 CHAPTER XI. Dear Polly, the sewing circle meets at our house this P.M. This is in your line, so do come and help me through. I shall depend on you. Yours ever, fan." Bad news, my dear," asked Miss Mills, who had just handed the note to Polly as she came in one noon a few weeks after Jenny's arrival. Polly told her what it was, adding, I suppose I ought to go and help Fanny, but I can't say I want to. The girls talk about things I have nothing to do with, and I don't find their gossip very amusing. I'm an outsider, and they only accept me on fan's account, so I sit in a corner and sew while they chatter and laugh. Wouldn't it be a good chance to say a word for Jenny? She wants work, and these young ladies probably have quantities done somewhere. Jenny does fine work exquisitely and begins to feel anxious to be earning something. I don't want her to feel dependent and unhappy, and a little well-paid sewing would be all she needs to do nicely. I can get it for her by running round to my friends, but I really haven't the time till I get the muillers off. They are poppers here, but out west they can take care of themselves, so I've begged the money to send them, and as soon as I can get them some clothes, off they go. That's the way to help people help themselves, and Miss Mills clashed her big scissors energetically as she cut out a little red flannel shirt. I know it is, and I want to help, but I don't know where to begin, said Polly, feeling quite oppressed with the immensity of the work. We can't any of us do all we would like, but we can do our best for every case that comes to us, and that helps amazingly. Begin with Jenny, my dear. Tell those girls about her, and if I'm not much mistaken, you will find them ready to help, for half the time it isn't hardness of heart, but ignorance or thoughtlessness on the part of the rich that makes them seem so careless of the poor. To tell the truth I'm afraid of being laughed at if I try to talk seriously about such things to the girls, said Polly frankly. You believe that such things are true, you are sincere in your wish to better help them, and you respect those who work for that end? Yes, I do. Then, my dear, can't you bear a little ridicule for the sake of a good cause? You said yesterday that you were going to make it a principle of your life to help up your sex as far and as fast as you could. It did my heart good to hear you say it, for I was sure that in time you would keep your word. But Polly, a principle that can't bear being laughed at, frowned on and cold-shouldered, isn't worthy of the name. I want to be strong minded in the real sense of the word, but I don't like to be called so by people who don't understand my meaning, and I shall be if I try to make the girls think soberly about anything sensible or philanthropic. They call me old-fashioned now, and I'd rather be thought that, though it isn't pleasant, than to be set down as a rampant woman's rights reformer, said Polly, in whose memory many laughs and snubs and sarcasms still lingered, forgiven but not forgotten. This love and thought and care for those weaker, poorer, or worse than ourselves, which we call Christian charity, is a very old-fashioned, my dear. It began eighteen hundred years ago, and only those who honestly follow the beautiful example set us then learn how to get genuine happiness out of life. I'm not a rampant woman's rights reformer, added Miss Mills with a smile at Polly's sober face. But I think that women can do a great deal for each other if they will only stop fearing what people will think and take a hearty interest in whatever is going to fit their sisters and themselves to deserve and enjoy the rights God gave them. There are so many ways in which this can be done, and I wonder they don't see and improve them. I don't ask you to go and make speeches, only a few have the gift for that. But I do want every girl and woman to feel this duty and make any little sacrifice of time or feeling that may be asked of them, because there is so much to do, and no one can do it as well as ourselves, if we only think so. I'll try, said Polly, influenced more by her desire to keep Miss Mills' good opinion than any love of self-sacrifice for her sex. It was rather a hard thing to ask of a shy, sensitive girl, and the kind old lady knew it, for in spite of the gray hair and withered face, her heart was very young and her own girlish trials not forgotten. But she knew also that Polly had more influence over others than she herself suspected, simply because of her candid, upright nature, and that while she tried to help others, she was serving herself in a way that could improve heart and soul more than any mere social success she might gain by following the rules of fashionable life, which drill the character out of girls till they are as much alike as pins in a paper, and have about as much true sense and sentiment in their little heads. There was good stuff in Polly, unspoiled as yet, and Miss Mills was only acting out her principle of women helping each other. The wise old lady saw that Polly had reached that point where the girl suddenly blooms into a woman, asking something more substantial than pleasure to satisfy the new aspirations that are born, a time as precious and important to the afterlife as the hour when the apple blossoms fall and the young fruit waits for the elements to ripen or destroy the harvest. Polly did not know this and was fortunate in possessing a friend who knew what influences would serve her best and who could give her what all women should desire to give each other, the example of a sweet, good life, more eloquent and powerful than any words, for this is a right no one can deny us. Polly turned to the matter over in her mind as she dressed, while Jenny played waiting-maid, little dreaming what this new friend was meaning to do for her if she dared. Is it going to be a tea-party, Miss? asked Jenny, as the black silk went rustling on to her great admiration, for she considered Polly a beauty. Well, no, I think it will probably be a lecture, answered Polly, laughing, for Jenny's grateful service and affectionate eyes confirmed the purpose which Miss Mills little homily had suggested. As she entered the Shah's parlor an hour or two later, an appalling array of well-dressed girls appeared, each provided with a dainty reticule, basket, or bag, and each tongue going a good deal faster than the needle, while the white fingers stitched sleeves in upside down, put flannel jackets together hind part before, or gobbled buttonholes with the best intentions in life. You are a dear to come so early. Here's a nice place for you between Belle and Miss Perkins, and here's a sweet little dress to make unless you like something else better, said Fanny, receiving her friend with warmth and placing her where she thought she would enjoy herself. Thank you, I'll take an unbleached cotton shirt if you have such a thing, for it is likely to be needed before a cambrick frock, replied Polly, subsiding into her corner as quickly as possible, for at least six eyeglasses were up and she didn't enjoy being stared at. Miss Perkins, a grave cold-looking young lady, with an aristocratic nose, bowed politely and then went on with her work, which displayed two diamond rings to great advantage. Belle, being of the demonstrative sort, smiled and nodded, drew up her chair, and began a whispered account of Trix's last quarrel with Tom. Polly listened with interest while she sewed diligently, occasionally permitting her eyes to study the elegant intricacies of Miss Perkins' dress, for that young lady sat like a statue, querking her delicate fingers and accomplishing about two stitches a minute. In the midst of Belle's story, a more exciting bit of gossip caught her ear, and she plunged into the conversation going on across the table, leaving Polly free to listen and admire the wit, wisdom, and charitable spirit of the accomplished young ladies about her. There was a perfect babble of tongues, but out of the confusion Polly gathered scraps of fashionable intelligence, which somewhat lessened her respect for the dwellers in high places. One fair creature asserted that Joe somebody took so much champagne at the last German that he had to be got away and sent home with two servants. Another divulged the awful fact that Carrie P.'s wedding presents were half of them hired for the occasion. A third circulated a whisper to the effect that though Mrs. Buckminster wore a thousand-dollar cloak, her boys were not allowed but one sheet to their beds. And a fourth young gossip assured the company that a certain person never had offered himself to a certain other person, though the report was industriously spread by interested parties. This latter remark caused such a clamor that Fanny called the meeting to order in a most unparliamentary fashion. Girls, girls, you really must talk less and so more, or our society will be disgraced. Do you know our branch sent in less work than any of the others last month, and Mrs. Fitzgeorge said she didn't see how fifteen young ladies could manage to do so little? We don't talk a bit more than the old ladies do. I just wish you could have heard them go on last time. The way they get so much done is they take work home and make their seamstresses do it, and then they take credit for vast industry, said Bell, who always spoke her mind with charming candor. That reminds me that Mama says they want as many things as we can make, for it's a hard winter, and the poor are suffering very much. Do any of you wish to take articles home to do at odd times? said Fan, who was president of this energetic Dorcas society. Mercy, no, it takes all my leisure time to mend my gloves and refresh my dresses, answered Bell. I think if we meet once a week it is all that should be expected of us with our other engagements. Poor people always complain that the winter is a hard one and never are satisfied, remarked Miss Perkins, making her diamonds sparkle as she sewed buttons on the wrong side of a pink calico apron, which would hardly survive one washing. Nobody can ask me to do any more if they remember all I've got to attend to before summer, said Tricks, with an important error. I've got three women hard at work and want another, but everyone is so busy and ask such abominable prices that I'm in despair and shall have to take hold myself, I'm afraid. There's a chance for Jane, thought Polly, but hadn't courage to speak out loud in meeting just then and resolved to ask Tricks for work in private. Prices are high, but you forget how much more it costs to live now than it used to do. Mama never allows us to beat down work women, but wishes us to pay them well and economize in some other way if we must, said Emma Davenport, a quiet, bright-eyed girl who was called odd among the young ladies because she dressed simply when her