 Chapter 14 On the evening of fans' visit, Polly sat down before her fire with a resolute and thoughtful aspect. She pulled her hair down, turned her skirt back, put her feet on the fender, and took putter into her lap, all of which arrangements signified that something very important had got to be thought over and settled. Polly did not soliloquy as allowed, as heroines on the stage or in books have a way of doing, but the conversation she held herself was very much like this. I'm afraid there is something in it. I've tried to think it's nothing but vanity or imagination, yet I can't help seeing a difference and feeling as if I ought not to pretend that I don't. I know it's considered proper for girls to shut their eyes and let things come to a crisis, no matter how much mischief is done. But I don't think it's doing as we'd be done by, and it seems a great deal more honest to show a man that you don't love him before he has entirely lost his heart. The girls laughed at me when I said so, and they declared that it would be a very improper thing to do. But I've observed that they don't hesitate to snub in eligible parties, as they call poor very young or unpopular men. It's alright then, but when a nice person comes it's part of the fun to let him go on to the very end, whether the girls care for him or not. The more proposals, the more credit. Fen says, Triggs always asks when she comes home after the summer excursions, how many birds have you biked? As if men were partridges. What wicked creatures we are, some of us at least, I wonder why such a laugh of conquest was put into us. Mother says a great deal of it is owing to bad education nowadays, but some girls seem born for the express purpose of making trouble, and would manage to do it if they lived in a howling wilderness. I'm afraid I've got a spice of it, and if I had the chance, should be as bad as any of them. I've tried it, and liked it, and maybe this is the consequence of that night's fun. Here Polly leaned back and looked up at the little mirror over the chimney piece, which was hung so that it reflected the faces of those about the fire. In it Polly saw a pair of tell-tale eyes, looking out from a tangle of bright brown hair. Cheeks flushed and dimpled suddenly as the fresh mouth smiled with an expression of conscious power, half proud, half ashamed, and as pretty to see as the coquettish gesture with which she smoothed back her curls and flourished a right hand. For a minute she regarded the pleasant picture, by visions of girlish romances and triumphs danced through her head. Then she shook her hair all over her face, and pushed her chair out of range of the mirror, saying, with a drawn mixture of self-approach and self-approval in her tone, oh, puzzle, puzzle, what a fool I am! Puss appeared to endorse the sentiment by a loud purr, and a graceful wave of her tail, and Polly returned to the subject from which these little vanities had beguiled her. Just suppose it is true that he does ask me, and I say yes. What a stir it would make, and what fun it would be to see the faces of the girls when it came out. They all think a great deal of him because he is so hard to please, and almost any of them would feel immensely flattered if he liked them, whether they chose to marry him or not. Cheeks has tried for years to fascinate him, and he can't bear her, and I'm so glad. What a spiteful thing I am! Well, I can't help it. She does aggravate me so. And Polly gave the cat such a tweak of the ear, that puzzle bounced out of her lap in high dodging. It don't do's to think of her, and I won't, said Polly to herself, setting her lips with a grim look that was not at all becoming. What an easy life I should have plenty of money, quantities of friends, all sorts of pleasures and no work, no poverty, no cold shoulders or patched boots. I could do so much for all at home how I should enjoy that. And Polly let her thoughts revel in the luxurious future her fancy painted. It was a very pride picture, but something seemed to miss with it. For presently, she sighed and shook her head, thinking sorrowfully, ah, but I don't love him, and I'm afraid I never can as I ought. He's very good and generous and wise and would be kind, I know, but somehow I can't imagine spending my life with him. I'm so afraid I should get tired of him, and then what should I do? Polly's Sydney don't sound well, and Mrs Arthur's Sydney don't seem to fit me a bit. Wonder how it would seem to call him Arthur. And Polly said it under her breath, with a look over her shoulder to be sure no one heard it. It's a pretty name, but rather to fine, and I shouldn't dare to say sit, as his sister does. I like short, plain, home-like names, such as Will, Ned or Tom. No, no, I can never care for him, and it's no use to try. The exclamation broke from Polly as if a sudden trouble had ceased to her. And laying her head down on her knees, she said motionless for many minutes. When she looked up, her face wore an expression which no one had ever seen on it before. A look of mingled pain and patience, as if some loss had come to her, and left the bitterness of regret behind. I won't think of myself, or try to mend one mistake by making another, she said with a heavy sigh. I'll do what I can for Fen, and not stand between her and a chance of happiness. Let me see, how can I begin? I won't walk with him anymore. I'll dodge and go round about ways, so that we can't meet. I never had much faith in the remarkable coincidence of his always happening home to dinner, just as I go to give the rest their lesson. The fact is, I like to meet him, I am glad to be seen with him, and put on airs, I dare say, like a rain goose as I am. Well, I won't do it anymore. And that was fair Fan, one affliction. Poor dear, how I must have worried her all this time, and never guessed it. She hasn't been quite as kind as ever. But when she got sharp, I fancied it was dyspepsia. Oh, me, I wish the other trouble could be cured as easily as this. Here pass short an amiable desire to forgive and forget, and Polly took her up, saying aloud, Puddle, when Mrs. abuses you, play its dyspepsia, and don't bear malice, because it's a very trying disease, my dear. Then, going back to her thoughts, she rumbled on again. If he does not take that hint, I will give him a stronger one, for I will not have matters come to a crisis. Though I can't deny that my wicked vanity strongly tempts me to try and beg a bird just for the excitement and credit of the thing. Polly, I'm ashamed of you. What would your blessed mother say to hear such expressions from you? I'd write and tell her all the worry, only it would not do any good, and would only trouble her. I have no right to tell friends secrets, and I'm ashamed to tell mine. No, I'll leave mother in peace, and fight it out alone. I do think Van would suit him excellently by and by. He has known her all her life, and has a good influence over her. Love would do so much toward making her what she might be. It's a shame to have the chance lost just because he happens to see me. I should think she'd hate me, but I'll show her that she needn't, and do all I can to help her, for she has been so good to me, nothing shall ever make me forget that. It is a delicate and dangerous task, but I guess I can manage it. At any rate, I'll try, and have nothing to reproach myself with, if things do go contrary. What Polly thought of as she lay back in her chair, with her eyes shut, and a hopeless look on her face, is none of our business. Though we might feel a wish to know what caused the tear to gather slowly, from time to time, under her lashes, and roll down on Puddle's Gregor-coloured coat. Was it regret for the conquest you relinquished? Was it sympathy for her friend? Or was it an uncontrollable overflow of feeling? As you read some sad or tender passage of the Little Romans, which she kept hidden away in her own heart. On Monday Polly began the delicate and dangerous task. Instead of going to her pupils by way of the park, and the pleasant streets adjoining, she took a roundabout route through back streets, and thus escaped Mr Sidney, who as usual came home to dinner very early that day, and looked disappointed because he nowhere saw the bright face in the modest bonnet. Polly kept this up for a week, and by carefully avoiding the shore's house during calling hours, she saw nothing of Mr Sidney, who of course did not visit her at Miss Mills. Many happened to be poorly that week, and took no lesson, so Uncle Sid was deprived of his last hope, and looked as if his allowance of sunshine had been suddenly cut off. Now, as Polly was by no means a perfect creature, I am free to confess that the old temptation assailed her more than once that week, for when the first excitement of the dodging reform had subsided, she missed the pleasant little interviews that used to put a certain flavour of Romans into her dull, hard-working days. She liked Mr Sidney very much, for he had always been kind and friendly, since the early times when he had treated the little girl with a courtesy which the young woman gratefully remembered. I don't think it was his wealth, accomplishments or position that most attracted Polly, though these doubtless possessed a greater influence than she suspected. It was that indescribable something, which women are quick to see and feel in men who have been blessed with wise and good mothers. This had a special charm to Polly, for she soon found that this side of his character was not shown to everyone. With most girls, he was very like the other young men of Sid, except perhaps in a certain grace of manner, which was as natural to him as his respect for all womankind. But with Fanny and Polly, he showed the domestic traits and virtues which are more engaging to womanly women than any amount of cool intellect or worldly wisdom. Polly had seen a good deal of him during her visits at the shores where he was intimate owing to the friendship between madam and his mother. But she had never thought of him as a possible lover for either Fanny or herself, because he was six or eight years older than they, and still sometimes assumed the part of her venerable mentor as in the early days. Lately, this had changed especially towards Polly, and it flattered her more than she would confess even to herself. She knew he admired her one talent, respected her independence and enjoyed his society. But when something warmer and more flattering than admiration, respect or pleasure crept into his manner, she could not help seeing that one of the good gifts of this life was daily coming more and more within her reach, and began to ask herself if she could honestly receive the gift and reward the giver. At first she tried to think she could, but unfortunately hearts are so contrary that they won't be obedient to reason, will or even creditude. Polly felt a very cordial friendship for Mr Sidney, but not one particle of the love which is the only coin in which love can be truly paid. Then she took a fancy into her head that she ought to accept this piece of good fortune for the sake of the family and forget herself. But this forced idea of self-sacrifice did not satisfy, for she was not a fashionable girl trained to believe that her first duty was to make a good match and never mind the consequences, though they rendered her miserable for life. Polly's greed was very simple. If I don't love him, I ought not to marry him, especially when I do love somebody else, though everything is against me. If she had read as many French novels as some young ladies, she might have considered it interesting to marry under the circumstances and suffer a secret anguish to make her a romantic victim. But Polly's education had been neglected, and after a good deal of natural indecision, she did what most women do in such cases, thought she would wait and see. The discovery of any secret seemed to show her something to do, for if the wait-and-see decision was making her friend unhappy, it must be changed as soon as possible. This finished Polly's indecision, and after that night she never allowed herself to dwell upon the pleasant temptation which came in a guise particularly attractive to a young girl with the spies of the old Eve in her composition. So day after day she trudged through the dull back streets longing for the sunny park, the face that always brightened when it saw her coming, and most of all the chance of meeting, well, it wasn't tricks. When Saturday came, Polly started as usual for a visit to Bacchia and Bess, but couldn't resist stopping at the shores to leave a little parcel for Fan that was calling time. As she stepped in, meaning to run up for word if Fanny should chance to be alone, two heads on the hall table arrested her. Who is here, Katie? Only