Books: An Old fashioned Girl
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Louisa May Alcott >> An Old fashioned Girl
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"Don't shut your eyes, Polly. They are so full of mischief to-night, I
like to see them," said Tom, after idly wondering for a minute if
she knew how long and curly her lashes were.
"I don't wish to look affected, but the music tells the story so much
better than the acting that I don't care to look on half the time,"
answered Polly, hoping Tom would n't see the tears she had so
cleverly suppressed.
"Now I like the acting best. The music is all very fine, I know, but
it does seem so absurd for people to go round telling tremendous
secrets at the top of their voices. I can't get used to it."
"That 's because you 've more common-sense than romance. I don't
mind the absurdity, and quite long to go and comfort that poor girl
with the broken heart," said Polly with a sigh as the curtain fell on
a most affecting tableau.
"What's-his-name is a great jack not to see that she adores him. In
real life we fellows ain't such bats as all that," observed Tom, who
had decided opinions on many subjects that he knew very little
about, and expressed them with great candor.
A curious smile passed over Polly's face and she put up her glass to
hide her eyes, as she said: "I think you are bats sometimes, but
women are taught to wear masks, and that accounts for it, I
suppose."
"I don't agree. There 's precious little masking nowadays; wish
there was a little more sometimes," added Tom, thinking of several
blooming damsels whose beseeching eyes had begged him not to
leave them to wither on the parent stem.
"I hope not, but I guess there 's a good deal more than any one
would suspect."
"What can you know about broken hearts and blighted beings?"
asked Sydney, smiling at the girl's pensive tone.
Polly glanced up at him and her face dimpled and shone again, as
she answered, laughing: "Not much; my time is to come."
"I can't imagine you walking about the world with your back hair
down, bewailing a hard-hearted lover," said Tom.
"Neither can I. That would n't be my way."
"No; Miss Polly would let concealment prey on her damask cheeks
and still smile on in the novel fashion, or turn sister of charity and
nurse the heartless lover through small-pox, or some other
contagious disease, and die seraphically, leaving him to the
agonies of remorse and tardy love."
Polly gave Sydney an indignant look as he said that in a slow
satirical way that nettled her very much, for she hated to be
thought sentimental.
"That 's not my way either," she said decidedly. "I 'd try to outlive
it, and if I could n't, I 'd try to be the better for it. Disappointment
need n't make a woman a fool."
"Nor an old maid, if she 's pretty and good. Remember that, and
don't visit the sins of one blockhead on all the rest of mankind,"
said Tom, laughing at her earnestness.
"I don't think there is the slightest possibility of Miss Polly's being
either," added Sydney with a look which made it evident that
concealment had not seriously damaged Polly's damask cheek as
yet.
"There 's Clara Bird. I have n't seen her but once since she was
married. How pretty she looks!" and Polly retired behind the big
glass again, thinking the chat was becoming rather personal.
"Now, there 's a girl who tried a different cure for unrequited
affection from any you mention. People say she was fond of Belle's
brother. He did n't reciprocate but went off to India to spoil his
constitution, so Clara married a man twenty years older than she is
and consoles herself by being the best-dressed woman in the city."
"That accounts for it," said Polly, when Tom's long whisper ended.
"For what?"
"The tired look in her eyes."
"I don't see it," said Tom, after a survey through the glass.
"Did n't expect you would."
"I see what you mean. A good many women have it nowadays,"
said Sydney over Polly's shoulder.
"What's she tired of? The old gentleman?" asked Tom.
"And herself," added Polly.
"You 've been reading French novels, I know you have. That 's just
the way the heroines go on," cried Tom.
"I have n't read one, but it 's evident you have, young man, and you
'd better stop."
"I don't care for 'em; only do it to keep up my French. But how
came you to be so wise, ma'am?"
"Observation, sir. I like to watch faces, and I seldom see a
grown-up one that looks perfectly happy."
"True for you, Polly; no more you do, now I think of it. I don't
know but one that always looks so, and there it is."
"Where?" asked Polly, with interest.
"Look straight before you and you 'll see it."
Polly did look, but all she saw was her own face in the little mirror
of the fan which Tom held up and peeped over with a laugh in his
eyes.
"Do I look happy? I 'm glad of that," And Polly surveyed herself
with care.
Both young men thought it was girlish vanity and smiled at its
naive display, but Polly was looking for something deeper than
beauty and was glad not to find it.
"Rather a pleasant little prospect, hey, Polly?"
"My bonnet is straight, and that 's all I care about. Did you ever see
a picture of Beau Brummel?" asked Polly quickly.
"No."