father was a millionaire. Just hear that girl talk about economy. I beg your pardon. She's some relation of yours, I believe, said Belle in a low tone. Very distant, but I'm proud of it, for with her economy doesn't mean scrimping in one place to make a show in another. If everyone would follow the Davenport's example, work women wouldn't starve or servants be such a trouble. Emma is the plainest dressed girl in the room next to me, yet anyone can see she is a true gentle woman, said Polly warmly. And you are another, answered Belle, who had always loved Polly in her scatterbrained way. Hush, Tricks has the floor. If they spent their wages properly, I shouldn't mind so much, but they think they must be as fine as anybody and dress so well that it is hard to tell mistress from maid. Why, our cook got a bonnet just like mine, the materials were cheaper, but the effect was the same, and had the impertinence to wear it before my face. I forbid it, and she left, of course, which made Papa so cross he wouldn't give me the camel's hair shawl he promised this year. It's perfectly shameful, said Miss Perkins, as Tricks paused out of breath. Servants ought to be made to dress like servants as they do abroad, then we should have no more trouble, observed Miss Perkins, who had just made the grand tour and brought home a French maid. Perky doesn't practice as she preaches, whispered Belle to Polly, as Miss Pee became absorbed in the chat of her other neighbors. She pays her chamber girl with old finery, and the other day, when Betsy was out parading in her Mrs. Castoff purple plush suit, Mr. Curtis thought she was Madame Oisele and bowed to her. He is as blind as a bat, but recognized the dress, and pulled off his hat to it in the most elegant style. Perky adores him and was mad enough to beat Betsy when she told the story and giggled over it. Betsy is quite as stylish and ever so much prettier than Perky, and she knows it, which is an aggravation. Polly couldn't help laughing, but grew sober a minute after, as Tricks said pettishly, Well, I'm sick of hearing about beggars. I believe half of them are humbugs, and if we let them alone, they'd go to work and take care of themselves. There's altogether too much fuss made about charity. I do wish we could be left in peace. There can't be too much charity, burst out Polly, for getting her shyness all at once. Oh, indeed! Well, I take the liberty to differ with you, returned Tricks, putting up her glass, and bestowing upon Polly her most top loftical stare, as the girls called it. I regret to say that Polly could never talk with or be near Tricks without feeling irritated and combative. She tried to conquer this feeling, but she couldn't, and when Tricks put on airs, Polly felt an intense desire to box her ears. That eyeglass was her special aversion. For Tricks was no more nearsighted than herself, but pretended to be because it was the fashion, and at times used the innocent glass as a weapon with which to put down anyone who presumed to set themselves up. This superlicious glance which accompanied her ironically polite speech roused Polly, who answered with sudden color and the kindling of the eyes that always betrayed a perturbed spirit. I don't think any of us would enjoy that selfish sort of peace, while little children starve, and girls no older than us kill themselves because their dreadful poverty leaves them no choice but sin or death. A sudden lull took place, for though Polly did not raise her voice, it was full of indignant emotion, and the most frivolous girl there felt a little thrill of sympathy. For the most utterly fashionable life does not kill the heart out of women till years of selfish pleasure have passed over their heads. Tricks was ashamed of herself, but she felt the same antagonism toward Polly that Polly did toward her, and, being less generous, took satisfaction in plaguing her. Polly did not know that the secret of this was the fact that Tom often held her up as a model for his fiance to follow, which caused that young lady to dislike her more than ever. Half the awful stories in the papers are made up for a sensation, and it's absurd to believe them unless one likes to be harrowed up. I don't, and as for peace, I'm not likely to get very much while I have Tom to look after, said Tricks with an aggravating laugh. Polly's needle snapped in two, but she did not mind it, as she said, with a look that silenced even sharp-tongued Tricks. I can't help believing what my own eyes and ears have seen and heard. You lead such safe and happy lives, you can't imagine the misery that is all around you. But if you could get a glimpse of it, it would make your heart ache as it has mine. Do you suffer from heart ache? Someone hinted as much to me, but you looked so well I couldn't believe it. Now that was cruel in Tricks, more cruel than any one guessed. But girls' tongues can deal wounds as sharp and sudden as the slender stiletto Spanish women wear in their hair, and Polly turned pale as those words stabbed her. Belle sighed and rushed to the rescue with more good will than wisdom. Nobody ever accused you of having any heart to ache with. Polly and I are not old enough yet to get tough and cool, and we are still silly enough to pity unhappy people. Tom Shaw especially added Belle under her breath. That was a too-edged thrust, for Tricks was decidedly an old girl, and Tom was generally regarded as a hapless victim. Tricks turned red, but before she could load in fire again, Emma Davenport, who labored under the delusion that this sort of skirmishing was ill-natured, and therefore ill-bred, spoke up in her pleasant way. Speaking of pitying the poor, I always wonder why it is that we all like to read and cry over their troubles in books, but when we have the real thing before us, we think it is uninteresting and disagreeable. It's the genius that gets into the books, which makes us like the poverty I fancy, but I don't quite agree that the real thing isn't interesting. I think it would be if we knew how to look at and feel it, said Polly very quietly, as she pushed her chair out of the arctic circle of Miss Perkins into the temperate one of friendly Emma. But how shall we learn that? I don't see what we girls can do more than we do now. We haven't much money for such things, and shouldn't know how to use it if we had, and it isn't proper for us to go poking into dirty places to hunt up the needy. Going about doing good in pony-phatons, as somebody says, may succeed in England, but it won't work here, said Fanny, who had begun lately to think a good deal of someone beside herself and so found her interest in her fellow beings increasing daily. We can't do much, perhaps, just yet, but still there are things left undone that naturally fall to us. I know a house, said Polly, sewing busily as she talked, where every servant who enters it becomes an object of interest to the mistress and her daughters. These women are taught good habits, books are put where they can get them, sensible amusements are planned for them sometimes, and they soon feel that they are not considered mere scrubs to do as much work as possible, for as little money as possible, but helpers in the family who are loved and respected in proportion to their faithfulness. This lady feels her duty to them, owns it and does it, as conscientiously as she wants them to do theirs by her, and that is the way it ought to be, I think. As Polly paused, several keen eyes discovered that Emma's cheeks were very red and saw a smile lurking in the corners of the mouth that tried to look demure, which told them who Polly meant. Do the bitties all turn out saints in that well-regulated family, asked the irrepressible tricks? No, few of us do that, even in the parlor, but every one of the bitties is better for being there, whether they are grateful or not. I ought not to have mentioned this, perhaps, but I wanted to show you one thing that we girls can do. We all complain about bad servants, most as much as if we were housekeepers ourselves, but it never occurs to us to try and mend the matter by getting up a better spirit between mistress and maid. Then there's another thing we can do, added Polly, warming up. Most of us find money enough for our little vanities and pleasures, but feel dreadfully poor when we come to pay for work, sewing especially. Couldn't we give up a few of the vanities and pay the seamstress better? I declare I will, cried Belle, whose conscience suddenly woke and smote her for beating down the woman who did her plain sewing in order that she might have an extra flounce on a new dress. Belle has got a virtuous fit, pity it won't last a week, said Tricks. Wait and see, retorted Belle, resolving that it should last just to disappoint that spiteful minks, as she sweetly called her old schoolmate. Now we shall behold Belle galloping away at a great pace on her new hobby. I shouldn't be surprised to hear of her preaching in the jail, adopting a nice dirty little orphan or passing round tracks at a woman's rights meeting, said Tricks, who never could forgive Belle for having a lovely complexion and so much hair of her own that she never patronized either rats, mice, waterfalls, switches, or puffcombs. Well, I might do worse, and I think of the two. I'd rather amuse myself so than as some ladies do, who get into the papers for their pranks, returned Belle with a moral error. Suppose we have a little recess and rest while Polly plays to us. Will you, Polly? It will do us good. They all want to hear you and beg Didask. Then I will with pleasure, and Polly went to the piano with such obliging readiness that several reproachful glances fell upon Tricks, who didn't need her glass to see them. Polly was never too sad, perturbed, or lazy to sing, for it was almost as easy to her as breathing and seemed the most natural outlet for her emotions. For a minute her hands wandered over the keys, as if uncertain what to play. Then, falling into a sad sweet strain, she sang The Bridge of Size. Polly didn't know why she chose it, but the instincts seemed to have been a true one. Four, old as the song was, it went straight to the hearts of the hearers, and Polly sung it better than she ever had before, for now the memory of little Jane lent it a tender pathos, which no art could give. It did them all good, for music is a beautiful magician, and few can resist its power. The girls were touched by the appeal. Polly was lifted out of herself, and when she turned round, the softened look on all the faces told her that for the moment foolish differences and frivolous beliefs were forgotten in the one-womanly sentiment of pity for the rungs and woes of which the listener's happy lives were ignorant. That song always makes me cry, and feel as if I had no right to be so comfortable, said Belle, openly wiping her eyes on a crash towel. "'Fortunately, such