Books: An Old fashioned Girl
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Louisa May Alcott >> An Old fashioned Girl
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"Yes, dear, you are all I could ask," and Mrs. Shaw looked up at
him with such affection and confidence in her eyes, that Polly gave
Tom the first approving look she had vouchsafed him since she
came.
Why Tom should look troubled and turn grave all at once, she
could n't understand, but she liked to see him stroke his mother's
cheek so softly, as he stood with his head resting on the high back
of her chair, for Polly fancied that he felt a man's pity for her
weakness, and was learning a son's patient love for a mother who
had had much to bear with him.
"I 'm so glad you are going to be here all winter, for we are to be
very gay, and I shall enjoy taking you round with me," began
Fanny, forgetting Polly's plan for a moment.
Polly shook her head decidedly. "It sounds very nice, but it can't be
done, Fan, for I 've come to work, not play; to save, not spend; and
parties will be quite out of the question for me."
"You don't intend to work all the time, without a bit of fun, I
hope," cried Fanny, dismayed at the idea.
"I mean to do what I 've undertaken, and not to be tempted away
from my purpose by anything. I should n't be fit to give lessons if I
was up late, should I? And how far would my earnings go towards
dress, carriages, and all the little expenses which would come if I
set up for a young lady in society? I can't do both, and I 'm not
going to try, but I can pick up bits of fun as I go along, and be
contented with free concerts and lectures, seeing you pretty often,
and every Sunday Will is to spend with me, so I shall have quite as
much dissipation as is good for me."
"If you don't come to my parties, I 'll never forgive you," said
Fanny, as Polly paused, while Tom chuckled inwardly at the idea
of calling visits from a brother "dissipation."
"Any small party, where it will do to wear a plain black silk, I can
come to; but the big ones must n't be thought of, thank you."
It was charming to see the resolution of Polly's face when she said
that; for she knew her weakness, and beyond that black silk she
had determined not to go. Fanny said no more, for she felt quite
sure that Polly would relent when the time came, and she planned
to give her a pretty dress for a Christmas present, so that one
excuse should be removed.
"I say, Polly, won't you give some of us fellows music lessons?
Somebody wants me to play, and I 'd rather learn of you than any
Senor Twankydillo," said Tom, who did n't find the conversation
interesting.
"Oh, yes; if any of you boys honestly want to learn, and will
behave yourselves, I 'll take you; but I shall charge extra,"
answered Polly, with a wicked sparkle of the eye, though her face
was quite sober, and her tone delightfully business-like.
"Why, Polly, Tom is n't a boy; he 's twenty, and he says I must treat
him with respect. Besides, he 's engaged, and does put on such
airs," broke in Maud who regarded her brother as a venerable
being.
"Who is the little girl?" asked Polly taking the news as a joke.
"Trix; why, did n't you know it?" answered Maud, as if it had been
an event of national importance.
"No! is it true, Fan?" and Polly turned to her friend with a face full
of surprise, while Tom struck an imposing attitude, and affected
absence of mind.
"I forgot to tell you in my last letter; it 's just out, and we don't like
it very well," observed Fanny, who would have preferred to be
engaged first herself.
"It 's a very nice thing, and I am perfectly satisfied," announced
Mrs. Shaw, rousing from a slight doze.
"Polly looks as if she did n't believe it. Have n't I the appearance of
'the happiest man alive'?" asked Tom, wondering if it could be pity
which he saw in the steady eyes fixed on him.
"No, I don't think you have," she said, slowly.
"How the deuce should a man look, then?" cried Tom, rather
nettled at her sober reception of the grand news.
"As if he had learned to care for some one a great deal more than
for himself," answered Polly, with sudden color in her cheeks, and
a sudden softening of the voice, as her eyes turned away from
Tom, who was the picture of a complacent dandy, from the
topmost curl of his auburn head to the tips of his aristocratic boots.
"Tommy 's quenched; I agree with you, Polly; I never liked Trix,
and I hope it 's only a boy-and-girl fancy, that will soon die a
natural death," said Mr. Shaw, who seemed to find it difficult to
help falling into a brown study, in spite of the lively chatter going
on about him.
Shaw, Jr., being highly incensed at the disrespectful manner in
which his engagement was treated, tried to assume a superb air of
indifference, and finding that a decided failure, was about to stroll
out of the room with a comprehensive nod, when his mother called
after him: "Where are you going, dear?"