Mr. Sidney and Master Tom, won't you stop a bit, Miss Polly? Not this morning, I'm rather in a hurry, and the way went Polly as if a dozen eager pupils were clamouring for her presence, but as the door shut behind her she felt so left out in the cold that her eyes filled, and when Neb, Tom's great new fond land, came blundering after her, she stopped and hugged his shaky head, saying softly as she looked into the brown benevolent eyes full of almost human sympathy. Now, go back, old dear, you must not follow me. Oh, Neb, it's so hard to put love away when you want it very much, and it is not right to take it. A foolish little speech to make to a dark, but you see, Polly was only a tender-hearted girl, trying to do her duty. Since he is safe with Fanny, I'm a venture to walk where I like. It's such a lovely day, all the babies will be out, and it always does me good to see them, thought Polly, turning into the white sunny street her west and down pollinated at that hour. The babies were out in full force, looking as gay and delicate and sweet as the snow drops, hyacinths, and daffodils on the banks whence the snow had melted. But somehow the babies did not do Polly the good she expected, but they smiled at her from their carriages and kissed their choppy hands as she passed them, for Polly had the sort of face the babies laugh. One tiny creature in blue plush was casting despairing glances after a very small lord of creation, who was walking away with a toddling bell in white, while a second young chandelier man in gorgeous purple gauges was endeavouring to console the deserted damsel. Take hold of Master Charlie's hand, Miss Mamie, and walk pretty, like Willy and Flossie, said the maid. No, no, I want to do it, Willy, and he won't let me. Don't wait, Charlie, I don't like you, quite little blue bonnet, casting down her ermine moth and sobbing in a macroscopic handkerchief. The fat lice edging on which could not mitigate her rule, as it might have done that of an older sufferer. Willy likes Flossie best, so stop crying and come right along, you naughty child. As poor little Ditto was jerked away by the unsympathetic maid and purple gauges, as he'd in vain to bleed his cause, Polly said to herself with a smile and a sigh, how early the old story begins. It seemed as if the spring weather had brought out all manner of tender things beside fresh grass and the thirst and the lines, for as she went down the street, Polly kept seeing different faces of the sweet old story which she was trying to forget. At the street corner, a black-eyed schoolboy was parting from a rosy-faced schoolgirl, whose music role he was reluctantly surrendering. Don't you forget now, said the boy, looking bashfully into the bright eyes, that danced with pleasure as the girl blushed and smiled and answered reproachfully. Why, of course I shan't! That little romance run smoothly so far, I hope it may to the end, said Polly heartily as she watched the lad jump away, whistling as blackly as if his pleasurable emotions must find a vent or endanger the buttons on the round jacket, while the girl branced on her own doorstep as if practising for the joyful dance which she had promised not to forget. A little farther on, Polly passed a newly engaged couple whom she knew, walking arm in arm for the first time, both wearing their proud yet conscious look, which is so delightful to behold upon the countenances of these temporarily glorified beings. How happy they seem, oh dear, said Polly, and charged on, wondering if her turn would ever come and fearing that it was impossible. A glimpse of a motherly looking lady entering a door, received by a flock of pretty children, who cast themselves upon Mama and her parcels with cries of rapture, did Polly good, and when, a minute after she passed, a grey old couple walking pleasantly together in the sunshine, she felt better still and was glad to see such a happy ending to the romance she had read all down the street. As if the mischievous little guard wished to take Polly at a disadvantage, or perhaps to give her another chance just at that instant, Mr. Sidney appeared at her sight. How he got there was never very clear to Polly, but there he was, flushed and a little out of breath, but looking so glad to see her, did she had not the heart to be stiff and cool, as she had fully intended to be when they met. Very warm, isn't it, he said, when he had shaken hands and fallen into step, just in the old way. He seemed to find it so, and Polly laughed with a sudden sparkle in her eyes. She really couldn't help it. It was so pleasant to see him again, just when she was feeling so lonely. Have you given up teaching the Ross, asked Sidney, changing the subject? No. Do you go as usual? Yes. Well, it's a mystery to me how you get there. As much as it is to me how you got here so suddenly. I saw you from the shores window and took the liberty of running after you by the back street, he said, laughing. That is the way I get to the Ross, answered Polly. She did not mean to tell, but his frankness was so agreeable she forgot herself. It's not nearly so pleasant or so short for you as the park. I know it, but people sometimes get tired of old ways and like to try new ones. Polly didn't say that quite naturally, and Sidney gave her a quick look as he asked, Do you get tired of old friends too, Miss Polly? Not often, but in there she stuck for the fear of being ungrateful or unkind made her almost hope that he would not take the hint which she had been carefully preparing for him. There was a dreadful little pause, which Polly broke by saying abruptly, How is Fen, dashing as ever? Do you know I'm rather disappointed in Fenny for she don't seem to improve her use, said Sidney, as if he accepted the diversion and was glad of it. Ah, you never see her at her best. She puts on the dashing air before people to hide her heels off. But I know her better, and I assure you that she does improve. She tries to mend her thoughts, though she won't own it, and will surprise you someday by the amount of heart and sense and goodness she has got. Polly spoke heartily now, and Sidney looked at her as if Fenny's defender pleased him more than Fenny's defence. I'm very glad to hear it, and willingly take your word for it. Everybody shows you their good side, I think, and that is why you find the world such a pleasant place. Oh, but I don't. It often seems like a very hard and dismal place, and I groan over my trials like an ungrateful raven. Can't we make the trials lighter for you? The voice that put the question was so very kind that Polly dared not look up, because she knew what the eyes were silently saying. Thank you. No, I don't get more tribulation than is good for me, I fancy, and we are apt to make mistakes when we try to dodge troubles. Oh, people, added Sidney in a tone that made Polly collar up to her forehead. How lovely the park looks, she said, in great confusion. Yes, it's the pleasantest walk we have. Don't you think so? Asked the artful young man, laying a trap into which Polly immediately fell. Yes, indeed. It's always so refreshing to me to see a little bit of the country, as it were especially at this season. Oh, Polly, Polly, what a stupid speech to make, when you had just given him to understand that you were tired of the park. Not being a fool or a coxcomb, Sidney put this and that together, and taking various troubles into the account, he had by this time countered the conclusion that Polly had heard the same bits of gossip that he had, which linked their names together, that she didn't like it, and tried to show she did not in this way. He was quicker to take a hand than she had expected, and being both proud and generous, we sought to settle the matter at once for Polly's sake, as well as his own. So, when she made her last point and remark, he said quietly, watching her face keenly all the while. I thought so. Well, I'm going out of town on business for several weeks, so you can enjoy your little bit of country without being annoyed by me. Annoyed? Oh, no! Quite Polly earnestly. Then stopped short, not knowing what to say for herself. She thought she had a good deal of the coquette in her, and I have no doubt that with time and training she would have become a very dangerous little person, but now she was far too transparent and straightforward by nature, even to tell a wild-like livery. Sidney knew this and liked her for it, but he took advantage of it, nevertheless by asking suddenly, Honestly, no. Would not you go the old way and enjoy it as much as ever, if I wasn't anywhere about to set the busy buddies gossiping? Yes, said Polly, before she could stop herself, and then could have bitten her tongue out for being so rude. Another awful pause seemed impending, but just at that moment a horseman clattered by with a smile and a salute, which caused Polly to exclaim, Oh, there's Tom, with a tone and a look that silenced the words hovering on Sidney's lips, and caused him to hold out his hand with a look, which made Polly's heart fluttered then, and ache with pity for a good while afterward, though he only said, Goodbye, Polly. He was gone before she could do anything but look up at him, with a remorseful face, and she walked on, feeling that the first and perhaps the only lover she would ever have had read his answer and accept it in silence. She did not know what else he had read, and comforted herself with the thought that he did not care for her very much, since he took the first rebuff so quickly. Polly did not return to her faith with walk till she learned from Minnie that Uncle had really left town, and then she found that his friendly company and conversation was what had made the ways a pleasant after all. She sighed of the perversity of things in general, and croaked a little over her trials in particular, but on the whole got over her loss better than she expected, for soon she had other sorrows beside her own true comfort. In such work does a body more good than floods of regretful tears, or hours of sentimental lamentation. She shunned Fanny for a day or two, but gained nothing by it, for that young lady, hearing of Sydney's sudden departure, could not rest till she discovered the cause of it, and walked in upon Polly one afternoon just when the dusk made it a puppet's hour for tender confidences. What have you been doing with yourself lately? asked Fanny, composing herself with her back toward the rapidly raining light. Working two and four as usual? What's the news with you? answered Polly, feeling that something was coming and rather glad to have it over and done with. Nothing particular. Tricks treats Tom shamefully, and he bears it like a lamb. I'd tell him to break his engagement, and not be worried so, but he won't, because she has been chilled at once and he thinks it's such a mean thing to do. Perhaps she'll chill him. I've no doubt she will, if anything better comes along, but Tricks is getting passé, and I should not wonder if she kept him to his word, just out of perversity if nothing else. Poor Tom, what a fate! said Polly with what was meant to be a comical groan, but it sounded so tragical that she saw it with the pass, and hastened to hide the failure by saying, with a laugh, if you call Tricks passé at twenty-three, what shall we all be at twenty-five? Utterly done with, and laid upon the shelf. I feel so already, for I don't get half the attention I used to have, and the other night I had more than Grace wondering why those old girls didn't stay at home and give them a chance. How's Morty? But you well, but you worries me by her creatades and notions. She laughs to go into the kitchen and mess. She hates to study, and said right before the Vincennes, that she should think it would be great fun to be a beggar girl, to go round with a basket. It must be so interesting to see what she'd get. Minnie said the other day she wished she was a pigeon, so she could paddle in the puddles and not fuss about rebels. By the way, when is her uncle coming back? asked Fanny, who couldn't wait any longer and joyfully seized the opening Polly made for her. I'm sure I don't know. No care, I suppose, you heart-hearted thing. By then, what do you mean? I'm not blind, my dear. Neither is Tom, and when a young gentleman cuts a call, I pop the short, and raises after young lady, and is seen holding a hand at the quietest corner of the park, and then goes travelling all of a sudden. We know what it means if you don't. Who got up that nice idea I should like to know, demanded Polly, as Fanny stopped for breath? Now don't be affected Polly, but just tell me like a dear has not he proposed? No, he has not. Don't you think he means to? I don't think he'll ever say a word to me. Well, I'm surprised. And Fanny drew a long breath, as