cases are very rare,' said another young lady, who seldom read the newspapers. I wish they were, but I'm afraid they are not. For only three weeks ago I saw a girl younger than any of us, and no worse, who tried to destroy herself simply because she was so discouraged, sick, and poor,' said Polly. "'Do tell about her,' cried Belle eagerly. Feeling that the song had paved the way for the story, and given her courage to tell it, Polly did tell it, and must have done it well, for the girls stopped work to listen, and when she ended, other eyes beside warm-hearted bells were wet. Tricks looked quite subdued. Miss Perkins thawed to such a degree that something glittered on her hand as she bent over the pink pinafore again, better and brighter than her biggest diamond. Emma got up and went to Polly with a face full of affectionate respect, while Fanny, moved by a sudden impulse, caught up a costly sevre plate that stood on the étagère, and, laying a five-dollar bill in it, passed it round, quoting Polly's words. "'Girls, I know you'll like to help poor little Jenny begin again and do better this time.' It was good to see how quickly the pretty purses were out, how generously each gave of its abundance, and what hearty applause broke from the girls, as Belle laid down her gold thimble, saying with an April face. There, take that. I never have any money. Somehow it won't stay with me, but I can't let the plate pass me this time.' When Fanny brought the contributions to Polly, she just gathered it up in her two hands with such a glad, grateful face, the girls wished they had more to give. "'I can't thank you enough,' she said, with an eloquent little choke in her voice. This will help Jenny very much, but the way in which it was done will do her more good than double the money, because it will prove to her that she isn't without friends, and make her feel there is a place in the world for her. Let her work for you in return for this. She don't ask alms. She only wants employment and a little kindness, and the best charity we can bestow is to see that she has both.' "'I'll give her as much sewing as she wants, and she can stay at our house while she does it if she needs a home,' said Tricks in a spasm of benevolence. "'She doesn't need a home, thank you. Miss Mills has given half of hers, and considers Jane her child,' answered Polly, with proud satisfaction in the fact. "'What an old dear!' cried Bell. "'I want to know her, may I?' whispered Emma. "'Oh yes, I'm glad to make her known to anyone. She is a quiet little old lady, but she does want heaps of good, and shows you how to be charitable in the wisest way. "'Do tell us about it. I'm sure I want to do my duty, but it's such a muddle, I don't know how,' said Bell. Then, quite naturally, the conversation fell upon the great work that none should be too busy to think of, and which few are too young or too poor to help on with their might. The faces grew more earnest, the fingers flew faster, and the quick young hearts and brains took in the new facts, ideas, and plans that grew out of the true stories, the sensible hints, the successful efforts which Polly told them, fresh from the lips of Miss Mills. For of late Polly had talked much with the good lady, and learned quickly the lessons her unselfish life conveyed. The girls found this more interesting than gossip, partly owing to its novelty doubtless. But the enthusiasm was sincere while it lasted and did them good. Many of them forgot all about it in a week, but Polly's effort was not lost, for Emma, Bell, and Fanny remained firm friends to Jane, so kindly helping her that the poor child felt as if she had indeed been born again into a new and happy world. Not till long afterward did Polly see how much good this little effort had done her, for the first small sacrifice of this sort leads the way to others, and a single hand's turn given heartily to the world's great work helps one amazingly with one's own small tasks. Polly found this out as her life slowly grew easier and brighter, and the beautiful law of compensation gave her better purposes and pleasures than any she had lost. The parents of some of her pupils were persons of real refinement, and such are always quick to perceive the marks of culture in others, no matter where they find them. These, attracted first by Polly's cheerful face, modest manners, and faithful work, soon founded her something more than a good teacher. They found a real talent for music, an eager desire for helpful opportunities, and a heart grateful for the kindly sympathy that makes rough places smooth. Fortunately, those who have the skill to detect these traits also possess the spirit to appreciate and often the power to serve and develop them. In ways so delicate that the most sensitive pride could not resent the favor, these true gentlefolk showed Polly their respect and regard, put many pleasures in her way, and when they paid her for her work, gave her also the hearty thanks that takes away all sense of degradation, even from the humblest service, for money so earned and paid sweetens the daily bread it buys, and makes the mutual obligation a mutual benefit and pleasure. A few such patrons did much for Polly, and the music she gave them had an undertone of gratitude that left blithe echoes in those great houses which money could not buy. Then, as her butterfly acquaintances deserted her, she found her way into a hive of friendly bees who welcomed her and showed her how to find the honey that keeps life sweet and wholesome. Through Miss Mills, who was the counselor and comforter of several, Polly came to know a little sisterhood of busy, happy, independent girls who each had a purpose to execute, a talent to develop, an ambition to achieve, and brought to the work patience and perseverance, hope and courage. Here Polly found her place at once, for in this little world love and liberty prevailed. Talent, energy, and character took the first rank. Money, fashion, and position were literally nowhere. For here, as in the big world outside, genius seemed to blossom best when poverty was head gardener, young teachers doing much work for little pay, young artists trying to pencil, paint, or carve their way to Rome, young writers burning to distinguish themselves, young singers dreaming of triumphs great as those of Jenny Lind, and some who tried to conquer independence armed only with a needle like poor Jane. All these helped Polly as unconsciously as she helped them, for purpose and principle are the best teachers we can have, and the want of them makes half the women of America what they are, restless, aimless, frivolous, and sick. To outsiders that was a very hard working and uneventful winter to Polly. She thought so herself, but as spring came on the seed of new virtues planted in the wintertime and ripened by the sunshine of endeavor began to bud in Polly's nature, betraying their presence to others by the added strength and sweetness of her character, long before she herself discovered these May flowers that had blossomed for her underneath the snow. CHAPTER XII. FORBIDDEN FRUIT I'm perfectly aching for some fun, said Polly to herself as she opened her window one morning, and the sunshine and frosty air sent her blood, dancing, and her eyes sparkling with youth, health, and overflowing spirits. I really must break out somewhere and have a good time. It's quite impossible to keep steady any longer. Now what will I do? Polly sprinkled crumbs to the doves, who came daily to be fed, and while she watched the gleaming necks and rosy feet, she racked her brain to devise some unusually delightful way of enjoying herself, for she really had bottled up her spirits so long they were in a state of uncontrollable effervescence. I'll go to the opera, she suddenly announced to the doves. It's expensive, I know, but it's remarkably good, and music is such a treat to me. Yes, I'll get two tickets as cheap as I can, send a note to Will, poor lad, he needs fun as much as I do, and we'll go and have a nice time in some corner, as Charles Lamb and his sister used to do. With that Polly slammed down the window to the dismay of her gentle little pensioners, and began to fly about with great energy, singing and talking to herself as if it was impossible to keep quiet. She started early to her first lesson that she might have time to buy the tickets, hoping, as she put a five-dollar bill into her purse, that they wouldn't be very high, for she felt that she was not in a mood to resist temptation. But she was spared any struggle, for when she reached the place, the ticket office was blocked by eager purchasers, and the disappointed faces that turned away told Polly there was no hope for her. Well, I don't care, I'll go somewhere, for I will have my fun, she said, with great determination, for disappointment only seemed to wet her appetite. But the playbills showed her nothing inviting, and she was forced to go away to her work, with the money burning her pocket, and all manner of wild schemes floating in her head. At noon, instead of going home to dinner, she went and took an ice, trying to feel very gay and festive all by herself. It was rather a failure, however, and after a tour of the pictureshops, she went to give Maude a lesson, feeling that it was very hard to quench her longings, and subside into a prim little music teacher. Fortunately she did not have to do violence to her feelings very long, for the first thing Fanny said to her was, Can you go? Where? Didn't you get my note? I didn't go home to dinner. Tom wants us to go to the opera tonight, and fan got no further, for Polly uttered a cry of rapture and clasped her hands. Go? Of course I will! I've been dying to go all day, tried to get tickets this morning and couldn't, been fuming about it ever since, and now, oh, how splendid! And Polly could not restrain an ecstatic skip, for this burst of joy rather upset her. Well, you'll come to tea, and we'll dress together, and go all comfortable with Tom, who is in a heavenly frame of mind today. I must run home and get my things, said Polly, resolving on the spot to buy the nicest pair of gloves the city afforded. You shall have my white cloak and any other little rigging you want. Tommy likes to have his ladies at credit to him, you know, said Fanny, departing to take a beauty-sleep. Polly instantly decided that she wouldn't borrow Becky's best bonnet, as she at first intended, but get a new one, for in her present excited state no extravagance seemed too prodigal in the honour of this grand occasion. I'm afraid that Maud's lesson was not as thorough as it should have been, for Polly's head was such a chaos of bonnets, gloves, opera cloaks, and fans that Maud blundered through, murdering, time, and tune at her own sweet will. The instant it was over, Polly rushed away and bought not only the kids, but a bonnet