 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 harass him. College scrapes were soon forgotten in greater afflictions, but there were plenty of tongues to blame that extravagant dog, and plenty of heads to wag 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 the 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 goodly it had been, how rich in power, pleasure, and gracious opportunities. He felt its worth even while he acknowledged with the sense of justice that is strong in manly men how little he deserved a gift which he had so misused. He brooded over this a good deal, for, like the bat in the fable, he didn't 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 faults and follies into sins of the deepest die, and fancied he was regarded by others as a villain and an outcast. Pride 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 loafed 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 wanted 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 forlorn, 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 of that crisis of his life, and the gossips, who said softly to one another over their muffins and tea, it really would be a relief to that whole family if poor dear Mrs. Shaw could be, ahem, mercifully 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 bent 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-worn the florid face, and how like a weary old man his once strong, handsome father walked, he was smitten by a new pang of self- reproach, and with his usual impetuosity set out repairing the omission as soon as he discovered it. Ah, seedy your sweet bread, mum! 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, dare say people think so, I'll show them that I ain't, yes, by the powers I will, and Tom drew on his gloves 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 alacrity with which he accepted and leaned on the strong arm offered him, proved that the daily walks had been solitary and doubtless sad ones. I think Mr. Shaw understood the real meaning of that little act of respect and felt better for the hopeful 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 trials, however, for while it did Tom's heart good to see the cordial respect paid to his father, it tried his patience sorely to see also inquisitive or disapproving glances fixed upon himself when hats were lifted to his father, and to hear the hearty, Good day, Mr. Shaw, drop into a cool or careless. That's the son, it's hard on him, wild fellow, do him good. Granted, but you needn't hit a man when he's down, muttered Tom to himself, feeling every moment a stronger desire to do something that should silence everybody. I'd 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 to trade and had something to fall back on, haven't a blessed thing now but decent French in my fists. Wonder if old Bell don't want a clerk for the Paris 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 all beholders, he screwed up his courage and went to prefer his request, feeling that the prospect brightened a little. But Mr. Bell was not in a good humor, 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 bromed about the house that 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 maud lessons in cookery, 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 the 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 awful busy, men don't belong in kitchens, cried Maud as her brother appeared in the doorway. Couldn't think what you were about. Mom is asleep and fan out, so I loaf down to see if there was any fun afoot, said Tom, lingering as if the prospect was agreeable. He was a social fellow and very grateful just then to anyone who helped him forget his worries for a time. Polly knew this, felt 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 Grandma bat 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 settle him near the table where Maud was picking raisins, and she herself, stirring busily about 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, for it really was a relief to do something. Bright boy, here's a plum for you, and Polly threw a plump brazen into his mouth. Put in lots, won't you? I'm rather fond of plum cake. Observe Tom, likening himself to Hercules with the distaff, 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, plummy cake for people. It's one of the few things I have a gift for. You've hit it this time, Polly. You certainly have a gift for putting a good deal of both articles into your own and other people's lives, 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 Maude 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 some 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 receipt, baked in a well-regulated oven, and gratefully eaten with a temperate appetite. Good, good! cried Tom, applauding with the wooden spoon. That's a model sermon, Polly. Short, sweet, sensible, and not a bit sleepy. I'm one of your parish, and we'll see that you get your celery punk-to-all, as old Deacon Morse used to say. Thank you, brother. My wants is few, and ravens scurser than they used to be, as the dear old Parson Miller used to answer. Now, Maude, bring on the citron. And Polly began to put the cake together in what seemed a most careless and chaotic manner, while Tom and Maude watched with absorbing interest, till it was safely in the oven. Now make your custards, dear. Tom may like to beat the eggs for you. It seems to have a good effect upon his constitution. First rate, hand him along. And Tom smoothed 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 to the pleasures of the hour. I'm so glad, cried Polly, clapping her hands, regardless of the egg she held, which dropped and smashed on the floor at her feet. Oh, careless thing. Pick it up, Maude, 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, lest, 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 Maude 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, cried Maude, with a chop that sent the citron flying. What mischief are you up to now, you little magpie? I shan't tell you what they said, because I don't remember much of it. But I heard Polly and Fan talking about someone dreadful mysterious, and when I asked who it was, Fan said, Sir Philip. Huh! She needn't think I believe it. I saw him laugh and blush and poke one another, and I know it wasn't about any old Queen Elizabeth man, cried Maude, 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 Maude 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'm not a stupid chit like Blanche. I just wish you could have heard them go on. I'm sure there's something very nice about Mr. Sidney. They looked so pleased when they whispered and giggled on the bed and thought I was ripping bonnets and didn't hear a word. Which looked most pleased? asked Tom, investigating the kitchen boiler with deep interest. Well, pierce to me Polly did. She talked most and looked funny and very happy all the time. Fan laughed a good deal, but I guess Polly is the loverous. Replied Maude, after a moment's reflection. Hold your tongue she's coming and Tom began to pump 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 felt a grating nutmeg with a vigor which made red cheeks the most natural thing in life. Maude, the traitor, sat demurely at work, looking 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'm much obliged. Here's your wages, Bridget. Good luck to your messes. Answered Tom as he walked away, meditatively crunching his cinnamon and looking as if he did not 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 brooded. 