Books: An Old fashioned Girl

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Puttel purred, Nick chirped approvingly, and Polly ate her dinner
with a better appetite than she had expected. But at the bottom of
her heart there was a sore spot still, and the afternoon lessons
dragged dismally. It was dusk when she got home, and as she sat in
the firelight eating her bread and milk, several tears bedewed the
little rolls, and even the home honey had a bitter taste.

"Now this won't do," she broke out all at once; "this is silly and
wicked, and can't be allowed. I 'll try the old plan and put myself
right by doing some little kindness to somebody. Now what shall it
be? O, I know! Fan is going to a party to-night; I 'll run up and help
her dress; she likes to have me, and I enjoy seeing the pretty
things. Yes, and I 'll take her two or three clusters of my daphne, it
's so sweet."

Up got Polly, and taking her little posy, trotted away to the Shaws',
determined to be happy and contented in spite of Trix and hard
work.

She found Fanny enduring torment under the hands of the
hair-dresser, who was doing his best to spoil her hair, and distort
her head with a mass of curls, braids, frizzles, and puffs; for
though I discreetly refrain from any particular description, still,
judging from the present fashions, I think one may venture to
predict that six years hence they would be something frightful.

"How kind of you, Polly; I was just wishing you were here to
arrange my flowers. These lovely daphnes will give odor to my
camellias, and you were a dear to bring them. There 's my dress;
how do you like it?" said Fanny, hardly daring to lift her eyes from
under the yellow tower on her head.

"It 's regularly splendid; but how do you ever get into it?" answered
Polly, surveying with girlish interest the cloud of pink and white
lace that lay upon the bed.

"It 's fearfully and wonderfully made, but distractingly becoming,
as you shall see. Trix thinks I 'm going to wear blue, so she has got
a green one, and told Belle it would spoil the effect of mine, as we
are much together, of course. Was n't that sweet of her? Belle
came and told me in, time, and I just got pink, so my amiable
sister, that is to be, won't succeed in her pretty little plot."

"I guess she has been reading the life of Josephine. You know she
made a pretty lady, of whom she was jealous, sit beside her on a
green sofa, which set off her own white dress and spoilt the blue
one of her guest," answered Polly, busy with the flowers.

"Trix never reads anything; you are the one to pick up clever little
stories. I 'll remember and use this one. Am I done? Yes, that is
charming, is n't it, Polly?" and Fan rose to inspect the success of
Monsieur's long labor.

"You know I don't appreciate a stylish coiffure as I ought, so I like
your hair in the old way best. But this is 'the thing,' I suppose, and
not a word must be said."

"Of course it is. Why, child, I have frizzed and burnt my hair so
that I look like an old maniac with it in its natural state, and have
to repair damages as well as I can. Now put the flowers just here,"
and Fanny laid a pink camellia in a nest of fuzz, and stuck a spray
of daphne straight up at the back of her head.

"O, Fan, don't, it looks horridly so!" cried Polly, longing to add a
little beauty to her friend's sallow face by a graceful adjustment of
the flowers.

"Can't help it, that 's the way, and so it must be," answered Fan,
planting another sprig half-way up the tower.

Polly groaned and offered no more suggestions as the work went
on; but when Fan was finished from top to toe, she admired all she
honestly could, and tried to keep her thoughts to herself. But her
frank face betrayed her, for Fanny turned on her suddenly, saying,
"You may as well free your mind, Polly, for I see by your eyes that
something don't suit."

"I was only thinking of what grandma once said, that modesty had
gone out of fashion," answered Polly, glancing at the waist of her
friend's dress, which consisted of a belt, a bit of lace, and a pair of
shoulder straps.

Fanny laughed good-naturedly, saying, as she clasped her necklace,
"If I had such shoulders as yours, I should n't care what the fashion
was. Now don't preach, but put my cloak on nicely, and come
along, for I 'm to meet Tom and Trix, and promised to be there
early."

Polly was to be left at home after depositing Fan at Belle's.

"I feel as if I was going myself," she said, as they rolled along.

"I wish you were, and you would be, Polly, if you weren't such a
resolute thing. I 've teased, and begged, and offered anything I
have if you 'll only break your absurd vow, and come and enjoy
yourself."

"Thank you; but I won't, so don't trouble your kind heart about me;
I 'm all right," said Polly, stoutly.