frame, a bit of illusion, and a pink crepe rose, which had tempted her for weeks in a certain shop window, then home and to work with all the skill and speed of a distracted milliner. I am rushing madly into expense, I'm afraid, but the fit is on me, and I'll eat bread and water for a week to make up for it. I must look nice, for Tom seldom takes me, and ought to be gratified when he does. I want to do like other girls, just for once, and enjoy myself without thinking about right and wrong. Now, a bit of pink ribbon to tie it with, and I shall be done in time to do up my best collar, she said, turning her boxes topsy-turvy for the necessary ribbon, in that delightful flurry which young ladies feel on such occasions. It is my private opinion that the little shifts and struggles we poor girls have to undergo beforehand give a peculiar relish to our fun when we get it. This fact will account for the rapturous mood in which Polly found herself when, after making her bonnet, washing and ironing her best set, blacking her boots and mending her fan, she at last, like Consuelo, put on a little dress of black silk, and, with the smaller adornments pinned up in a paper, started for the shaws, finding it difficult to walk decorously when her heart was dancing in her bosom. Mod happened to be playing a radawa up in the parlor, and Polly came prancing into the room so evidently spoiling for a dance, that Tom, who was there, found it impossible to resist catching her about the waist, and putting her through the most intricate evolutions, till Mod's fingers gave out. That was splendid! Oh, Tom, thank you so much for asking me to-night! I feel just like having a regular good time, cried Polly, when she stopped, with her hat hanging round her neck and her hair looking as if she had been out in a high wind. Glad of it! I felt so myself, and thought we'd have a jolly little party all in the family, said Tom, looking much gratified at her delight. Is Trick sick? asked Polly. Gone to New York for a week. Ah, when the cat's away, the mice will play. Exactly. Come and have another turn. Before they could start, however, the awful spectacle of a little dog trotting out of the room with a paper parcel in his mouth made Polly glassed her hands with a despairing cry. My bonnet! Oh, my bonnet! Where? What? Which? And Tom looked about him, bewildered. Snips got it! Save it! Save it! I will! And Tom gave chase with more vigor than discretion. Snip, evidently regarding it as a game, got up for his special benefit, enjoyed the race immensely, and scampered all over the house, shaking the precious parcel like a rat, while his master ran and whistled, commanded and coaxed in vain. Polly followed, consumed with anxiety, and Maude laughed till Mrs. Shaw sent down to know who was in hysterics. A pity is yelp from the lower regions at last announced that the thief was captured, and Tom appeared bearing snip by the nape of the neck in one hand, and Polly's cherished bonnet in the other. The little scamp was just going to worry it when I grabbed him. I'm afraid he has eaten one of your gloves. I can't find it, and this one is pretty well chewed up, said Tom, bereaving snip of the torn kid, to which he still pertinaciously clung. Serves me right, said Polly, with a groan. I'd no business to get a new pair, but I wanted to be extra gorgeous to-night, and this is my punishment for such extravagance. Was there anything else? asked Tom. Only my best cuff and collar. You'll probably find them in the coal bin, said Polly, with the calmness of despair. I saw some little white things on the dining room floor as I raced through. Go get the mod, and we'll repair the damages, said Tom, shutting the culprit into the boot closet, where he placidly rolled himself up and went to sleep. They ain't hurt a bit, proclaimed mod, restoring the lost treasures. Neither is my bonnet, for which I'm deeply grateful, said Polly, who had been examining it with a solicitude which made Tom's eyes twinkle. So am I, for it strikes me that it is an uncommonly knobby little affair, he said approvingly. Tom had a weakness for pale pink roses, and perhaps Polly knew it. I'm afraid it's too gay, said Polly, with a dubious look. Not a bit. Sort of bridal, you know. Must be becoming. Put it on and let's see. I wouldn't for the world, with my hair all tumbling down. Don't look at me till I'm respectable, and don't tell anyone how I've been acting. I think I must be a little crazy tonight, said Polly, gathering up her rescue finery and preparing to go and find fan. Lunacy is mighty becoming, Polly. Try it again, answered Tom, watching her as she went laughing away, looking all the prettier for her dishevelment. Dress that girl up and she'd be a raving, tearing beauty, added Tom to mod in a lower tone as he took her into the parlour under his arm. Polly heard it, and instantly resolved to be as raving and tearing as her means would allow. Just for one night, she said as she peeped over the banisters, glad to see that the dance and the race had taken the band-boxy air out of Tom's elegant array. I deeply regret being obliged to shock the eyes and ears of such of my readers as have prejudice in favour of pure English by expressions like the above, but, having rashly undertaken to write a little story about young America, for young America, I feel bound to depict my honoured patrons as faithfully as my limited powers permit. Otherwise I must expect the crushing criticism. Well, I daresay it's all very prim and proper, but it isn't a bit like us. I never hoped to arrive at the distinction of finding the covers of an old-fashioned girl, the dirtiest, in the library. The friends had a social cup of tea upstairs, which Polly considered the height of luxury, and then each took a mirror and proceeded to prank to her heart's content. The earnestness with which Polly made her toilet that night was delightful to behold. Feeling in a daring mood, she released her pretty hair from the braids in which she usually wore it, and permitted the curls to display themselves in all their brown abundance, especially several dangerous little ones about the temples and forehead. The putting on of the rescued collar and cuffs was a task which absorbed her whole mind. So was the settling of a minute bit of court plaster just to the left of the dimple in her chin, an unusual piece of cockatry in which Polly would not have indulged if an almost invisible scratch had not given her an excuse for doing it. The white, down-trimmed cloak, with certain imposing ornaments on the hood, was assumed with becoming gravity, and draped with much advancing and retreating before the glass, as its wearer practised the true Boston gate, elbows back, shoulders forward, a bend and a slide, occasionally varied by a slight skip. But when that bonnet went on Polly actually held her breath till it was safely landed, and the pink rose bloomed above the smooth waves of hair with what Fanny called a ravishing effect. At this successful stage of affairs Polly founded impossible to resist the loan of a pair of gold bands for the wrists and Fanny's white fan with a little mirror in the middle. I can put them in my pocket if I feel too much dressed, said Polly as she snapped on the bracelets, but after a wave or two of the fan she felt that it would be impossible to take them off till the evening was over, so enticing was their glitter. Fanny also lent her a pair of three button gloves, which completed her content, and when Tom greeted her with an approving, here's a sight for gods and men, why Polly, you're gorgeous! She felt that her fun had decidedly begun. Wouldn't Polly make a lovely bride? said Maud, who was revolving about the shoe girls, trying to decide whether she would have a blue or a white cloak when she grew up and went to operas. Faith and she would. Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Sydney, added Tom, advancing with his wedding reception bow and a wicked look at Fanny. Go away, how dare you! cried Polly, growing much redder than her rose. If we are going to the opera tonight, perhaps we'd better start, as the carriage has been waiting some time, observed Fan Cooley, and sailed out of the room in an unusually lofty manner. Don't you like it, Polly? whispered Tom, as they went downstairs together. Very much. The deuce you do. I'm so fond of music, how can I help it? I'm talking about Sid. Well, I'm not. You'd better try for him. I'll think of it. Oh, Polly, Polly, what are you coming to? A tumble into the street, apparently, answered Polly as she slipped a little on the step, and Tom stopped in the middle of his laugh to pilot her safely into the carriage, where Fanny was already seated. Here's richness, said Polly to herself as she rolled away, feeling as Cinderella probably did when the pumpkin coach bore her to the first ball. Only Polly had two princes to think about, and poor Cinderella, on that occasion, had not even one. Fanny didn't seem inclined to talk much, and Tom would go on in such a ridiculous manner that Polly told him she wouldn't listen, and began to hum bits of the opera. But she heard every word, nevertheless, and resolved to pay him for his impertinence as soon as possible by showing him what he had lost. Their seats were in the balcony, and hardly were they settled when, by one of those remarkable coincidences which are continually occurring in our youth, Mr. Sidney and Fanny's old friend, Frank Moore, took their places just behind them. Oh, you villain! You did it on purpose! whispered Polly as she turned from greeting their neighbours, and saw a droll look on Tom's face. I give you my word, I didn't. It's the law of attraction, don't you see? If fan likes it, I don't care. She looks resigned, I think. She certainly did, for she was talking and laughing in the gayest manner with Frank, while Sidney was covertly surveying Polly, as if he didn't quite understand how the grey grub got so suddenly transformed into a white butterfly. It is a well-known fact that dress plays a very important part in the lives of most women, and even the most sensible cannot help owning sometimes how much happiness they owe to a becoming gown, gracefully arranged hair, or a bonnet which brings out the best points in their faces, and puts them in a good humour. A great man was once heard to say that what first attracted him to his well-beloved wife was seeing her in a white muslin dress, with a blue shawl on the chair behind her. The dress caught his eye, and, stopping to admire that, the wearer's intelligent conversation interested his mind, and in time the woman's sweetness won his heart. It is not the finest dress, which does the most execution, I fancy, but that which best interprets individual taste and character. Wise people understand this, and everybody is more influenced by it than they know, perhaps? Polly was not very wise, but