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 exerted themselves to make it a happy day for him he understood what it means to be nearly killed with kindness and sternly resolved to be an honour 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 nose-gay atop and rounded on the snowy frosting there ran a pink inscription just as it had been every year since Tom could remember. Name, age, and date like a nice white tombstone, observed Maude complacently, at which funereal remark Mrs. Shaw, who was down in honour of the day, dropped her napkin and demanded her salt. Who's doing is that? asked Tom, surveying the gift with satisfaction, for it recalled 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 plummy 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 trifle she could have made. It ought to be good for you beaded up yourself, Tom, cried Maude. It was so funny to see you working away and never guessing who the cake was for. I perfectly trembled 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 that cake if he fell a victim to his gratitude. I hope the plums won't all be at the bottom, said Polly as she rose to do the honors of the cake by universal appointment. I've had a good many at the top already, you know. Answered Tom, watching me 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 Grandma's quaint little China plates, Polly added the flowers and handed it to Tom, with a look that set a great 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. Plums all through. I'm glad I had a hand in it, but Polly deserves the credit and must wear the posy. 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 want of skill, but Polly wouldn't have it altered, and everybody fell to 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 glanced at one and retired rather precipitately to his den, leaving Maude consumed with curiosity, and the older girls slightly excited, for fan 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 Maude, and the two girls sat together wondering if anything dreadful 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. To run I'm perfectly fainting to know what the matter is, said Fan. You'd better go, began Polly wishing to obey, yet feeling a little shy. He don't want me. Besides, I couldn't say a word for myself if that letter was from Sidney. Cried Fanny, hustling her friend toward 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, a stride of a chair, with his arms folded and his chin 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, and 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 when he rose and turned to meet her. I have, regularly floored, but I'm up again and steadier than ever. Just you 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 is a mercenary, heartless, ungrateful girl, that's what I think. Oh, the deuce, I didn't mean to show that one, it's the other. And Tom took up a second paper, looking half angry, half ashamed at 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 gabble, he added, as if, on second thoughts, he was relieved to have the communication made to Polly first. I don't wonder you look 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 arm chair and beckoning Polly to take it, said in a sober, steady tone that surprised her greatly. Whenever I was in a quandary 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. Would you mind sitting in her chair and letting me tell you two or three things, as will does? Mind 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 the hearts and souls as we fancy. Joy and sorrow, love 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 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. Reading 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, spite of maiden modesty, love and hope would wake and sing at the good news. Slowly she sat down, and hesitatingly she said with her eyes on the ground in 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'll do it better than anyone else. Talk troubles, mother. Father has enough to think of without any of my worries. Fan is 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 letter 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 enjoy it 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 nobleman, cried 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's an immense weight off 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. You won't take it as a gift then? Would you? No. Then don't think I will. I'm a pretty poor affair, 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 it pleased Polly better than the smoothest Tom had ever made in her hearing, for something in his face and voice told her that the friendly act had roused a nobler sentiment than gratitude, making the canceled 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 footstool that always stood near Grandma's old chair. I've had so many plans in my head lately that sometimes it seems as if it would split, continued the poor fellow, rubbing his tired forehead as if to polish up his wits. I've thought seriously of going to California, Australia, or some out-of-the-way place where men get rich in a hurry. Oh, no! cried Polly, putting out her hand as if to keep him, and then snatching it back again before he could turn round. 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 patties than to sell pins to my friends and neighbours. False pride, 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 specially want your advice, Polly. Yesterday I heard you telling Fan about your brother Ned, how well he got on, how he liked his business and wanted Will to come and take some place near him. You 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 went sweeping through her mind. I wish you could be with Ned. You'd 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 businessmen 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? Pretty 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 poorish place. It is only beginning again, he says, and having worked his way up once he feels 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 years makes me love and respect the dear old gentleman as I never did before. I'm so glad to hear you say that, Tom. I've sometimes thought you didn't quite appreciate your father any more than he knew how much of a man you were. Never was till to-day, you know, said Tom, laughing yet looking as if he felt the dignity of his one in 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 this 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 sat quiet for a minute, Polly in 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 a little white shower fluttered from his hands. No. Well, it did me. For, you know, as soon as we came to grief I offered to release tricks from the engagement and she wouldn't 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 fan 