if her load was off her mind. Then she added in a changed tone, but don't you love him, Polly? No, truly, truly fan. Neither spoke for a minute, but the heart of fun of them bet joyfully, and the dust-kid a very happy face. Don't you think he cared for you, dear, asked Fanny presently? I don't mean to be prying, but I really thought he did. That's not for me to say, but if it is so, it's only a passing fancy, and he'll soon get over it. Do tell me all about it. I'm so interested, and I know something has happened. I hear it in your voice, for I can't see your face. Do you remember the talk we once had after reading one of Miss Edgeworth's stories about not letting one's lovers come to a declaration, if one did not love them? Yes. And your girl said it wasn't proper, and I said it was honest anyway. Well, I always meant to try it if I got a chance, and I have. Mind you, I don't say Mr. Sidney loved me, for he never said so, and never will now, but I did fancy he rather liked me, it might do more if I did not show him that there was of no use. And you did, quite Fanny, much excited? I just gave him a hint, and he took it. He meant to go away before that, so don't think his heart is broken, or mind what Sidney Tatlors say. I did not like his meeting me so much, and told him so by going another way. He understood, and being a gentleman made no fuss. I dare say he thought I was a vain goose, and laughed at me for my pains, like Churchill and Helen. No, he would not. He'd like it, and respect you for doing it. But Polly, it would have been a grand thing for you. I can't sell myself on an establishment. Mercy, what an idea! Well, that's the plain English of half your fashionable matches. I'm odd, you know, and prefer to be an independent spinster, and teach music all my days. Ah, but you won't. You were made for a nice, happy home of your own, and I hope you get it, Polly dear, said Fanny Warmly, feeling so grateful to Polly that you found it hard not to pour out all her secret at once. I hope I may, but I doubt it, and said Polly in a tone that made Fanny wonder if she, too, knew what hard it meant. Something troubles you, Polly. What is it? Confide in me, as I do in you, said Fanny tenderly, for all the coldness you had tried to hide from Polly had melted in the sudden sunshine that had come to her. Do you always, after a friend, leaning forward with an irresistible desire to win back the old-time love and confidence, too precious to be exchanged for a little brief excitement or the burnt honor of begging your bird to use Tricks' elegant expression? Fanny understood it then, and threw herself into Polly's arms, crying with a shower of gaitful tears. Oh, my dear, my dear, did you do it for my sake? And Polly held her close, saying in that tender voice of hers, I did not mean to let a lover part this pair of friends if I could help it. Going into the shaws one evening, Polly found Maud sitting on the stairs with a troubled face. Oh, Polly, I'm so glad you've come, cried the little girl, running to hug her. What's the matter, dearie? I don't know. Something dreadful must have happened for Mama and Fan are crying together upstairs. Papa is shut up in the library, and Tom is raging round like a bear in the dining room. I guess it isn't anything very bad. Perhaps Mama is sicker than usual, or Papa worried about business or Tom in some new scrape. Don't look so frightened, Maudi, but come into the parlor and see what I've got for you, said Polly, feeling that there was trouble of some sort in the air, but trying to cheer the child. For her little face was full of a sorrowful anxiety that went to Polly's heart. I don't think I can like anything till I know what the matter is, answered Maud. It's something horrid, I'm sure, for when Papa came home he went up to Mama's room and talked ever so long, and Mama cried very loud, and when I tried to go in, Fan wouldn't let me, and she looked scared and strange. I wanted to go to Papa when he came down, but the door was locked, and he said, Not now, my little girl. And then I sat here waiting to see what would happen, and Tom came home. But when I ran to tell him, he said, Go away and don't bother, and just took me by the shoulders and put me out. Oh, dear, everything is so queer and horrid, I don't know what to do. Maud began to cry, and Polly sat down on the stairs beside her, trying to comfort her, while her own thoughts were full of a vague fear. All at once the dining-room door opened, and Tom's head appeared. A single glance showed Polly that something was the matter, for the care and elegance which usually marked his appearance were entirely wanting. His tie was under one ear, his hair in a toss, the cherished mustache had a neglected air, and his face, an expression both excited, ashamed, and distressed. Even his voice betrayed disturbance, for instead of the affable greeting he usually bestowed upon the young lady, he seemed to have fallen back into the bluff tone of his boyish days. And all he said was, Hello, Polly. How do you do? answered Polly. I'm in a devil of a mess, thank you. Send that chicken upstairs and come in and hear about it, he said, as if he had been longing to tell someone, and welcomed prudent Polly as a special providence. Go up, dearie, and amuse yourself with this book and these ginger snaps that I made for you. There's a good child, whispered Polly, as Maude rubbed away her tears and stared at Tom with round inquisitive eyes. You'll tell me about it by and by, won't you? she whispered, preparing to obey. If I may, answered Polly. Maude departed with unexpected desolity, and Polly went into the dining-room where Tom was wandering about in a restless way. If he had been raging like a bear, Polly wouldn't have cared. She was so pleased that he wanted her, and so glad to be a confidant, as she used to be in the happy old days, that she would joyfully have faced a much more formidable person than reckless Tom. Now then, what is it, she said, coming straight to the point. Guess, you've killed your horse racing. Worse than that. You're suspended again. Worse than that. Tricks has run away with somebody, cried Polly with a gasp. Worse still. Oh, Tom, you haven't horse-whipped or shot anyone. Came pretty near blowing my own brains out, but you see, I didn't. I can't guess. Tell me quick. Well, I'm expelled. Tom paused on the rug as he gave the answer, and looked at Polly to see how she took it. To his surprise, she seemed almost relieved, and after a minute silence said soberly, that's bad, very bad, but it might have been worse. It is worse. And Tom walked away again with a despairing sort of groan. Don't knock the chairs about, but come and sit down and tell me quietly. Can't do it. Well, go on then. Are you truly expelled? Can't it be made up? What did you do? It's a true bill this time. I just had a row with the chapel watchman and knocked them down. If it was a first defense, I might have got off, but you see, I've had no end of narrow escapes, and this was my last chance. I've lost it, and now there'll be the dickens to pay. I knew it was all up with me, so I didn't wait to be turned out, but just took myself off. What will your father say? It will come hard on the governor, but the worst of it is there Tom stopped and stood a minute in the middle of the room with his head down, as if he didn't find it easy to tell, even kind little Polly. Then out came the truth, all in a breath, just like he used to bolt out his boyish misdemeanors, and then back up against the wall, ready to take the consequences. I owe an awful lot of money that the governor don't know about. Oh, Tom, how could you? I've been an extravagant rascal, I know it, and I'm thundering sorry, but that don't help a fellow. I've got to tell the dear old buffer, and that's where it cuts. At another time Polly would have laughed at the contrast between Tom's face and his language, but there was a sincere remorse, which made even the dreadful word buffer rather touching than otherwise. He will be very angry, I daresay, but it'll help you, won't he? He always does, fan says. That's the worst of it, you see. He's paid up so often that the last time he said his patients couldn't stand it, nor his pocket, either. And if I got into any more scrapes of that sort, I must get out as I could. I meant to be as steady as Bunker Hill Monument, but here I am again worse than ever, for last quarter I didn't say anything to father. He was so bothered by the loss of those ships just then, so things have mounted up confoundedly. What have you done with all your money? Hang to find out. Can't you pay it anyway? Don't see how as I have a descent of my own, and no way of getting it unless I try gambling. Oh, mercy, no. Sill your horse, cried Polly after a minute of deep meditation. I have, but he didn't bring half I gave for him. I blamed him last winter, and the beggar won't get over it. And that didn't pay up the debts? Only about a half of them. Why, Tom, how much do you owe? I have dodged figuring it up till yesterday, then things were so desperate I thought I might as well face the truth. So I overhauled my accounts, and there's the result. Tom threw a blotted, crumpled paper into Polly's lap, and tramped up and down again, faster than ever. Polly took one look at the total and clasped her hands, for to her in inexperienced eyes it looked appalling. Tiny little sum, isn't it? asked Tom, who couldn't bear the silence, or the startled, grieved look in Polly's eyes. It's awful. I don't wonder you dread telling your father. I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy, added Tom after another turn. How do you mean? Well, I suppose, fan, or better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once. So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you. Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and didn't turn as he said slowly. Well, you see, he's so fond of you, we all confide in you, and you are so like one of the family that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like, then I'll come in and we'll have it out. Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face and said hastily, don't you think it would be a good plan? No, I don't. Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you than blurt it out as I always do blurt things? I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself. If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom couldn't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, come back, Polly, and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. I hope I did right, she said to herself. I couldn't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He isn't, only he didn't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid. Mr. Shaw is so severe with a poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes? Thank goodness he's poor and can't. I'm so glad of that. Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping with all her heart that he wouldn't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily without interruption to the end. Then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation as if taken by surprise. Polly couldn't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation. Then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear that it made her nervous. For Mr. Shaw usually blew Tom up first and forgave him afterward, as Mod said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, let me bring Polly. And he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. Go and say something to him, I can't. Poor old father, if only I'd known. And to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and lay his head down upon the table as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. Oh, Tom, what is it? cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fear as she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered in a smothered voice. Failed. All gone to smash, and tomorrow everyone will know it. Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end failed with such a vaguely dreadful word to her. Is it very bad? she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. Yes, he means to give up everything. He's done his best, but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him. Oh, I wish I had a million to give him, cried Polly, clasping her hands with the tears running down her cheeks. How does he bear it, Tom? Like a man, Polly, and I'm proud of him, said Tom, looking up all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure. But it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honourable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see him try it. And Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen dispersers of his father's honest name. Of course they can't. This is what poor Maud is troubled about. He had told your mother and fan before you came, and that is why they're so unhappy, I suppose. They're safe enough. Father hasn't touched mother's money. He couldn't rob his girls, he said, and that's all safe for him. Isn't he a Trump, Polly? And Tom's face shown with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. If only I could do anything to help, cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. You can. Go and be good to him. You know how. He needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him. How did he take your news? asked Polly, who for a time had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. Like a lamb, for when I'd done, he only said, my poor lad, we must bear with one another, and then told his story. I'm glad he was kind, began Polly, in a soothing tone. But Tom cried out remorsefully, that's what knocks me over. Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it. And Tom's head went down with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back. For the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside couldn't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown movable curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that. She couldn't understand it, explain it, or help it. She only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him once summer when he made them a visit. That was before tricks caught him, and when she heard that piece of news, Polly couldn't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It didn't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her pandora box of troubles. Now and then, when anyone said tricks wouldn't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for tricks more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she couldn't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good when unrequited love was starving. Now she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved, scapegrace Tom, or help thinking with a little thrill of hope, if tricks only cared for his money she may cast him off, now he's lost it, but I'll love him all the better because he's poor. With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without anyone seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, said, I'm going to your father now, and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maude called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. Mama's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her, said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly that Polly was amazed. Let me come too, I won't make any fuss, it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking and locked up, and I not know what it means, said Maude beseechingly. You do know now, I've told her Polly, said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maude purged herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. I'm glad you take it so well, dear, I was afraid it might upset you, said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. I shall groan and moan by and by, I daresay, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor Papa, and I am truly sorry, but wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself and gives me something to do. Fan's eyes fell, and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem. I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before, said Polly. It won't be so with us, for Papa means to give up everything and not have a word said against him. Mama's little property is settled upon her, and hasn't been risked. That touched her so much. She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it wouldn't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable. Do you know what he means to do? asked Polly anxiously. He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to Grandma, as soon as he could, for it wasn't honest for a bank rep to keep up an establishment like this. I shan't mind that at all. I like the little house, because it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bank-repting is so very bad, said Mod, taking a cheerful view of things. Ah, just wait till the carriage goes, and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child, said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. Will they take all my things away? cried Mod, and dismay. I daresay I don't know what we are allowed to keep, but not much, I fancy, and Fanny looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. They shan't have my new earrings. I'll hide them, and my best dress and my gold-smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh, I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away. And Mod dived among the pillows, to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again by assurances that she wouldn't be utterly dispoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors if the earrings and smelling bottle were attached. I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant just till we learn how to do the work, said Fanny, and looking at her white hands with a sigh. But Mod clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce as she cried. Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron with a bib to it like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweet the stairs maybe with my head tied up like Katie. Oh, what fun! Don't laugh at her or discourage her. Let her find comfort in bibs and dustpans if she can, whispered Polly to fan, while Mod took a joyful header among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowsy, for she loved housework, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. Mama is so feeble I shall have to keep out, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly, said Fan. Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day, answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. This changes everything. The old set will drop me, as we did the Murtins when their father failed, and my prospects, as we say, are quite ruined. I don't believe it. Your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who'll be kinder than ever. Oh, Polly, do you think so? And Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. I know who she means, cried Mod, always eager to find out things. It's herself. Polly won't mind if we are poor, because she likes beggars. Is that who you meant? asked Fan wistfully. No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am, said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek as it reddened prettily under her eyes. You'll never guess, Mod, so I wouldn't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning three-cornered closet when you get it. Having got rid of Miss Polly in a pry, as Tom called Mod, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed that sudden change was should come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude, but she rejoiced over it and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently, Mod emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. Do bankrupting men, Mod liked that new word, always have fits? Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child? cried Polly. Why, Mr. Merton did, and I was thinking perhaps Papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me. Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours isn't, and Papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure, said Fanny, with as proud an error as if our failure was rather an honour than otherwise. Don't you think you and Mod had better go down and see him, asked Polly? Perhaps he wouldn't like it, and I don't know what to say either, began Fan, but Polly said eagerly, I know he would like it. Never mind what you say, just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble. I'm going, I ain't afraid, I'll just hug him and say I'm ever so glad we're going to the little house, cried Mod, scrambling off the bed and running downstairs. Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do, said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you, answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her quite one of the family, as Tom said. At the study door they found Mod, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door, and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy chair, his grey head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the grey head in both her arms, saying with a tender quiver in her voice, Father dear, we've come to help you bear it. Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if when least expected he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father. And Polly, thinking a feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep upstairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a help-meat, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Mod crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered with a great tear shining on her little pug-nose, Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help fan-keep-house for you, I'd like to do it truly. Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, Where's my other daughter? Where's my Polly? She was there at once, gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say my other daughter, and then she whispered, Don't you want Tom too? Of course I do, where is the poor fellow? I'll bring him, and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass, and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting up her arms to perk up the bow at her throat, she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular stovepipe seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed at a slight dint as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them I think we like them the better for it after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure, which seemed to say to fate, hit away, I'm ready. He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire, with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him. But when she said, Tom, dear, your father wants you, he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, come to, we can't get on without you, and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gaily and blindly while the storm was gathering and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half anxious, half pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls and their ignorance asked queer questions, Tom made ludicrously un-business-like propositions, and Maude gave them one hearty peel that did a world of good, by pensively remarking when the plans for the future had been explained to her. I'm so relieved, for when Papa said we must give up everything, and Mama called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go around asking for cold vitals with a big basket and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I shouldn't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing around the back gates. My little girl shall never come to that if I can help it, said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maude add as she laid her cheek against his own. But I'd do it, Father, if you ask me to, for I truly want to help. So do I, cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks and cleaner gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. We shall pull through children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty isn't disgraceful, but dishonesty is. Polly had always loved kind to Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. I shouldn't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is, said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood. For poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first to leave them free, yet couldn't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom hadn't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt upstairs as if the Furies were after him, as they were in a mild and modern form. End of Chapter 15. Recording by Lorelle Anderson, Sanford, Florida Chapter 16 of an Old Fashioned Girl This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. An Old Fashioned Girl by Louisa Mayelcott Chapter 16. A Dress Parade The weeks that followed taught the Shaw's, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away when once they begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken, being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The Old Fashioned Things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained. For one bid on Fanny's piano and sent it to her, another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort, and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waves from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and goodwill, which soon set in. Everyone