she felt that everyone about her found something more attractive than usual in her, and modestly attributed Tom's devotion, Sydney's interest, and Frank's undisguised admiration to the new bonnet, or more likely, to that delightful combination of cashmere, silk, and swans down, which, like Charity's mantle, seem to cover a multitude of sins in other people's eyes, and exalt the little music teacher to the rank of a young lady. Polly scoffed at this sort of thing sometimes, but tonight she accepted it without a murmur, rather enjoyed it, in fact, let her bracelets shine before the eyes of all men, and felt that it was good to seem comely in their sight. She forgot one thing, however, that her own happy spirits gave the crowning charm to a picture which everyone liked to see, a blithe young girl enjoying herself with all her heart, the music and the light, costume and company, excited Polly, and made many things possible, which at most times she would never have thought of saying or doing. She did not mean to flirt, but somehow it flirted itself, and she couldn't help it, for once started it was hard to stop, with Tom goading her on, and Sydney looking at her with that new interest in his eyes. Polly's flirting was such a very mild imitation of the fashionable thing that tricks and company would not have recognized it, but it did very well for a beginner, and Polly understood that night wherein the fascination of it lay, for she felt as if she had found a new gift all of a sudden, and was learning how to use it, knowing that it was dangerous, yet finding its chief charm in that very fact. Tom didn't know what to make of her at first, though he thought the change uncommonly becoming, and finally decided that Polly had taken his advice and was setting her cap for Sid, as he had gracefully expressed it. Sydney, being a modest man, thought nothing of the kind, but simply fancied that little Polly was growing up to be a very charming woman. He had known her since her first visit, and had always liked the child. This winter he had been interested in the success of her plans, and had done what he could to help them, but he never thought of falling in love with Polly till that night. Then he began to feel that he had not fully appreciated his young friend, that she was such a bright and lovable girl, it was a pity she should not always be gay and pretty, and enjoy herself, that she would make a capital wife for somebody, and perhaps it was about time to think of settling, as his sister often said. These thoughts came and went as he watched the white figure in front, felt the enchantment of the music, and found everybody unusually blithe and beautiful. He had heard the opera many times, but it had never seemed so fine before. Perhaps because he had never happened to have had an ingenious young face so near him, in which the varying emotions born of the music and the romance it portrayed came and went so eloquently that it was impossible to help reading them. Polly did not know that this was why he leaned down so often to speak to her, with an expression which she did not understand, but liked very much nevertheless. Don't shut your eyes, Polly. They are so full of mischief tonight. I like to see them, said Tom, after idly wondering for a minute if she knew how long and curly her lashes were. I don't wish to look affected, but the music tells the story so much better than the acting that I don't care to look on half the time, answered Polly, hoping Tom wouldn't see the tears she had so cleverly suppressed. Now I liked the acting best. The music is all very fine, I know, but it does seem so absurd for people to go round telling tremendous secrets at the tops of their voices. I can't get used to it. That's because you've more common sense than romance. I don't mind the absurdity, and quite long to go and comfort that poor girl with a broken heart, said Polly with a sigh, as the curtain fell on a most affecting tableau. What's his name is a great Jack not to see that she adores him. In real life we fellows ain't such bats as all that, observed Tom, who had decided opinions on many subjects that he knew very little about, and expressed them with great candour. A curious smile passed over Polly's face, and she put up her glass to hide her eyes, as she said, I think you are bats sometimes, but women are taught to wear masks, and that accounts for it, I suppose. I don't agree. There's precious little masking nowadays, wish there was a little more sometimes, added Tom, thinking of several blooming damsels, whose beseeching eyes had begged him not to leave them to wither on the parent stem. I hope not, but I guess there's a good deal more than anyone would suspect. What can you know about broken hearts and blighted beings, asked Sydney, smiling at the girl's pensive tone. Polly glanced up at him, and her face dimpled and shone again, as she answered, laughing. Not much, my time is to come. I can't imagine you walking about the world with your back hair down, bewailing a hard-hearted lover, said Tom. Neither can I, that wouldn't be my way. No, Miss Polly would let concealment prey on her damask cheeks, and still smile on the novel fashion. Or turn sister of charity, and nurse the heartless lover through smallpox, or some other contagious disease, and die seraphically, leaving him to the agonies of remorse and tardy love. Polly gave Sydney an indignant look, as he said that in a slow, satirical way, that netled her very much, for she hated to be thought sentimental. That's not my way, either, she said decidedly. I tried to outlive it, and if I couldn't, I'd try to be the better for it. Disappointment needn't make a woman a fool. Nor an old maid, if she's pretty and good. Remember that, and don't visit the sins of one blockhead on all the rest of mankind, said Tom, laughing at her earnestness. I don't think there is the slightest possibility of Miss Polly's being either, added Sydney with a look, which made it evident that concealment had not seriously damaged Polly's damask cheek as yet. There's Clara Bird. I haven't seen her but once since she was married. How pretty she looks! And Polly retired behind the big glass again, thinking the chat was becoming rather personal. Now there's a girl who tried a different cure for unrequited affection from any you mention. People say she was fond of Belle's brother. He didn't reciprocate, but went off to India to spoil his constitution, so Clara married a man twenty years older than she is, and consoles herself by being the best dressed woman in the city. That accounts for it, said Polly, when Tom's long whisper ended. For what? The tired look in her eyes. I didn't see it, said Tom, after a survey through the glass. Didn't expect you would. I see what you mean. A good many women have it nowadays, said Sydney, over Polly's shoulder. What is she tired of? The old gentleman, asked Tom. And herself, added Polly. You've been reading French novels, I know you have. That's just the way heroines go on, cried Tom. I haven't read one, but it's evident you have, young man, and you'd better stop. I don't care for him. Only do it to keep up my French. But how came you to be so wise, ma'am? Observation, sir. I like to watch faces, and I seldom see a grown-up one that looks perfectly happy. True for you, Polly. No more you do, now I think of it. I don't know but one that always looks so. And there it is. Where? asked Polly, with interest. Look straight before you, and you'll see it. Polly did look, but all she saw was her own face, in the little mirror of the fan which Tom held up, and peeped over with a laugh in his eyes. Do I look happy? I'm glad of that. And Polly surveyed herself with care. Both young men thought it was girlish vanity, and smiled at its naive display. But Polly was looking for something deeper than beauty, and was glad not to find it. Rather a pleasant little prospect, eh, Polly? My bonnet is straight, and that's all I care about. Did you ever see a picture of Beau Brummel? asked Polly quickly. No. Well, there he is, modernized. And turning the fan she showed him himself. Any more portraits in your gallery? asked Sidney, as if he liked to share all the nonsense going. One more. What do you call it? The portrait of a gentleman. And the little glass reflected a gratified face, for the space of two seconds. Thank you. I'm glad I don't disgrace my name, said Sidney. Looking down into the merry blue eyes that thanked him silently, for many of the small kindnesses that women never can forget. Very good, Polly. You're getting on fast. Whispered Tom. Patting his yellow kids approvingly. Be quiet. Dear me, how warm it is! And Polly gave him a frown that delighted his soul. Come out and have an ice. We shall have time. Fan is so absorbed I couldn't think of disturbing her, said Polly, fan-seeing that her friend was enjoying the evening as much as she was. A great mistake, by the way. For fan was acting for a fact, and though she longed to turn and join them, wouldn't do it, unless a certain person showed signs of missing her. He didn't, and Fanny chattered on, raging inwardly over her disappointment, and wondering how Polly could be so gay and selfish. It was delicious to see the little airs Polly put on, for she felt as if she were somebody else, and acting apart. She leaned back, as if quite oppressed by the heat, permitted Sidney to fan her, and paid him for the service by giving him a flower from her bouquet, proceedings which amused Tom immensely, even while it peaked him a little to be treated like an old friend who didn't count. Go in and win, Polly. I'll give you my blessing, he whispered, as the curtain rose again. It's only part of the fun, so don't you laugh, you disrespectful boy? She whispered back in a tone never used toward Sidney. Tom didn't quite like the different way in which she treated them, and the word boy disturbed his dignity, for he was almost twenty-one, and Polly ought to treat him with more respect. Sidney, at the same moment, was wishing he was in Tom's place, young, comely, and such a familiar friend that Polly would scold and lecture him in the delightful way she did Tom, while Polly forgot them both when the music began, and left them ample time to look at her and think about themselves. While they waited to get out, when all was over, Polly heard fan whisper to Tom, what do you think Tricks will say to this? What do you mean? Why, the way you've been going on tonight. Don't know, and don't care. It's only Polly. That's the very thing. She can't bear pee. Well, I can, and I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy myself as well as Tricks. You'll get to enjoying yourself too much if you aren't careful. Polly's waked up. I'm glad of it, and so, Sid, I only spoke for your good. Don't trouble yourself about me. I get lecturing enough in another quarter, and can't stand any