But when they drew up before the lighted house, and she found
herself in the midst of the pleasant stir of festivity, the coming and
going of carriages, the glimpses of bright colors, forms, and faces,
the bursts of music, and a general atmosphere of gayety, Polly felt
that she was n't all right, and as she drove away for a dull evening
in her lonely little room, she just cried as heartily as any child
denied a stick of candy.

"It 's dreadful wicked of me, but I can't help it," she sobbed to
herself, in the corner of the carriage. "That music sets me all in a
twitter, and I should have looked nice in Fan's blue tarlatan, and I
know I could behave as well as any one, and have lots of partners,
though I 'm not in that set. Oh, just one good gallop with Mr.
Sydney or Tom! No, Tom would n't ask me there, and I would n't
accept if he did. Oh, me! oh, me! I wish I was as old and homely,
and good and happy, as Miss Mills!"

So Polly made her moan, and by the time she got home, was just in
the mood to go to bed and cry herself to sleep, as girls have a way
of doing when their small affliction becomes unbearable.

But Polly did n't get a chance to be miserable very long, for as she
went up stairs feeling like the most injured girl in the world, she
caught a glimpse of Miss Mills, sewing away with such a bright
face that she could n't resist stopping for a word or two.

"Sit down, my dear, I 'm glad to see you, but excuse me if I go on
with my work, as I 'm in a driving hurry to get these things done
to-night," said the brisk little lady, with a smile and a nod, as she
took a new needleful of thread, and ran up a seam as if for a
wager.

"Let me help you, then; I 'm lazy and cross, and it will do me
good," said Polly, sitting down with the resigned feeling. "Well, if
I can't be happy, I can be useful, perhaps."

"Thank you, my dear; yes, you can just hem the skirt while I put in
the sleeves, and that will be a great lift."

Polly put on her thimble in silence, but as Miss Mills spread the
white flannel over her lap, she exclaimed, "Why, it looks like a
shroud! Is it one?"

"No, dear, thank God, it is n't, but it might have been, if we had n't
saved the poor little soul," cried Miss Mills, with a sudden
brightening of the face, which made it beautiful in spite of the stiff
gray curl that bobbed on each temple, the want of teeth, and a
crooked nose.

"Will you tell me about it? I like to hear your adventures and good
works so much," said Polly, ready to be amused by anything that
made her forget herself.

"Ah, my dear, it 's a very common story, and that 's the saddest part
of it. I 'll tell you all about it, for I think you may be able to help
me. Last night I watched with poor Mary Floyd. She 's dying of
consumption, you know," began Miss Mills, as her nimble fingers
flew, and her kind old face beamed over the work, as if she put a
blessing in with every stitch. "Mary was very low, but about
midnight fell asleep, and I was trying to keep things quiet, when
Mrs. Finn she 's the woman of the house came and beckoned me
out, with a scared face. 'Little Jane has killed herself, and I don't
know what to do,' she said, leading me up to the attic."

"Who was little Jane?" broke in Polly, dropping her work.

"I only knew her as a pale, shy young girl who went in and out, and
seldom spoke to any one. Mrs. Finn told me she was poor, but a
busy, honest, little thing, who did n't mix with the other folks, but
lived and worked alone. 'She has looked so down-hearted and pale
for a week, that I thought she was sick, and asked her about it,' said
Mrs. Finn, 'but she thanked me in her bashful way, and said she
was pretty well, so I let her alone. But to-night, as I went up late to
bed, I was kind of impressed to look in and see how the poor thing
did, for she had n't left her room all day. I did look in, and here 's
what I found.' As Mrs. Finn ended she opened the door of the back
attic, and I saw about as sad a sight as these old eyes ever looked
at."

"O, what?" cried Polly, pale now with interest.

"A bare room, cold as a barn, and on the bed a little dead, white
face that almost broke my heart, it was so thin, so patient, and so
young. On the table was a bottle half full of laudanum, an old
pocket-book, and a letter. Read that, my dear and don't think hard
of little Jane."

Polly took the bit of paper Miss Mills gave her, and read these
words:

DEAR MRS. FINN, Please forgive me for the trouble I make you,
but I don't see any other way. I can't get work that pays enough to
keep me; the Dr. says I can't be well unless I rest. I hate to be a
burden, so I 'm going away not to trouble anybody anymore. I 've
sold my things to pay what I owe you. Please let me be as I am,
and don't let people come and look at me. I hope it is n't very
wicked, but there don't seem any room for me in the world, and I
'm not afraid to die now, though I should be if I stayed and got bad
because I had n't strength to keep right. Give my love to the baby,
and so good-by, good-by.