who knew them hastened a call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to see how they took it. This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once when some fine lady came to condole and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a pointless cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the Alm's house. This was hard for Fanny, but after an interval of despair she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as SNP, but pride and the resolution to stand by father kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first, till just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos, and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care, came to repay and sustain her. Maude, being relieved from the fear of backdoor beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy, thought it a rather good joke on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle there just like Polly's standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her, and felt a dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maude inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The part seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received. For where everything seemed strange and new to fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her special duty. In the moving, nothing suited her better than to trot up and down, lugging heavy things, to pound her fingers black and blue, nailing carpets and curtains, and the day she nearly broke her neck, tumbling down the cellar stairs, in her eagerness to see that Mrs. Shaw's wine was rightly stored. She felt that she was only paying her debts, and told Tom she liked it when he picked her up, looking as gummy as a chimney sweep. You can turn your hand to anything, you clever girl, so do come and give me some advice, for I am in the depths of despair, said Fanny, when the maid of all work, as Polly called herself, found a leisure hour. What is it? Moths in the firs, a smoky chimney, or smallpox next door? asked Polly, as they entered fans' room, where Mott was trying on old bonnets before the looking glass. Actually, I have nothing to wear, began fan impressively. I've been too busy to think or care till now, but here it is nearly May, and I have hardly a decent rag to my back. Usually, you know, I just go to Mrs. O'Grady, and tell her what I want. She makes my spring wardrobe, Papa pays the bill, and there I am. Now I've looked into the matter, and I declare to you, Polly, I'm frightened to see how much it costs to dress me. Not so much as some girls I know, said Polly encouragingly. Perhaps not, for I have a conscience, and taste is economy sometimes, but really, Polly, I haven't the heart to ask Papa for a cent just now, and yet I must have clothes. You are such a genius for planning and working wonders that I throw myself upon you and ask, How shall I make a spring wardrobe out of nothing? Let me see the nothing before I advise. Bring out every rag you've got, and we'll see what can be done, said Polly, looking as if she enjoyed the prospect, for she had a great deal of that feminine faculty which we call knack, and much practice had increased it. Fanny brought out her rags, and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, Here's another! There's a discouraging heap of rubbish for you, said Fan, as she added a faded muslin to the last pile. Now to me your rubbish looks very encouraging, because there is good material there and not much worn-out finery, that's my detestation, for you can't do anything with it. Let me see, five bonnets, put the winter ones away till autumn, rip up the summer ones, and out of three old ones we'll get a pretty new one, if my eyes don't deceive me. I'll rip, and then do let me see you make a bonnet, it must be so interesting, said Maude, whipping out her scissors, and eagerly beginning to reduce a shabby little bonnet to its original elements. Now the dresses, continued Polly, who had rapidly sorted out the piles. Will you have the goodness to look at this? said Fan, holding up a gray street suit, faded past cure. Polly whisked it wrong side out, and, showing the clean, bright fabric, said with a triumphant wave, Behold your new suit! Fresh trimming, and less of it, will finish you off as smart as ever. I never wore a turndress in my life. Do you suppose people will know it? said Fan doubtfully. What if they do? It would hurt you. Not one in a hundred will ever think anything about your dress. Except that it is pretty. I've worn turnd and dyed gowns all my days, and it don't seem to have alienated my friends, or injured my constitution. That it hasn't. I'm a goose, Polly, and I'll get over the feeling that it's sort of disgraceful to be poor and have to economize. We'll turn the gray, and I'll wear it bravely. Then it will be more becoming than ever. Oh! Here's the pretty violet silk! That will make a lovely suit! cried Polly, going on with a review. Don't see how two draggled skirts in a stained waist can be transformed into a whole rig, said Fan, sitting on the bed with her garment strewn about her in various attitudes of limp despondency. Well, ma'am, my plan is this, began Polly, imitating Mrs. O'Grady's important tone and bad grammar. Gors is out, and Platz is in. Therefore, as the top of the skirt is quite fresh, we will take off the ruffles, turn it upside down, and leave it plain. The upper skirt will be made scantor, and finished with a frill. Then the waist can be refreshed with the best parts of these white flounces, and out of those new bits we will concoct a hat. The black lace mod has just taken off the green one we'll do to edge the violet, and with your nice silk mentee you're complete, don't you see? I don't quite see it yet, but I have firm faith that I shall untie, and consider my calling costume finished, said Fanny, getting more and more interested as she saw her condemned wardrobe coming out fresh again under Polly's magic knack. There are two. Then that piquet is all right, if you cut the tail off the jacket and change the trimming a bit. The muslins only need mending and doing up to look as well as ever. You want not to put them away torn and soiled, my child. The two black silks will be good standbys for years. If I were you, I'd have a couple of neat, pretty prints for home wear, and then I don't see why you aren't fixed well enough for our short season. Can't I do anything with this beret? It's one of my favorite dresses, and I hate to give it up. You wore that thoroughly out, and it's only fit for the rag bag. Yes, it was very pretty and becoming, I remember, but it stays over. Fanny let the dress lie in her lap a minute as she absolutely picked at the fringe, smiling to herself over the happy time when she wore it last, and Sidney said she only needed cow slips in her lap to look like spring. Presently, she fold it up and put it away with a sigh, but it never went into the rag bag, and my sentimental readers can understand what saved it. The ball dresses had better be put nicely away till next year, began Polly, coming to a rainbow-colored heap. My day is over. I shall never use them again. Do what you like with them, said Fan calmly. Do you ever sell your cast off finery as many ladies do, asked Polly? Never. I don't like the fashion. I give it away, or let Mod have it for Tableau. I wonder if you would mind my telling you something Belle proposed. If it's an offer to buy my clothes, I should mind, answered Fanny sharply. Then I won't, and Polly retired behind a cloud of arsenic-green gauze, which made her look as if she had the cholera. If she wanted to buy that horrid new gooseberry colored gown, as Tom calls it, I'd let her have it cheap, put in Mod, who was of a practical turn. Does she want it, Polly? asked Fan, whose curiosity got the better of her pride. Well, she merely asked me if I thought you'd be mortally offended if she offered to take it off your hands, as you would never warn it. You don't like it, and in another season it will be all out of fashion, said Polly from her verdant retreat. What did you say? I saw she meant it kindly, so I said I'd ask. Now between ourselves, Fan, the price of that dress would give you all you'll want for your spring fixings. That's one consideration. Then here's another, which may have some weight with you, added Polly slyly. Tricks told Belle she was going to ask you for the dress as you wouldn't care to wear it now. That made Belle fire up and say it was a mean thing to do without offering some return for a costly thing like that. And then Belle said, in her blunt way, I'll give Fan all she paid for it and more too if it will be any help to her. I don't care for the dress, but I'd like to slip a little money into her pocket, for I know she needs it and is too good to ask your Mr. Shaw for anything she can get on without. Did she say that? I'll give her the dress and not take a penny for it, cried Fan, fleshing up with mingled anger toward Tricks and gratitude to Belle. That won't suit her. You let me manage it and don't feel any shame or anxiety about it. You did many a kind and generous thing for Belle when you had the power and you'd like to do it. Now let her pay her debts and have the same pleasure. If she looks at it in that way, it makes a difference. Perhaps I'd better. The money would be an immense help, only I don't quite like to take it. Kings and queens sell their jewels when times are hard or they get turned off their thrones and no one thinks that anything amiss, so why need you? It's just a little transaction between two friends who exchange things they don't want for things which they do, and I'd do it if I were you. We'll see about it, said Fan, privately resolving to take Polly's advice. If I had lots of things like Fan, I'd have an auction and get all I could for them. What are you, asked Mod, beginning on her third bonnet. We will, said Polly, and mounted a chair she put up, bit in and knocked down Fan's entire wardrobe to an imaginary group of friends with such droll imitations of each one that the room rang with laughter. That's enough nonsense, now we'll return to business, said Polly, descending, breathless, besatisfied with the effect of her fun. These white muslins and pretty silks will keep for years, so I should lay them by until they are needed. It will save buying, and you can go to your stock any time and make over what you want. That's the way Mother does. We've always had things sent us from richer friends, and whatever wasn't proper for us to wear at the time, Mother put a way to be used when we needed it. Such funny bundles as we used to have sometimes, odd shoes, bonnets without crowns, stockings without heels or toes, and old finery of all sorts. We used to rush when a bundle came and sit round while Mother opened it. The boys always made fun of the things, though they were as grateful really as any of us. Will made a verse one day, which we thought pretty well for a little chap. To poor country folks who haven't any clothes, rich folks to relieve them send old lace gowns and satin bows. I think that Will is going to be as nice a poet as Mr. Shakespeare, remarked Maude in a tone of serious conviction. He is already a Milton, but I don't believe he will ever be anything but a poet in name, said Polly, working away while she talked. Didn't your Mother ever let you wear the nice things that came? No, she thought it wasn't the thing for a poor minister's girls to go flourishing about in second-hand finery, so she did what I'm doing now, put away what would be useful and proper for us by and by, and let us play with the shabby silk bonnets and dirty flounced gowns. Such fun as we used to have up in our big garret. I remember one day we had been playing half a ball, and were all rigged up, even the boys. Some new neighbors came to call and expressed a wish to see us, having been told that we were patterned children. Mother called us, but we had paraded out into the garden after our ball, and were having a concert as we sat about on the cabbages for green satin seats, so we didn't hear the call, and just as the company was going, a great noise arrested them on the doorstep, and round the corner of the house rattled ned in full costume, wheeling kitty in a barrow, while Jimmy, Will, and I ran screaming after, looking like bedlamites, for we were playing that Lady Fitzperkins had fainted, and was being born home senseless in a cab. I thought mother would kill herself with laughing, and you can imagine what a fine impression the strangers received of the model children. Maude was so tickled with this youthful prank, that she unguardedly sat down to laugh on the edge of an open trunk, immediately doubled up, fell in, and was with difficulty extricated. People in the country