An Old-Fashioned Girl (14 page)

Nothing more was said; but from that day there slowly crept into the family more respect for grandma, more for-bearance with
her infirmities, more interest in her little stories, and many a pleasant gossip did the dear old lady enjoy with the children
as they gathered round her fire, solitary so long.

“O
h, dear! Must you really go home Saturday?” said Fan, some days after what Tom called the “grand scrimmage.”

“I really must; for I only came to stay a month, and here I’ve been nearly six weeks,” answered Polly, feeling as if she had
been absent a year.

“Make it two months, and stay over Christmas. Come, do, now,” urged Tom, heartily.

“You are very kind; but I wouldn’t miss Christmas at home for anything. Besides, mother says they can’t possibly do without
me.”

“Neither can we. Can’t you tease your mother, and make up your mind to stay?” began Fan.

“Polly never teases. She says it’s selfish; and I don’t do it now much,” put in Maud, with a virtuous air.

“Don’t you bother Polly. She’d rather go, and I don’t wonder. Let’s be just as jolly as we can while she stays, and finish
up with your party, Fan,” said Tom, in a tone that settled the matter.

Polly had expected to be very happy in getting ready for the party; but when the time came, she was disappointed; for somehow
that naughty thing called envy took possession of her, and spoiled her pleasure. Before she left home, she thought her new
white muslin dress, with its fresh blue ribbons, the most elegant and proper costume she could have; but now, when she saw
Fanny’s pink silk, with a white tarlatan tunic, and innumerable puffings, bows, and streamers, her own simple little toilet
lost all its charms in her eyes, and looked very babyish and old-fashioned.

Even Maud was much better dressed than herself, and looked very splendid in her cherry-colored and white suit, with a sash
so big she could hardly carry it, and little white boots with red buttons. They both had necklaces and bracelets, earrings
and brooches; but Polly had no ornament, except the plain locket on a bit of blue velvet. Her sash was only a wide ribbon,
tied in a simple bow, and nothing but a blue snood in the pretty curls. Her only comfort was the knowledge that the modest
tucker drawn up round the plump shoulders was real lace, and that her bronze boots cost nine dollars.

Poor Polly, with all her efforts to be contented, and not to mind looking unlike other people, found it hard work to keep
her face bright and her voice happy that night. No one dreamed what was going on under the muslin frock, till grandma’s wise
old eyes spied out the little shadow on Polly’s spirits, and guessed the cause of it. When dressed, the three girls went up
to show themselves to the elders, who were in grandma’s room, where Tom was being helped into an agonizingly stiff collar.

Maud pranced like a small peacock, and Fan made a splendid curtsy as everyone turned to survey them; but Polly stood still,
and her eyes went from face to face, with an anxious, wistful air, which seemed to say, “I know I’m not right; but I hope
I don’t look very bad.”

Grandma read the look in a minute; and when Fanny said, with a satisfied smile, “How do we look?” she answered, drawing Polly
toward her so kindly,

“Very like the fashion-plates you got the patterns of your dresses from. But this little costume suits me best.”

“Do you really think I look nice?” and Polly’s face brightened, for she valued the old lady’s opinion very much.

“Yes, my dear; you look just as I like to see a child of your age look. What particularly pleases me is that you have kept
your promise to your mother, and haven’t let anyone persuade you to wear borrowed finery. Young things like you don’t need
any ornaments but those you wear tonight — youth, health, intelligence, and modesty.”

As she spoke, grandma gave a tender kiss that made Polly glow like a rose, and for a minute she forgot that there were such
things as pink silk and coral earrings in the world. She only said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and heartily returned the kiss; but
the words did her good, and her plain dress looked charming all of a sudden.

“Polly’s so pretty, it don’t matter what she wears,” observed Tom, surveying her over his collar with an air of calm approval.

“She hasn’t got any bwetelles to her dwess, and I have,” said Maud, settling her ruffled bands over her shoulders, which looked
like cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.

“I did wish she’d just wear my blue set, ribbon is so very plain; but, as Tom says, it don’t much matter;” and Fanny gave
an effective touch to the blue bow above Polly’s left temple.

“She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls,” said Mrs. Shaw, privately thinking that her own daughters looked much
the best, yet conscious that blooming Polly had the most attractive face.

“Bless me! I forgot my posies in admiring the belles. Hand them out, Tom;” and Mr. Shaw nodded toward an interesting looking
box that stood on the table.

Seizing them wrong side up, Tom produced three little bouquets, all different in color, size, and construction.

“Why, papa! How very kind of you,” cried Fanny, who had not dared to receive even a geranium leaf since the late scrape.

“Your father used to be a very gallant young gentleman, once upon a time,” said Mrs. Shaw, with a simper.

“Ah, Tom, it’s a good sign when you find time to think of giving pleasure to your little girls!” And grandma patted her son’s
bald head as if he wasn’t more than eighteen.

Thomas Jr. had given a somewhat scornful sniff at first; but when grandma praised his father, the young man thought better
of the matter, and regarded the flowers with more respect, as he asked, “Which is for which?”

“Guess,” said Mr. Shaw, pleased that his unusual demonstration had produced such an effect.

The largest was a regular hothouse bouquet, of tea-rosebuds, scentless heath, and smilax; the second was just a handful of
sweet peas and mignonette, with a few cheerful pansies, and one fragrant little rose in the middle; the third, a small posy
of scarlet verbenas, white feverfew, and green leaves.

“Not hard to guess. The smart one for Fan, the sweet one for Polly, and the gay one for Pug. Now, then, catch hold, girls.”
And Tom proceeded to deliver the nosegays, with as much grace as could be expected from a youth in a new suit of clothes and
very tight boots.

“That finishes you off just right, and is a very pretty attention of papa’s. Now run down, for the bell has rung; and remember,
not to dance too often, Fan; be as quiet as you can, Tom; and, Maud, don’t eat too much supper. Grandma will attend to things,
for my poor nerves won’t allow me to come down.”

With that, Mrs. Shaw dismissed them, and the four descended to receive the first batch of visitors, several little girls who
had been asked for the express purpose of keeping Maud out of her sister’s way. Tom had likewise been propitiated, by being
allowed to bring his three bosom friends, who went by the schoolboy names of Rumple, Sherry, and Spider.

“They will do to make up sets, as gentlemen are scarce; and the party is for Polly, so I must have some young folks on her
account,” said Fanny, when sending out her invitations.

Of course, the boys came early, and stood about in corners, looking as if they had more arms and legs than they knew what
to do with. Tom did his best to be a good host; but ceremony oppressed his spirits, and he was forced to struggle manfully
with the wild desire to propose a game of leapfrog, for the long drawing rooms, cleared for dancing, tempted him sorely.

Polly sat where she was told, and suffered bashful agonies as Fan introduced very fine young ladies and very stiff young gentlemen,
who all said about the same civil things, and then appeared to forget all about her. When the first dance was called, Fanny
cornered Tom, who had been dodging her, for he knew what she wanted, and said, in an earnest whisper:

“Now, Tom, you must dance this with Polly. You are the young gentleman of the house, and it’s only proper that you should
ask your company first.”

“Polly don’t care for manners. I hate dancing; don’t know how. Let go my jacket, and don’t bother, or I’ll cut away altogether,”
growled Tom, daunted by the awful prospect of opening the ball with Polly.

“I’ll never forgive you if you do. Come, be clever, and help me, there’s a dear. You know we both were dreadfully rude to
Polly, and agreed that we’d be as kind and civil to her as ever we could. I shall keep my word, and see that she isn’t slighted
at my party, for I want her to love me, and go home feeling all right.”

This artful speech made an impression on the rebellious Thomas, who glanced at Polly’s happy face, remembered his promise,
and, with a groan, resolved to do his duty.

“Well, I’ll take her; but I shall come to grief, for I don’t know anything about your old dances.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve taught you the steps a dozen times. I’m going to begin with a redowa, because the girls like it, and it’s
better fun than square dances. Now, put on your gloves, and go and ask Polly like a gentleman.”

“Oh, thunder!” muttered Tom. And having split the detested gloves in dragging them on, he nerved himself for the effort, walked
up to Polly, made a stiff bow, stuck out his elbow, and said, solemnly, “May I have the pleasure, Miss Milton?”

He did it as much like the big fellows as he could, and expected that Polly would be impressed. But she wasn’t a bit; for
after a surprised look she laughed in his face, and took him by the hand, saying, heartily —

“Of course you may; but don’t be a goose, Tommy.”

“Well, Fan told me to be elegant, so I tried to,” whispered Tom, adding, as he clutched his partner with a somewhat desperate
air, “Hold on tight, and we’ll get through somehow.”

The music struck up, and away they went; Tom hopping one way and Polly the other, in a most ungraceful manner.

“Keep time to the music,” gasped Polly.

“Can’t; never could,” returned Tom.

“Keep step with me, then, and don’t tread on my toes,” pleaded Polly.

“Never mind; keep bobbing, and we’ll come right by and by,” muttered Tom, giving his unfortunate partner a sudden whisk, which
nearly landed both on the floor.

But they did not “get right by and by”; for Tom, in his frantic efforts to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He
tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture,
trod on her feet, rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed; but as everyone
else was flying about also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful
to him for the sacrifice.

“Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!” cried Polly, breathlessly, after a few wild turns.

“Isn’t it?” said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but
said, “Thank you,” and dropped into a chair exhausted.

“I know I’ve made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear you’d be offended if I didn’t go the first dance with
you,” said Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle
by which to turn and twist her; “I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won’t ever want to dance with me any more,” he added,
as he began to fan her so violently, that her hair flew about as if in a gale of wind.

“Yes, I will. I’d like to; and you shall put your name down here on the sticks of my fan. That’s the way, Trix says, when
you don’t have a ball-book.”

Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump of a lead-pencil, and wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it
back —

“Now I’m going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the redowa well, so you can have a real good go before the music
stops.”

Off went Tom; but before he could catch any eligible partner, Polly was provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney
had seen and heard the whole thing; and though he had laughed quietly, he liked honest Tom and good-natured Polly all the
better for their simplicity. Polly’s foot was keeping time to the lively music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully on the smoothly
gliding couples before her, when Mr. Sydney came to her, saying, in the pleasant, yet respectful way she liked so much —

“Miss Polly, can you give me a turn?”

“Oh, yes; I’m dying for another.” And Polly jumped up, with both hands out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved
she should have as many turns as she liked.

This time all went well; and Tom, returning from an unsuccessful search, was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully about
the room, guided by a most accomplished partner.

“Ah, that’s something like,” he thought, as he watched the bronze boots retreating and advancing in perfect time to the music.
“Don’t see how Sydney does the steering so well; but it must be fun; and, by Jupiter! I’ll learn it!” added Shaw, Jr., with
an emphatic gesture which burst the last button off his gloves.

Polly enjoyed herself till the music stopped; and before she had time to thank Mr. Sydney as warmly as she wished, Tom came
up to say, with his most lordly air —

“You dance splendidly, Polly. Now, you just show me anyone you like the looks of, and I’ll get him for you, no matter who
he is.”

“I don’t want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don’t care to dance with me; but I like those boys over there,
and I’ll dance with any of them if they are willing,” said Polly, after a survey.

“I’ll trot out the whole lot.” And Tom gladly brought up his friends, who all admired Polly immensely, and were proud to be
chosen instead of the “big fellows.”

There was no sitting still for Polly after that, for the lads kept her going at a great pace; and she was so happy, she never
saw or suspected how many little manoeuvres, heart-burnings, displays of vanity, affectation, and nonsense were going on all
round her. She loved dancing, and entered into the gayety of the scene with a heartiness that was pleasant to see. Her eyes
shone, her face glowed, her lips smiled, and the brown curls waved in the air, as she danced, with a heart as light as her
feet.