more. Come, Polly. She took the arm he offered her, but her heart was sore and angry. For that phrase, it's only Polly. Hurt her, sadly. As if I wasn't anybody, hadn't any feelings, and was only made to amuse or work for people. Fan and Tom are both mistaken, and I'll show them that Polly is awake, she thought, indignantly. Why shouldn't I enjoy myself as well as the rest? Besides, it's only Tom, she added, with a bitter smile as she thought of Tricks. Are you tired, Polly? asked Tom, bending down to look into her face. Yes, of being nobody. Ah, but you ain't nobody. You're a Polly, and you couldn't be better than that if you tried ever so hard, said Tom warmly, for he really was fond of Polly, and felt uncommonly so just then. I'm glad you think so anyway. It's so pleasant to be liked. And she looked up with her face quite bright again. I always did like you, don't you know, ever since that first visit. But you teased me shamefully for all that. So I did, but I don't now. Polly did not answer, and Tom asked, with more anxiety than the occasion required. Do I, Polly? Not in the same way, Tom, she answered, in a tone that didn't sound quite natural. Well, I never will again. Yes, you will, you can't help it. And Polly's eye glanced at Sidney, who was in front with fan. Tom laughed and drew Polly closer as the crowd pressed, saying with mock tenderness, didn't she like to be chafed about her sweethearts? Well, she shan't be if I can't help it. Poor dear! Did she get her little bonnet knocked into a cocked hat and her little temper riled at the same time? Polly couldn't help laughing, and in spite of the crush, enjoyed the slow journey from seat to carriage. For Tom's took such excellent care of her, she was rather sorry when it was over. They had a merry little supper after they got home, and Polly gave them a burlesque opera that convulsed her hearers, for her spirits rose again, and she was determined to get the last drop of fun before she went back to her humdrum life again. I've had a regularly splendid time, and thank you ever so much, she said, when the good nights were being exchanged. So have I. Let's go and do it again to-morrow," said Tom, holding the hand from which he had helped to pull a refractory glove. Not for a long while, please. Too much pleasure would soon spoil me, answered Polly, shaking her head. I don't believe it. Good night, sweet Mistress Milton, as Sid called you, sleep like an angel, and don't dream of—I forgot, no teasing allowed. And Tom took himself off with a theatrical farewell. Now it's all over and done with, thought Polly, as she fell asleep after a long vigil. But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the price of gloves and bonnet. For, having nibbled that forbidden fruit, she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have a good time, and there was no harm in that. But, unfortunately, she yielded to the various small temptations that beset pretty young girls, and did more mischief to others than to herself. Fanny's friendship grew cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing tricks was half as satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sidney began to build castles that had no foundation. CHAPTER XIII. THE SUNNY SIDE I've won the wager, Tom. Didn't know there was one. Don't you remember you said Polly would be tired of her teaching and give it up in three months, and I said she wouldn't? Well, isn't she? Not a bit of it. I thought she was at one time, and expected every day to have her come in with a long face, and say she couldn't stand it. But somehow, lately, she is always bright and happy, seems to like her work, and don't have the tired, worried look she used to at first. The three months are out, so pay up, Tommy. All right, what will you have? You may make it gloves. I always need them, and Papa looks sober when I want money. There was a minute's pause as Fan returned to her practicing, and Tom relapsed into the reverie he was enjoying seated astride of a chair with his chin on his folded arms. Seems to me Polly don't come here as often as she used to, he said presently. No, she seems to be very busy, got some new friends, I believe, old ladies, sewing girls, and things of that sort. I miss her, but no she'll get tired of being goody, and will come back to me before long. Don't be too sure of that, ma'am. Something in Tom's tone made Fan turn around and ask, what do you mean? Well, it strikes me that Sydney is one of Polly's new friends. Haven't you observed that she is uncommonly jolly, and don't that sort of thing account for it? Nonsense, said Fanny sharply. Hope it is, coolly returned Tom. What put it into your head, demanded Fanny, twirling around again so that her face was hidden. Oh, well, I keep meeting Sid and Polly circulating in the same directions. She looks as if she had found something uncommonly nice, and he looks as if all creation was getting polified pretty rapidly. Wonder you haven't observed it. I have. It was Tom's turn to look surprised now, for Fanny's voice sounded strange to him. He looked at her steadily for a minute, but saw only a rosy ear and a bent head. A cloud passed over his face, and he leaned his chin on his arm again with a despondent whistle as he said to himself, poor fan, both of us in a scrape at once. Don't you think it would be a good thing, asked Fanny, after playing a bar or two very badly? Yes, for Sid. Not for Polly, why he's rich and clever, and better than most of you good for nothing fellows. What can the girl expect? Can't say, but I don't fancy the match myself. Don't be a dog in the manger, Tom. Bless your little heart, I only take a brotherly sort of interest in Polly. She's a capitol girl, and she ought to marry a missionary or one of your reformer fellows and be a shining light of some sort. I don't think setting up for a fine lady would suit her. I think it would, and I hope she'll have the chance, said Fanny, evidently making an effort to speak kindly. Good for you, fan, and Tom gave an emphatic nod as if her words meant more than she suspected. Mind you, he added, I don't know anything, and only fancy there might be some little flirtation going on, but I dare say it's nothing. Time will show. Then fan began to sing, and Tom's horse came, so he departed with a very unusual demonstration of a gentle pat on the head, as he said kindly. That's right, my dear, keep jolly. It wasn't an elegant way of expressing sympathy, but it was hearty, and fan thanked him for it, though she only said, Don't break your neck, Tommy. When he was gone, fan's song ended as suddenly as it began, and she sat, thinking, with varying expressions of doubt and trouble passing rapidly across her face. Well, I can't do anything but wait, she said at last, slamming the music book together with a desperate look. Yes, I can, she added a minute after. It's Polly's holiday. I can go and see her, and if there's anything in it, I shall find it out. Fanny dropped her face into her hands with a little shiver, as she said that, then got up, looking as pale and resolute as if going to meet some dreadful doom, and putting on her things, went away to Polly's as fast as her dignity would allow. Saturday morning was Polly's clearing-up day, and fan found her with a handkerchief tied over her head, and a big apron on, just putting the last touches to the tidy little room, which was as fresh and bright as water, air, and a pair of hands could make it. All ready for company. I'll just whisk off my regimentals, and Polly the maid becomes Polly the missus. It was lovely of you to come early. Take off your things. Another new bonnet, you extravagant wretch. How is your mother and Maudi? It's a nice day, and we'll have a walk, won't we? By the time Polly's welcome was uttered, she had got fan on the little sofa beside her, and was smiling at her in such an infectious manner that fan couldn't help smiling back. I came to see what you have been doing with yourself lately. You don't come and report, and I got anxious about you, said Fanny, looking into the clear eyes before her. I've been so busy, and I knew you wouldn't care to hear about my doings, for they aren't the sort you like, answered Polly. Your lessons didn't use to take up all your time. It's my private opinion that you are taking as well as giving lessons, miss, said Fan, putting on a playfully stern air to hide her real anxiety. Yes, I am, answered Polly soberly. In what, love? A quick color came to Polly's cheeks as she laughed and said, looking away, no friendship and good works. Oh, indeed, may I ask who is your teacher? I've more than one, but Miss Mills is head teacher. She instructs in good works, who gives the friendship lessons? Such pleasant girls, I wish you knew them, Fan, so clever and energetic and kind and happy, it always does me good to see them, cried Polly with a face full of enthusiasm. Is that all? And Fan gave her a curious look of mingled disappointment and relief. There, I told you my doings would not interest you, and they don't. They sound flat and prosy after your brilliant adventures. Let's change the subject, said Polly, looking relieved herself. Dear me, which of our sweethearts sends us dainty bouquets of violets so early in the morning? asked Fanny, suddenly spying the purple cluster in a graceful little vase on the piano. He sends me one every week, he knows I love them so, and Polly's eyes turned that way full of pride and pleasure. I'd no idea he was so devoted, said Fanny, stooping to smell the flowers, and at the same time read a card that lay near them. You needn't plague me about it, now you know it. I never speak of our fondness for one another, because such things seem silly to other people. Will isn't all that Jimmy was to me, but he tries to be, and I love him dearly for it. Will, Fanny's voice quite startled Polly, it was so sharp and sudden, and her face grew red and pale all in a minute, and she upset the little vase with the start she gave. Yes, of course, who do you think I meant? asked Polly, sopping up the water before it damaged your piano. Never mind, I thought you might be having a quiet little flirtation with somebody. I feel responsible, you know, because I told your mother I'd look after you. The flowers are all right. My head aches so I hardly know what I am doing this morning. Fanny spoke fast and laughed uncomfortably as she went back to the sofa, wondering if Polly had told her a lie. Polly seemed to guess at her thoughts as she saw the card, and turning toward her, she held it up saying, with a conscious look in her eyes. You thought Mr. Sidney sent them? Well, you are mistaken, and the next time you want to know anything, please ask straight out. I like it better than talking it cross purposes. Now, my dear, don't be angry. I was only teasing you in fun. Tom took it into his foolish head that something was going on, and I felt a natural interest, you know. Tom, what does he know or care about my affairs? demanded Polly. He met you two in the street pretty often, and being in a sentimental mood himself got up a romance for you and Sidney. I much obliged to him for his interest, but it's quite wasted, thank you. Fan's next proceeding gave her friend another surprise, for, being rather ashamed of herself, very much relieved, and quite at a loss what to say, she took refuge in a hysterical fit of tears, which changed Polly's anger into tenderness at once. Is that the trouble she has been hiding all winter? Poor dear, I wish I'd known it sooner, thought Polly, as she tried to soothe her with comfortable pats, sniffs of cologne, and sympathizing remarks upon the subject of headache, carefully ignoring that other feminine affliction, the heartache. There, I feel better. I've been needing a good cry for some time, and now I shall be all right. Never mind it, Polly. I'm nervous and tired. I've danced too much lately, and dyspepsia makes me blue, and Fanny wiped her eyes and laughed. Of course it does. You need rest and petting, and here I've been scolding you when I ought to have been extra kind. Now tell me what I can do for you, said Polly, with a remorseful face. Talk to me and tell me all about yourself. You don't seem to have as many worries as other people. What's the secret, Polly? And Fan looked up with wet eyes and a wistful face at Polly, who was putting little dabs of cologne all over her head. Well, said Polly slowly, I just try to look on the bright side of things. That helps one amazingly. Why, you've no idea how much goodness and sunshine you can get out of the most unpromising things if you make the best of them. I don't know how, said Fan despondently. You can learn, I did. I used to croak and fret dreadfully, and get so unhappy. I wasn't fit for anything. I do it still more than I ought, but I try not to, and it gets easier, I find. Get atop of your troubles, and then they are half cured, Miss Mills says. Everything is so contrary and provoking, said Fanny petulantly. Now what in the world have you to fret about? asked Polly rather anxiously. Quantities of things began Fan, and then stopped, for somehow she felt ashamed to own that she was afflicted because she couldn't have a new set of furs go to Paris in the spring and make Mr. Sidney love her. She hunted up something more presentable and set in a despairing tone. Well, Mother is very poorly, Tom and Tricks quarrel all the time, Mod gets more and more willful every day, and Papa is worried about his affairs. A sad state of things, but nothing very desperate. Can't you lend a hand anywhere? That might do good all around. No, I haven't the talent for managing people, but I see what ought to be done. Well, don't wail about it. Keep yourself happy, if you can. It will help other people to see you cheerful. Just what Tom said, keep jolly. But dear me, how can one, when everything is so stupid and tiresome? If ever a girl needed work, it's you, cried Polly. You began to be a young lady so early that you are tired of everything at twenty-two. I wish you'd go at something, then you'd find how much talent and energy you really had. I know ever so many girls who are just like me, sick to death of fashionable life, but don't know what to take in its place. I'd like to travel, but Papa says he can't afford it, so I can only drag about and get on as I may. I pity you rich girls so much, you have so many opportunities, you don't seem to know how to use them. I suppose I should do just the same in your place, but it seems now as if I could be very happy and useful with plenty of money. You are that without it. There, I won't croak any more. Let's go and take a good walk, and don't you tell anyone how I came and cried like a baby? Never, said Polly, putting on her bonnet. I ought to go and make calls, said Fanny, but I don't feel now as if I ever wanted to see any of the girls again. Dreadful state of mind, isn't it? Suppose you come and see some of my friends instead. They are not fine or ceremonious, but lively, odd, and pleasant. Come, it will amuse you. I will, cried Fanny, whose spirit seemed improved by the shower. Nice little old lady, isn't she? added Fanny as she cut sight of Miss Mills on their way out, sitting at a table piled with work and sowing away with an energy that made the gray curls vibrate. Saint Mahittable, I call her. Now there is a rich woman who knew how to get happiness out of her money, said Polly as they walked away. She was poor till she was nearly fifty, then a comfortable fortune was left her, and she knew just how to use it. That house was given her, but instead of living in it all alone, she filled it with poor gentle folks who needed neat respectable homes, but couldn't get anything comfortable for their little money. I'm one of them, and I know the worth of what she does for me. Two old widow ladies live below me, several students overhead. Poor Mrs. Keane and her lame boy have the back parlor, and Jenny, the little bedroom next, Miss Mills. Each pays what they can, that's independent and makes us feel better, but that dear woman does a thousand things that money can't pay for, and we feel her influence all through the house. I'd rather be married and have a home of my own, but next to that I should like to be an old maid like Miss Mills. Polly's sober face and emphatic tone made Fanny laugh, and that the cheery sound a young girl pushing a baby carriage looked round and smiled. What lovely eyes, whispered Fanny. Yes, that's little Jane, returned Polly, adding when she had passed, with a nod and a friendly, don't get tired, Jenny. We help one another at our house, and every fine morning Jenny takes Jenny keen out when she goes for her own walk. That gives his mother time to rest, does both the children good, and keeps things neighborly. Miss Mills suggested it, and Jenny is so glad to do anything for anybody, it's a pleasure to let her. I've heard of Miss Mills before, but I think she would get tired to death sitting there making hoods and petticoats day after day, said Fanny, after thinking over Jenny's story for a few minutes, for seeing the girl seem to bring it nearer and make it more real to her. But she don't sit there all the time. People come to her with their troubles, and she goes to them with all sorts of help, from soap and soup, to shrouds for the dead and comfort for the living. I go with her sometimes, and it is more exciting than any play to see and hear the lives and stories of the poor. How can you bear the dreadful sights and sounds, the bad air, and the poverty that can't be cured? But it isn't all dreadful. There are good and lovely things among them if one only has eyes to see them. It makes me grateful and contented, shows me how rich I am, and keeps me ready to do all I can for these poor souls. My good Polly and Fanny gave her friend's arm an affectionate squeeze, wondering if it was this alone that had worked the change in Polly. You have seen two of my new friends, Miss Mills and Jenny, now I'll show you two more, said Polly presently, as they reached a door, and she led the way up several flights of public stairs. Rebecca Jeffrey is a regularly splendid girl, full of talent. She won't let us call it genius. She will be famous one day, I know, she is so modest, and yet so intent on her work. Lizzie Small is an engraver, and designs the most delightful little pictures. Becky and she live together, and take care of one another in true Damon and Pathias style. This studio is their home. They work, eat, sleep, and live there, going haves and everything. They are all alone in the world, but as happy and independent as birds, real friends whom nothing will part. Let a lover come between them, and their friendship won't last long, said Fanny. I think it will. Take a look at them, and you'll change your mind, answered Polly, tapping at a door, on which two modest cards were tacked. Come in, said a voice, and obeying, Fanny found herself in a large, queerly furnished room, lighted from above, and occupied by two girls. One stood before a great clay figure in a corner. This one was tall, with a strong face, keen eyes, short, curly hair, and a fine head. Fanny was struck at once by this face and figure, though the one was not handsome, and the other half hidden by a great pinnipore covered with clay. At a table where the light was clearest, sat a frail-looking girl with a thin face, big eyes, and pale hair, a dreamy, absorbed little person who bent over a block, skillfully wielding her tools. Becky and Bess, how do you do? This is my friend Fanny Shaw. We are out on a rampage, so go on with your work, and let us lazy ones look on and admire. As Polly spoke, both girls looked up and nodded, smilingly. Bess gave fan the one easy chair. Becky took an artistic survey of the newcomer, with eyes that seemed to see everything, then each went on with her work, and all began to talk. You are just what I want, Polly. Pull up your sleeve and give me an arm while you sit. The muscles here aren't right, and you've got just what I want, said Becky, slapping the round arm of the statue at which Fan was gazing with awe. How do you get on? asked Polly, throwing off her cloak and rolling up her sleeves as if going to washing. Slowly the idea is working itself clear, and I follow as fast as my hands can. Is the face better, do you think? Said Becky, taking off a wet cloth and showing the head of the statue. How beautiful it is! cried Fanny, staring at it with increased respect. What does it mean to you? asked Rebecca, turning to her with a sudden shine in her keen eyes. I don't know whether it is meant for a saint or a muse, a goddess or a fate, but to me it is only a beautiful woman, bigger, lovelier and more imposing than any woman I ever saw. Answered Fanny, slowly, trying to express the impression the statue made upon her. Rebecca smiled brightly and best looked round to not approvingly. The Polly clapped her hands and said, Well done, Fan! I didn't think you'd get the idea so well, but you have, and I'm proud of your insight. Now I'll tell you, Rebecca will let me, since you have paid her the compliment of understanding her work. Some time ago we got into a famous talk about what women should be, and Becky said she'd show us her idea of the coming woman. There she is, as you say, bigger, lovelier and more imposing than any we see nowadays. And at the same time she is a true woman. See what a fine forehead, yet the mouth is both firm and tender, as if it would say strong, wise things, as well as teach children and kiss babies. We couldn't decide what to put in the hands as the most appropriate symbol. What do you say? Give her a scepter, she would make a fine queen, answered Fanny. No, we have had enough of that. Women have been called queens a long time, but