have a great deal nicer times than we do. I never rode in a wheelbarrow, I never sat on cabbages, and I don't think it's fair, she said, with an injured expression. You needn't save any old silk gowns for me. I don't mean to be a fine lady when I grow up. I'm going to be a farmer's wife, and make butter and cheese, and have ten children, and raise pigs, she added in one enthusiastic burst. I do believe she will, if she could find a farmer anywhere, said Fanny. Oh, I'm going to have will, I asked him, and he said all right. He's going to preach Sundays, and work on the farm the rest of the time. Well, he is, so you needn't laugh, for we have made all of our plans, said Maude, with comical dignity, as she tried the effect of an old white bonnet, wondering if farmer's wives could wear ostrich feathers when they went to meeting. Plus, that innocence, don't you wish you were a child and dared tell what you want, murmured Fanny? I wish I had seen Will's face when Maude proposed, answered Polly, with a nod, which answered her friend's speech better than words. Any news of anybody, whispered Fanny, affecting to examine a sleeve with care? Still at the south, don't think late events have been reported yet. That accounts for absence, answered Polly. I think Sir Philip was hit harder than was supposed, said Fanny. I doubt it, but time cures wounds of that sword amazing quick. Wish it did. Who's Sir Philip? demanded Maude, pricking up her ears. A famous man, who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth, answered Fan, with a look at Polly. Oh, and Maude seemed satisfied, but the sharp child had her suspicions nevertheless. There will be an immense deal of work in all this fixing over, and I hate to so, said Fanny, to divert a certain person's thoughts. Jenny and I are going to help. We are your debtors, as well as Bell, and demand the privilege of paying up. Blessings, like curses, come home to roost, Fan. Mine come home a good deal bigger than they went, answered Fanny, looking pleased that little favors should be so faithfully remembered. The interest on that sort of investment rolls up beautifully, you know. Now rip up that dress for Jenny to put in order, and I'll toss you up upon it in less than no time, said Polly, determined to have things go smoothly, for she knew Fan's feelings had been a good deal tried lately in many ways. I must have something to match my dress and blue inside, said Fanny, bringing out her ribbon boxes. Anything you like, my dear, when it comes to bonnets, I am usually inspired. Ah, I have it! There we are! And nothing could be nicer, cried Polly, making a dive among the silks Fan was turning over with a lost expression. This bit of silver gray is all I ask. Here's enough for a killing bonnet, and those forget-me-nots are both pretty and appropriate. You wretch! Be still, cried Fanny, as Polly looked up at her with a wicked laugh in her eyes. It will be done in time, and the dress likewise, so look your prettiest and accept my blessing, continued Polly, seeing the Fan liked her railery. Time for what? asked Polly in a pry. Your wedding, dear, sweetly answered Fan, for Polly's pleasant hints and predictions put her in charming humor, and even made old clothes of little consequence. Mod gave an incredulous sniff, and wondered why big girls needed to be so dreadful mysterious about their old secrets. This silk reminds me of Kitty's performance last summer. A little chipped silk was sent in our spring bundle from Mrs. Davenport, and Mother said Kit might have it if she could make it do. So I washed it nicely, and we fussed and planned, but it came short by half of one sleeve. I gave it up, but Kit went to work and matched every scrap that was left so neatly that she got out the half sleeve, put it on the underside, and no one was the wiser. How many pieces do you think she put in, Mod? Fifty was the wiser reply. No, only ten, but that was pretty well for a fourteen-year-old dressmaker. You ought to have seen the little witch laugh in her sleeve when anyone admired the dress, for she wore it all summer and looked as pretty as a pink in it. Such things are great fun when you get used to them. Besides, contriving sharpens your wits and makes you feel as if you had more hands than most people. I think we'll get a farm near your house. I should like to know Kitty, said Mod, feeling a curious interest in a girl who made such peculiar patchwork. The dress parade is over, and I'm ever so much obliged to you, Polly, for helping me through and showing me how to make the best of things. I hope in time to have as many hands as you, said fan gratefully, when the simple bonnet was done and everything planned out ready to be finished. I hope you will soon have two good strong ones beside your own, my dear, answered Polly as she vanished, with a parting twinkle that kept fans face bright all day. End of Chapter 16 Recording by Lorelle Anderson, Sanford, Florida Chapter 17 of an Old-Fashioned Girl This is a LibroVox recording, all LibroVox recordings on the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibroVox.org An Old-Fashioned Girl by Luisa May-Arcott Chapter 17 Playing Grandmother I think Tom had the hardest time of all, for besides the family troubles, he had many of his own to perplex and to rest him. College scrapes were soon forgotten in greater afflictions, but there were plenty of tongues to blame that extravagant dark and plenty of heads to write ominously over prophecies of the good time Tom Shaw would now make on the road to ruin. As reporters flourish in this country, of course Tom soon heard all the friendly criticisms passed upon him and his career, and he suffered more than anybody guessed. For the truth that was at the bottom of the gossip filled him with a sharp regret and impotent wrath against himself as well as others, which drives many a proud fellow so placed to destruction or the effort that redeems boyish folly and makes a man of him. Now that he had lost his heritage, Tom seemed to see for the first time how good-lead had been, how rich in power, pleasure and gracious opportunities. He felt it's worth even widely acknowledged that the sense of justice that is strong in manly men, how little he deserved a gift which he had so misused. He pruded over this a good deal, for like the bed in the fable he did not seem to find any place in the new life which had begun for all. Knowing nothing of business he was not of much use to his father, though he tried to be, and generally ended by feeling that he was a hindrance, not a help. Domestic affairs were equally out of his line, and the girls, more frank than their father, did not hesitate to tell him he was in the way when he offered to lend a hand anywhere. After the first excitement was over, and he had time to think, heart and energy seemed to die out, remorse got hold of him, and as generous thoughtless natures are apt to do when suddenly confronted with conscience, he exaggerated his thoughts and follies into sins of the deepest dye and fancy he was regarded by others as a villain and an outcast. Bright and penitence made him shrink out of sight as much as possible, for he could not bear pity even when silently expressed by a friendly hand, or kindly eye. He stayed at home a good deal, and loved about with a melancholy and neglected air, vanished when anyone came, talked very little, and was either pathetically humble or tragically cross. He wanted to do something, but nothing seemed to appear, and while he waited to get his poise after the downfall, he was so very miserable that I'm afraid if it had not been for one thing, my poor Tom would have got desperate and been a failure. But when he seemed most useless, outcast and full on, he discovered that one person needed him, one person never found him in the way, one person always welcomed and clung to him with the strongest affection of a very feeble nature. This dependence of his mother's was Tom's salvation at that crisis of his life, and the gossips who sat softly to one another over their muffins and tea, it really would be a relief to the whole family of poor dear Mrs. Shaw could be mercyfully removed. Did not know that the invalid's weak idle hands were unconsciously keeping the son safe in that quiet room where she gave him all that she had to give, mother love, till he took heart again and faced the world, ready to fight his battles manfully. Dear, dear, how old and bad poor father does look! I hope you won't forget to order my sweet bread, sighed Mrs. Shaw one day as she watched her husband slowly going down the street. Tom, who stood by her, idly spinning the curtain tassel, followed the familiar figure with his eye, and seeing how gray the hair had grown, how care-wonder fluid face, and how like a weary old man his one strong, handsome father walked, he was smitten by a new pang of self-reproach, and with his usual impetiosity set about repairing the omission as soon as he discovered it. Asky to your sweet bread, mom, goodbye, back to dinner, and with a hasty kiss Tom was off. He didn't know exactly what he meant to do, but it had suddenly come over him that he was hiding from the storm and letting his father meet it alone, for the old man went to his office every day with the regularity of a machine that would go its usual round until it stopped while the young man stayed at home with the women, and let his mother comfort him. He has a right to be ashamed of me, but I act as if I was ashamed of him. There's a people think so. I'll show them that I ain't, yes, by the powers I will, and Tom drew on his clothes with the air of a man about to meet and conquer an enemy. Have an arm, sir. If you don't mind, I'll walk down with you. Little commission for mother, nice day, isn't it? Tom rather broke down at the end of his speech, for the look of pleased surprise with which his father greeted him, the elocity with which he accepted and leaned on the strong arm offered him proved that the daily walks had been solitary and doubtless said ones. I think Mr. Shaw understood the real meaning of that little act of respect and felt better for the hope for change, it seemed to foretell. But he took it quietly, and leaving his face to speak for him merely said, Thank you, Tom. Yes, mother will enjoy her dinner twice as much if you order it. Then they began to talk business with all their might, as if they fear that some trace of sentiment might disgrace their masculine dignity. But it made no difference whether they discussed lawsuits or love, mortgages or mothers. The feeling was all right, and they knew it. So Mr. Shaw walked straighter than usual, and Tom felt that he was in his proper place again. The walk was not without its dryers, however. For rather did Tom's heart good to see the culture respect paid to his father. It tried his patience solely to see also inquisitive or disapproving clients as fixed upon himself when heads were lifted to his father and to hear the hearty good day, Mr. Shaw, dropped into a cool or careless, that's the son, it's hard on him. Wild fellow, do him good. Branded, but you need not hit a man when he's down. Mother turned to himself, feeling every moment a stronger desire to do something that should silence everybody. I cut away to Australia if it wasn't for mother. Anything, anywhere to get out of the way of people who know me. I never can write myself here with all the fellows watching and laying wagers whether I sink or swim. Hang, Greek and Latin. Wish I'd learned the trade and had something to fall back upon. Have not it a blessed thing now but decent friends and my fists? One life old belt on what a clerk for the parish branch of the business? That wouldn't be bad. Faith, I'll try it. And when Tom had landed his father safely at the office to the great edification of our beholders, he screwed up his courage and went to prefer his request. Feeling that the prospect pardoned him. But Mr. Bear was not in a good humour and only gave Tom a severe lecture on the error of his ways which sent him home much depressed and caused the horizon to lower again. As he roamed about the house the afternoon, trying to calculate how much an Australian outfit would cost, the sound of lively voices and clattering spoons attracted him to the kitchen. There he found Polly giving more lessons in kugori for the new help not being a high priced article could not be depended on for desserts and Mrs. Shaw would have felt as if the wolf was at a door if there was not a sweet dish at dinner. Maud had a genius for cooking and Fanny hated it. So that little person was in her glory studying receipt books and taking lessons whenever Polly could give them. Gracious me, Tom, don't come now. We are all for busy. Men don't belong in kitchens. Quite Maud as her brother appeared in the