"To see Trix, of course. Good-by, Polly," and Mr. Thomas
departed, hoping that by the skillful change of tone, from ardent
impatience to condescending coolness, he had impressed one
hearer at least with the fact that he regarded Trix as the star of his
existence, and Polly as a presuming little chit.
If he could have heard her laugh, and Fanny's remarks, his wrath
would have boiled over; fortunately he was spared the trial, and
went away hoping that the coquetries of his Trix would make him
forget Polly's look when she answered his question.
"My dear, that boy is the most deluded creature you ever saw,"
began Fanny, as soon as the front door banged. "Belle and Trix
both tried to catch him, and the slyest got him; for, in spite of his
airs, he is as soft-hearted as a baby. You see Trix has broken off
two engagements already, and the third time she got jilted herself.
Such a fuss as she made! I declare, it really was absurd. But I do
think she felt it very much, for she would n't go out at all, and got
thin, and pale, and blue, and was really quite touching. I pitied her,
and had her here a good deal, and Tom took her part; he always
does stand up for the crushed ones, and that 's good of him, I
allow. Well, she did the forsaken very prettily; let Tom amuse her,
and led him on till the poor fellow lost his wits, and finding her
crying one day (about her hat, which was n't becoming), he thought
she was mourning for Mr. Banks, and so, to comfort her, the goose
proposed. That was all she wanted; she snapped him up at once,
and there he is in a nice scrape; for since her engagement she is as
gay as ever, flirts awfully with any one who comes along, and
keeps Tom in a fume all the time. I really don't think he cares for
her half as much as he makes believe, but he 'll stand by her
through thick and thin, rather than do as Banks did."
"Poor Tom!" was all Polly said, when Fan had poured the story
into her ear, as they sat whispering in the sofa corner.
"My only consolation is that Trix will break off the affair before
spring; she always does, so that she may be free for the summer
campaign. It won't hurt Tom, but I hate to have him make a fool of
himself out of pity, for he is more of a man than he seems, and I
don't want any one to plague him."
"No one but yourself," said Polly, smiling.
"Well, that 's all fair; he is a torment sometimes, but I 'm rather
fond of him in spite of it. I get so tired of the other fellows, they
are such absurd things and when Tom is in his good mood he is
very nice and quite refreshing."
"I 'm glad to hear it," said Polly, making a mental note of the fact.
"Yes, and when grandma was ill he was perfectly devoted. I did n't
know the boy had so much gentleness in him. He took her death
sadly to heart, for, though he did n't say much, he was very grave
and steady for a long time. I tried to comfort him, and we had two
or three real sweet little talks together, and seemed to get
acquainted for the first time. It was very nice, but it did n't last;
good times never do with us. We soon got back into the old way,
and now we hector one another just as before."
Fanny sighed, then yawned, and fell into her usual listless attitude,
as if the brief excitement of Polly's coming had begun to subside.
"Walk home with me and see my funny little room. It 's bright
now, and the air will do you good. Come, both of you, and have a
frolic as we used to," said Polly, for the red sunset now burning in
the west seemed to invite them out.
They agreed, and soon the three were walking briskly away to
Polly's new home, in a quiet street, where a few old trees rustled in
the summer, and the morning sun shone pleasantly in winter time.
"The way into my parlor Is up a winding stair."
sang Polly, running up two flights of broad, old-fashioned steps,
and opening the door of a back room, out of which streamed the
welcome glow of firelight.
"These are my pets, Maud," she added, pausing on the threshold,
and beckoning the girls to look in quietly.
On the rug, luxuriously basking in the warmth, lay a gray kitten,
and close by, meditatively roosting on one leg, stood a plump
canary, who cocked his bright eye at the new-comers, gave a loud
chirp as if to wake his comrade, and then flew straight to Polly's
shoulder, where he broke into a joyful song to welcome his
mistress home.
"Allow me to introduce my family," said Polly; "this noisy little
chap the boys named Nicodemus; and this dozy cat is called
Ashputtel, because the joy of her life is to get among the cinders.
Now, take off your things, and let me do the honors, for you are to
stop to tea, and the carriage is to come for you at eight. I arranged
it with your mother while you were up-stairs."
"I want to see everything," said Maud, when the hats were off, and
the hands warmed.
"So you shall; for I think my housekeeping arrangements will
amuse you."