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 through thick and thin. She doesn't seem to have done it. Fan was right. Tricks only waited to see how bad things really were, or rather, her mother did. She's as cool, hard, and worldly-minded and old soul as I ever saw, and tricks is bound to obey. She gets round it very neatly in her note. I won't be a burden. We'll sacrifice her hopes. And always remain my warm friend. But the truth is Tom Shaw rich was worth making much of, but Tom Shaw poor is in the way, and may go to the devil as fast as he likes. Well, he isn't going, cried Polly defiantly, for her wrath burned hotly against Tricks, though she blessed her for setting the bondman free. Came within an ace of it, muttered Tom to himself, adding aloud in a tone of calm resignation that assured 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 wrap 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 hurt for a minute, then seemed to write himself with a shrug, and said 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 bear 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 noble, said Polly, feeling rather ill at ease and wishing she could hide herself behind a cap and spectacles if she was to play grandma to this confiding youth. It will be all plain sailing for Sid, high fancy, observed Tom, getting up as if the little cricket suddenly ceased to be comfortable. I hope so, murmured Polly, wondering what was coming next. He deserves the very best of everything and I pray the Lordy may get it, added Tom, poking the fire in a destructive manner. Polly made no answer, fearing to pay too much, for she knew fan had made no confidant of Tom and she guarded her friend's secret as jealously as her own. You'll write 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 twirling round with the resolute air which was lost on Polly, who sat twirling the rose that had fallen into her lap. All right, tonight. Would you like me to tell the girls about tricks in 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 gratitude 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 retreated into his den with the incoherent apology, I beg pardon, couldn't help it, Grandma always let me on my birthday. While Polly took refuge upstairs, forgetting all about fan, as she sat in the dark with her face hidden. Wondering why she wasn't very angry, and resolving never again to indulge in the delightful but dangerous pastime of playing Grandmother. End of Chapter 17 An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott Chapter 18 The Woman Who Did Not Dare Polly wrote enthusiastically, Ned answered satisfactorily, and after much corresponding talking and planning, it was decided that Tom should go west. Never mind what the business was, it suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative class of the most conceded city in New England, needed just the healthy hardy social influences of the West to widen his views and make a man of him. Of course there was much lamentation among the women, but everyone felt it was the best thing for him. So while they sighed, they sowed, packed visions of a brilliant future away with his new pocket handkerchiefs, and rejoiced that the way was open before him even in the act of bedooming his boots with tears. Sydney stood by him to the last, like a man and a brother, which expression of Tom's gave Fanny infinite satisfaction, and Will felt entirely consoled for Ned's disappointment at his refusal to go and join him, since Tom was to take the place Ned had kept for him. Fortunately everyone was so busy with the necessary preparations that there was no time for romance of any sort, and the four young people worked together as soberly and sensibly as if all sorts of emotions were not bottled up in their respective hearts. But in spite of the silence, the work, and the hurry, I think they came to know one another better in that busy little space of time than in all the years that had gone before. For the best and the bravest in each was up and stirring, and the small house was as full of the magnetism of love and friendship, self-sacrifice and enthusiasm as the world outside was full of spring, sunshine and enchantment. Pity that the end should come so soon, but the hour did its work and went its way, leaving a clearer atmosphere behind, though the young folks did not see it then, for their eyes were dim because of the partings that must be. Tom was off to the west, Polly went home for the summer, Maude was taken to the seaside with Belle, and Fanny left alone to wrestle with housekeeping, help, and heartache. If it had not been for two things, I fear she never would have stood a summer in town, but Sidney often called till his vacation came, and a voluminous correspondence with Polly beguiled the long days. Tom wrote once a week to his mother, but the letters were short and not very satisfactory, for men never do tell the interesting little things that women best like to hear. Fanny forwarded her bits of news to Polly. Polly sent back all the extracts from Ned's letters concerning Tom, and by putting the two reports together they gained the comfortable assurance that Tom was well, in good spirits, hard at work, and intent on coming out strong in spite of all obstacles. Polly had a quiet summer at home, resting and getting ready in mind and body for another winter's work, for in the autumn she tried her plan again, to the satisfaction of her pupils and the great joy of her friends. She never said much of herself in her letters, and Fanny's first exclamation when they met again was an anxious, why Polly dear, have you been sick and never told me? No, I'm only tired, had a good deal to do lately, and the dull weather makes me just a trifle blue. I shall soon brighten up when I get to my work again, answered Polly, bustling about to put away her things. You don't look a bit natural. What have you been doing to your precious little self? Persisted Fanny, troubled by the change, yet finding it hard to say wherein it lay. Polly did not look sick, though her cheeks were thinner and her color paler than formerly, but she seemed spiritless, and there was a tired look in her eyes that went to Fanny's heart. I'm all right enough, as you'll see when I'm in order. I'm proper glad to find you looking so well and happy. Does all go smoothly, fan? Asked Polly, beginning to brush her hair industriously. Answer me one question first, said Fanny, looking as if a sudden fear had come over her. Tell me truly, have you never repented of your hint to Sydney? Never, cried Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which she had half hidden her face at first. On your honor as an honest girl? On my honor as anything you please, why do you suspect me of it? demanded Polly, almost angrily. Because something is wrong with you. It's no use to deny it, for you've got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face when I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can't help saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were to me if I can. Fanny's face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly, for she was trying to be generous and found it very hard. Polly understood now and put her fear at rest by saying almost