doorway. Couldn't think what you were about. Mom is asleep and fan out so I left down to see if there was any fun or food, said Tom lingering as if the prospect was agreeable. He was a social fellow and very grateful just then to anyone who helped him to forget his worries for a time. Polly knew this, thought that his society would not be a great affliction to herself at least and whispering to Maud, he won't know. She added aloud, come in if you like and stir this cake for me. It needs a strong hand and mine are tired. There, put on that apron to keep you tidy, sit here and take it easy. I used to help Grant my bed up cake and rather liked it if I remember right, said Tom, letting Polly tie a checked apron on him, put a big bowl into his hands and settled him near the table where Maud was picking raisins and she herself stoned busily bowed among spice boxes, rolling pins and butter pots. You do it beautifully, Tom. I'll give you a conundrum to lighten your labor. Why are bad boys like cake? asked Polly, anxious to cheer him up. Because a good beating makes them better. I doubt that myself though, answered Tom, nearly knocking the bottom of the bowl out with his energetic demonstrations, but really was relieved to do something. Bright boy, here's a plum for you and Polly threw a blunt raisin into his mouth. Put in lots, won't you? I'm rather fond of plum cake, observed Tom, likening himself to Hercules with the disdove and finding his employment pleasant if not classical. I always do if I can. There's nothing I like better than to shovel in sugar and spice and make nice, blummy cake for people. It's one of the few things I have a gift for. You've hidden this time, Polly. You certainly have a gift for putting a good deal of both articles into your own and other people's lies, which is lucky as we all have to eat that sort of cake whether we like it or not. Observe Tom so soberly that Polly opened her eyes and more exclaimed, I do believe he's preaching. Feel as if I could sometimes, continued Tom, then his eye fell upon the dimples in Polly's elbows and he added with a laugh, that's more in your line, ma'am. Can't you give us a sermon? A short one. Life, my brethren, is like plum cake, began Polly, impressively folding her flowery hands. In sum, the plums are all on the top and we eat them gaily till we suddenly find they are gone. In others, the plums sink to the bottom and we look for them in vain as we go on and often come to them when it is too late to enjoy them. But in the well-made cake, the plums are wisely scattered all through and every mouthful is a pleasure. We make our own cakes in a great measure, therefore let us look to it, my brethren, that they are mixed according to the best received, baked in a well-regulated oven and gratefully eaten with a tempered appetite. Good, good! great Tom, applauding with the wooden spoon. That's a model sermon, Polly. Short, sweet, sensible, another bit sleepy. I'm one of your parish and foresee that you get your salary punctual, as old Deacon Morse used to say. Thank you, brother. My wands is few and rave and scarcer than they used to be, as dear old Parson Miller used to answer. Now, Maud, bring on the side-tron. And Polly began to put the cake together in what seemed the most careless and chaotic manner, while Tom and Maud watched with absorbing interest till it was safely in the oven. Now make your custard, dear. Tom may like to beat the eggs for you. It seems to have a good effect upon his constitution. First raid, hand them along, and Tom smooth his apron with a cheerful air. By the way, Sid's got back. I met him yesterday, and he treated me like a man and a brother. He added as if anxious to contribute the pleasures of the hour. I'm so glad! Great Polly, clapping her hands, regardless of the eggs she held, which dropped and smashed on the floor at her feet. Careless thing! Pick it up more and I'll get some more. And Polly whisked out of the room, glad of an excuse to run and tell fan, who had just come in, whilst hearing the news in public, she might be startled out of the well-bred composure with which young ladies are expected to receive tidings, even of the most vital importance. You know all about history, don't you? asked Maud suddenly. Not quite, modestly answered Tom. I just want to know if there really was a man named Sir Philip in the time of Queen Elizabeth. You mean Sir Philip Sidney? Yes, he lived then, and a fine old fellow he was too. There, I knew the girls didn't mean him, guide Maud, with a chop that sent the sergeant flying. What mischief are you up to now, you little magpie? I shall tell you what they said, because I don't remember much of it, but I heard Polly and Fenn talking about someone dreadful mysterious, and when I asked who it was, Fenn said Sir Philip. Ha! She need not think I believe it. I saw them laugh and blush and poke one another, and I knew it wasn't about any old Queen Elizabeth man, quite Maud turning up her nose as far as that somewhat limited feature would go. Look here, you are letting cats out of the bag? Never mind, I thought so. They don't tell us their secrets, but we are so sharp we can't help finding them out, can we? Said Tom, looking so much interested that Maud couldn't resist airing her knowledge a little. Well, I dare say it isn't proper for you to know, but I am old enough now to be told anything, and those girls better mind what they say, for I am not a stupid shit like Blanche. I just wish you could have heard them go on. I am sure there is something very nice about Mr. Sydney. They looked so pleased when they whispered and giggled on the bed, and thought I was ribbing bonnets and did not hear a word. Which looked most pleased, asked Tom, investigating the kitchen border with deep interest. Well, peace to me Polly did. She talked most and looked funny and very heavy all the time. Fen loved a good deal, but I guess Polly is the loveliest, replied Maud after a moment's reflection. Ho-choo-chong, she's coming, and Tom began to pounce as if the house was on fire. Down came Polly, with heightened color, bright eyes, and not a single egg. Tom took a quick look at her over his shoulder, and paused as if the fire was suddenly extinguished. Something in his face made Polly feel a little guilty, so she fell to grating nutmeg, with a figure which made red cheeks the most natural thing in life. Maud, the trader, said him newly at work, thinking very like what Tom had called her, a magpie with mischief in its head. Polly felt a change in the atmosphere, but merely thought Tom was tired, so she graciously dismissed him with a stick of cinnamon, as she had nothing else just then to lay upon the shrine. Fans got the books and maps you wanted. Go and rest now. I much obliged. Here's your wages, Bridget. Good luck to your messes, and to Tom, as he walked away meditatively crunching his cinnamon, and looking as if he didn't find it as spicy as usual. He got his books, but did not read them. For shutting himself up in the little room called Tom's Den, he just sat down and pruded. When he came down to breakfast the next morning, he was greeted with a general, Happy Birthday, Tom! and at his place lay gifts from every member of the family. Not as costly as formerly, perhaps, but infinitely dearer as tokens of the love that had outlived the change, and only grown the warmer for the test of misfortune. In his present state of mind, Tom felt as if he did not deserve a blessed thing, so when everyone exited themselves to make it a happy day for him, he understood what it means to be nearly killed of kindness, and sternly resolved to be an honor to his family, or perish in the attempt. Evening brought Polly to what she called a festive tea, and when they gathered round the table, another gift appeared, which, though not of a sentimental nature, touched Tom more than all the rest. It was a most delectable cake, with a new scale atop, and rounded on the snowy frosting there in a pink inscription, just as it had been every year since Tom could remember. Name, age and date, like a nice white tombstone, observed more complacently, at which funeral remark, Mrs. Shaw, who was down in honor of the day, dropped a napkin and demanded her salts. Whose doing is that? As Tom, surveying the gift with satisfaction, thought we called the happier birthdays, which seemed very far away now. I didn't know what to give you, for you've got everything a man wants, and I was in despair till I remembered that dear grandma always made you a little cake like that, and that you once said it wouldn't be a happy birthday without it. So I tried to make it just like hers, and I do hope it will prove a good sweet blummy one. Thank you, was all Tom said, as he smiled at the giver, but Polly knew that her present had pleased him more than the most elegant travel she could have made. It ought to be good for you to bed it up yourself, Tom, cried more. It was so funny to see you walking away and never guessing who the cake was for. I perfectly trumbled every time you opened your mouth, for fear you'd ask some question about it. That was the reason Polly preached, and I kept talking when she was gone. Very stupid of me, but I forgot all about today. Suppose we cut it, I don't seem to care for anything else, said Tom, feeling no appetite, but bound to do justice to the cake, if he fell a victim to his gratitude. I hope the plans won't all be at the bottom, said Polly as she rose to do the honors of the cake for universal appointment. I've had a good many at the top already, you know, answered Tom, watching the operation with as much interest as if he had faith in the omen. Cutting carefully, slice after slice fell apart. Each firm and dark, spicy and rich, under the frosty rhyme above, and laying a specially large piece in one of Grant's most grand little china plates, Polly added the flowers and handed it to Tom, with a look that said a good deal, for seeing that he remembered her sermon, she was glad to find that her allegory held good, in one sense at least. Tom's face brightened as he took it, and after an inspection, which amused the others very much, he looked up, saying with an air of relief, lams all through, I'm glad I had a hand in it, but Polly deserves the credit, and must bear the policy. And turning to her, he put the rose into her hair, with more gallantry than taste, for a thorn pricked her head, the leaves tickled her ear, and the flower was upside down. Fanny laughed at his wand of skill, but Polly would not have it ordered, and everybody felt her eating cake, as if indigestion was one of the lost arts. They had a lively tea, and were getting on famously afterward, when two letters were brought for Tom, who cleansed at one and retired rather precipitately to his den, leaving Mark consumed with curiosity, and the older girls slightly excited. For Fanny thought she recognized the handwriting on one, and Polly on the other, one half an hour, and then another elapsed, and Tom did not return. Mr. Shaw went out, Mrs. Shaw retired to her room, escorted by Maud, and the two girls sat together wondering if anything truthful had happened. All of a sudden a voice called, Polly, and that young lady started out of her chair, as if the sound had been a thunder clap. "'Do run, I'm perfectly feigning to know what the matter is,' said Fanny. "'You'd better go,' began Polly, wishing to obey yet feeling a little shy. "'He don't want me. Besides, I could not say a word for myself if that letter was from Sydney,' cried Fanny, hustling her friend towards the door in a great flutter. Polly went without another word, but she wore a curiously anxious look, and stopped on the threshold of the den, as if a little afraid of its occupant. Tom was sitting in his favorite attitude, astride of a chair, with his arms folded in his gin on the top rail. Not an elegant posture, but the only one in which he said he could think well. "'Did you want me, Tom?' "'Yes, come in, please. I don't look scared. I only want to show you a present I've had, and ask your advice about accepting it.' "'Why, Tom, you look as if you had been knocked down,' exclaimed Polly, forgetting all about herself as she saw his face, and he rose in turn to meet her. "'I have, regularly flawed, but I'm up again and steadier than ever. Just read that and tell me what you think of it.' Tom snatched a letter off the table, put it into her hands, and began to walk up and down the little room, like a veritable bear in its cage. As Polly read that short note, all the color went out of her face, and her eyes began to kindle. When she came to the end, she stood a minute, as if too indignant to speak, then gave the paper a nervous sort of crumble and dropped it on the floor, saying all in one breath, "'I think she's a mercenary, heartless, ungrateful