Then Polly showed her kingdom, and the three had a merry time
over it. The big piano took up so much room there was no place
for a bed; but Polly proudly displayed the resources of her
chintz-covered couch, for the back let down, the seat lifted up, and
inside were all the pillows and blankets. "So convenient, you see,
and yet out of the way in the daytime, for two or three of my pupils
come to me," explained Polly.
Then there was a bright drugget over the faded carpet, the little
rocking-chair and sewing-table stood at one window, the ivy ran
all over the other, and hid the banqueting performances which
went on in that corner. Book-shelves hung over the sofa, a picture
or two on the walls, and a great vase of autumn leaves and grasses
beautified the low chimney-piece. It was a very humble little
room, but Polly had done her best to make it pleasant, and it
already had a home-like look, with the cheery fire, and the
household pets chirping and purring confidingly on the rug.
"How nice it is!" exclaimed Maud, as she emerged from the big
closet where Polly kept her stores. "Such a cunning teakettle and
saucepan, and a t^te-.-t^te set, and lots of good things to eat. Do
have toast for tea, Polly, and let me make it with the new toasting
fork; it 's such fun to play cook."
Fanny was not so enthusiastic as her sister, for her eyes saw many
traces of what seemed like poverty to her; but Polly was so gay, so
satisfied with her small establishment, so full of happy hopes and
plans, that her friend had not the heart to find a fault or suggest an
improvement, and sat where she was told, laughing and talking
while the others got tea.
"This will be a country supper, girls," said Polly, bustling about.
"Here is real cream, brown bread, home-made cake, and honey
from my own beehives. Mother fitted me out with such a supply, I
'm glad to have a party, for I can't eat it all quick enough. Butter
the toast, Maudie, and put that little cover over it. Tell me when
the kettle boils, and don't step on Nicodemus, whatever you do."
"What a capital house-keeper you will make some day," said
Fanny, as she watched Polly spread her table with a neatness and
despatch which was pleasant to behold.
"Yes, it 's good practice," laughed Polly, filling her tiny teapot, and
taking her place behind the tray, with a matronly air, which was
the best joke of the whole.
"This is the most delicious party I ever went to," observed Maud,
with her mouth full of honey, when the feast was well under way.
"I do wish I could have a nice room like this, and a cat and a bird
that would n't eat each other up, and a dear little teakettle, and
make just as much toast as I like."
Such a peal of laughter greeted Maud's pensive aspiration, that
Miss Mills smiled over her solitary cup of tea, and little Nick burst
into a perfect ecstasy of song, as he sat on the sugar-bowl helping
himself.
"I don't care for the toast and the kettle, but I do envy you your
good spirits, Polly," said Fanny, as the merriment subsided. "I 'm
so tired of everybody and everything, it seems sometimes as if I
should die of ennui. Don't you ever feel so?"
"Things worry me sometimes, but I just catch up a broom and
sweep, or wash hard, or walk, or go at something with all my
might, and I usually find that by the time I get through the worry is
gone, or I 've got courage enough to bear it without grumbling,"
answered Polly, cutting the brown loaf energetically.
"I can't do those things, you know; there 's no need of it, and I don't
think they 'd cure my worrying," said Fanny, languidly feeding
Ashputtel, who sat decorously beside her, at the table, winking at
the cream pot.
"A little poverty would do you good, Fan; just enough necessity to
keep you busy till you find how good work is; and when you once
learn that, you won't complain of ennui any more," returned Polly,
who had taken kindly the hard lesson which twenty years of
cheerful poverty had taught her.
"Mercy, no, I should hate that; but I wish some one would invent a
new amusement for rich people. I 'm dead sick of parties, and
flirtations, trying to out-dress my neighbors, and going the same
round year after year, like a squirrel in a cage."
Fanny's tone was bitter as well as discontented, her face sad as
well as listless, and Polly had an instinctive feeling that some
trouble, more real than any she had ever known before, was lying
heavy at her friend's heart. That was not the time to speak of it, but
Polly resolved to stand ready to offer sympathy, if nothing more,
whenever the confidential minute came; and her manner was so
kind, so comfortable, that Fanny felt its silent magic, grew more
cheerful in the quiet atmosphere of that little room, and when they
said good-night, after an old-time gossip by the fire, she kissed her
hostess warmly, saying, with a grateful look, "Polly, dear, I shall
come often, you do me so much good."