passionately, I tell you I don't love him. If he was the only man in the world I wouldn't marry him, because I don't want to. The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there with a half frightened look and turned away to hide her face behind her hair again. Then if it's not him, it's someone else. You've got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it as you know mine. Said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly's manner troubled her. There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied, and putting her arm round her friend she said in her most persuasive tone, My precious Polly, do I know him? You have seen him. And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear? No. He ought to be if you love him. I hope he isn't bad, cried fan anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned. I'm suited, that's enough. Oh please, just tell me one more thing. Don't he love back again? No. Now don't say another word, I can't bear it. And Polly drew herself away as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone. I won't. But now I'm not afraid to tell you that I think, I hope, I do believe that Sidney cares a little for me. He's been very kind to us all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he comes and miss me if I'm gone. I didn't dare to hope anything till Papa observed something in his manner, and he teased me about it. I try not to deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance of happiness for me. Thank heaven for that, cried Polly, with the hardiest satisfaction in her voice. Now come and tell me all about it, she added, sitting down on the couch with the air of one who has escaped a great peril. I've got some notes and things I want to ask your opinion about, if they really mean anything, you know, said Fanny, getting out a bundle of papers from the innermost recesses of her desk. There's a photograph of Tom came in his last letter, good isn't it? He looks older, but that's the beard in the rough coat, I suppose, dear old fellow. He's doing so well I really begin to feel quite proud of him. Fan tossed her the photograph and went on rummaging for a certain note. She did not see Polly catch up the picture and look at it with hungry eyes, but she did hear something in the low tone in which Polly said, It don't do him justice. And glancing over her shoulder, Fan's quick eye caught a glimpse of the truth, though Polly was half turned away from her. Without stopping to think, Fan dropped her letters, took Polly by the shoulders, and cried in a tone full of astonishment. Polly, is it Tom? Poor Polly was so taken by surprise that she had not a word to say. None were needed. Her tell-tale face answered for her, as well as the impulse which made her hide her head in the sofa cushion, like a foolish ostrich when the hunters are after it. Oh Polly, I am so glad. I never thought of it. You are so good, and he's such a wild boy. I can't believe it, but it is so dear of you to care for him. Couldn't help it. Tried not to, but it was so hard. You know, Fan, you know, said a stifled voice from the depths of the very fuzzy cushion which Tom had once condemned. The last words, and the appealing hand outstretched to her, told Fanny the secret of her friend's tender sympathy for her own love troubles, and seemed so pathetic that she took Polly in her arms and cried over her in the fond, foolish way girls have of doing when their hearts are full and tears can say more than tongues. The silence never lasts long, however, for the feminine desire to talk it over usually gets the better of the deepest emotion. So presently the girls were hard at it, Polly very humble and downcast, Fanny excited and overflowing with curiosity and delight. Really, my sister, you dear thing, how heavenly that will be, she cried. It never will be, answered Polly in a tone of calm despair. What will prevent it? Maria Bailey was the tragic reply. What do you mean? Is she the western girl? She shan't have Tom, I'll kill her first. Too late. Let me tell you, is that door shut and mod safe? Fanny reconoidered and returning listened breathlessly while Polly poured into her ear the bitter secret which was preying on her soul. Hasn't he mentioned Maria in his letters? Once or twice, but sort of jokingly, and I thought it was only some little flirtation. He can't have time for much of that fun, he's so busy. Ned writes good, gossipy letters. I taught him how, and he tells me all that's going on. When he'd spoke of this girl several times, they bored with her mother, you know, I asked about her quite carelessly, and he told me she was pretty, good, and well educated, and he thought Tom was rather smitten. That was a blow. For you see, Fan, since tricks broke the engagement and it wasn't wrong to think of Tom, I let myself hope. Just a little, and it was so happy. Now I must give it up, and now I see how much I hoped. And what a dreadful loss it's going to be. Two great tears rolled down Polly's cheeks, and Fanny wiped them away, feeling an intense desire to go west by the next train, wither Maria Bailey with a single look, and bring Tom back as a gift to Polly. It was so stupid of me not to guess before, but you see Tom always seems so like a boy, and you are more womanly for your age than any girl I know, so I never thought of your caring for him in that way. I knew you were very good to him, you are to everyone, my precious, and I knew that he was fond of you as he is of me, fond, or if anything, because he thinks you were perfect, but still I never dreamed of his loving you as more than a dear friend. He doesn't, sighed Polly. Well, he ought, and if I could get hold of him, he should. Polly clutched Fan that, and held her tight, saying sternly, if you ever breathe a word, drop a hint, look a look that will tell him or anyone else about me. Yes, as sure as my name is Mary Milton, I'll proclaim from the housetops that you like are... Polly got no further, for Fan's hand was on her mouth, and Fan's alarmed voice vehemently protested. I won't. I promise solemnly I'll never say a word to a mortal creature. Don't be so fierce, Polly, you quite frighten me. It's bad enough to love someone who don't love you, but to have them told of it is perfectly awful. It makes me wild just to think of it. Oh, Fan, I'm getting so ill-tempered and envious and wicked I don't know what will happen to me. I'm not afraid for you, my dear, and I do believe things will go right, because you are so good to everyone. How Tom could help adoring you, I don't see. I know he would if he had stayed at home longer after he got rid of tricks. It would be the making of him, but though he is my brother, I don't think he's good enough for you, Polly, and I don't quite see how you can care for him so much when you might have had a person so infinitely superior. I don't want a superior person. He'd tire me if he was like A.S. Besides, I do think Tom is superior to him in many things. Well, you needn't stare. I know he is, or will be. He's so different and very young and has lots of faults, I know, but I like him all the better for it, and he's honest and brave, and has got a big warm heart, and I'd rather have him care for me than the