the kingdom given them isn't worth ruling, answered Rebecca. I don't think it is nowadays, said Fanny, with a tired sort of sigh. Put a man's hand in hers to help her along then, said Polly, whose happy fortune it had been to find friends and helpers in father and brothers. No, my woman is to stand alone and help herself, said Rebecca decidedly. She's to be strong-minded, is she? And Fanny's lip curled a little as she uttered the misused words. Yes, strong-minded, strong-hearted, strong-sold, and strong-body. That is why I made her larger than the miserable, pinched-up woman of our day. Strength and beauty must go together. Don't you think these broad shoulders can bear burdens without breaking down? These hands work well, these eyes see clearly, and these lips do something besides simper and gossip? Fanny was silent, but a voice from Vessa's corner said, Put a child in her arms, Becky. Not that even, for she is to be something more than a nurse. Give her a ballot box, cried a new voice, and turning round, they saw an odd-looking woman perched on a sofa behind them. Thank you for the suggestion, Kate. I'll put that with the other symbols at her feet, for I'm going to have needle, pen, palette, and broom somewhere to suggest the various talents she owns, and the ballot box will show that she has earned the right to use them. How goes it? And Rebecca offered a clay-dobbed hand, which the newcomer cordially shook. Great news, girls! Anna is going to Italy, cried Kate, tossing up her bonnet like a schoolboy. Oh, how splendid! Who takes her? Has she had a fortune left her? Tell me all about it! explained the girls, gathering round the speaker. Yes, it is splendid. Just one of the beautiful things that does everybody heaps of good. It is so generous and so deserved. You know, Anna has been longing to go, working and hoping for a chance and never getting it, till all of a sudden Miss Burton is inspired to invite the girl to go with her for several years to Italy. Think of the luck of that dear soul, the advantages she'll have, the good it will do her, and best of all, the lovely way in which it comes to her. Miss Burton wants her as a friend, asks nothing of her but her company, and Anna will go through fire and water for her, of course. Now isn't that fine? It was good to see how heartily these girls sympathized in their comrade's good fortune. Polly danced all over the room, Bess and Becky hugged one another, and Kate left with her eyes full, while even Fanny felt a glow of pride and pleasure at the kind act. Who is that? she whispered to Polly, who had subsided into a corner. Why, it is Kate King, the authoress. Bless me how rude not to introduce you. Here, my King, is an admirer of yours, Fanny Shaw, and my well-beloved friend, cried Polly, presenting fan, who regarded the shabby young woman with as much respect as if she had been a raid in velvet and ermine. For Kate had written a successful book by accident, and happened to be the fashion just then. It's time for lunch, girls, and I brought mine along with me. It's so much jollier to eat in sisterhood. Let's club together and have a revel, said Kate, producing a bag of oranges and several big, plummy buns. We've got sardines, crackers, and cheese, said Bess, clearing off a table with all speed. Wait a bit, and I'll add my share, cried Polly, and catching up her cloak she ran off to the grocery store nearby. You'll be shocked at our performances, Miss Shaw, but you can call it a picnic and never tell what dreadful things you saw us do, said Rebecca, polishing a paint knife by rubbing it up and down in a pot of ivy, while Kate spread forth the feast in several odd plates and a flat shell or two. Let us have coffee to finish off with. Put on the pot-bess and skim the milk, added Becky, as she produced cups, mugs, and a queer little vase to supply drinking vessels for the party. Here's nuts, a pot of jam, and some cake. Fan-like sweet things, and we want to be elegant when we have company, said Polly, flying in again and depositing her share on the table. Now then, fall to, ladies, and help yourselves. Never mind if the china don't hold out. Take the sardines by their little tails and wipe your fingers on my brown paper napkins, said Kate, setting the example with such a relish that the others followed it in a gale of merriment. Benny had been to many elegant lunches, but never enjoyed one more than that droll picnic in the studio, for there was a freedom about it that was charming, an artistic flavor to everything, and such a spirit of goodwill and gaiety that she felt at home at once. As they ate, the others talked and she listened, finding it as interesting as any romance to hear these young women discuss their plans, ambitions, successes, and defeats. It was a new world to her, and they seemed a different race of creatures from the girls whose lives were spent in dress, gossip, pleasure, or ennui. They were girls still full of spirits, fun, and youth, but below the light-heartedness each cherished a purpose which seemed to ennoble her womanhood, to give her a certain power of sustaining satisfaction, a daily stimulus, yet led her on to daily effort, and in time to some success in circumstance or character, which was worth all the patience, hope, and labor of her life. Fanny was just then in the mood to feel the beauty of this, for the sincerest emotion she had ever known was beginning to make her dissatisfied with herself and the aimless life she led. Men must respect such girls as these, she thought, yes, and love them too, for in spite of their independence they are womanly. I wish I had a talent to live for, if it would do as much for me as it does for them. It is this sort of thing that is improving Polly, that makes her society interesting to Sydney, and herself so dear to everyone. Money can't buy these things for me, and I want them very much. As these thoughts were passing through her mind, Fanny was hearing all sorts of topics discussed with feminine enthusiasm and frankness, art, morals, politics, society, books, religion, housekeeping, dress, and economy, for the minds and tongues roved from subject to subject with youthful rapidity and seemed to get something from the driest and the dullest. How does the new book come on? asked Polly, sucking her orange in public with a composure which would have scandalized the good ladies of Cranford. Better than it deserves, my children, beware of popularity. It is a delusion and a snare. It puffeth up the heart of man, and especially of woman. It blindeth the eyes to faults. It exalteth unduly the humble powers of the victim. It is apt to be capricious, and just as one gets to liking the taste of this intoxicating draft, it suddenly faileth, and one is left gasping like a fish out of water. And Kate emphasized her speech by spearing a sardine with a penknife and eating it with a groan. It won't hurt you much, I guess. You have worked and waited so long, a large dose will do you good. Said Rebecca, giving her a generous spoonful of jam as if eager to add much sweetness as possible to a life that had not been an easy one. When are you and Becky going to dissolve partnership? asked Polly, eager for news of all. Never! George knows he can't have one without the other, and has not suggested such a thing as parting us. There is always room in my house for Becky, and she lets me do as she would if she was in my place. Answered Bess, with the look which her friend answered by a smile. The lover won't separate this pair of friends, you see, whispered Polly to fan. Bess is to be married in the spring, and Becky is to live with her. By the way, Polly, I've got some tickets for you. People are always sending me such things, and as I don't care for them, I'm glad to make them over to you young and giddy infants. There are passes for the Statuary Exhibition. Becky shall have those. Here are the concert tickets for you, my musical girl. And that is for a course of lectures on literature, which I'll keep for myself. As Kate dealt out the colored cards to the grateful girls, Fanny took a good look at her, wondering if the time would ever come when women could earn a little money and success without paying such a heavy price for them. For Kate looked sick, tired, and too early old. Then her eye went to the unfinished statue, and she said impulsively, I hope you'll put that in marble and show us what we ought to be. I wish I could, and an intense desire shown in Rebecca's face as she saw her faulty work and felt how fair her model was. For a minute the five young women sat silent looking up at the beautiful, strong figure before them, each longing to see it done, and each unconscious that she was helping by her individual effort and experience to bring the day when their noblest ideal of womanhood should be embodied in flesh and blood, not clay. The city bells rung one, and Polly started up. I must go, for I promised a neighbor of mine a lesson at two. I thought this was a holiday, said Fanny. So it is, but this is a little labor of love and doesn't spoil the day at all. The child has talent, loves music, and needs help. I can't give her money, but I can teach her, so I do, and she is the most promising pupil I have. Help one another is part of the religion of our sisterhood, Fanny. I must put you in a story, Polly. I want a heroine, and you will do, said Kate. Me? Why, there was never such a humdrum, unromantic thing as I am, cried Polly, amazed. I've booked you, nevertheless, so in you go, but you may add as much romance as you like, it's time you did. I'm ready for it when it comes, but it can't be forced, you know, and Polly blushed and smiled as if some little spice of that delightful thing had stolen into her life for all its prosaic seeming. Fanny was amused to see that the girls did not kiss at parting, but shook hands in a quiet, friendly fashion, looking at one another with eyes that said more than the most gushing words. I like your friends very much, Polly. I was afraid I should find them manish and rough or sentimental and conceited, but they are simple, sensible creatures, full of talent, and all sorts of fine things. I admire and respect them, and I want to go again if I may. Oh, fan, I am so glad. I hoped you'd like them. I knew they'd do you good, and I'll take you any time, for you stood the test better than I expected. Becky asked me to bring you again, and she seldom does that for fashionable young ladies, let me tell you. I want to be ever so much better, and I think you and they might show me how, said Fanny, for the Trattoria's tremble in her voice. We'll show you the sunny side of poverty and work, and that is a useful lesson for anyone, Miss Mills says, answered Polly, hoping that Fan would learn how much the poor can teach the rich and what helpful friends girls may be to one another. End of Chapter 13, Recording by Tricia G