JANE BRYANT.

"O, Miss Mills, how dreadful!" cried Polly, with her eyes so full
she could hardly read the little letter.

"Not so dreadful as it might have been, but a bitter, sad thing to see
that child, only seventeen, lying there in her little clean, old
night-gown, waiting for death to come and take her, because 'there
did n't seem to be any room for her in the world.' Ah, well, we
saved her, for it was n't too late, thank heaven, and the first thing
she said was, 'Oh, why did you bring me back?' I 've been nursing
her all day, hearing her story, and trying to show her that there is
room and a welcome for her. Her mother died a year ago, and
since then she has been struggling along alone. She is one of the
timid, innocent, humble creatures who can't push their way, and so
get put aside and forgotten. She has tried all sorts of poorly paid
work, could n't live on it decently, got discouraged, sick,
frightened, and could see no refuge from the big, bad world but to
get out of it while she was n't afraid to die. A very old story, my
dear, new and dreadful as it seems to you, and I think it won't do
you any harm to see and help this little girl, who has gone through
dark places that you are never like to know."

"I will; indeed, I will do all I can! Where is she now?" asked Polly,
touched to the heart by the story, so simple yet so sad.

"There," and Miss Mills pointed to the door of her own little
bedroom. "She was well enough to be moved to-night, so I brought
her home and laid her safely in my bed. Poor little soul! she looked
about her for a minute, then the lost look went away, and she gave
a great sigh, and took my hand in both her thin bits of ones, and
said, 'O, ma'am, I feel as if I 'd been born into a new world. Help
me to begin again, and I 'll do better.' So I told her she was my
child now, and might rest here, sure of a home as long as I had
one."

As Miss Mills spoke in her motherly tone, and cast a proud and
happy look toward the warm and quiet nest in which she had
sheltered this friendless little sparrow, feeling sure that God meant
her to keep it from falling to the ground, Polly put both arms about
her neck, and kissed her withered cheek with as much loving
reverence as if she had been a splendid saint, for in the likeness of
this plain old maid she saw the lovely charity that blesses and
saves the world.

"How good you are! Dear Miss Mills, tell me what to do, let me
help you, I 'm ready for anything," said Polly, very humbly, for her
own troubles looked so small and foolish beside the stern
hardships which had nearly had so tragical an end, that she felt
heartily ashamed of herself, and quite burned to atone for them.

Miss, Mills stopped to stroke the fresh cheek opposite, to smile,
and say, "Then, Polly, I think I 'll ask you to go in and say a
friendly word to my little girl. The sight of you will do her good;
and you have just the right way of comforting people, without
making a fuss."

"Have I?" said Polly, looking much gratified by the words.

"Yes, dear, you 've the gift of sympathy, and the rare art of
showing it without offending. I would n't let many girls in to see
my poor Jenny, because they 'd only flutter and worry her; but you
'll know what to do; so go, and take this wrapper with you; it 's
done now, thanks to your nimble fingers."

Polly threw the warm garment over her arm, feeling a thrill of
gratitude that it was to wrap a living girl in, and not to hide away a
young heart that had grown cold too soon. Pushing open the door,
she went quietly into the dimly lighted room, and on the pillow
saw a face that drew her to it with an irresistible power, for it was
touched by a solemn shadow that made its youth pathetic. As she
paused at the bedside, thinking the girl asleep, a pair of hollow,
dark eyes opened wide, and looked up at her; startled at first, then
softening with pleasure, at sight of the bonny face before them,
and then a humble, beseeching expression filled them, as if asking
pardon for the rash act nearly committed, and pity for the hard fate
that prompted it. Polly read the language of these eyes, and
answered their mute prayer with a simple eloquence that said more
than any words for she just stooped down and kissed the poor
child, with her own eyes full, and lips that trembled with the
sympathy she could not tell. Jenny put both arms about her neck,
and began to shed the quiet tears that so refresh and comfort heavy
hearts when a tender touch unseals the fountain where they lie.

"Everybody is so kind," she sobbed," and I was so wicked, I don't
deserve it."

"Oh, yes, you do; don't think of that, but rest and let us pet you.
The old life was too hard for such a little thing as you, and we are
going to try and make the new one ever so much easier and
happier," said Polly, forgetting everything except that this was a
girl like herself, who needed heartening up.

"Do you live here?" asked Jenny, when her tears were wiped away,
still clinging to the new-found friend.