wisest, best, most accomplished man in the world, simply because I love him. If Tom could only have seen Polly's face when she said that, it was so tender, earnest, and defiant that Fanny forgot the defense of her own lover in admiration of Polly's loyalty to hers. For this faithful, all-absorbing love was a new revelation to Fanny, who was used to hearing her friends boast of two or three lovers a year and calculate their respective values with almost as much coolness as the young men discussed the fortunes of the girls they wished for but could not afford to marry. She had thought her love for Sydney very romantic because she did not really care whether he was rich or poor, though she never dared to say so, even to Polly, for fear of being laughed at. She began to see now what true love was, and to feel that the sentiment which she could not conquer was a treasure to be accepted with reverence and cherished with devotion. I don't know when I began to love Tom, but I found out that I did last winter and was as much surprised as you are, continued Polly, as if glad to unburden her heart. I didn't approve of him at all. I thought he was extravagant, reckless, and dandified. I was very much disappointed when he chose tricks, and the more I thought and saw of it, the worse I felt, for Tom was too good for her, and I hated to see her do so little for him when she might have done so much, because he is one of the men who can be led by their affections, and the woman he marries can make or mar him. That's true, cried Fan, as Polly paused to look at the picture, which appeared to regard her with a grave, steady look, which seemed rather to belie her assertions. I don't mean that he's weak or bad. If he was, I should hate him, but he does need someone to love him very much, and make him happy, as a good woman best knows how, said Polly, as if answering the mute language of Tom's face. I hope Maria Bailey is all he thinks her, she added softly, for I couldn't bear to have him disappointed again. I dare say he don't care a fig for her, and you are only borrowing trouble. What do you say Ned answered when you asked about this inconvenient girl? said Fanny, turning hopeful all at once. Polly repeated it, and added, I asked him in another letter if he didn't admire Miss B as much as Tom, and he wrote back that she was a nice girl, but he had no time for nonsense, and I needn't get my white kids ready for some years yet, unless to dance at Tom's wedding. Since then he hasn't mentioned Maria, so I was sure there was something serious going on, and being in Tom's confidence he kept quiet. It does look bad. Suppose I say a word to Tom, just inquire after his heart in a general way, you know, and give him a chance to tell me if there is anything to tell. I'm willing, but you must let me see the letter. I can't trust you not to hint or say too much. You shall. I'll keep my promise in spite of everything, but it will be hard to see things going wrong when a word would set it right. You know what will happen if you do, and Polly looked so threatening that Fan trembled before her, discovering that the gentlest girls when roused are more impressive than any shrew, for even turtledoves peck gallantly to defend their nests. If it is true about Maria, what shall we do? said Fanny after a pause. Bear it. People always do bear things, somehow, answered Polly, looking as if sentence had been passed upon her. But if it isn't, cried Fan, unable to endure the sight. Then I shall wait, and Polly's face changed so beautifully that Fan hugged her on the spot, fervently wishing that Maria Bailey never had been born. Then the conversation turned to lover number two, and after a long confabulation, Polly gave it as her firm belief that A.S. had forgotten M.M., and was rapidly finding consolation in the regard of F.S. With this satisfactory decision, the council ended after the ratification of a loyal league, by which the friends pledged themselves to stand staunchly by one another through the trials of the coming year. It was a very different winter from the last for both the girls. Fanny applied herself to her duties with redoubled ardour, for A.S. was a domestic man, and admired housewifely accomplishments. If Fanny wanted to show him what she could do toward making a pleasant home, she certainly succeeded better than she suspected, for in spite of many failures and discouragements behind the scenes, the little house became a most attractive place, to Mr. Sidney at least, for he was more the house-friend than ever, and seemed determined to prove that change of fortune made no difference to him. Fanny had been afraid that Polly's return might endanger her hopes, but Sidney met Polly with the old friendliness, and very soon convinced her that the nipping in the bud process had been effectual, for being taken early the sprouting affection had died easy, and left room for an older friendship to blossom into a happier love. Fanny seemed glad of this, and Polly soon set her heart at rest by proving that she had no wish to try her power. She kept much at home when the day's work was done, finding it pleasanter to sit dreaming over book or sewing alone than to exert herself even to go to the shaws. Fan don't need me, and Sidney don't care whether I come or not, so I'll keep out of the way, she would say, as if to excuse her seeming indolence. Polly was not at all like herself that winter, and those nearest to her saw and wondered at it most. Will got very anxious, she was so quiet, pale, and spiritless, and distracted poor Polly by his affectionate stupidity, till she completed his bewilderment by getting cross and scolding him. So he consoled himself with Maude, who now being in her teens, assumed dignified heirs, and ordered him about in a style that afforded him continued amusement and employment. Western news continued vague, for Fan's general inquiries produced only provokingly unsatisfactory replies from Tom, who sang the praises of the beautiful Miss Bailey, and professed to be consumed by a hopeless passion for somebody, in such half-comic, half-tragic terms that the girls could not decide whether it was all that boy's mischief, or only a cloak to hide the dreadful truth. We'll have it out of him when he comes home in the spring, said Fannie to Polly, as they compared the letters of their brothers, and agreed that men were the most uncommunicative and provoking animals under the sun, for Ned was so absorbed in business that he ignored the whole Bailey question and left them in utter darkness. Hunger of any sort is a hard thing to bear, especially when the sufferer has a youthful appetite, and Polly was kept on such a short allowance of happiness for six months that she got quite thin and interesting, and often when she saw how big her eyes were getting and how plainly the veins on her temples showed, indulged the pensive thought that perhaps spring dandelions might blossom or her grave. She had no intention of dying till Tom's visit was over, however, and as the time drew near she went through such alternations of hope and fear, and lived in such a state of feverish excitement that spirits and color came back, and she saw that the interesting pallor she had counted on would be