sky-lark,"
not to study. When Maud came down and trotted contentedly
away, holding Will's hand, Tom watched them out of sight, and then strolled about the
house whistling and thinking, till he went to sleep in his father's arm-chair, for want
of something better to do. He awoke to the joys of a solitary tea, for his mother never
came down, and *** shut herself and her headache up in her own room.
"Well, this is cheerful," he said, as the clock struck eight, and his fourth cigar came
to an end. "Trix is mad, and Fan in the dumps, so I'll take myself off. Guess I'll go round
to Polly's, and ask Will to drive out with me, and save him the walk, poor chap. Might
bring Midget home, it will please her, and there's no knowing when the governor will
be back." With these thoughts in his head, Tom leisurely
got under way, and left his horse at a neighboring stable, for he meant to make a little call,
and see what it was Maud enjoyed so much. "Polly is holding forth," he said to himself,
as he went quietly up stairs, and the steady murmur of a pleasant voice came down to him.
Tom laughed at Polly's earnest way of talking when she was interested in anything. But he
liked it because it was so different from the coquettish clatter of most of the girls
with whom he talked. Young men often laugh at the sensible girls whom they secretly respect,
and affect to admire the silly ones whom they secretly despise, because earnestness, intelligence,
and womanly dignity are not the fashion. The door was ajar, and pausing in the dark
entry Tom took a survey before he went in. The prospect was not dazzling, but home-like
and pleasant. The light of a bright fire filled the little room, and down on a stool before
it was Maud tending Puttel, and watching with deep interest the roasting of an apple intended
for her special benefit. On the couch lounged Will, his thoughtful eyes fixed on Polly,
who, while she talked, smoothed the broad forehead of her "yellow-haired laddie" in
a way that Tom thought an immense improvement on Maud's performance. They had evidently
been building castles in the air, for Polly was saying in her most impressive manner,
"Well, whatever you do, Will, don't have a great, costly church that takes so much money
to build and support it that you have nothing to give away. I like the plain, old-fashioned
churches, built for use, not show, where people met for hearty praying and preaching, and
where everybody made their own music instead of listening to opera singers, as we do now.
I don't care if the old churches were bare and cold, and the seats hard, there was real
piety in them, and the sincerity of it was felt in the lives of the people. I don't want
a religion that I put away with my Sunday clothes, and don't take out till the day comes
round again; I want something to see and feel and live by day-by-day, and I hope you'll
be one of the true ministers, who can teach by precept and example, how to get and keep
it." "I hope I shall be, Polly, but you know they
say that in families, if there is a boy who can't do anything else, they make a minister
of him. I sometimes think I ain't good for much, and that seems to me the reason why
I shouldn't even try to be a minister," said Will, smiling, yet looking as if with all
his humility he did have faith in the aspirations that came to him in his best moments.
"Some one said that very thing to father once, and I remember he answered,'I am glad to give
my best and brightest son to the service of God.'"
"Did he say that?" and Will's color rose, for the big, book-loving fellow was as sensitive
as a girl to the praise of those dearest to him.
"Yes," said Polly, unconsciously giving the strongest stimulus to her brother's hope and
courage. "Yes, and he added,'I shall let my boys follow the guide that is in them, and
only ask of them to use their gifts conscientiously, and be honest, useful men.'"
"So we will! Ned is doing well out West, and I'm hard at it here. If father does his best
to give us the chance we each want, the least we can do is to work with a will."
"Whatever you do, you can't help working with a Will," cried Tom, who had been so interested,
that he forgot he was playing eavesdropper. Polly flew up, looking so pleased and surprised,
that Tom reproached himself for not having called oftener.
"I've come for Maud," he announced, in a paternal tone, which made that young lady open her
eyes. "I can't go till my apple is done; besides,
it isn't nine yet, and Will is going to take me along, when he goes. I'd rather have him."
"I'm going to take you both in the cutter. The storm is over, but it is heavy walking,
so you'll drive out with me, old man?" said Tom, with a nod at Will.
"Of course he will; and thank you very much. I've been trying to keep him all night; Miss
Mills always manages to find a corner for stray people, but he insists on going, so
as to get to work early to-morrow," said Polly, delighted to see that Tom was taking off his
coat, as if he meant to wait for Maud's apple, which Polly blessed for being so slow to cook.
Putting her guest into the best chair, Polly sat down and beamed at him with such hospitable
satisfaction, that Tom went up several pegs in his own estimation.
"You don't come very often, so we are rather over-powered when you do honor us," she said,
demurely. "Well, you, know we fellows are so busy, we
haven't much time to enjoy ourselves," answered Tom.
"Ahem!" said Will, loudly. "Take a troche," said Tom.
Then they both burst out laughing, and Polly, fully understanding the joke, joined them,
saying, "Here are some peanuts, Tom; do enjoy yourself while you can."
"Now I call that a delicate compliment!" And Tom, who had not lost his early relish for
this sort of refreshment, though he seldom indulged his passion nowadays, because peanuts
are considered vulgar, fell to cracking and munching with great satisfaction.
"Do you remember the first visit I made at your house, how you gave me peanuts, coming
from the depot, and frightened me out of my wits, pretending the coachman was tipsy?"
asked Polly. "Of course I do, and how we coasted one day,"
answered Tom, laughing. "Yes, and the velocipede; you've got the scar
of that yet, I see." "I remember how you stood by me while it was
sewed up; that was very plucky, Polly." "I was dreadfully afraid, but I remember I
wanted to seem very brave, because you'd called me a coward."
"Did I? Ought to have been ashamed of myself. I used to rough you shamefully, Polly, and
you were so good-natured, you let me do it." "Couldn't help myself," laughed Polly. "I
did use to think you were an awful boy, but seems to me I rather liked it."
"She had so much of it at home, she got used to it," put in Will, pulling the little curl
behind Polly's ear. "You boys never teased me as Tom did, that's
the reason it amused me, I suppose; novelty hath charms, you know."
"Grandma used to lecture Tom for plaguing you, Polly, and he used to say he'd be a tip-top
boy, but he wasn't," observed Maud, with a venerable air.
"Dear old grandma; she did her best, but I'm a bad lot," said Tom, with a shake of the
head and a sober face. "It always seems as if she must be up in her
rooms, and I can't get used to finding them empty," added Polly, softly.
"Father wouldn't have anything moved, and Tom sits up there sometimes; it makes him
feel good, he says," said Maud, who had a talent for betraying trifles which people
preferred should not be mentioned in public. "You'd better hurry up your apple, for if
it isn't done pretty soon, you'll have to leave it, Pug," said Tom, looking annoyed.
"How is Fan?" asked Polly, with tact. "Well, Fan is rather under the weather; says
she's dyspeptic, which means cross." "She is cross, but she's sick too, for I found
her crying one day, and she said nobody cared about her, and she might as well be dead,"
added Maud, having turned her apple with tender care.
"We must try to cheer her up, among us. If I wasn't so busy I'd like to devote myself
to her, she has done so much for me," said Polly, gratefully.
"I wish you could. I can't understand her, for she acts like a weathercock, and I never
know how I'm going to find her. I hate to have her mope so, but, upon my life, I don't
know what to do," said Tom; but as he uttered the words, something was suggested by the
sight before him. Chairs were few, and Polly had taken half of Will's when they drew round
the fire. Now she was leaning against him, in a cosy, confiding way, delightful to behold,
while Will's strong arm went round her with a protecting air, which said, as plainly as
any words, that this big brother and small sister knew how to love and help one another.
It was a pleasant little picture, all the pleasanter for its unconsciousness, and Tom
found it both suggestive and agreeable. "Poor old Fan, she don't get much petting;
maybe that's what she wants. I'll try it and see, for she stands by me like a trump. If
she was a rosy, cosy little woman, like Polly, it would come easier, though," thought Tom,
as he meditatively ate his last nut, feeling that fraternal affection could not be very
difficult of demonstration, to brothers blessed with pretty, good-tempered sisters.