"Yes, Miss Mills lets me have a little room up stairs, and there I
have my cat and bird, my piano and my posy pots, and live like a
queen. You must come up and see me to-morrow if you are able. I
'm often lonely, for there are no young people in the house to play
with me," answered Polly, smiling hospitably.

"Do you sew?" asked Jenny.

"No, I 'm a music teacher, and trot round giving lessons all day."

"How beautiful it sounds, and how happy you must be, so strong
and pretty, and able to go round making music all the time," sighed
Jenny, looking with respectful admiration at the plump, firm hand
held in both her thin and feeble ones.

It did sound pleasant even to Polly's ears, and she felt suddenly so
rich, and so contented, that she seemed a different creature from
the silly girl who cried because she could n't go to the party. It
passed through her mind like a flash, the contrast between her life,
and that of the wan creature lying before her, and she felt as if she
could not give enough out of her abundance to this needy little
sister, who had nothing in the wide world but the life just saved to
her. That minute did more for Polly than many sermons, or the
wisest books, for it brought her face to face with bitter truths,
showed her the dark side of life, and seemed to blow away her
little vanities, her frivolous desires, like a wintry wind, that left a
wholesome atmosphere behind. Sitting on the bedside, Polly
listened while Jane told the story, which was so new to her
listener, that every word sank deep into her heart, and never was
forgotten.

"Now you must go to sleep. Don't cry nor think, nor do anything
but rest. That will please Miss Mills best. I 'll leave the doors open,
and play you a lullaby that you can't resist. Good night, dear." And
with another kiss, Polly went away to sit in the darkness of her
own room, playing her softest airs till the tired eyes below were
shut, and little Jane seemed to float away on a sea of pleasant
sounds, into the happier life which had just dawned for her.

Polly had fully intended to be very miserable, and cry herself to
sleep; but when she lay down at last, her pillow seemed very soft,
her little room very lovely, with the fire-light flickering on all the
home-like objects, and her new-blown roses breathing her a sweet
good-night. She no longer felt an injured, hard-working, unhappy
Polly, but as if quite burdened with blessings, for which she was n't
half grateful enough. She had heard of poverty and suffering, in the
vague, far-off way, which is all that many girls, safe in happy
homes, ever know of it; but now she had seen it, in a shape which
she could feel and understand, and life grew more earnest to her
from that minute. So much to do in the great, busy world, and she
had done so little. Where should she begin? Then, like an answer
came little Jenny's words, now taking a,'new significance' to Polly's
mind, "To be strong, and beautiful, and go round making music all
the time." Yes, she could do that; and with a very earnest prayer,
Polly asked for the strength of an upright soul, the beauty of a
tender heart, the power to make her life a sweet and stirring song,
helpful while it lasted, remembered when it died.

Little Jane's last thought had been to wish with all her might, that
"God would bless the dear, kind girl up there, and give her all she
asked." I think both prayers, although too humble to be put in
words, went up together, for in the fulness of time they were
beautifully answered.

CHAPTER X BROTHERS AND SISTERS

POLLY'S happiest day was Sunday, for Will never failed to spend
it with her. Instead of sleeping later than usual that morning, she
was always up bright and early, flying round to get ready for her
guest, for Will came to breakfast, and they made a long day of it.
Will considered his sister the best and prettiest girl going, and
Polly, knowing well that a time would come when he would find a
better and a prettier, was grateful for his good opinion, and tried to
deserve it. So she made her room and herself as neat and inviting
as possible, and always ran to meet him with a bright face and a
motherly greeting, when he came tramping in, ruddy, brisk, and
beaming, with the brown loaf and the little pot of beans from the
bake-house near by.

They liked a good country breakfast, and nothing gave Polly more
satisfaction than to see her big boy clear the dishes, empty the little
coffee-pot, and then sit and laugh at her across the ravaged table.
Another pleasure was to let him help clear away, as they used to do
at home, while the peals of laughter that always accompanied this
performance did Miss Mills' heart good to hear, for the room was
so small and Will so big that he seemed to be everywhere at once,
and Polly and Puttel were continually dodging his long arms and
legs. Then they used to inspect the flower pots, pay Nick a visit,
and have a little music as a good beginning for the day, after which
they went to church and dined with Miss Mills, who considered
Will "an excellent young man." If the afternoon was fair, they took
a long walk together over the bridges into the country, or about the
city streets full of Sabbath quietude. Most people meeting them
would have seen only an awkward young man, with a boy's face
atop of his tall body, and a quietly dressed, fresh faced little
woman hanging on his arm; but a few people, with eyes to read
romances and pleasant histories everywhere, found something very
attractive in this couple, and smiled as they passed, wondering if
they were young, lovers, or country cousins "looking round."