an entire failure. May came at last, and with it a burst of sunshine which cheered even poor Polly's much enduring heart, and with it a burst of sunshine which cheered even poor Polly's much enduring heart. Fannie came walking in upon her one day, looking as if she brought tidings of such great joy that she hardly knew how to tell them. Prepare yourself. Somebody is engaged, she said, in a solemn tone that made Polly put up her hand as if to ward off an expected blow. No, don't look like that, my poor dear, it isn't Tom, it's I. Of course there was a rapture, followed by one of the deliciously confidential talks which bosom friends enjoy, interspersed with tears and kisses, smiles and sighs. Oh Polly, though I've waited and hoped so long I couldn't believe it when it came, and don't deserve it, but I will, for the knowledge that he loves me seems to make everything possible, said Fannie, with an expression which made her really beautiful for the first time in her life. You happy girl, sighed Polly, then smiled and added, I think you deserve all that's come to you, for you have truly tried to be worthy of it, and whether it ever came or not, that would have been a thing to be proud of. He says that is what made him love me, answered Fannie, never calling her lover by his name, but making the little personal pronoun a very sweet word by the tone in which she uttered it. He was disappointed in me last year, he told me, but you said good things about me, and though he didn't care much then, yet when he lost you and came back to me, he found that you were not altogether mistaken, and he has watched me all this winter, learning to respect and love me better every day. Oh Polly, when he said that I couldn't bear it, because in spite of all my trying, I'm still so weak and poor and silly. We don't think so, and I know you'll be all he hopes to find you, for he's just the husband you ought to have. Thank you all the more then for not keeping him yourself, said Fannie, laughing the old blithe laugh again. That was only a slight aberration of his. He knew better all the time. It was your white cloak and my idiotic behavior the night we went to the opera that put the idea into his head, said Polly, feeling as if the events of that evening had happened some twenty years ago when she was a giddy young thing fond of gay bonnets and girlish pranks. I'm not going to tell Tom a word about it, but keep it for a surprise till he comes. He will be here next week, and then we'll have a grand clearing up of mysteries, said Fan, evidently feeling that the millennium was at hand. Perhaps, said Polly, as her heart fluttered and then sunk, for this was a case where she could do nothing but hope and keep her hands busy with Will's new set of shirts. There is a good deal more of this sort of silent suffering than the world suspects, for the women who dare are few, the women who stand and wait are many. But if work baskets were gifted with powers of speech, they could tell stories more true and tender than any we read. For women often sow the tragedy or comedy of life into their work, as they sit apparently safe and serene at home, yet are thinking deeply, living whole heart histories, and praying fervent prayers while they embroider pretty trifles, or do the weekly mending. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 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 Recording by Jeanette Selig An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott Chapter 19 Tom's Success Come, Philander, let us be a marching, everyone his true love is searching. Would be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because, intimidated by the threats, denunciations and complaints showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to pair off everybody I can lay my hands on. Occasionally a matrimonial epidemic appears, especially towards spring, devastating society, thinning the ranks of bachelor-dom, and leaving mothers lamenting for their fairest daughters. That spring the disease broke out with great violence in the Shaw Circle, causing paternal heads much bewilderment, as one case after another appeared with alarming rapidity. Fanny, as we have seen, was stricken first, and hardly had she been carried safely through the crisis when Tom returned to swell the list of victims. As Fanny was out a good deal with her Arthur, who was sure that exercise was necessary for the convalescent, Polly went every day to see Mrs. Shaw, who found herself lonely, though much better than usual, for the engagement had a finer effect upon her constitution than any tonic she ever tried. Some three days after fan's joyful call, Polly was startled on entering the Shaw's door by Maude, who came tumbling downstairs, sending an avalanche of words before her. He's come before he said he should to surprise us! He's up in Mama's room and was just saying how's Polly when I heard you come in in your creep-mouth way, and you must go right up. He looks so funny with whiskers, but he's ever so nice, real big and brown, and he swung me right up when he kissed me. Never mind your bonnet, I can't wait! And pouncing on Polly, Maude dragged her away like a captured ship towed by a noisy little steam-tug. The sooner it's over, the better for me, was the only thought Polly had time for before she plunged into the room above, propelled by Maude, who cried triumphantly. There he is! Ain't he splendid? For a minute everything danced before Polly's eyes, as a hand shook hers warmly, and a gruffish voice said heartily, How are you, Polly? Then she slipped into a chair beside Mrs. Shaw, hoping that her reply had been all right and proper, for she had not the least idea what she said. Things got steady again directly, and while Maude expatiated on the great surprise, Polly ventured to look at Tom, feeling glad that her back was toward the light, and his was not. It was not a large room, and Tom seemed to fill it entirely, not that he had grown so very much except broader in the shoulders, but there was a brisk, genial, free and easy air about him, suggestive of a stirring out-of-door life with people who kept their eyes wide open, and were not very particular what they did with their arms and legs. The rough and ready traveling suit, stout boots, brown face and manly beard, changed him so much that Polly could find scarcely a trace of elegant Tom Shaw in the hearty-looking young man who stood with one foot on a chair, while he talked business to his father in a sensible way, which delighted the old gentleman. Polly liked the change immensely, and sat listening to the state of western trade with as much interest as if it had been the most thrilling romance, for as he talked, Tom kept looking at her with a nod or a smile so like old times that for a little while she forgot Maria Bailey and was in bliss. By and by Fanny came flying in and gave Tom a greater surprise than his had been. He had not the least suspicion of what had been going on at home, for Fan had said to herself with girlish malice, if he don't choose to tell me his secrets, I'm not going to tell mine, and had said nothing about Sidney except an occasional allusion to his being often there and very kind. Therefore, when she announced her