CHAPTER IX LESSONS
THE first few weeks were hard ones, for Polly had not yet
outgrown her natural shyness and going among so many strangers
caused her frequent panics. But her purpose gave her courage, and
when the ice was once broken, her little pupils quickly learned to
love her. The novelty soon wore off, and though she thought she
was prepared for drudgery, she found it very tedious to go on doing
the same thing day after day. Then she was lonely, for Will could
only come once a week, her leisure hours were Fanny's busiest, and
the "bits of pleasure" were so few and far between that they only
tantalized her. Even her small housekeeping lost its charms, for
Polly was a social creature, and the solitary meals were often sad
ones. Ashputtel and Nick did their best to cheer her, but they too,
seemed to pine for country freedom and home atmosphere. Poor
Puttel, after gazing wistfully out of the window at the gaunt city
cats skulking about the yard, would retire to the rug, and curl
herself up as if all hope of finding congenial society had failed;
while little Nick would sing till he vibrated on his perch, without
receiving any response except an inquisitive chirp from the pert
sparrows, who seemed to twit him with his captivity. Yes, by the
time the little teakettle had lost its brightness, Polly had decided
that getting one's living was no joke, and many of her brilliant
hopes had shared the fate of the little kettle.
If one could only make the sacrifice all at once, and done with it,
then it would seem easier; but to keep up a daily sacrifice of one's
wishes, tastes, and pleasures, is rather a hard task, especially when
one is pretty, young, and gay. Lessons all day, a highly instructive
lecture, books over a solitary fire, or music with no audience but a
sleepy cat and a bird with his head tucked under his wing, for
evening entertainment, was not exactly what might be called
festive; so, in spite of her brave resolutions, Polly did long for a
little fun sometimes, and after saying virtuously to herself at nine:
"Yes, it is much wiser and better for me to go to bed early, and be
ready for work tomorrow," she would lie awake hearing the
carriages roll to and fro, and imagining the gay girls inside, going
to party, opera, or play, till Mrs. Dodd's hop pillow might as well
have been stuffed with nettles, for any sleep it brought, or any use
it was, except to catch and hide the tears that dropped on it when
Polly's heart was very full.
Another thorn that wounded our Polly in her first attempt to make
her way through the thicket that always bars a woman's progress,
was the discovery that working for a living shuts a good many
doors in one's face even in democratic America. As Fanny's guest
she had been, in spite of poverty, kindly received wherever her
friend took her, both as child and woman. Now, things were
changed; the kindly people patronized, the careless forgot all about
her, and even Fanny, with all her affection, felt that Polly the
music teacher would not be welcome in many places where Polly
the young lady had been accepted as "Miss Shaw's friend."
Some of the girls still nodded amiably, but never invited her to
visit them; others merely dropped their eyelids, and went by
without speaking, while a good many ignored her as entirely as if
she had been invisible. These things hurt Polly more than she
would confess, for at home every one worked, and every one was
respected for it. She tried not to care, but girls feel little slights
keenly, and more than once Polly was severely tempted to give up
her plan, and run away to the safe shelter at home.
Fanny never failed to ask her to every sort of festivity in the Shaw
mansion; but after a few trials, Polly firmly declined everything
but informal visits when the family were alone. She soon found
that even the new black silk was n't fine enough for Fanny's
smallest party, and, after receiving a few of the expressive glances
by which women convey their opinion of their neighbor's toilet,
and overhearing a joke or two "about that inevitable dress," and
"the little blackbird," Polly folded away the once treasured frock,
saying, with a choke in her voice: "I 'll wear it for Will, he likes it,
and clothes can't change his love for me."
I am afraid the wholesome sweetness of Polly's nature was getting
a little soured by these troubles; but before lasting harm was done,
she received, from an unexpected source, some of the real help
which teaches young people how to bear these small crosses, by
showing them the heavier ones they have escaped, and by giving
them an idea of the higher pleasures one may earn in the good,
old-fashioned ways that keep hearts sweet, heads sane, hands busy.
Everybody has their days of misfortune like little Rosamond, and
Polly was beginning to think she had more than her share. One of
these ended in a way which influenced her whole life, and so we
will record it. It began early; for the hard-hearted little grate would
n't behave itself till she had used up a ruinous quantity of
kindlings. Then she scalded poor Puttel by upsetting her
coffee-pot; and instead of a leisurely, cosy meal, had to hurry away
uncomfortably, for everything went wrong even to the coming off
of both bonnet strings in the last dreadful scramble. Being late, she
of course forgot her music, and hurrying back for it, fell into a
puddle, which capped the climax of her despair.