"I told Tom about the bad fellow who blew up the professor, and he said he knew him,
slightly; and I was so relieved, because I had a kind of a feeling that it was Tom himself,
you and Will laughed so about it." Maud had a *** way of going on with her
own thoughts, and suddenly coming out with whatever lay uppermost, regardless of time,
place, or company. As this remark fell from her, there was a general smile, and Polly
said, with mock solemnity, "It was a sad thing, and I've no doubt that misguided young man
is very sorry for it now." "He looked perfectly bowed down with remorse
last time I saw him," said Will, regarding Tom with eyes full of fun, for Will was a
boy as well as a bookworm, and relished a joke as well as scatter-brained Tom.
"He always is remorseful after a scrape, I've understood, for he isn't a very bad fellow,
only his spirits are one too many for him, and he isn't as fond of his book as another
fellow I know." "I'm afraid he'll he expelled if he don't
mind," said Polly, warningly. "Shouldn't wonder if he was, he's such an
unlucky dog," answered Tom, rather soberly. "I hope he'll remember that his friends will
be very much disappointed if he is. He might make them so proud and happy; that I guess
he will, for he isn't half as thoughtless as he makes himself out," said Polly, looking
across at Tom with such friendly eyes that he was quite touched, though of course he
didn't show it. "Thank you, Polly; he may pull through, but
I have my doubts. Now old man, let us'pud' along; it's getting late for the chicken,"
he added, relapsing into the graceful diction with which a classical education gifts its
fortunate possessor. Taking advantage of the moment while Will
was wrestling with his boots in the closet, and Maud was absorbed in packing her apple
into a large basket, Polly said to Tom in a low tone, "Thank you very much, for being
so kind to Will." "Bless your heart, I haven't done anything;
he's such a proud fellow he won't let me," answered Tom.
"But you do in many little ways; to-night, for example. Do you think I don't know that
the suit of clothes he's just got would have cost a good deal more, if your tailor hadn't
made them? He's only a boy, and don't understand things yet; but I know your way of helping
proud people; so that they don't find it out, and I do thank you, Tom, so much."
"Oh, come, Polly, that won't do. What do you know about tailors and college matters?" said
Tom, looking as much confused as if she had found him out in something reprehensible.
"I don't know much, and that's the reason why I'm grateful for your kindness to Will.
I don't care what stories they tell about you, I'm sure, you won't lead him into trouble,
but keep him straight, for my sake. You know I've lost one brother, and Will takes Jimmy's
place to me now." The tears in Polly's eyes as she said that
made Tom vow a tremendous vow within himself to stand by Will through thick and thin, and
"keep him straight for Polly's sake"; feeling all the time how ill-fitted he was for such
a task. "I'll do my best," he said, heartily, as he
pressed the hand Polly gave him, with a look which assured her that he felt the appeal
to his honor, and that henceforth the country lad was safe from all the temptations Tom
could have offered him. "There! now I shall give that to mamma to
take her pills in; it's just what she likes, and it pleases her to be thought of," said
Maud, surveying her gift with complacency, as she put on her things.
"You're a good little soul, to remember poor mum, said Tom, with an approving nod.
"Well, she was so pleased with the grapes you brought her, I thought I'd try something,
and maybe she'd say'Thank you, darling,' to me too. Do you think she will?" whispered
Maud, with the wistful look so often seen on her little plain face.
"See if she don't;" and to Maud's great surprise Tom didn't laugh at her project.
"Good night, dear; take care of yourself, and keep your muffler round your mouth going
over the bridge, or you'll be as hoarse as a crow to-morrow," said Polly, as she kissed
her brother, who returned it without looking as if he thought it "girl's nonsense" Then
the three piled into the sleigh and drove off, leave Polly nodding on the doorstep.
Maud found the drive altogether too short, but was consoled by the promise of a longer
one if the sleighing lasted till next Saturday: and when Tom ran up to bid his mother good-by,
and give her a hint about Maud's gift, she stayed below to say, at the last minute, in
unconscious imitation of Polly. "Good night; take care of yourself, my dear."
Tom laughed, and was about to pinch the much enduring little nose; but, as if the words
reminded him of something, he gave her a kiss instead, a piece of forbearance which almost
took Maud's breath away with surprise and gratification.
It was rather a silent drive, for Will obediently kept his muffler up, and Tom fell into a brown
study. He was not much given to reflection, but occasionally
indulged when something gave him a turn in that direction, and at such times he was as
sober and sincere as could be desired. Any one might have lectured him for an hour without
doing as much good as that little call and the chat that grew out of it, for, though
nothing very wise or witty was said, many things were suggested, and every one knows
that persuasive influences are better than any amount of moralizing. Neither Polly nor
Will tried to do anything of the sort, and that was the charm of it. Nobody likes to
be talked to, but nobody can resist the eloquence of unconscious preaching. With all his thoughtlessness,
Tom was quick to see and feel these things, and was not spoilt enough yet to laugh at
them. The sight of Will and Polly's simple affection for one another reminded him of
a neglected duty so pleasantly, that he could not forget it. Talking of early days made
him wish he could go back and start again, doing better. Grandma's name recalled the
tender memory that always did him good, and the thought that Polly trusted her dearest
brother to his care stirred up a manful desire to deserve the confidence. Tortures wouldn't
have drawn a word of all this from him, but it had its effect, for boys don't leave their
hearts and consciences behind them when they enter college, and little things of this sort
do much to keep both from being damaged by the four years' scrimmage which begins the
battle of life for most of them. End of Chapter X
CHAPTER XI. NEEDLES AND TONGUES DEAR POLLY, The Sewing Circle meets at our
house this P. M. This is in your line, so do come and help me through. I shall depend
on you. Yours ever, FAN.
"Bad news, my dear?" asked Miss Mills, who had just handed the note to Polly as she came
in one noon, a few weeks after Jenny's arrival. Polly told her what it was, adding, "I suppose
I ought to go and help ***, but I can't say I want to. The girls talk about things
I have nothing to do with, and I don't find their gossip very amusing. I'm an outsider,
and they only accept me on Fan's account; so I sit in a corner and sew, while they chatter
and laugh." "Wouldn't it be a good chance to say a word
for Jenny? She wants work, and these young ladies probably have quantities done somewhere.
Jenny does fine work exquisitely, and begins to feel anxious to be earning something. I
don't want her to feel dependent and unhappy, and a little well-paid sewing would be all
she needs to do nicely. I can get it for her by running round to my friends, but I really
haven't the time, till I get the Mullers off. They are paupers here, but out West they can
take care of themselves, so I've begged the money to send them, and as soon as I can get
them some clothes, off they go. That's the way to help people help themselves," and Miss
Mills clashed her big scissors energetically, as she cut out a little red flannel shirt.
"I know it is, and I want to help, but I don't know where to begin," said Polly, feeling
quite oppressed with the immensity of the work.
"We can't any of us do all we would like, but we can do our best for every case that
comes to us, and that helps amazingly. Begin with Jenny, my dear; tell those girls about
her, and if I'm not much mistaken, you will find them ready to help, for half the time
it isn't hardness of heart, but ignorance or thoughtlessness on the part of the rich,
that makes them seem so careless of the poor." "To tell the truth, I'm afraid of being laughed
at, if I try to talk seriously about such things to the girls," said Polly, frankly.
"You believe that'such things' are true? You are sincere in your wish to help better them,
and you respect those who work for that end?" "Yes, I do."
"Then, my dear, can't you bear a little ridicule for the sake of a good cause? You said yesterday
that you were going to make it a principle of your life, to help up your sex as far and
as fast as you could. It did my heart good to hear you say it, for I was sure that in
time you would keep your word. But, Polly, a principle that can't bear being laughed
at, frowned on, and cold-shouldered, isn't worthy of the name."