girl. That's what I think.' "'Oh, the juice! I didn't mean to show that one. It's the other.' And Tom took up a second paper, looking half angry, half ashamed of his own mistake. "'I don't care, though. Everyone will know tomorrow, and perhaps you'll be good enough to keep the girls from bothering me with questions and gavel,' he added, as if on second thoughts he was relieved to have the communication made to Polly first. "'I don't wonder you looked upset. If the other letter is as bad, I'd better have a chair before I read it,' said Polly, feeling that she began to tremble with excitement. "'It's a million times better, but it knocked me worse than the other. Kindness always does.' Tom stopped short there, and stood a minute turning the letter about in his hand, as if it contained a sweet, which neutralized the bitter in that smaller note, and touched him very much. Then he drew up an armchair, and begging Polly to take it, set in a sober, steady tone that surprised her greatly. Whenever I was in a laundry, I used to go and consult Grandma, and she always had something sensible or comfortable to say to me. "'She's gone now, but somehow, Polly, you seem to take her place. Could you mind sitting in her chair, and letting me tell you two of three things, as well does?' Mined it. Polly felt that Tom had paid her the highest and most beautiful compliment he could have devised. She had often longed to do it. For being brought up in the most affectionate and frank relations with her brothers, she had early learned what it takes most women some time to discover. That sex does not make nearly as much difference in hearts and souls as we fancy. Giant sorrow, laugh and fear, life and death bring so many of the same needs to all that the wonder is we do not understand each other better. But wait till times of tribulation teach us that the human nature is very much the same in men and women. Thanks to this knowledge, Polly understood Tom in a way that surprised and won him. She knew that he wanted womanly sympathy, and that she could give it to him, because she was not afraid to stretch her hand across the barrier, which our artificial education puts between boys and girls, and to say to him in all good faith, if I can help you, let me." Ten minutes sooner, Polly could have done this almost as easily to Tom as to Will, but in that ten minutes something had happened, which made this difficult. Weeding that tricks had given Tom back his freedom, changed many things to Polly, and caused her to shrink from his confidence, because she felt as if it would be harder now to keep self out of sight. For despite of maiden modesty, laugh and hope would wake and sing at the good news. Slowly she sat down, and hesitatingly she sat with her eyes on the ground and a very humble voice. I'll do my best, but I can't fill grandma's place or give you any wise, good advice. I wish I could. You do it better than anyone else. Talk troubles mother, father has enough to think of without any of my worries. Fine as a good soul, but she isn't practical, and we always get into a snarl if we try to work together. So who have I but my other sister, Polly? The pleasure that that I will give you may make up for my boring you. As he spoke, Tom laid the other paper in her lap and went off to the window as if to leave her free to enshride unseen. But he could not help a glance now and then, and as Polly's face brightened, his own fell. Oh, Tom! That's a birthday present worth having! For it's so beautifully given, I don't see how you can refuse it. Arthur Sidney is a real noble man. Quite Polly, looking up at last with her face glowing and her eyes full of delight. So he is, I don't know another man living, except father, who would have done such a thing, or who I could bring myself to take it from. Do you see, he's not only paid the confounded debts, but has done it in my name, to spare me all he could. I see, it's like him, and I think he must be very happy to be able to do such a thing. It is an immense weight of my shoulders, for some of those men couldn't afford to wait till I'd begged, borrowed, or earned the money. Sidney can wait, but he won't long if I know myself. He won't take it as a gift then. Would you? No. Then I don't think I will. I'm a pretty poor fair, Polly, but I'm not mean enough to do that, while I've got a conscience and a pair of hands. A rough speech, but a pleased Polly better than the smoothest Tom had ever made in her hearing, for something in his face and voice told her that a friendly act drowsed a noble sentiment and gratitude, making the cancelled obligations of the boy debts of honour to the man. What will you do, Tom? I'll tell you. May I sit here? And Tom took the low-foot stool that always stood near Grandma's old chair. I've had so many plans in my head lately, but sometimes it seems as if it would split, continued the poor fellow, rubbing his tired forehead as if to polish up his wits. I thought seriously of going to California, Australia, or some out-of-the-way place where men get rich in a hurry. Oh, no! Quite Polly, putting out a hand as if to keep him, and then snatching it back again before he could turn around. It would be hard on Mother and the girls, I suppose. Besides, I don't quite like it myself, looks as if I shirked and ran away. So it does, said Polly decidedly. Well, you see, I don't seem to find anything to do unless I turn clerk, and I don't think that would suit. The fact is, I couldn't stand it here, where I'm known. It would be easier to scratch gravel on a railroad with a gang of paddies than to sell pins to my friends and neighbours. For sprite, I dare say, but it's the truth and there's no use in dodging. Not a bit, and I quite agree with you. That's comfortable. Now I'm coming to the point where I especially want your advice, Polly. Yesterday I heard you telling fan about your brother, Nat. How well he got on, how he liked his business and wanted Will to come and take some place near him. He thought I was reading, but I heard, and it struck me that perhaps I could get a chance out west somewhere. What do you think? If you really mean work, I know you could, answered Polly quickly, as all sorts of plans and projects when streaming through her mind. I wish you could be with Nat. He'll get on together, I'm sure, and he'd be so glad to do anything he could. I'll write and ask straight away if you want me to. Suppose you do, just for information, you know, then I shall have something to go upon. I want to have a feasible plan already before I speak to Father. There's nothing so convincing to businessman as facts, you know. Polly could not help smiling at Tom's new tone. It seemed so strange to hear him talking about anything, but horses and tailors dancing and girls. She liked it, however, as much as she did the sober expression of his face, and the way he had lately of swinging his arms about, as if he wanted to do something energetic with them. That will be wise, do you think your father will like this plan? But he's sure he will. Yesterday when I told him I must go at something right off, he said, anything honest, Tom, and don't forget that your father began the world as a shop boy. You knew that, didn't you? Yes, he told me the story once, and I always liked to hear it because it was pleasant to see how well he had succeeded. I never did like the story, a little bit ashamed, I'm afraid, but when we talked it over last night, it struck me in a new light, and I understood why Father took the failure so well, and seemed so contented with this purish place. It is only beginning again, he says, and having worked his way up once, he fears as if he could again. I declare to you, Polly, that sort of confidence in himself, and energy and courage in a man of his use, makes me laugh and respect the dear old gentleman as I never did before. I'm so glad to hear you say that, Tom. I sometimes thought you didn't quite appreciate your father, any more than he knew how much of a man you were. I was told today, you know, said Tom nothing, yet looking as if he felt the dignity of his one and twenty years. Odd, isn't it? How people live together ever so long, and don't seem to find one another out, till something comes to do it for them. Perhaps the smash-up was sent to introduce me to my own father. There's philosophy for you, said Polly smiling, even while she felt as if adversity was going to do more for Tom than years of prosperity. They both said quiet for a minute, Polly and the big chair looking at him with a new respect in her eyes. Tom on the stool nearby, slowly tearing up a folded paper he had absently taken from the floor while he talked. Did this surprise you, he asked, as the little white flower shattered from his hands? No, well, it did me. For you know, as soon as we came to grieve, I offered to release Tricks from the engagement, and she would not let me, continued Tom as if having begun the subject, he wished to explain it thoroughly. That surprised me, said Polly. So it did me, for Fen always insisted it was the money and not the man she cared for. Her first answer pleased me very much, for I did not expect it. And nothing touches a fellow more than to have a woman stand by him for thick and thin. She don't seem to have done it. Fen was right. Tricks only ready to see how bad things really were, or rather her mother did. She's as cool, hard, and rudely minded, and old soul as I ever saw, and Tricks is bound to obey. She gets rounded very neatly in her note. I won't be a burden. Will sacrifice your hopes and always remain my warm friend? But the truth is, Tom's show rich was worth making much of, but Tom's show poor is in the way, and may go to the devil as fast as he likes. Well, he isn't going. Quite Polly defiantly, for her wrath burned hotly against Tricks, though she blessed her for setting the button and free. Came within an ace of it, mother Tom to himself, adding aloud in a tone of calm resignation, that a short Polly his heart would not be broken, though his engagement was. It never rains but it pours, especially in hard times. But when a man is down, a rep or two more don't matter much, I suppose. It's the first blow that hurts most. Glad to see you take the last blow so well. There was an ironical little twang to that speech, and Polly couldn't help it. Tom coloured up and looked hurtful in it, then seemed to ride himself with a shrug, and sat in his outspoken way. To tell the honest truth, Polly it was not a very hard one. I've had a feeling for some time that Tricks and I were not suited to one another, and it might be wiser to stop short, but she did not or would not see it, and I was not going to back out and leave her to wear any more willows. So here we are. I don't wear malice, but hope she'll do better and not be disappointed again, upon my word I do. That's very good of you, quite Sydney-esque and no more, said Polly, feeling rather ill at ease, and wishing she could hide herself behind a kerb and spectacles, if she was to play grandma to this confiding youth. It will be your all-blame sailing for Sid, I fancy. Observed Tom, getting up as if the little cricket suddenly ceased to be comfortable. I hope so, one with Polly, wondering what was coming next. He deserves the very best of everything, and I pray the Lord he may get it. At a time poking the fire in a destructive manner, Polly made no answer, fearing to pay too much, for she knew Fen had made no confident of Tom, and she guarded her friend's secret as jealously as her own. You'll ride to Ned tomorrow, will you? I'll take anything he's got, for I want to be off, said Tom, casting down the poker and turning round with a resolute air, which was lost on Polly, who said twirling the rose that had fallen into her lap. All right, tonight. Would you like me to tell the girls about Tricks and Sidney? She asked as she rose, feeling that the council was over. I wish you would. I don't know how to thank you for all you've done for me. I wish to heaven I did, said Tom, holding out his hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the little she had done, as she gave him her hand and looked up at him with those confiding eyes of hers. Tom's courage seemed to fly to his head, for without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her. A proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered himself at once, and who treated into his stand with the incoherent apology, I beg pardon, couldn't help it. Grandma always left me on my birthday. While Polly took refuge upstairs, forgetting all about Fen, as she sat in the dark with her face hidden, wondering why she wasn't very angry, and we saw her think never again to indulge in the delightful, but dangerous pastime of playing grandmother. End of chapter 17, Recording by Peggy