Books: An Old fashioned Girl
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Louisa May Alcott >> An Old fashioned Girl
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The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride
and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and
she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first
till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to
emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and
comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her.
Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon
became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on
the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs.
Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large
scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most
satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession
of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered
closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she
felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting
furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest
little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of
her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's
daughter, in spite of her city breeding.
Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful,
and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble.
The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny
who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to
Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable
domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of
the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do
enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling
and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks
were her especial duty. In the moving nothing suited her better
than to trot up and down, lugging heavy things, to pound her
fingers black and blue nailing carpets and curtains, and the day she
nearly broke her neck tumbling down the cellar stairs, in her
eagerness to see that Mrs. Shaw's wine was rightly stored, she felt
that she was only paying her debts, and told Tom she liked it,
when he picked her up looking as grimy as a chimney-sweep.
"You can turn your hand to anything, you clever girl, so do come
and give me some advice, for I am in the depths of despair," said
Fanny when the "maid-of-all-work" as Polly called herself, found a
leisure hour.
"What is it? Moths in the furs, a smoky chimney, or small-pox next
door?" asked Polly, as they entered Fan's room, where Maud was
trying on old bonnets before the looking-glass.
"Actually I have nothing to wear," began Fan impressively; "I 've
been too busy to think or care till now, but here it is nearly May
and I have hardly a decent rag to my back. Usually, you know, I
just go to Mrs. O'Grady and tell her what I want; she makes my
spring wardrobe, Papa pays the bill, and there I am. Now I 've
looked into the matter, and I declare to you, Polly, I 'm frightened
to see how much it costs to dress me."
"Not so much as some girls I know," said Polly encouragingly.
"Perhaps not, for I have a conscience, and taste is economy
sometimes; but really, Polly, I have n't the heart to ask Papa for a
cent just now, and yet I must have clothes. You are such a genius
for planning and working wonders, that I throw myself upon you
and ask, 'How shall I make a spring wardrobe out of nothing?' "
"Let me see the 'nothing' before I advise. Bring out every rag you
've got, and we 'll see what can be done," said Polly, looking as if
she enjoyed the prospect, for she had a great deal of that feminine
faculty which we call "knack," and much practice had increased it.
Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many
she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still
Maud, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here 's
another."
"There 's a discouraging heap of rubbish for you!" said Fan, as she
added a faded muslin to the last pile.
"Now, to me your 'rubbish' looks very encouraging, because there
is good material there, and not much worn-out finery, that 's my
detestation, for you can't do anything with it. Let me see, five
bonnets. Put the winter ones away till autumn, rip up the summer
ones, and out of three old ones we 'll get a pretty new one, if my
eyes don't deceive me."
"I 'll rip, and then do let me see you make a bonnet, it must be so
interesting," said Maud, whipping out her scissors and eagerly
beginning to reduce a shabby little bonnet to its original elements.
"Now the dresses," continued Polly, who had rapidly sorted out the
piles.
"Will you have the goodness to look at this?" said Fan, holding up
a gray street suit faded past cure.
Polly whisked it wrong side out, and showing the clean, bright
fabric, said, with a triumphant wave, "Behold your new suit; fresh
trimming and less of it will finish you off as smart as ever."
"I never wore a turned dress in my life; do you suppose people will
know it?" said Fan doubtfully.
"What if they do? It won't hurt you. Not one in a hundred will ever
think anything about your dress, except that it is pretty. I 've worn
turned and dyed gowns all my days, and it don't seem to have
alienated my friends, or injured my constitution."
"That it has n't; I 'm a goose, Polly, and I 'll get over the feeling that
it 's sort of disgraceful to be poor and have to economize. We 'll
turn the gray, and I 'll wear it bravely."
"Then it will be more becoming than ever. Oh, here 's the pretty
violet silk. That will make a lovely suit," cried Polly, going on
with the review.
"Don't see how two draggled skirts and a stained waist can be
transformed into a whole rig," said Fan, sitting on the bed, with her
garments strewn about her in various attitudes of limp
despondency.
"Well, ma'am, my plan is this," began Polly, imitating Mrs.