Such a trying morning as that was! Polly felt out of tune herself,
and all the pianos seemed to need a tuner as much as she did. The
pupils were unusually stupid, and two of them announced that
their mamma was going to take them to the South, whither she was
suddenly called. This was a blow, for they had just begun, and
Polly had n't the face to send in a bill for a whole quarter, though
her plans and calculations were sadly disturbed by the failure of
that sum.
Trudging home to dinner, tired and disappointed, poor Polly
received another blow, which hurt her more than the loss of all her
pupils. As she went hurrying along with a big music book in one
hand and a paper bag of rolls for tea in the other, she saw Tom and
Trix coming. As she watched them while they slowly approached,
looking so gay and handsome and happy, it seemed to Polly as if
all the sunshine and good walking was on their side of the street,
all the wintry wind and mud on hers. Longing to see a friendly face
and receive a kind word, she crossed over, meaning to nod and
smile at least. Trix saw her first, and suddenly became absorbed in
the distant horizon. Tom apparently did not see her, for his eyes
were fixed on a fine horse just prancing by. Polly thought that he
had seen her, and approached with a curious little flutter at her
heart, for if Tom cut her she felt that her cup would be full.
On they came, Trix intent on the view, Tom staring at the
handsome horse, and Polly, with red checks, expectant eyes, and
the brown bundle, in full sight. One dreadful minute as they came
parallel, and no one spoke or bowed, then it was all over, and Polly
went on, feeling as if some one had slapped her in the face. "She
would n't have believed it of Tom; it was all the doings of that
horrid Trix; well, she would n't trouble him any more, if he was
such a snob as to be ashamed of her just because she carried
bundles and worked for her bread." She clutched the paper bag
fiercely as she said this to herself, then her eyes filled, and her lips
trembled, as she added, "How could he do it, before her, too?"
Now Tom was quite guiltless of this offence, and had always
nodded to Polly when they met; but it so happened he had always
been alone till now, and that was why it cut so deeply, especially
as Polly never had approved of Trix. Before she could clear her
eyes or steady her face, a gentleman met her, lifted his hat, smiled,
and said pleasantly, "Good morning, Miss Polly, I 'm glad to meet
you." Then, with a sudden change of voice and manner, he added,
"I beg pardon is anything the matter can I be of service?"
It was very awkward, but it could n't be helped, and all Polly could
do was to tell the truth and make the best of it.
"It 's very silly, but it hurts me to be cut by my old friends. I shall
get used to it presently, I dare say."
Mr. Sydney glanced back, recognized the couple behind them, and
turned round with a disgusted expression. Polly was fumbling for
her handkerchief, and without a word he took both book and
bundle from her, a little bit of kindness that meant a good deal just
then. Polly felt it, and it did her good; hastily wiping the traitorous
eyes, she laughed and said cheerfully, "There, I 'm all right again;
thank you, don't trouble yourself with my parcels."
"No trouble, I assure you, and this book reminds me of what I was
about to say. Have you an hour to spare for my little niece? Her
mother wants her to begin, and desired me to make the inquiry."
"Did she, really?" and Polly looked up at him, as if she suspected
him of inventing the whole thing, out of kindness.
Mr. Sydney smiled, and taking a note from his pocket, presented it,
saying, with a reproachful look, "Behold the proof of my truth, and
never doubt again."
Polly begged pardon, read the note from the little girl's mother,
which was to have been left at her room if she was absent, and
gave the bearer a very grateful look as she accepted this welcome
addition to her pupils. Well pleased at the success of his mission,
Sydney artfully led the conversation to music, and for a time Polly
forgot her woes, talking enthusiastically on her favorite theme. As
she reclaimed her book and bag, at her own door, she said, in her
honest way, "Thank you very much for trying to make me forget
my foolish little troubles."
"Then let me say one thing more; though appearances are against
him, I don't believe Tom Shaw saw you. Miss Trix is equal to that
sort of thing, but it is n't like Tom, for with all his foppery he is a
good fellow at heart."
As Mr. Sydney said this, Polly held out her hand with a hearty
"Thank you for that." The young man shook the little hand in the
gray woollen glove, gave her exactly the same bow which he did
the Honorable Mrs. Davenport, and went away, leaving Polly to
walk up stairs and address Puttel with the peculiar remark, "You
are a true gentleman! so kind to say that about Tom. I 'll think it 's
so, anyway; and won't I teach Minnie in my very best style!"
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