"I want to be strong-minded in the real sense of the word, but I don't like to be called
so by people who don't understand my meaning; and I shall be if I try to make the girls
think soberly about anything sensible or philanthropic. They call me old-fashioned now, and I'd rather
be thought that, though it isn't pleasant, than be set down as a rampant woman's rights
reformer," said Polly, in whose memory many laughs, and snubs, and sarcasms still lingered,
forgiven but not forgotten. "This love and thought and care for those
weaker, poorer, or worse than ourselves, which we call Christian charity, is a very old fashion,
my dear. It began eighteen hundred years ago, and only those who honestly follow the beautiful
example set us then, learn how to get genuine happiness out of life. I'm not a'rampant woman's
rights reformer,'" added Miss Mills, with a smile at Polly's sober face; "but I think
that women can do a great deal for each other, if they will only stop fearing what'people
will think,' and take a hearty interest in whatever is going to fit their sisters and
themselves to deserve and enjoy the rights God gave them. There are so many ways in which
this can be done, that I wonder they don't see and improve them. I don't ask you to go
and make speeches, only a few have the gift for that, but I do want every girl and woman
to feel this duty, and make any little sacrifice of time or feeling that may be asked of them,
because there is so much to do, and no one can do it as well as ourselves, if we only
think so." "I'll try!" said Polly, influenced more by
her desire to keep Miss Mills' good opinion than any love of self-sacrifice for her sex.
It was rather a hard thing to ask of a shy, sensitive girl, and the kind old lady knew
it, for in spite of the gray hair and withered face, her heart was very young, and her own
girlish trials not forgotten. But she knew also that Polly had more influence over others
than she herself suspected, simply because of her candid, upright nature; and that while
she tried to help others, she was serving herself in a way that would improve heart
and soul more than any mere social success she might gain by following the rules of fashionable
life, which drill the character out of girls till they are as much alike as pins in a paper,
and have about as much true sense and sentiment in their little heads. There was good stuff
in Polly, unspoiled as yet, and Miss Mills was only acting out her principle of women
helping each other. The wise old lady saw that Polly had reached that point where the
girl suddenly blooms into a woman, asking something more substantial than pleasure to
satisfy the new aspirations that are born; a time as precious and important to the after-life,
as the hour when the apple blossoms fall, and the young fruit waits for the elements
to ripen or destroy the harvest. Polly did not know this, and was fortunate
in possessing a friend who knew what influences would serve her best, and who could give her
what all women should desire to give each other, the example of a sweet, good life,
more eloquent and powerful than any words; for this is a right no one can deny us.
Polly turned the matter over in her mind as she dressed, while Jenny played waiting maid,
little dreaming what this new friend was meaning to do for her, if she dared.
"Is it going to be a tea-party, Miss?" asked Jenny, as the black silk went rustling on,
to her great admiration, for she considered Polly a beauty.
"Well, no, I think it will probably be a lecture," answered Polly, laughing, for Jenny's grateful
service and affectionate eyes confirmed the purpose which Miss Mills' little homily had
suggested. As she entered the Shaws' parlor an hour or
two later, an appalling array of well-dressed girls appeared, each provided with a dainty
reticule, basket, or bag, and each tongue going a good deal faster than the needle,
while the white fingers stitched sleeves in upside down, put flannel jackets together
hind part before, or gobbled button-holes with the best intentions in life.
"You are a dear to come so early. Here's a nice place for you between Belle and Miss
Perkins, and here's a sweet little dress to make, unless you like something else better,"
said ***, receiving her friend with warmth and placing her where she thought she would
enjoy herself. "Thank you, I'll take an unbleached cotton
shirt if you have such a thing, for it is likely to be needed before a cambric frock,"
replied Polly, subsiding into her corner as quickly as possible, for at least six eye-glasses
were up, and she didn't enjoy being stared at.
Miss Perkins, a grave, cold-looking young lady, with an aristocratic nose, bowed politely,
and then went on with her work, which displayed two diamond rings to great advantage. Belle,
being of the demonstrative sort, smiled and nodded, drew up her chair, and began a whispered
account of Trix's last quarrel with Tom. Polly listened with interest while she sewed diligently,
occasionally permitting her eyes to study the elegant intricacies of Miss Perkins' dress,
for that young lady sat like a statue, quirking her delicate fingers, and accomplishing about
two stitches a minute. In the midst of Belle's story, a more exciting
bit of gossip caught her ear, and she plunged into the conversation going on across the
table, leaving Polly free to listen and admire the wit, wisdom, and charitable spirit of
the accomplished young ladies about her. There was a perfect Babel of tongues, but out of
the confusion Polly gathered scraps of fashionable intelligence which somewhat lessened her respect
for the dwellers in high places. One fair creature asserted that Joe Somebody took so
much champagne at the last German, that he had to be got away, and sent home with two
servants. Another divulged the awful fact that Carrie P.'s wedding presents were half
of them hired for the occasion. A third circulated a whisper to the effect that though Mrs. Buckminster
wore a thousand-dollar cloak, her boys were not allowed but one sheet to their beds. And
a fourth young gossip assured the company that a certain person never had offered himself
to a certain other person, though the report was industriously spread by interested parties.
This latter remark caused such a clamor that *** called the meeting to order in a most
unparliamentary fashion. "Girls! girls! you really must talk less and
sew more, or our society will be disgraced. Do you know our branch sent in less work than
any of the others last month, and Mrs. Fitz George said, she didn't see how fifteen young
ladies could manage to do so little?" "We don't talk a bit more than the old ladies
do. I just wish you could have heard them go on, last time. The way they get so much
done, is, they take work home, and make their seamstresses do it, and then they take credit
for vast industry," said Belle, who always spoke her mind with charming candor.
"That reminds me that mamma says they want as many things as we can make, for it's a
hard winter, and the poor are suffering very much. Do any of you wish to take articles
home, to do at odd times?" said Fan, who was president of this energetic Dorcas Society.
"Mercy, no! It takes all my leisure time to mend my gloves and refresh my dresses," answered
Belle. "I think if we meet once a week, it is all
that should be expected of us, with our other engagements. Poor people always complain that
the winter is a hard one, and never are satisfied," remarked Miss Perkins, making her diamonds
sparkle as she sewed buttons on the wrong side of a pink calico apron, which would hardly
survive one washing. "Nobody can ask me to do any more, if they
remember all I've got to attend to before summer," said Trix, with an important air.
"I've got three women hard at work, and want another, but everyone is so busy, and ask
such abominable prices, that I'm in despair, and shall have to take hold myself, I'm afraid."
"There's a chance for Jane," thought Polly, but hadn't courage "to speak out loud in meeting,"
just then, and resolved to ask Trix for work, in private.
"Prices are high, but you forget how much more it costs to live now than it used to
do. Mamma never allows us to beat down workwomen, but wishes us to pay them well, and economize
in some other way, if we must," said Emma Davenport, a quiet, bright-eyed girl, who
was called "odd" among the young ladies, because she dressed simply, when her father was a
millionaire. "Just hear that girl talk about economy! I
beg your pardon, she's some relation of yours, I believe!" said Belle, in a low tone.
"Very distant; but I'm proud of it; for with her, economy doesn't mean scrimping in one
place to make a show in another. If every one would follow the Davenports' example,
workwomen wouldn't starve, or servants be such a trouble. Emma is the plainest dressed
girl in the room, next to me, yet any one can see she is a true gentlewoman," said Polly,
warmly. "And you are another," answered Belle, who
had always loved Polly, in her scatter-brained way.
"Hush! Trix has the floor." "If they spent their wages properly, I shouldn't
mind so much, but they think they must be as fine as anybody, and dress so well that
it is hard to tell mistress from maid. Why our cook got a bonnet just like mine (the
materials were cheaper, but the effect was the same), and had the impertinence to wear
it before my face. I forbid it, and she left, of course, which made papa so cross he wouldn't
give me the camel's hair shawl he promised this year."