engagement, Tom looked so staggered for a minute that Fan thought he didn't like it, but after the first surprise passed, he showed such an affectionate satisfaction that she was both touched and flattered. What do you think of this performance? asked Tom, wheeling round to Polly, who still sat by Mrs. Shaw in the shadow of the bed curtains. I like it very much, she said, in such a hearty tone that Tom could not doubt the genuineness of her pleasure. Glad of that. Hope you'll be as well pleased with another engagement that's coming out before long. And with an odd laugh, Tom carried Sidney off to his den, leaving the girls to telegraph to one another the awful message, it is Maria Bailey. How she managed to get through that evening Polly never knew, yet it was not a long one, for at eight o'clock she slipped out of the room, meaning to run home alone and not compel anyone to serve as escort. But she did not succeed, for as she stood warming her rubbers at the dining room fire, wondering pensively as she did so if Maria Bailey had small feet, and if Tom ever put her rubbers on for her, the little overshoes were taken out of her hands, and Tom's voice said reproachfully, Did you really mean to run away and not let me go home with you? I'm not afraid, I didn't want to take you away, began Polly, secretly hoping that she didn't look too pleased. But I like to be taken away, why it's a whole year since I went home with you, do you remember that? Said Tom, flapping the rubbers about without any signs of haste. Does it seem long? Everlasting. Polly meant to say that quite easily, and smile incredulously at his answer, but in spite of the coquettish little rose-colored hood she wore, and which she knew was very becoming, she did not look or speak gaily, and Tom saw something in the altered face that made him say hastily, I'm afraid you've been doing too much this winter, you look tired out Polly. Oh no, it suits me to be very busy, and she began to drag on her gloves as if to prove it. But it doesn't suit me to have you get thin and pale, you know. Polly looked up to thank him, but never did, for there was something deeper than gratitude in the honest blue eyes that could not hide the truth entirely. Tom saw it, flushed all over his brown face, and dropping the rubbers with a crash took her hands, saying in his old impetuous way, Polly, I want to tell you something. Yes, I know, we've been expecting it. I hope you'll be very happy, Tom. And Polly shook his hands with a smile that was more pathetic than a flood of tears. What? cried Tom, looking as if he thought she had lost her mind. Ned told us all about her, he thought it would be so, and when you spoke of another engagement we knew you met your own. But I didn't, Ned's the man he told me to tell you, it's just settled. Is it Maria? cried Polly, holding on to a chair as if to be prepared for anything. Of course, who else should it be? He didn't say you talked about her most, and so we thought, stammered Polly falling into a sudden flutter, that I was in love? Well, I am, but not with her. Oh! and Polly caught her breath as if a dash of cold water had fallen on her, for the more in earnest Tom grew the blunter he became. Do you want to know the name of the girl I've loved for more than a year? Well, it's Polly. As he spoke, Tom stretched out his arms to her with the sort of mute eloquence that cannot be resisted, and Polly went straight into them without a word. Never mind what happened for a little bit. Love scenes, if genuine, are indescribable, for to those who have enacted them the most elaborate description seems tame, and to those who have not, the simplest picture seems overdone. So romancers had better let imagination paint for them that which is above all art, and leave their lovers to themselves during the happiest minutes of their lives. Before long Tom and Polly were sitting side by side, enjoying the blissful state of mind which usually follows the first step out of our work-a-day world into the glorified region wherein lovers rapturously exist for a month or two. Tom just sat and looked at Polly, as if he found it difficult to believe that the winter of his discontent had ended in this glorious spring, but Polly, being a true woman, asked questions even while she laughed and cried for joy. Now, Tom, how could I know you loved me when you went away and never said a word? She began, in a tenderly reproachful tone, thinking of the hard year she had spent. And how could I have the courage to say a word when I had nothing on the face of the earth to offer you but my worthless self? answered Tom warmly. That was all I wanted, whispered Polly, in a tone which caused him to feel that the race of angels was not entirely extinct. I've always been fond of you, my Polly, but I never realized how fond till just before I went away. I wasn't free, you know, and besides I had a strong impression that you liked Sidney in spite of the damper which Fan hinted you gave him last winter. He's such a capital fellow, I really don't see how you could help it. It is strange. I don't understand it myself, but women are queer creatures and there's no accounting for their tastes, said Polly, with a sly look which Tom fully appreciated. You were so good to me those last days that I came very near speaking out, but couldn't bear to seem to be offering you a poor, disgraced sort of fellow whom tricks wouldn't have, and no one seemed to think worth much. No, I said to myself, Polly ought to have the best, if Sid can get her let him, and I won't say a word. I'll try to be better worthy her friendship anyway, and perhaps when I've proved that I can do something and am not ashamed to work, then, if Polly is free, I shan't be afraid to try my chance. So I held my tongue, worked like a horse, satisfied myself and others that I could get my living honestly, and then came home to see if there was any hope for me. And I was waiting for you all the time, said a soft voice close to his shoulder, for Polly was much touched by Tom's manly efforts to deserve her. I didn't mean to do it the first minute, but look about me a little and be sure Sid was all right, but fans knew settled that point, and just now the look in my Polly's face settled the other. I couldn't wait another minute, or let you either, and I couldn't help stretching out my arms to my little wife. God bless her. Though I know I don't deserve her. Tom's voice got lower and lower as he spoke, and his face was full of an emotion of which he need not be ashamed, for a very sincere love ennobled him, making him humble, whereas shallower affection would have been proud of its success. Polly understood this, and found the honest, hearty speech of her lover more eloquent than poetry itself. Her hand stole up to his cheek, and she leaned her own confidingly against the rough coat, as she said in her frank simple way, Tom, dear, don't say that as if I was the best girl in the world. I've got ever so many faults, and I want you to know them all and help me cure them as you have your own. Waiting has not done us any harm, and I love you all the better for your trial. But I'm afraid your year has been harder than mine. You look so much older and graver than when you went