O'Grady's important tone, and bad grammar: "Gores is out, and
plaits is in; therefore, as the top of this skirt is quite fresh, we will
take off the ruffles, turn it upside down, and leave it plain. The
upper skirt will be made scanter, and finished with a frill; then the
waist can be refreshed with the best parts of these wide flounces,
and out of those new bits we will concoct a hat. The black lace
Maud has just taken off the green one will do to edge the violet,
and with your nice silk mantilla you are complete, don't you see?"
"I don't quite see it yet, but I have firm faith that I shall in time,
and consider my calling costume finished," said Fanny, getting
more and more interested as she saw her condemned wardrobe
coming out fresh again under Polly's magic knack.
"There are two; then that piqu, is all right, if you cut the tail off
the jacket and change the trimming a bit. The muslins only need
mending and doing up to look as well as ever; you ought not to put
them away torn and soiled, my child. The two black silks will be
good stand-bys for years. If I were you, I 'd have a couple of neat,
pretty prints for home-wear, and then I don't see why you are n't
fixed well enough for our short season."
"Can't I do anything with this barege? It 's one of my favorite
dresses, and I hate to give it up."
"You wore that thoroughly out, and it 's only fit for the rag-bag.
Yes, it was very pretty and becoming, I remember, but its day is
over."
Fanny let the dress lie in her lap a minute as she absently picked at
the fringe, smiling to herself over the happy time when she wore it
last and Sydney said she only needed cowslips in her lap to look
like spring. Presently she folded it up and put it away with a sigh,
but it never went into the rag-bag, and my sentimental readers can
understand what saved it.
"The ball dresses had better be put nicely away till next year,"
began Polly, coming to a rainbow colored heap.
"My day is over, I shall never use them again. Do what you like
with them," said Fan calmly.
"Did you ever sell your cast-off finery, as many ladies do?" asked
Polly.
"Never; I don't like the fashion. I give it away, or let Maud have it
for tableaux."
"I wonder if you would mind my telling you something Belle
proposed?"
"If it 's an offer to buy my clothes, I should mind," answered
Fanny, sharply.
"Then I won't," and Polly retired behind a cloud of arsenic-green
gauze, which made her look as if she had the cholera.
"If she wanted to buy that horrid new 'gooseberry-colored gown,' as
Tom calls it, I 'd let her have it cheap," put in Maud, who was of a
practical turn.
"Does she want it, Polly?" asked Fan, whose curiosity got the
better of her pride.
"Well, she merely asked me if I thought you 'd be mortally
offended, if she offered to take it off your hands, as you 'd never
worn it. You don't like it, and in another season it will be all out of
fashion," said Polly from her verdant retreat.
"What did you say?"
"I saw she meant it kindly, so I said I 'd ask. Now between
ourselves, Fan, the price of that dress would give you all you 'll
want for your spring fixings, that 's one consideration; then here 's
another, which may have some weight with you," added Polly
slyly. "Trix told Belle she was going to ask you for the dress, as
you would n't care to wear it now. That made Belle fire up, and say
it was a mean thing to do without offering some return for a costly
thing like that; and then Belle said, in her blunt way, 'I 'll give Fan
all she paid for it, and more, too, if it will be any help to her. I
don't care for the dress, but I 'd like to slip a little money into her
pocket, for I know she needs it and is too good to ask dear Mr.
Shaw for anything she can get on without.' "
"Did she say that? I 'll give her the dress, and not take a penny for
it," cried Fan, flushing up with mingled anger toward Trix and
gratitude to Belle.
"That won't suit her; you let me manage it, and don't feel any
shame or anxiety about it. You did many a kind and generous thing
for Belle when you had the power, and you liked to do it; now let
her pay her debts, and have the same pleasure."
"If she looks at it in that way, it makes a difference. Perhaps I 'd
better the money would be an immense help only I don't quite like
to take it."
"Kings and queens sell their jewels when times are hard or they get
turned off their thrones, and no one thinks it anything amiss, so
why need you? It 's just a little transaction between two friends
who exchange things they don't want for things which they do, and
I 'd do it if I were you."
"We 'll see about it," said Fan, privately resolving to take Polly's
advice.
"If I had lots of things like Fan, I 'd have an auction and get all I
could for them. Why don't you?" asked Maud, beginning on her
third bonnet.
"We will," said Polly, and mounting a chair, she put up, bid in, and
knocked down Fan's entire wardrobe to an imaginary group of
friends, with such droll imitations of each one that the room rang
with laughter.
"That 's enough nonsense; now we 'll return to business," said
Polly, descending breathless but satisfied with the effect of her
fun.
"These white muslins and pretty silks will keep for years, so I
should lay them by till they are needed. It will save buying, and
you can go to your stock any time and make over what you want.
That 's the way Mother does; we 've always had things sent us from
richer friends, and whatever was n't proper for us to wear at the
time, Mother put away to be used when we needed it. Such funny
bundles as we used to have sometimes, odd shoes, bonnets without
crowns, stockings without heels or toes, and old finery of all sorts.
We used to rush when a bundle came, and sit round while Mother
opened it. The boys always made fun of the things, though they
were as grateful, really, as any of us. Will made a verse one day
which we thought pretty well for a little chap: 'To poor country
folks Who have n't any clothes, Rich folks, to relieve them, Send
old lace gowns and satin bows.'"
"I think that Will is going to be as nice a poet as Mr. Shakespeare,"
remarked Maud in a tone of serious conviction.
"He is already a Milton; but I don't believe he will ever be anything
but a poet in name," said Polly, working away while she talked.
"Did n't your mother ever let you wear the nice things that came?"
asked Maud.
"No, she thought it was n't the thing for a poor minister's girls to go
flourishing about in second-hand finery, so she did what I 'm doing
now, put away what would be useful and proper for us by and by,
and let us play with the shabby, silk bonnets and dirty, flounced
gowns. Such fun as we used to have up in our big garret! I
remember one day we 'd been playing have a ball, and were all
rigged up, even the boys. Some new neighbors came to call, and
expressed a wish to see us, having been told that we were pattern
children. Mother called us, but we had paraded out into the garden,
after our ball, and were having a concert, as we sat about on the
cabbages for green satin seats, so we did n't hear the call, and just
as the company was going, a great noise arrested them on the
doorstep, and round the corner of the house rattled Ned in full
costume, wheeling Kitty in a barrow, while Jimmy, Will, and I ran
screaming after, looking like Bedlamites; for we were playing that
Lady Fitz Perkins had fainted, and was being borne home senseless
in a cab. I thought mother would kill herself with laughing; and
you can imagine what a fine impression the strangers received of
the model children."
Maud was so tickled with this youthful prank that she unguardedly
sat down to laugh on the edge of an open trunk, immediately
doubled up, fell in, and was with difficulty extricated.
"People in the country have great deal nicer times than we do. I
never rode in a wheelbarrow, I never sat on cabbages, and I don't
think it 's fair," she said with an injured expression. "You need n't
save any old silk gowns for me; I don't mean to be a fine lady
when I grow up, I 'm going to be a farmer's wife, and make butter
and cheese, and have ten children, and raise pigs," she added in
one enthusiastic burst.
"I do believe she will if she can find a farmer anywhere," said
Fanny.
"Oh, I 'm going to have Will; I asked him and he said, 'All right.'
He 's going to preach Sundays, and work on the farm the rest of the
time. Well, he is, so you need n't laugh, for we 've made all our
plans," said Maud with comical dignity as she tried the effect of an
old white bonnet, wondering if farmers' wives could wear ostrich
feathers when they went to meeting.
"Blessed innocence! Don't you wish you were a child, and dared
tell what you want?" murmured Fanny.
"I wish I had seen Will's face when Maud proposed," answered
Polly, with a nod which answered her friend's speech better than
her words.
"Any news of anybody?" whispered Fan, affecting to examine a
sleeve with care.
"Still at the South; don't think late events have been reported yet;
that accounts for absence," answered Polly.
"I think Sir Philip was hit harder than was supposed," said Fan.
"I doubt it, but time cures wounds of that sort amazing quick."
"Wish it did!"
"Who is Sir Philip?" demanded Maud, pricking up her ears.
"A famous man who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth,"
answered Fan, with a look at Polly.
"Oh!" And Maud seemed satisfied, but the sharp child had her
suspicions nevertheless.
"There will be an immense deal of work in all this fixing over and
I hate to sew," said Fanny, to divert a certain person's thoughts.
"Jenny and I are going to help. We are your debtors, as well as
Belle, and demand the privilege of paying up. Blessings, like
curses, come home to roost, Fan."
"Mine come home a good deal bigger than they went," answered
Fanny, looking pleased that little favors should be so faithfully
remembered.
"The interest on that sort of investment rolls up beautifully, you
know. Now rip that dress for Jenny to put in order, and I 'll toss
you up a bonnet in less than no time," said Polly, determined to
have things go smoothly, for she knew Fan's feelings had been a
good deal tried lately, in many ways.
"I must have something to match my dress, and blue inside," said
Fanny, bringing out her ribbon boxes.
"Anything you like, my dear; when it comes to bonnets, I am
usually inspired. I have it! There we are! And nothing could be
nicer," cried Polly, making a dive among the silks Fan was turning
over with a lost expression. "This bit of silver-gray is all I ask, here
's enough for a killing bonnet, and those forget-me-nots are both
pretty and appropriate."
"You wretch, be still!" cried Fanny, as Polly looked up at her with
a wicked laugh in her eyes.
"It will be done in time, and the dress likewise, so look your
prettiest, and accept my blessing," continued Polly, seeing that Fan
liked her raillery.
"Time for what?" asked Paulina Pry.
"Your wedding, dear," sweetly answered Fan, for Polly's pleasant
hints and predictions put her in a charming humor, and even made
old clothes of little consequence.
Maud gave an incredulous sniff, and wondered why "big girls need
to be so dreadful mysterious about their old secrets."
"This silk reminds me of Kitty's performance last summer. A little
checked silk was sent in our spring bundle from Mrs. Davenport,
and Mother said Kit might have it if she could make it do. So I
washed it nicely, and we fussed and planned, but it came short by
half of one sleeve. I gave it up, but Kit went to work and matched
every scrap that was left so neatly that she got out the half sleeve,
put it on the under side, and no one was the wiser. How many
pieces do you think she put in, Maud?"
"Fifty," was the wise reply.
"No, only ten, but that was pretty well for a fourteen-year-old
dressmaker. You ought to have seen the little witch laugh in her
sleeve when any one admired the dress, for she wore it all summer
and looked as pretty as a pink in it. Such things are great fun when
you get used to them; besides, contriving sharpens your wits, and
makes you feel as if you had more hands than most people."
"I think we 'll get a farm near your house; I should like to know
Kitty," said Maud, feeling a curious interest in a girl who made
such peculiar patchwork.
"The dress-parade is over, and I 'm ever so much obliged to you,
Polly, for helping me through, and showing me how to make the
best of things. I hope in time to have as many hands as you," said
Fan gratefully, when the simple bonnet was done and everything
planned out ready to be finished.
"I hope you will soon have two good, strong ones beside your own,
my dear," answered Polly, as she vanished, with a parting twinkle
that kept Fan's face bright all day.
CHAPTER XVII 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 did
n'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 dye, 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 a 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
waited 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 at 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 he
won't forget to order my sweetbread," 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 careworn 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
about repairing the omission as soon as he discovered it.
"I 'll see to your sweetbread, mum. Good-by, back to dinner," and
with a hasty kiss, Tom was off.
He did n'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, is n'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, "Thanky, 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
feared 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 need n'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 was n't for mother; anything, anywhere to get out of
the way of people who know me. I never can right myself here,
with all the fellows watching, and laying wagers whether I sink or
swim. Hang Greek and Latin! wish I 'd learned a trade, and had
something to fall back upon. Have n't a blessed thing now, but
decent French and my fists. Wonder if old Bell don't want a clerk
for the Paris branch of the business? That would n't be bad; faith, I
'll try it."
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