"Well, there he is, modernized." And turning the fan, she showed
him himself.
"Any more portraits in your gallery?" asked Sydney, as if he liked
to share all the nonsense going.
"One more."
"What do you call it?"
"The portrait of a gentleman." And the little glass reflected a
gratified face for the space of two seconds.
"Thank you. I 'm glad I don't disgrace my name," said Sydney,
looking down into the merry blue eyes that thanked him silently
for many of the small kindnesses that women never can forget.
"Very good, Polly, you are getting on fast," whispered Tom,
patting his yellow kids approvingly.
"Be quiet! Dear me, how warm it is!" And Polly gave him a frown
that delighted his soul.
"Come out and have an ice, we shall have time."
"Fan is so absorbed, I could n't think of disturbing her," said Polly,
fancying that her friend was enjoying the evening as much as she
was a great mistake, by the way, for Fan was acting for effect, and
though she longed to turn and join them, would n't do it, unless a
certain person showed signs of missing her. He did n't, and Fanny
chatted on, raging inwardly over her disappointment, and
wondering how Polly could be so gay and selfish.
It was delicious to see the little airs Polly put on, for she felt as if
she were somebody else, and acting a part. She leaned back, as if
quite oppressed by the heat, permitted Sydney to fan her, and paid
him for the service by giving him a flower from her bouquet,
proceedings which amused Tom immensely, even while it piqued
him a little to be treated like an old friend who did n't count.
"Go in and win, Polly; I 'll give you my blessing," he whispered, as
the curtain rose again.
"It 's only part of the fun, so don't you laugh, you disrespectful
boy," she whispered back in a tone never used toward Sydney.
Tom did n't quite like the different way in which she treated them,
and the word "boy" disturbed his dignity, for he was almost
twenty-one and Polly ought to treat him with more respect. Sydney
at the same moment was wishing he was in Tom's place young,
comely, and such a familiar friend that Polly would scold and
lecture him in the delightful way she did Tom; while Polly forgot
them both when the music began and left them ample time to look
at her and think about themselves.
While they waited to get out when all was over Polly heard Fan
whisper to Tom: "What do you think Trix will say to this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, the way you 've been going on to-night."
"Don't know, and don't care; it 's only Polly."
"That 's the very thing. She can't bear P."
"Well, I can; and I don't see why I should n't enjoy myself as well
as Trix."
"You 'll get to enjoying yourself too much if you are n't careful.
Polly 's waked up."
"I 'm glad of it, and so 's Syd."
"I only spoke for your good."
"Don't trouble yourself about me; I get lecturing enough in another
quarter and can't stand any more. Come, Polly."
She took the arm he offered her, but her heart was sore and angry,
for that phrase, "It 's only Polly," hurt her sadly. "As if I was n't
anybody, had n't any feelings, and was only made to amuse or
work for people! Fan and Tom are both mistaken and I 'll show
them that Polly is awake," she thought, indignantly. "Why should
n't I enjoy myself as well as the rest? Besides, it 's only Tom," she
added with a bitter smile as she thought of Trix.
"Are you tired, Polly?" asked Tom, bending down to look into her
face.
"Yes, of being nobody."
"Ah, but you ain't nobody, you 're Polly, and you could n't better
that if you tried ever so hard." said Tom, warmly, for he really was
fond of Polly, and felt uncommonly so just then.
"I 'm glad you think so, anyway. It 's so pleasant to be liked." And
she looked up with her face quite bright again.
"I always did like you, don't you know, ever since that first visit."
"But you teased me shamefully, for all that."
"So I did, but I don't now."
Polly did not answer, and Tom asked, with more anxiety than the
occasion required: "Do I, Polly?"
"Not in the same way, Tom," she answered in a tone that did n't
sound quite natural.
"Well, I never will again."
"Yes, you will, you can't help it." And Polly's eye glanced at
Sydney, who was in front with Fan.
Tom laughed, and drew Polly closer as the crowd pressed, saying,
with mock tenderness: "Did n't she like to be chaffed about her
sweethearts? Well, she shan't be if I can help it. Poor dear, did she
get her little bonnet knocked into a cocked hat and her little
temper riled at the same time?"
Polly could n't help laughing, and, in spite of the crush, enjoyed the
slow journey from seat to carriage, for Tom took such excellent
care of her, she was rather sorry when it was over.
They had a merry little supper after they got home, and Polly gave
them a burlesque opera that convulsed her hearers, for her spirits
rose again and she was determined to get the last drop of fun
before she went back to her humdrum life again.
"I 've had a regularly splendid time, and thank you ever so much,"
she said when the "good-nights" were being exchanged.
"So have I. Let 's go and do it again to-morrow," said Tom, holding
the hand from which he had helped to pull a refractory glove.
"Not for a long while, please. Too much pleasure would soon spoil
me," answered Polly, shaking her head.
"I don't believe it. Good-night, 'sweet Mistress Milton,' as Syd
called you. Sleep like an angel, and don't dream of I forgot, no
teasing allowed." And Tom took himself off with a theatrical
farewell.
"Now it 's all over and done with," thought Polly as she fell asleep
after a long vigil. But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the
price of gloves and bonnet, for, having nibbled at forbidden fruit,
she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have a good time,
and there was no harm in that, but unfortunately she yielded to the
various small temptations that beset pretty young girls and did
more mischief to others than to herself. Fanny's friendship grew
cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing Trix was half as
satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sydney began to build castles that
had no foundation.
CHAPTER XIII THE SUNNY SIDE
"I 'VE won the wager, Tom."
"Did n't know there was one."
"Don't you remember you said Polly would be tired of her teaching
and give it up in three months, and I said she would n't?"
"Well, is n't she?"
"Not a bit of it. I thought she was at one time, and expected every
day to have her come in with a long face, and say she could n't
stand it. But somehow, lately, she is always bright and happy,
seems to like her work, and don't have the tired, worried look she
used to at first. The three months are out, so pay up, Tommy."
"All right, what will you have?"
"You may make it gloves. I always need them, and papa looks
sober when I want money."
There was a minute's pause as Fan returned to her practising, and
Tom relapsed into the reverie he was enjoying seated astride of a
chair, with his chin on his folded arms.
"Seems to me Polly don't come here as often as she used to," he
said, presently.
"No, she seems to be very busy; got some new friends, I believe,
old ladies, sewing-girls, and things of that sort. I miss her, but
know she 'll get tired of being goody, and will come back to me
before long."
"Don't be too sure of that, ma'am." Something in Tom's tone made
Fan turn round, and ask, "What do you mean?"
"Well, it strikes me that Sydney is one of Polly's new friends. Have
n't you observed that she is uncommonly jolly, and don't that sort
of thing account for it?"
"Nonsense!" said Fanny, sharply.
"Hope it is," coolly returned Tom.
"What put it into your head?" demanded Fanny, twirling round
again so that her face was hidden.
"Oh, well, I keep meeting Syd and Polly circulating in the same
directions; she looks as if she had found something uncommonly
nice, and he looks as if all creation was getting Pollyfied pretty
rapidly. Wonder you have n't observed it."
"I have."
It was Tom's turn to look surprised now, for Fanny's voice sounded
strange to him. He looked at her steadily for a minute, but saw
only a rosy ear and a bent head. A cloud passed over his face, and
he leaned his chin on his arm again with a despondent whistle, as
he said to himself, "Poor Fan! Both of us in a scrape at once."
"Don't you think it would be a good thing?" asked Fanny, after
playing a bar or two, very badly.
"Yes, for Syd."
"Not for Polly? Why, he 's rich, and clever, and better than most of
you good-for-nothing fellows. What can the girl expect?"
"Can't say, but I don't fancy the match myself."
"Don't be a dog in the manger, Tom." "Bless your little heart, I
only take a brotherly sort of interest in Polly. She 's a capital girl,
and she ought to marry a missionary, or one of your reformer
fellows, and be a shining light of some sort. I don't think setting up
for a fine lady would suit her."
"I think it would, and I hope she 'll have the chance," said Fanny,
evidently making an effort to speak kindly.
"Good for you, Fan!" and Tom gave an emphatic nod, as if her
words meant more than she suspected "Mind you," he added, "I
don't know anything, and only fancied there might be some little
flirtation going on. But I dare say it 's nothing."
"Time will show." Then Fan began to sing, and Tom's horse came,
so he departed with the very unusual demonstration of a gentle pat
on the head, as he said kindly, "That 's right, my dear, keep jolly."
It was n't an elegant way of expressing sympathy, but it was hearty,
and Fan thanked him for it, though she only said, "Don't break
your neck, Tommy."
When he was gone, Fan's song ended as suddenly as it began, and
she sat thinking, with varying expressions of doubt and trouble
passing rapidly across her face.
"Well, I can't do anything but wait!" she said, at last, slamming the
music-book together with a desperate look. "Yes, I can," she
added, a minute after, "it 's Polly's holiday. I can go and see her,
and if there is anything in it I shall find it out."
Fanny dropped her face into her hands, with a little shiver, as she
said that; then got up, looking as pale and resolute as if going to
meet some dreadful doom, and putting on her things, went away to
Polly's as fast as her dignity would allow.
Saturday morning was Polly's clearing-up day, and Fan found her
with a handkerchief tied over her head, and a big apron on, just
putting the last touches to the tidy little room, which was as fresh
and bright as water, air, and a pair of hands could make it.
"All ready for company. I 'll just whisk off my regimentals, and
Polly, the maid, becomes Polly, the missis. It was lovely of you to
come early; take off your things. Another new bonnet? you
extravagant wretch! How is your mother and Maudie? It 's a nice
day, and we 'll have a walk, won't we?"
By the time Polly's welcome was uttered, she had got Fan on the
little sofa beside her, and was smiling at her in such an infectious
manner, that Fan could n't help smiling back.
"I came to see what you have been doing with yourself lately. You
don't come and report, and I got anxious about you," said Fanny,
looking into the clear eyes before her.
"I 've been so busy; and I knew you would n't care to hear about my
doings, for they are n't the sort you like," answered Polly.
"Your lessons did n't use to take up all your time. It 's my private
opinion that you are taking as well as giving lessons, miss," said
Fan, putting on a playfully stern air, to hide her real anxiety.
"Yes, I am," answered Polly, soberly.
"In what? Love?"
A quick color came to Polly's cheeks, as she laughed, and said,
looking away, "No; friendship and good works."
"Oh, indeed! May I ask who is your teacher?"
"I 've more than one; but Miss Mills is head teacher."
"She instructs in good works; who gives the friendship lessons?"
"Such pleasant girls! I wish you knew them, Fan. So clever, and
energetic, and kind, and happy, it always does me good to see
them," cried Polly, with a face full of enthusiasm.
"Is that all?" And Fan gave her a curious look of mingled
disappointment and relief.
"There, I told you my doings would not interest you, and they
don't; they sound flat and prosy after your brilliant adventures. Let
's change the subject," said Polly, looking relieved herself.
"Dear me, which of our sweethearts sends us dainty bouquets of
violets so early in the morning?" asked Fanny, suddenly spying the
purple cluster in a graceful little vase on the piano.
"He sends me one every week; he knows I love them so," and
Polly's eyes turned that way full of pride and pleasure.
"I 'd no idea he was so devoted," said Fanny, stooping to smell the
flowers, and at the same time read a card that lay near them.
"You need n't plague me about it, now you know it. I never speak
of our fondness for one another, because such things seem silly to
other people. Will is n't all that Jimmy was to me; but he tries to
be, and I love him dearly for it."
"Will?" Fanny's voice quite startled Polly, it was so sharp and
sudden, and her face grew red and pale all in a minute, as she
upset the little vase with the start she gave.
"Yes, of course; who did you think I meant?" asked Polly, sopping
up the water before it damaged her piano.
"Never mind; I thought you might be having a quiet little flirtation
with somebody. I feel responsible, you know, because I told your
mother I 'd look after you. The flowers are all right. My head aches
so, I hardly know what I 'm doing this morning."
Fanny spoke fast, and laughed uncomfortably, as she went back to
the sofa, wondering if Polly had told her a lie. Polly seemed to
guess at her thoughts as she saw the card, and turning toward her,
she held it up, saying, with a conscious look in her eyes, "You
thought Mr. Sydney sent them? Well, you are mistaken, and the
next time you want to know anything, please ask straight out. I like
it better than talking at cross purposes."
"Now, my dear, don't be angry; I was only teasing you in fun. Tom
took it into his foolish head that something was going on, and I felt
a natural interest, you know."
"Tom! What does he know or care about my affairs?" demanded
Polly.
"He met you two in the street pretty often, and being in a
sentimental mood himself, got up a romance for you and Sydney."
"I 'm much obliged to him for his interest, but it 's quite wasted,
thank you."
Fan's next proceeding gave her friend another surprise, for, being
rather ashamed of herself, very much relieved, and quite at a loss
what to say, she took refuge in an hysterical fit of tears, which
changed Polly's anger into tenderness at once.
"Is that the trouble she has been hiding all winter? Poor dear, I
wish I 'd known it sooner," thought Polly, as she tried to soothe her
with comfortable pats, sniffs of cologne and sympathizing remarks
upon the subject of headache, carefully ignoring that other
feminine affliction, the heartache.
"There, I feel better. I 've been needing a good cry for some time,
and now I shall be all right. Never mind it, Polly, I 'm nervous and
tired; I 've danced too much lately, and dyspepsia makes me blue;"
and Fanny wiped her eyes and laughed.
"Of course it does; you need rest and petting, and here I 've been
scolding you, when I ought to have been extra kind. Now tell me
what I can do for you," said Polly, with a remorseful face.
"Talk to me, and tell me all about yourself. You don't seem to have
as many worries as other people. What's the secret, Polly?" And
Fan looked up with wet eyes, and a wistful face at Polly, who was
putting little dabs of cologne all over her head.
"Well," said Polly, slowly, "I just try to look on the bright side of
things; that helps one amazingly. Why, you 've no idea how much
goodness and sunshine you can get out of the most unpromising
things, if you make the best of them."
"I don't know how," said Fan, despondently.
"You can learn; I did. I used to croak and fret dreadfully, and get
so unhappy, I was n't fit for anything. I do it still more than I ought,
but I try not to, and it gets easier, I find. Get a-top of your troubles,
and then they are half cured, Miss Mills says."
"Everything is so contrary and provoking," said Fanny, petulantly.
"Now what in the world have you to fret about?" asked Polly,
rather anxiously.
"Quantities of things," began Fan, and then stopped, for somehow
she felt ashamed to own that she was afflicted because she could
n't have a new set of furs, go to Paris in the spring, and make Mr.
Sydney love her. She hunted up something more presentable, and
said in a despairing tone, "Well, mother is very poorly, Tom and
Trix quarrel all the time, Maud gets more and more wilful every
day, and papa is worried about his affairs."
"A sad state of things, but nothing very desperate. Can't you lend a
hand anywhere? That might do good all round."
"No; I have n't the talent for managing people, but I see what ought
to be done."
"Well, don't wail about it; keep yourself happy, if you can; it will
help other people to see you cheerful."
"Just what Tom said,'Keep jolly'; but, dear me, how can one, when
everything is so stupid and tiresome?"
"If ever a girl needed work, it 's you!" cried Polly. "You began to
be a young lady so early, that you are tired of everything at
twenty-two. I wish you 'd go at something, then you 'd find how
much talent and energy you really had."
"I know ever so many girls who are just like me, sick to death of
fashionable life but don't know what to take in its place. I 'd like to
travel; but papa says he can't afford it, so I can only drag about and
get on as I may."
"I pity you rich girls so much, you have so many opportunities, and
don't seem to know how to use them! I suppose I should do just the
same in your place, but it seems now as if I could be very happy
and useful with plenty of money."
"You are that without it. There, I won't croak any more. Let us go
and take a good walk, and don't you tell any one how I came and
cried like a baby."
"Never!" said Polly, putting on her bonnet.
"I ought to go and make calls," said Fanny, "but I don't feel now as
if I ever wanted to see any of the girls again. Dreadful state of
mind, is n't it?"
"Suppose you come and see some of my friends instead! They are
not fine or ceremonious, but lively, odd, and pleasant. Come, it
will amuse you."
"I will," cried Fanny, whose spirits seemed improved by the
shower. "Nice little old lady, is n't she?" added Fan, as she caught
sight of Miss Mills, on their way out, sitting at a table piled with
work, and sewing away with an energy that made the gray curls
vibrate.
"Saint Mehitable, I call her. Now, there is a rich woman who knew
how to get happiness out of her money," said Polly, as they walked
away. "She was poor till she was nearly fifty; then a comfortable
fortune was left her, and she knew just how to use it. That house
was given her, but instead of living in it all alone, she filled it with
poor gentlefolks who needed neat, respectable homes, but could n't
get anything comfortable for their little money. I 'm one of them,
and I know the worth of what she does for me. Two old widow
ladies live below me, several students overhead, poor Mrs. Kean
and her lame boy have the back parlor, and Jenny the little
bedroom next Miss Mills. Each pays what they can; that 's
independent, and makes us feel better but that dear woman does a
thousand things that money can't pay for, and we feel her influence
all through the house. I 'd rather be married, and have a home of
my own; but next to that, I should like to be an old maid like Miss
Mills."
Polly's sober face and emphatic tone made Fanny laugh, and at the
cheery sound a young girl pushing a baby-carriage looked round
and smiled.
What lovely eyes!" whispered Fanny.
Yes, that 's little Jane," returned Polly, adding, when she had
passed, with a nod and a friendly "Don't get tired, Jenny," "we help
one another at our house, and every fine morning Jenny takes
Johnny Kean out when she goes for her own walk. That gives his
mother time to rest, does both the children good, and keeps things
neighborly. Miss Mills suggested it, and Jenny is so glad to do
anything for anybody, it 's a pleasure to let her."
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