"It's perfectly shameful!" said Miss Perkins, as Trix paused out of breath. "Servants ought
to be made to dress like servants, as they do abroad; then we should have no more trouble,"
observed Miss Perkins, who had just made the grand tour, and had brought home a French
maid. "Perky don't practise as she preaches," whispered
Belle to Polly, as Miss P. became absorbed in the chat of her other neighbors. "She pays
her chamber girl with old finery; and the other day, when Betsey was out parading in
her missis's cast-off purple plush suit, Mr. Curtis thought she was mademoiselle, and bowed
to her. He is as blind as a bat, but recognized the dress, and pulled off his hat to it in
the most elegant style. Perky adores him, and was mad enough to beat Betsey when she
told the story and giggled over it. Betsey is quite as stylish and ever so much prettier
than Perky, and she knows it, which is an aggravation."
Polly couldn't help laughing, but grew sober a minute after, as Trix said, pettishly, "Well,
I'm sick of hearing about beggars; I believe half of them are humbugs, and if we let them
alone they'd go to work and take care of themselves. There's altogether too much fuss made about
charity. I do wish we could be left in peace." "There can't be too much charity!" burst out
Polly, forgetting her shyness all at once. "Oh, indeed! Well, I take the liberty to differ
from you," returned Trix, putting up her glass, and bestowing upon Polly her most "toploftical
stare," as the girls called it. I regret to say that Polly never could talk
with or be near Trix without feeling irritated and combative. She tried to conquer this feeling,
but she couldn't, and when Trix put on airs, Polly felt an intense desire to box her ears.
That eye-glass was her especial aversion, for Trix was no more near-sighted than herself,
but pretended to be because it was the fashion, and at times used the innocent glass as a
weapon with which to put down any one who presumed to set themselves up. The supercilious
glance which accompanied her ironically polite speech roused Polly, who answered with sudden
color and the kindling of the eyes that always betrayed a perturbed spirit, "I don't think
many of us would enjoy that selfish sort of peace, while little children starve, and girls
no older than us kill themselves because their dreadful poverty leaves them no choice but
sin or death." A sudden lull took place, for, though Polly,
did not raise her voice, it was full of indignant emotion, and the most frivolous girl there
felt a little thrill of sympathy; for the most utterly fashionable life does not kill
the heart out of women, till years of selfish pleasure have passed over their heads. Trix
was ashamed of herself; but she felt the same antagonism toward Polly, that Polly did toward
her; and, being less generous, took satisfaction in plaguing her. Polly did not know that the
secret of this was the fact that Tom often held her up as a model for his fiance to follow,
which caused that young lady to dislike her more than ever.
"Half the awful stories in the papers are made up for a sensation, and it's absurd to
believe them, unless one likes to be harrowed up. I don't; and as for peace, I'm not likely
to get much, while I have Tom to look after," said Trix, with an aggravating laugh.
Polly's needle snapped in two, but she did not mind it, as she said, with a look that
silenced even sharp-tongued Trix, "I can't help believing what my own eyes and ears have
seen and heard. You lead such safe and happy lives, you can't imagine the misery that is
all round you; but if you could get a glimpse of it, it would make your hearts ache, as
it has mine." "Do you suffer from heartache? Some one hinted
as much to me, but you looked so well, I couldn't believe it."
Now that was cruel in Trix, more cruel than any one guessed; but girls' tongues can deal
wounds as sharp and sudden as the slender stiletto Spanish women wear in their hair,
and Polly turned pale, as those words stabbed her. Belle saw it, and rushed to the rescue
with more good-will than wisdom. "Nobody ever accused you of having any heart
to ache with. Polly and I are not old enough yet to get tough and cool, and we are still
silly enough to pity unhappy people, Tom Shaw especially," added Belle, under her breath.
That was a two-edged thrust, for Trix was decidedly an old girl, and Tom was generally
regarded as a hapless victim. Trix turned red; but before she could load and fire again,
Emma Davenport, who labored under the delusion that this sort of skirmishing was ill-natured,
and therefore ill-bred, spoke up in her pleasant way, "Speaking of pitying the poor, I always
wonder why it is that we all like to read and cry over their troubles in books, but
when we have the real thing before us, we think it is uninteresting and disagreeable."
"It's the genius that gets into the books, which makes us like the poverty, I fancy.
But I don't quite agree that the real thing isn't interesting. I think it would be, if
we knew how to look at and feel it," said Polly, very quietly, as she pushed her chair
out of the arctic circle of Miss Perkins, into the temperate one of friendly Emma.
"But how shall we learn that? I don't see what we girls can do, more than we do now.
We haven't much money for such things, shouldn't know how to use it if we had; and it isn't
proper for us to go poking into dirty places, to hunt up the needy.'Going about doing good,
in pony phaetons,' as somebody says, may succeed in England, but it won't work here," said
***, who had begun, lately, to think a good deal of some one beside herself, and so found
her interest in her fellow-beings increasing daily.
"We can't do much, perhaps, just yet; but still there are things left undone that naturally
fall to us. I know a house," said Polly, sewing busily as she talked, "where every servant
who enters it becomes an object of interest to the mistress and her daughters. These women
are taught good habits, books are put where they can get them, sensible amusements are
planned for them sometimes, and they soon feel that they are not considered mere scrubs,
to do as much work as possible, for as little money as possible, but helpers in the family,
who are loved and respected in proportion to their faithfulness. This lady feels her
duty to them, owns it, and does it, as conscientiously as she wants them to do theirs by her; and
that is the way it ought to be, I think." As Polly paused, several keen eyes discovered
that Emma's cheeks were very red, and saw a smile lurking in the corners of the mouth
that tried to look demure, which told them who Polly meant.
"Do the Biddies all turn out saints in that well regulated family?" asked the irrepressible
Trix. "No; few of us do that, even in the parlor;
but every one of the Biddies is better for being there, whether they are grateful or
not. I ought not to have mentioned this, perhaps, but I wanted to show you one thing that we
girls can do. We all complain about bad servants, most as much as if we were house-keepers ourselves;
but it never occurs to us to try and mend the matter, by getting up a better spirit
between mistress and maid. Then there's another thing we can do," added Polly, warming up.
"Most of us find money enough for our little vanities and pleasures, but feel dreadfully
poor when we come to pay for work, sewing especially. Couldn't we give up a few of the
vanities, and pay the seamstresses better?" "I declare I will!" cried Belle, whose conscience
suddenly woke, and smote her for beating down the woman who did her plain sewing, in order
that she might have an extra flounce on a new dress. "Belle has got a virtuous fit;
pity it won't last a week," said Trix. "Wait and see," retorted Belle, resolving
that it should last, just to disappoint "that spiteful minx;" as she sweetly called her
old school-mate. "Now we shall behold Belle galloping away
at a great pace, on her new hobby. I shouldn't be surprised to hear of her preaching in the
jail, adopting a nice dirty little orphan, or passing round tracts at a Woman's Rights
meeting," said Trix, who never could forgive Belle for having a lovely complexion, and
so much hair of her own that she never patronized either rats, mice, waterfalls, switches, or
puff-combs. "Well, I might do worse; and I think, of the
two, I'd rather amuse myself so, than as some young ladies do, who get into the papers for
their pranks," returned Belle, with a moral air.
"Suppose we have a little recess, and rest while Polly plays to us. Will you, Polly?
It will do us good; they all want to hear you, and begged I'd ask."
"Then I will, with pleasure"; and Polly went to the piano with such obliging readiness,
that several reproachful glances fell upon Trix, who didn't need her glass to see them.
Polly was never too sad, perturbed, or lazy to sing, for it was almost as easy to her
as breathing, and seemed the most natural outlet for her emotions. For a minute her
hands wandered over the keys, as if uncertain what to play; then, falling into a sad, sweet
strain, she sang "The Bridge of Sighs." Polly didn't know why she chose it, but the instinct
seemed to have been a true one, for, old as the song was, it went straight to the hearts
of the hearers, and Polly sung it better than she ever had before, for now the memory of
little Jane lent it a tender pathos which no art could give. It did them all good, for
music is a beautiful magician, and few can resist its power. The girls were touched by
the appeal; Polly was lifted out of herself, and when she turned round, the softened look
on all the faces told her that for the moment foolish differences and frivolous beliefs
were forgotten in the one womanly sentiment of pity for the wrongs and woes of which the
listeners' happy lives were ignorant. "That song always makes me cry, and feel as
if I had no right to be so comfortable," said Belle, openly wiping her eyes on a crash towel.
"Fortunately such cases are very rare," said another young lady, who seldom read the newspapers.
"I wish they were, but I'm afraid they are not; for only three weeks ago, I saw a girl
younger than any of us, and no worse, who tried to destroy herself simply because she
was so discouraged, sick, and poor," said Polly.
"Do tell about her," cried Belle, eagerly. Feeling that the song had paved the way for
the story, and given her courage to tell it, Polly did tell it, and must have done it well,
for the girls stopped work to listen, and when she ended, other eyes beside warm-hearted
Belle's were wet. Trix looked quite subdued; Miss Perkins thawed to such a degree, that
something glittered on her hand as she bent over the pink pinafore again, better and brighter
than her biggest diamond; Emma got up and went to Polly with a face full of affectionate
respect, while ***, moved by a sudden impulse, caught up a costly Sevres plate that stood
on the etagere, and laying a five-dollar bill in it, passed it round, quoting Polly's words,
"Girls, I know you'll like to help poor little Jenny'begin again, and do better this time.'"
It was good to see how quickly the pretty purses were out, how generously each gave
of its abundance, and what hearty applause broke from the girls, as Belle laid down her
gold thimble, saying with an April face, "There, take that; I never have any money, somehow
it won't stay with me, but I can't let the plate pass me this time."
When *** brought the contributions to Polly, she just gathered it up in her two hands with
such a glad, grateful face, the girls wished they had had more to give.
"I can't thank you enough," she said, with an eloquent little choke in her voice. "This
will help Jenny very much; but the way in which it was done will do her more good than
double the money, because it will prove to her that she isn't without friends, and make
her feel that there is a place in the world for her. Let her work for you in return for
this; she don't ask alms, she only wants employment and a little kindness, and the best charity
we can bestow is to see that she has both." "I'll give her as much sewing as she wants,
and she can stay at our house while she does it, if she needs a home," said Trix, in a
spasm of benevolence. "She doesn't need a home, thank you; Miss
Mills has given half of hers, and considers Jane her child," answered Polly, with proud
satisfaction in the fact. "What an old dear!" cried Belle.
"I want to know her. May I?" whispered Emma. "Oh, yes; I'm glad to make her known to any
one. She is a quiet little old lady, but she does one heaps of good, and shows you how
to be charitable in the wisest way." "Do tell us about it. I'm sure I want to do
my duty, but it's such a muddle, I don't know how," said Belle.
Then, quite naturally, the conversation fell upon the great work that none should be too
busy to think of, and which few are too young or too poor to help on with their mite. The
faces grew more earnest, the fingers flew faster, as the quick young hearts and brains
took in the new facts, ideas, and plans that grew out of the true stories, the sensible
hints, the successful efforts which Polly told them, fresh from the lips of Miss Mills;
for, of late, Polly had talked much with the good lady, and learned quickly the lessons
her unselfish life conveyed. The girls found this more interesting than gossip, partly
owing to its novelty, doubtless; but the enthusiasm was sincere while it lasted, and did them
good. Many of them forgot all about it in a week, but Polly's effort was not lost, for
Emma, Belle, and *** remained firm friends to Jane, so kindly helping her that the poor
child felt as if she had indeed been born again, into a new and happy world.
Not till long afterward did Polly see how much good this little effort had done her,
for the first small sacrifice of this sort leads the way to others, and a single hand's
turn given heartily to the world's great work helps one amazingly with one's own small tasks.
Polly found this out as her life slowly grew easier and brighter, and the beautiful law
of compensation gave her better purposes and pleasures than any she had lost. The parents
of some of her pupils were persons of real refinement, and such are always quick to perceive
the marks of culture in others, no matter where they find them. These, attracted first
by Polly's cheerful face, modest manners, and faithful work, soon found in her something
more than a good teacher; they found a real talent for music, an eager desire for helpful
opportunities, and a heart grateful for the kindly sympathy that makes rough places smooth.
Fortunately those who have the skill to detect these traits also possess the spirit to appreciate
and often the power to serve and develop them. In ways so delicate that the most sensitive
pride could not resent the favor, these true gentlefolk showed Polly their respect and
regard, put many pleasures in her way, and when they paid her for her work, gave her
also the hearty thanks that takes away all sense of degradation even from the humblest
service, for money so earned and paid sweetens the daily bread it buys, and makes the mutual
obligation a mutual benefit and pleasure. A few such patrons did much for Polly, and
the music she gave them had an undertone of gratitude that left blithe echoes in those
great houses, which money could not buy. Then, as her butterfly acquaintances deserted
her, she found her way into a hive of friendly bees, who welcomed her, and showed her how
to find the honey that keeps life sweet and wholesome. Through Miss Mills, who was the
counsellor and comforter of several, Polly came to know a little sisterhood of busy,
happy, independent girls, who each had a purpose to execute, a talent to develop, an ambition
to achieve, and brought to the work patience and perseverance, hope and courage. Here Polly
found her place at once, for in this little world love and liberty prevailed; talent,
energy, and character took the first rank; money, fashion, and position were literally
nowhere; for here, as in the big world outside, genius seemed to blossom best when poverty
was head gardener. Young teachers, doing much work for little pay; young artists, trying
to pencil, paint, or carve their way to Rome; young writers, burning to distinguish themselves;
young singers, dreaming of triumphs, great as those of Jenny Lind; and some who tried
to conquer independence, armed only with a needle, like poor Jane. All these helped Polly
as unconsciously as she helped them, for purpose and principle are the best teachers we can
have, and the want of them makes half the women of America what they are, restless,
aimless, frivolous, and sick. To outsiders that was a very hard-working
and uneventful winter to Polly. She thought so herself; but as spring came on, the seed
of new virtues, planted in the winter time, and ripened by the sunshine of endeavor, began
to bud in Polly's nature, betraying their presence to others by the added strength and
sweetness of her character, long before she herself discovered these May flowers that
had blossomed for her underneath the snow. End of Chapter XI
CHAPTER XII. FORBIDDEN FRUIT "I'M perfectly aching for some fun," said
Polly to herself as she opened her window one morning and the sunshine and frosty air
set her blood dancing and her eyes sparkling with youth, health, and overflowing spirits.
"I really must break out somewhere and have a good time. It's quite impossible to keep
steady any longer. Now what will I do?" Polly sprinkled crumbs to the doves, who came daily
to be fed, and while she watched the gleaming necks and rosy feet, she racked her brain
to devise some unusually delightful way of enjoying herself, for she really had bottled
up her spirits so long, they were in a state of uncontrollable effervescence.
"I'll go to the opera," she suddenly announced to the doves. "It's expensive, I know, but
it's remarkably good, and music is such a treat to me. Yes, I'll get two tickets as
cheap as I can, send a note to Will, poor lad, he needs fun as much as I do, and we'll
go and have a nice time in some corner, as Charles Lamb and his sister used to."
With that Polly slammed down the window, to the dismay of her gentle little pensioners,
and began to fly about with great energy, singing and talking to herself as if it was
impossible to keep quiet. She started early to her first lesson that she might have time
to buy the tickets, hoping, as she put a five-dollar bill into her purse, that they wouldn't be
very high, for she felt that she was not in a mood to resist temptation. But she was spared
any struggle, for when she reached the place, the ticket office was blocked up by eager
purchasers and the disappointed faces that turned away told Polly there was no hope for
her. "Well, I don't care, I'll go somewhere, for
I will have my fun," she said with great determination, for disappointment only seemed to whet her
appetite. But the playbills showed her nothing inviting and she was forced to go away to
her work with the money burning her pocket and all manner of wild schemes floating in
her head. At noon, instead of going home to dinner, she went and took an ice, trying to
feet very gay and festive all by herself. It was rather a failure, however, and after
a tour of the picture shops she went to give Maud a lesson, feeling that it was very hard
to quench her longings, and subside into a prim little music teacher.
Fortunately she did not have to do violence to her feelings very long, for the first thing
*** said to her was: "Can you go?" "Where?"
"Didn't you get my note?" "I didn't go home to dinner."
"Tom wants us to go to the opera to-night and" Fan got no further, for Polly uttered
a cry of rapture and clasped her hands. "Go? Of course I will. I've been dying to
go all day, tried to get tickets this morning and couldn't, been fuming about it ever since,
and now oh, how splendid!" And Polly could not restrain an ecstatic skip, for this burst
of joy rather upset her. "Well, you come to tea, and we'll dress together,
and go all comfortable with Tom, who is in a heavenly frame of mind to-day."
"I must run home and get my things," said Polly, resolving on the spot to buy the nicest
pair of gloves the city afforded. "You shall have my white cloak and any other
little rigging you want. Tommy likes to have his ladies a credit to him, you know," said
***, departing to take a beauty sleep. Polly instantly decided that she wouldn't
borrow Becky's best bonnet, as she at first intended, but get a new one, for in her present
excited state, no extravagance seemed too prodigal in honor of this grand occasion.
I am afraid that Maud's lesson was not as thorough as it should have been, for Polly's
head was such a chaos of bonnets, gloves, opera-cloaks and fans, that Maud blundered
through, murdering time and tune at her own sweet will. The instant it was over Polly
rushed away and bought not only the kids but a bonnet frame, a bit of illusion, and a pink
crape rose, which had tempted her for weeks in a certain shop window, then home and to
work with all the skill and speed of a distracted milliner.
"I'm rushing madly into expense, I'm afraid, but the fit is on me and I'll eat bread and
water for a week to make up for it. I must look nice, for Tom seldom takes me and ought
to be gratified when he does. I want to do like other girls, just for once, and enjoy
myself without thinking about right and wrong. Now a bit of pink ribbon to tie it with, and
I shall be done in time to do up my best collar," she said, turning her boxes topsy-turvy for
the necessary ribbon in that delightful flurry which young ladies feel on such occasions.
It is my private opinion that the little shifts and struggles we poor girls have to undergo
beforehand give a peculiar relish to our fun when we get it. This fact will account for
the rapturous mood in which Polly found herself when, after making her bonnet, washing and
ironing her best set, blacking her boots and mending her fan, she at last, like Consuelo,
"put on a little dress of black silk" and, with the smaller adornments pinned up in a
paper, started for the Shaws', finding it difficult to walk decorously when her heart
was dancing in her ***. Maud happened to be playing a redowa up in
the parlor, and Polly came prancing into the room so evidently spoiling for a dance that
Tom, who was there, found it impossible to resist catching her about the waist, and putting
her through the most intricate evolutions till Maud's fingers gave out.
"That was splendid! Oh, Tom, thank you so much for asking me to-night. I feel just like
having a regular good time," cried Polly, when she stopped, with her hat hanging round
her neck and her hair looking as if she had been out in a high wind.
"Glad of it. I felt so myself and thought we'd have a jolly little party all in the
family," said Tom, looking much gratified at her delight.
"Is Trix sick?" asked Polly. "Gone to New York for a week."
"Ah, when the cat's away the mice will play." "Exactly. Come and have another turn."
Before they could start, however, the awful spectacle of a little dog trotting out of
the room with a paper parcel in his mouth, made Polly clasp her hands with the despairing
cry: "My bonnet! Oh, my bonnet!" "Where? what? which?" And Tom looked about
him, bewildered. "Snip's got it. Save it! save it!"
"I will!" And Tom gave chase with more vigor than discretion.
Snip, evidently regarding it as a game got up for his special benefit, enjoyed the race
immensely and scampered all over the house, shaking the precious parcel like a rat while
his master ran and whistled, commanded and coaxed, in vain. Polly followed, consumed
with anxiety, and Maud laughed till Mrs. Shaw sent down to know who was in hysterics. A
piteous yelp from the lower regions at last announced that the thief was captured, and
Tom appeared bearing Snip by the nape of the neck in one hand and Polly's cherished bonnet
in the other. "The little scamp was just going to worry
it when I grabbed him. I'm afraid he has eaten one of your gloves. I can't find it, and this
one is pretty well chewed up," said Tom, bereaving Snip of the torn kid, to which he still pertinaciously
clung. "Serves me right," said Polly with a groan.
"I'd no business to get a new pair, but I wanted to be extra gorgeous to-night, and
this is my punishment for such mad extravagance." "Was there anything else?" asked Tom.
"Only my best cuffs and collar. You'll probably find them in the coal-bin," said Polly, with
the calmness of despair. "I saw some little white things on the dining-room
floor as I raced through. Go get them, Maud, and we'll repair damages," said Tom, shutting
the culprit into the boot closet, where he placidly rolled himself up and went to sleep.
"They ain't hurt a bit," proclaimed Maud, restoring the lost treasures.
"Neither is my bonnet, for which I'm deeply grateful," said Polly, who had been examining
it with a solicitude which made Tom's eyes twinkle.
"So am I, for it strikes me that is an uncommonly'nobby' little affair," he said approvingly. Tom had
a weakness for pale pink roses, and perhaps Polly knew it.
"I'm afraid it's too gay," said Polly, with a dubious look.
"Not a bit. Sort of bridal, you know. Must be becoming. Put it on and let's see."
"I wouldn't for the world, with my hair all tumbling down. Don't look at me till I'm respectable,
and don't tell any one how I've been acting. I think I must be a little crazy to-night,"
said Polly, gathering up her rescued finery and preparing to go and find Fan.
"Lunacy is mighty becoming, Polly. Try it again," answered Tom, watching her as she
went laughing away, looking all the prettier for her dishevelment. "Dress that girl up,
and she'd be a raving, tearing beauty," added Tom to Maud in a lower tone as he look her
into the parlor under his arm. Polly heard it and instantly resolved to be
as "raving and as tearing" as her means would allow, "just for one night," she said as she
peeped over the banisters, glad to see that the dance and the race had taken the "band-boxy"
air out of Tom's elegant array. I deeply regret being obliged to shock the
eyes and ears of such of my readers as have a prejudice in favor of pure English by expressions
like the above, but, having rashly undertaken to write a little story about Young America,
for Young America, I feel bound to depict my honored patrons as faithfully as my limited
powers permit. Otherwise, I must expect the crushing criticism, "Well, I dare say it's
all very prim and proper, but it isn't a bit like us," and never hope to arrive at the
distinction of finding the covers of "An Old-Fashioned Girl" the dirtiest in the library.
The friends had a social "cup o' tea" upstairs, which Polly considered the height of luxury,
and then each took a mirror and proceeded to prink to her heart's content. The earnestness
with which Polly made her toilet that night was delightful to behold. Feeling in a daring
mood, she released her pretty hair from the braids in which she usually wore it and permitted
the curls to display themselves in all their brown abundance, especially several dangerous
little ones about the temples and forehead. The putting on of the rescued collar and cuffs
was a task which absorbed her whole mind. So was the settling of a minute bit of court-plaster
just to the left of the dimple in her chin, an unusual piece of coquetry in which Polly
would not have indulged, if an almost invisible scratch had not given her an excuse for doing
it. The white, down-trimmed cloak, with certain imposing ornaments on the hood, was assumed
with becoming gravity and draped with much advancing and retreating before the glass,
as its wearer practised the true Boston gait, elbows back, shoulders forward, a bend and
a slide, occasionally varied by a slight skip. But when that bonnet went on, Polly actually
held her breath till it was safely landed and the pink rose bloomed above the smooth
waves of hair with what *** called "a ravishing effect." At this successful stage of affairs
Polly found it impossible to resist the loan of a pair of gold bands for the wrists and
***'s white fan with the little mirror in the middle.
"I can put them in my pocket if I feel too much dressed," said Polly as she snapped on
the bracelets, but after a wave or two of the fan she felt that it would be impossible
to take them off till the evening was over, so enticing was their glitter.
*** also lent her a pair of three-button gloves, which completed her content, and when
Tom greeted her with an approving, "Here's a sight for gods and men! Why, Polly, you're
gorgeous!" she felt that her "fun" had decidedly begun.
"Wouldn't Polly make a lovely bride?" said Maud, who was revolving about the two girls,
trying to decide whether she would have a blue or a white cloak when she grew up and
went to operas. "Faith, and she would! Allow me to congratulate
you, Mrs. Sydney," added Tom, advancing with his wedding-reception bow and a wicked look
at ***. "Go away! How dare you?" cried Polly, growing
much redder than her rose. "If we are going to the opera to-night, perhaps
we'd better start, as the carriage has been waiting some time," observed Fan coolly, and
sailed out of the room in an unusually lofty manner.
"Don't you like it, Polly?" whispered Tom, as they went down stairs together.
"Very much." "The deuce you do!"
"I'm so fond of music, how can I help it? "I'm talking about Syd."
"Well, I'm not." "You'd better try for him."
"I'll think of it." "Oh, Polly, Polly, what are you coming to?"
"A tumble into the street, apparently," answered Polly as she slipped a little on the step,
and Tom stopped in the middle of his laugh to pilot her safely into the carriage, where
*** was already seated. "Here's richness!" said Polly to herself as
she rolled away, feeling as Cinderella probably did when the pumpkin-coach bore her to the
first ball, only Polly had two princes to think about, and poor Cinderella, on that
occasion, had not even one. *** didn't seem inclined to talk much, and Tom would go on
in such a ridiculous manner that Polly told him she wouldn't listen and began to hum bits
of the opera. But she heard every word, nevertheless, and resolved to pay him for his impertinence
as soon as possible by showing him what he had lost.
Their seats were in the balcony, and hardly were they settled, when, by one of those remarkable
coincidences which are continually occurring in our youth, Mr. Sydney and ***'s old friend
Frank Moore took their places just behind them.
"Oh, you villain! You did it on purpose," whispered Polly as she turned from greeting
their neighbors and saw a droll look on Tom's face.
"I give you my word I didn't. It's the law of attraction, don't you see?"
"If Fan likes it, I don't care." "She looks resigned, I think."
She certainly did, for she was talking and laughing in the gayest manner with Frank while
Sydney was covertly surveying Polly as if he didn't quite understand how the gray grub
got so suddenly transformed into a white butterfly. It is a well-known fact that dress plays a
very important part in the lives of most women and even the most sensible cannot help owning
sometimes how much happiness they owe to a becoming gown, gracefully arranged hair, or
a bonnet which brings out the best points in their faces and puts them in a good humor.
A great man was once heard to say that what first attracted him to his well-beloved wife
was seeing her in a white muslin dress with a blue shawl on the chair behind her. The
dress caught his eye, and, stopping to admire that, the wearer's intelligent conversation
interested his mind, and in time, the woman's sweetness won his heart. It is not the finest
dress which does the most execution, I fancy, but that which best interprets individual
taste and character. Wise people understand this, and everybody is more influenced by
it than they know, perhaps. Polly was not very wise, but she felt that every one about
her found something more attractive than usual in her and modestly attributed Tom's devotion,
Sydney's interest, and Frank's undisguised admiration, to the new bonnet or, more likely,
to that delightful combination of cashmere, silk, and swan's-down, which, like Charity's
mantle, seemed to cover a multitude of sins in other people's eyes and exalt the little
music teacher to the rank of a young lady. Polly scoffed at this sort of thing sometimes,
but to-night she accepted it without a murmur rather enjoyed it in fact, let her bracelets
shine before the eyes of all men, and felt that it was good to seem comely in their sight.
She forgot one thing, however: that her own happy spirits gave the crowning charm to a
picture which every one liked to see a blithe young girl enjoying herself with all her heart.
The music and the light, costume and company, excited Polly and made many things possible
which at most times she would never have thought of saying or doing. She did not mean to flirt,
but somehow "it flirted itself" and she couldn't help it, for, once started, it was hard to
stop, with Tom goading her on, and Sydney looking at her with that new interest in his
eyes. Polly's flirting was such a very mild imitation of the fashionable thing that Trix
& Co. would not have recognized it, but it did very well for a beginner, and Polly understood
that night wherein the fascination of it lay, for she felt as if she had found a new gift
all of a sudden, and was learning how to use it, knowing that it was dangerous, yet finding
its chief charm in that very fact. Tom didn't know what to make of her at first,
though he thought the change uncommonly becoming and finally decided that Polly had taken his
advice and was "setting her cap for Syd," as he gracefully expressed it. Sydney, being
a modest man, thought nothing of the kind, but simply fancied that little Polly was growing
up to be a very charming woman. He had known her since her first visit and had always liked
the child; this winter he had been interested in the success of her plans and had done what
he could to help them, but he never thought of failing in love with Polly till that night.
Then he began to feel that he had not fully appreciated his young friend; that she was
such a bright and lovable girl, it was a pity she should not always be gay and pretty, and
enjoy herself; that she would make a capital wife for somebody, and perhaps it was about
time to think of "settling," as his sister often said. These thoughts came and went as
he watched the white figure in front, felt the enchantment of the music, and found everybody
unusually blithe and beautiful. He had heard the opera many times, but it had never seemed
so fine before, perhaps because he had never happened to have had an ingenuous young face
so near him in which the varying emotions born of the music, and the romance it portrayed,
came and went so eloquently that it was impossible to help reading them. Polly did not know that
this was why he leaned down so often to speak to her, with an expression which she did not
understand but liked very much nevertheless. "Don't shut your eyes, Polly. They are so
full of mischief to-night, I like to see them," said Tom, after idly wondering for a minute
if she knew how long and curly her lashes were.
"I don't wish to look affected, but the music tells the story so much better than the acting
that I don't care to look on half the time," answered Polly, hoping Tom wouldn't see the
tears she had so cleverly suppressed. "Now I like the acting best. The music is
all very fine, I know, but it does seem so absurd for people to go round telling tremendous
secrets at the top of their voices. I can't get used to it."
"That's because you've more common-sense than romance. I don't mind the absurdity, and quite
long to go and comfort that poor girl with the broken heart," said Polly with a sigh
as the curtain fell on a most affecting tableau. "What's-his-name is a great jack not to see
that she adores him. In real life we fellows ain't such bats as all that," observed Tom,
who had decided opinions on many subjects that he knew very little about, and expressed
them with great candor. A curious smile passed over Polly's face and
she put up her glass to hide her eyes, as she said: "I think you are bats sometimes,
but women are taught to wear masks, and that accounts for it, I suppose."
"I don't agree. There's precious little masking nowadays; wish there was a little more sometimes,"
added Tom, thinking of several blooming damsels whose beseeching eyes had begged him not to
leave them to wither on the parent stem. "I hope not, but I guess there's a good deal
more than any one would suspect." "What can you know about broken hearts and
blighted beings?" asked Sydney, smiling at the girl's pensive tone.
Polly glanced up at him and her face dimpled and shone again, as she answered, laughing:
"Not much; my time is to come." "I can't imagine you walking about the world
with your back hair down, bewailing a hard-hearted lover," said Tom.
"Neither can I. That wouldn't be my way." "No; Miss Polly would let concealment prey
on her damask cheeks and still smile on in the novel fashion, or turn sister of charity
and nurse the heartless lover through small-pox, or some other contagious disease, and die
seraphically, leaving him to the agonies of remorse and tardy love."
Polly gave Sydney an indignant look as he said that in a slow satirical way that nettled
her very much, for she hated to be thought sentimental.
"That's not my way either," she said decidedly. "I'd try to outlive it, and if I couldn't,
I'd try to be the better for it. Disappointment needn't make a woman a fool."
"Nor an old maid, if she's pretty and good. Remember that, and don't visit the sins of
one blockhead on all the rest of mankind," said Tom, laughing at her earnestness.
"I don't think there is the slightest possibility of Miss Polly's being either," added Sydney
with a look which made it evident that concealment had not seriously damaged Polly's damask cheek
as yet. "There's Clara Bird. I haven't seen her but
once since she was married. How pretty she looks!" and Polly retired behind the big glass
again, thinking the chat was becoming rather personal.
"Now, there's a girl who tried a different cure for unrequited affection from any you
mention. People say she was fond of Belle's brother. He didn't reciprocate but went off
to India to spoil his constitution, so Clara married a man twenty years older than she
is and consoles herself by being the best-dressed woman in the city."
"That accounts for it," said Polly, when Tom's long whisper ended.
"For what?" "The tired look in her eyes."
"I don't see it," said Tom, after a survey through the glass.
"Didn't expect you would." "I see what you mean. A good many women have
it nowadays," said Sydney over Polly's shoulder. "What's she tired of? The old gentleman?"
asked Tom. "And herself," added Polly.
"You've been reading French novels, I know you have. That's just the way the heroines
go on," cried Tom. "I haven't read one, but it's evident you
have, young man, and you'd better stop." "I don't care for'em; only do it to keep up
my French. But how came you to be so wise, ma'am?"
"Observation, sir. I like to watch faces, and I seldom see a grown-up one that looks
perfectly happy." "True for you, Polly; no more you do, now
I think of it. I don't know but one that always looks so, and there it is."
"Where?" asked Polly, with interest. "Look straight before you and you'll see it."
Polly did look, but all she saw was her own face in the little mirror of the fan which
Tom held up and peeped over with a laugh in his eyes.
"Do I look happy? I'm glad of that," And Polly surveyed herself with care.
Both young men thought it was girlish vanity and smiled at its naive display, but Polly
was looking for something deeper than beauty and was glad not to find it.
"Rather a pleasant little prospect, hey, Polly?" "My bonnet is straight, and that's all I care
about. Did you ever see a picture of Beau Brummel?" asked Polly quickly.
"No." "Well, there he is, modernized." And turning
the fan, she showed him himself. "Any more portraits in your gallery?" asked
Sydney, as if he liked to share all the nonsense going.
"One more." "What do you call it?"
"The portrait of a gentleman." And the little glass reflected a gratified face for the space
of two seconds. "Thank you. I'm glad I don't disgrace my name,"
said Sydney, looking down into the merry blue eyes that thanked him silently for many of
the small kindnesses that women never can forget.
"Very good, Polly, you are getting on fast," whispered Tom, patting his yellow kids approvingly.
"Be quiet! Dear me, how warm it is!" And Polly gave him a frown that delighted his soul.
"Come out and have an ice, we shall have time." "Fan is so absorbed, I couldn't think of disturbing
her," said Polly, fancying that her friend was enjoying the evening as much as she was
a great mistake, by the way, for Fan was acting for effect, and though she longed to turn
and join them, wouldn't do it, unless a certain person showed signs of missing her. He didn't,
and *** chatted on, raging inwardly over her disappointment, and wondering how Polly
could be so gay and selfish. It was delicious to see the little airs Polly
put on, for she felt as if she were somebody else, and acting a part. She leaned back,
as if quite oppressed by the heat, permitted Sydney to fan her, and paid him for the service
by giving him a flower from her bouquet, proceedings which amused Tom immensely, even while it
piqued him a little to be treated like an old friend who didn't count.
"Go in and win, Polly; I'll give you my blessing," he whispered, as the curtain rose again.
"It's only part of the fun, so don't you laugh, you disrespectful boy," she whispered back
in a tone never used toward Sydney. Tom didn't quite like the different way in
which she treated them, and the word "boy" disturbed his dignity, for he was almost twenty-one
and Polly ought to treat him with more respect. Sydney at the same moment was wishing he was
in Tom's place young, comely, and such a familiar friend that Polly would scold and lecture
him in the delightful way she did Tom; while Polly forgot them both when the music began
and left them ample time to look at her and think about themselves.
While they waited to get out when all was over Polly heard Fan whisper to Tom: "What
do you think Trix will say to this?" "What do you mean?"
"Why, the way you've been going on to-night." "Don't know, and don't care; it's only Polly."
"That's the very thing. She can't bear P." "Well, I can; and I don't see why I shouldn't
enjoy myself as well as Trix." "You'll get to enjoying yourself too much
if you aren't careful. Polly's waked up." "I'm glad of it, and so's Syd."
"I only spoke for your good." "Don't trouble yourself about me; I get lecturing
enough in another quarter and can't stand any more. Come, Polly."
She took the arm he offered her, but her heart was sore and angry, for that phrase, "It's
only Polly," hurt her sadly. "As if I wasn't anybody, hadn't any feelings, and was only
made to amuse or work for people! Fan and Tom are both mistaken and I'll show them that
Polly is awake," she thought, indignantly. "Why shouldn't I enjoy myself as well as the
rest? Besides, it's only Tom," she added with a bitter smile as she thought of Trix.
"Are you tired, Polly?" asked Tom, bending down to look into her face.
"Yes, of being nobody." "Ah, but you ain't nobody, you're Polly, and
you couldn't better that if you tried ever so hard," said Tom, warmly, for he really
was fond of Polly, and felt uncommonly so just then.
"I'm glad you think so, anyway. It's so pleasant to be liked." And she looked up with her face
quite bright again. "I always did like you, don't you know, ever
since that first visit." "But you teased me shamefully, for all that."
"So I did, but I don't now." Polly did not answer, and Tom asked, with
more anxiety than the occasion required: "Do I, Polly?"
"Not in the same way, Tom," she answered in a tone that didn't sound quite natural.
"Well, I never will again." "Yes, you will, you can't help it." And Polly's
eye glanced at Sydney, who was in front with Fan.
Tom laughed, and drew Polly closer as the crowd pressed, saying, with mock tenderness:
"Didn't she like to be chaffed about her sweethearts? Well, she shan't be if I can help it. Poor
dear, did she get her little bonnet knocked into a cocked hat and her little temper riled
at the same time?" Polly couldn't help laughing, and, in spite
of the crush, enjoyed the slow journey from seat to carriage, for Tom took such excellent
care of her, she was rather sorry when it was over.
They had a merry little supper after they got home, and Polly gave them a burlesque
opera that convulsed her hearers, for her spirits rose again and she was determined
to get the last drop of fun before she went back to her humdrum life again.
"I've had a regularly splendid time, and thank you ever so much," she said when the "good-nights"
were being exchanged. "So have I. Let's go and do it again to-morrow,"
said Tom, holding the hand from which he had helped to pull a refractory glove.
"Not for a long while, please. Too much pleasure would soon spoil me," answered Polly, shaking
her head. "I don't believe it. Good-night,'sweet Mistress
Milton,' as Syd called you. Sleep like an angel, and don't dream of I forgot, no teasing
allowed." And Tom took himself off with a theatrical farewell.
"Now it's all over and done with," thought Polly as she fell asleep after a long vigil.
But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the price of gloves and bonnet, for,
having nibbled at forbidden fruit, she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have
a good time, and there was no harm in that, but unfortunately she yielded to the various
small temptations that beset pretty young girls and did more mischief to others than
to herself. ***'s friendship grew cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing Trix was
half as satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sydney began to build castles that had no foundation.
End of Chapter XXII