If the day was stormy, they stayed at home, reading, writing letters,
talking over their affairs, and giving each other good advice; for,
though Will was nearly three years younger than Polly, he could n't
for the life of him help assuming amusingly venerable airs, when
he became a Freshman. In the twilight he had a good lounge on the
sofa, and Polly sung to him, which arrangement he particularly
enjoyed, it was so "cosy and homey." At nine o'clock, Polly packed
his bag with clean clothes, nicely mended, such remnants of the
festive tea as were transportable, and kissed him "good-night,"
with many injunctions to muffle up his throat going over the
bridge, and be sure that his feet were dry and warm when he went
to bed. All of which Will laughed at, accepted graciously, and did
n't obey; but he liked it, and trudged away for another week's work,
rested, cheered, and strengthened by that quiet, happy day with
Polly, for he had been brought up to believe in home influences,
and this brother and sister loved one another dearly, and were not
ashamed to own it.

One other person enjoyed the humble pleasures of these Sundays
quite as much as Polly and Will. Maud used to beg to come to tea,
and Polly, glad to do anything for those who had done a good deal
for her, made a point of calling for the little girl as they came
home from their walk, or sending Will to escort her in the carriage,
which Maud always managed to secure if bad weather threatened
to quench her hopes. Tom and Fanny laughed at her fancy, but she
did not tire of it, for the child was lonely, and found something in
that little room which the great house could not give her.

Maud was twelve now; a pale, plain child, with sharp, intelligent
eyes, and a busy little mind, that did a good deal more thinking
than anybody imagined. She was just at the unattractive, fidgety
age when no one knew what to do with her, and so let her fumble
her way up as she could, finding pleasure in odd things, and living
much alone, for she did not go to school, because her shoulders
were growing round, and Mrs. Shaw would not "allow her figure to
be spoiled." That suited Maud excellently; and whenever her father
spoke of sending her again, or getting a governess, she was seized
with bad headaches, a pain in her back, or weakness of the eyes, at
which Mr. Shaw laughed, but let her holiday go on. Nobody
seemed to care much for plain, pug-nosed little Maudie; her father
was busy, her mother nervous and sick, Fanny absorbed in her own
affairs, and Tom regarded her as most young men do their younger
sisters, as a person born for his amusement and convenience,
nothing more. Maud admired Tom with all her heart, and made a
little slave of herself to him, feeling well repaid if he merely said,
"Thank you, chicken," or did n't pinch her nose, or nip her ear, as
he had a way of doing, "just as if I was a doll, or a dog, and had n't
got any feelings," she sometimes said to Fanny, when some service
or sacrifice had been accepted without gratitude or respect. It
never occurred to Tom, when Maud sat watching him with her
face full of wistfulness, that she wanted to be petted as much as
ever he did in his neglected boyhood, or that when he called her
"Pug" before people, her little feelings were as deeply wounded as
his used to be, when the boys called him "Carrots." He was fond of
her in his fashion, but he did n't take the trouble to show it, so
Maud worshipped him afar off, afraid to betray the affection that
no rebuff could kill or cool.

One snowy Sunday afternoon Tom lay on the sofa in his favorite
attitude, reading "Pendennis" for the fourth time, and smoking like
a chimney as he did so. Maud stood at the window watching the
falling flakes with an anxious countenance, and presently a great
sigh broke from her.

"Don't do that again, chicken, or you 'll blow me away. What's the
matter?" asked Tom, throwing down his book with a yawn that
threatened dislocation.

"I 'm afraid I can't go to Polly's," answered Maud, disconsolately.

"Of course you can't; it 's snowing hard, and father won't be home
with the carriage till this evening. What are you always cutting off
to Polly's for?"

"I like it; we have such nice times, and Will is there, and we bake
little johnny-cakes in the baker before the fire, and they sing, and it
is so pleasant."

"Warbling johnny-cakes must be interesting. Come and tell me all
about it."

"No, you 'll only laugh at me."

"I give you my word I won't, if I can help it; but I really am dying
of curiosity to know what you do down there. You like to hear
secrets, so tell me yours, and I 'll be as dumb as an oyster."

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