away. You never would complain, but I've had a feeling that you were going through a good deal more than any of us guessed. Pretty tough work at first, I own. It was also new and strange. I'm afraid I shouldn't have stood it if it had not been for Ned. He'd laugh and say poo if he heard me say it, but it's true nevertheless that he's a grand though, and helped me through the first six months like a, well, a brother as he is. There was no reason why he should go out of his way to back up a shiftless party like me, yet he did, and made many things easy and safe that would have been confoundedly hard and dangerous if I'd been left myself. The only way I can explain it is that it's a family trait, and as natural to the brother as it is to the sister. It's a shaw trait to do the same. But tell me about Maria. Is Ned really engaged to her? Very much so. You'll get a letter full of raptures tomorrow. He hadn't time to send it by me. I came off in such a hurry. Maria is a sensible pretty girl, and Ned will be a happy old fellow. Why did you let us think it was you? I only teased Van a little. I did like Maria, for she reminded me of you sometimes, and was such a kind, cozy little woman. I couldn't help enjoying her society after a hard day's work, but Ned got jealous, and then I knew that he was an earnest, so I left him a clear field and promised not to breathe a word to anyone till he had got a yes or no from his Maria. I wish I'd known it, sighed Polly. People in love always do such stupid things. So they do, for neither you nor fan gave us poor fellows the least hint about Sid, and there I've been having all sorts of scares about you. Serves us right. Brothers and sisters shouldn't have secrets from each other. We never will again. Did you miss me very much? Yes, Tom, very, very much. My patient little Polly. Did you really care for me before you went? See if I didn't, and with great pride Tom produced a portly pocketbook stuffed with business-like documents of a most imposing appearance, opened a private compartment, and took out a worn-looking paper, unfolded it carefully, and displayed a small brown object which gave out a faint fragrance. That's the rose you put in the birthday cake, and next week we'll have a fresh one in another jolly little cake which you'll make me. You left it on the floor of my den the night we talked there, and I've kept it ever since. There's love and romance for you. Polly touched the little relic, treasured for a year, and smiled to read the words, my Polly's rose, scribbled under the crumbling leaves. I didn't know you could be so sentimental, she said, looking so pleased that he did not regret confessing his folly. I never was till I loved you, my dear, and I'm not very bad yet, for I don't wear my posy next to my heart, but where I can see it every day, and so never forget for whom I am working. Shouldn't wonder if that bit of nonsense had kept me economical, honest, and hard at it, for I never opened my pocketbook that I didn't think of you. That's lovely, Tom. And Polly found it so touching that she felt for her handkerchief, but Tom took it away and made her laugh instead of cry, by saying in a weedlesome tone, I don't believe you did as much for all your romance, did you now? If you won't laugh, I'll show you my treasures. I began first, and I've worn them longest. As she spoke, Polly drew out the old locket, opened it, and showed the picture Tom gave her in the bag of peanuts, cut small, and fitted in on one side. On the other was a curl of reddish hair and a black button. How Tom laughed when he saw them. You don't mean you've kept that frightful guy of a boy all this time? Polly, Polly, you are the most faithful loveress, as Mod says, that was ever known. Don't flatter yourself that I've worn it all these years, sir. I only put it in last spring, because I didn't dare to ask for one of the new ones. The button came off the old coat you insisted on wearing after the failure, as if it was your duty to look as shabby as possible, and the curl I stole from Mod. Aren't we silly? He did not seem to think so. And after a short pause for refreshments, Polly turned serious and said anxiously, when must you go back to your hard work? In a week or two. But it won't seem drudgery now, for you'll write every day, and I shall feel that I'm working to get a home for you. That will give me a forty-man power, and I'll pay up my debts and get a good start, and then Ned and I will be married and go into partnership and will all be the happiest, busiest people in the West. It sounds delightful, but won't it take a long time, Tom? Only a few years, and we needn't wait a minute after SID is paid, if you don't mind beginning rather low down, Polly. I'd rather work up with you than sit idle while you toil away all alone. That's the way father and mother did, and I think they were very happy in spite of the poverty and hard work. Then we'll do it by another year, for I must get more salary before I take you away from a good home here. I wish—oh, Polly, how I wish I had a half of the money I've wasted to make you comfortable now. Never mind, I don't want it. I'd rather have less and know you earned it all yourself, cried Polly, as Tom struck his hand on his knee with an acute pang of regret at the power he had lost. It's like you to say it, and I won't waste any words bewailing myself because I was a fool. We will work up together, my brave Polly, and you shall yet be proud of your husband, though he is poor Tom Shaw. She was as sure of that as if an oracle had foretold it, and was not deceived, for the loving heart that had always seen, believed, and tried to strengthen all good impulses in Tom was well repaid for its instinctive trust by the happiness of the years to come. Yes, she said hopefully, I know you will succeed, for the best thing a man can have is work with a purpose in it and the will to do it heartily. There is one better thing, Polly, answered Tom, turning her face up a little that he might see his inspiration shining in her eyes. What is it, dear? A good woman, to love and help him all his life, as you will me, please God. Even though she is old-fashioned, whispered Polly, with happy eyes, the brighter for their tears, as she looked up at the young man who, through her, had caught a glimpse of the truest success, and was not ashamed to owe it to love and labour. Two beautiful old fashions that began long ago, with the first pair, in Eden. Lest any of my young readers who have honoured Maude with their interest should suffer the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity as to her future, I will add for their benefit that she did not marry well, but remained a busy, lively spinster all her days, and kept house for her father in the most delightful manner. Will's ministerial dream came to pass in the course of time, however, and a gentle bright-eyed lady ruled over the parsonage whom the reverend William called his little Jane. Farther into futurity, even this rash pen dares not proceed, but pauses here, concluding in the words of the dear old fairy tales, and so they were married, and all lived happily till they died. End of chapter 19 End of an Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott