An Old-Fashioned Girl (18 page)

“What a capital housekeeper 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 wouldn’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 someone would invent a new amusement for rich people. I’m dead sick of parties,
and flirtations, trying to outdress 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.”

T
he 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 everyone worked, and everyone 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 wasn’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 wouldn’t behave itself till she had used up a ruinous quantity of kindlings. Then she scalded poor Puttel by
upsetting her coffeepot; 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 hadn’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 cheeks, 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 someone had slapped her in the face. “She wouldn’t have believed it of Tom; it was all the
doings of that horrid Trix; well, she wouldn’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 couldn’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 isn’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 upstairs 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!”

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 tonight;
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.