An Old-Fashioned Girl (22 page)

“Do you remember the first visit I made at your house, how you gave me peanuts, coming from the depot, and frightened me out
of my wits, pretending the coachman was tipsy?” asked Polly.

“Of course I do, and how we coasted one day,” answered Tom, laughing.

“Yes, and the velocipede; you’ve got the scar of that yet, I see.”

“I remember how you stood by me while it was sewed up; that was very plucky, Polly.”

“I was dreadfully afraid, but I remember I wanted to seem very brave, because you’d called me a coward.”

“Did I? Ought to have been ashamed of myself. I used to rough you shamefully, Polly, and you were so good-natured, you let
me do it.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” laughed Polly. “I did use to think you were an awful boy, but seems to me I rather liked it.”

“She had so much of it at home, she got used to it,” put in Will, pulling the little curl behind Polly’s ear.

“You boys never teased me as Tom did, that’s the reason it amused me, I suppose; novelty hath charms, you know.”

“Grandma used to lecture Tom for plaguing you, Polly, and he used to say he’d be a tip-top boy, but he wasn’t,” observed Maud,
with a venerable air.

“Dear old grandma; she did her best, but I’m a bad lot,” said Tom, with a shake of the head and a sober face.

“It always seems as if she must be up in her rooms, and I can’t get used to finding them empty,” added Polly, softly.

“Father wouldn’t have anything moved, and Tom sits up there sometimes; it makes him feel good, he says,” said Maud, who had
a talent for betraying trifles which people preferred should not be mentioned in public.

“You’d better hurry up your apple, for if it isn’t done pretty soon, you’ll have to leave it, Pug,” said Tom, looking annoyed.

“How is Fan?” asked Polly, with tact.

“Well, Fan is rather under the weather; says she’s dyspeptic, which means cross.”

“She is cross, but she’s sick too, for I found her crying one day, and she said nobody cared about her, and she might as well
be dead,” added Maud, having turned her apple with tender care.

“We must try to cheer her up, among us. If I wasn’t so busy I’d like to devote myself to her, she has done so much for me,”
said Polly, gratefully.

“I wish you could. I can’t understand her, for she acts like a weathercock, and I never know how I’m going to find her. I
hate to have her mope so, but, upon my life, I don’t know what to do,” said Tom; but as he uttered the words, something was
suggested by the sight before him. Chairs were few, and Polly had taken half of Will’s when they drew round the fire. Now
she was leaning against him, in a cosy, confiding way, delightful to behold, while Will’s strong arm went round her with a
protecting air, which said, as plainly as any words, that this big brother and small sister knew how to love and help one
another. It was a pleasant little picture, all the pleasanter for its unconsciousness, and Tom found it both suggestive and
agreeable.

“Poor old Fan, she don’t get much petting; maybe that’s what she wants. I’ll try it and see, for she stands by me like a trump.
If she was a rosy, cosy little woman, like Polly, it would come easier, though,” thought Tom, as he meditatively ate his last
nut, feeling that fraternal affection could not be very difficult of demonstration, to brothers blessed with pretty, good-tempered
sisters.

“I told Tom about the bad fellow who blew up the professor, and he said he knew him, slightly; and I was
so
relieved, because I had a kind of a feeling that it was Tom himself, you and Will laughed so about it.”

Maud had a queer way of going on with her own thoughts, and suddenly coming out with whatever lay uppermost, regardless of
time, place, or company. As this remark fell from her, there was a general smile, and Polly said, with mock solemnity —

“It was a sad thing, and I’ve no doubt that misguided young man is very sorry for it now.”

“He looked perfectly bowed down with remorse last time I saw him,” said Will, regarding Tom with eyes full of fun, for Will
was a boy as well as a bookworm, and relished a joke as well as scatterbrained Tom.

“He always is remorseful after a scrape, I’ve understood, for he isn’t a very bad fellow, only his spirits are one too many
for him, and he isn’t as fond of his book as another fellow I know.”

“I’m afraid he’ll be expelled if he don’t mind,” said Polly, warningly.

“Shouldn’t wonder if he was, he’s such an unlucky dog,” answered Tom, rather soberly.

“I hope he’ll remember that his friends will be very much disappointed if he is. He might make them so proud and happy; that
I guess he will, for he isn’t half as thoughtless as he makes himself out,” said Polly, looking across at Tom with such friendly
eyes that he was quite touched, though of course he didn’t show it.

“Thank you, Polly; he may pull through, but I have my doubts. Now, old man, let us ‘pud’ along; it’s getting late for the
chicken,” he added, relapsing into the graceful diction with which a classical education gifts its fortunate possessor.

Taking advantage of the moment while Will was wrestling with his boots in the closet, and Maud was absorbed in packing her
apple into a large basket, Polly said to Tom in a low tone —

“Thank you very much, for being so kind to Will.”

“Bless your heart, I haven’t done anything; he’s such a proud fellow he won’t let me,” answered Tom.

“But you do in many little ways; tonight, for example. Do you think I don’t know that the suit of clothes he’s just got would
have cost a good deal more, if your tailor hadn’t made them? He’s only a boy, and don’t understand things yet; but I know
your way of helping proud people, so that they don’t find it out, and I do thank you, Tom, so much.”

“Oh, come, Polly, that won’t do. What do you know about tailors and college matters?” said Tom, looking as much confused as
if she had found him out in something reprehensible.

“I don’t know much, and that’s the reason why I’m grateful for your kindness to Will. I don’t care what stories they tell
about you, I’m sure you won’t lead
him
into trouble, but keep him straight, for my sake. You know I’ve lost one brother, and Will takes Jimmy’s place to me now.”

The tears in Polly’s eyes as she said that, made Tom vow a tremendous vow within himself to stand by Will through thick and
thin, and “keep him straight for Polly’s sake”; feeling all the time how ill-fitted he was for such a task.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, heartily, as he pressed the hand Polly gave him, with a look which assured her that he felt the
appeal to his honor, and that henceforth the country lad was safe from all the temptations Tom could have offered him.

“There! Now I shall give that to mamma to take her pills in; it’s just what she likes, and it pleases her to be thought of,”
said Maud, surveying her gift with complacency, as she put on her things.

“You’re a good little soul, to remember poor mum,” said Tom, with an approving nod.

“Well, she was so pleased with the grapes you brought her, I thought I’d try something, and maybe she’d say ‘Thank you, darling,’
to me too. Do you think she will?” whispered Maud, with the wistful look so often seen on her little plain face.

“See if she don’t;” and to Maud’s great surprise Tom didn’t laugh at her project.

“Good night, dear; take care of yourself, and keep your muffler round your mouth going over the bridge, or you’ll be as hoarse
as a crow tomorrow,” said Polly, as she kissed her brother, who returned it without looking as if he thought it “girl’s nonsense.”
Then the three piled into the sleigh and drove off, leaving Polly nodding on the doorstep.

Maud found the drive altogether too short, but was consoled by the promise of a longer one if the sleighing lasted till next
Saturday; and when Tom ran up to bid his mother good-by, and give her a hint about Maud’s gift, she stayed below to say, at
the last minute, in unconscious imitation of Polly —

“Good night; take care of yourself, my dear.”

Tom laughed, and was about to pinch the much-enduring little nose; but, as if the words reminded him of something, he gave
her a kiss instead, a piece of forbearance which almost took Maud’s breath away with surprise and gratification.

It was rather a silent drive, for Will obediently kept his muffler up, and Tom fell into a brown study.

He was not much given to reflection, but occasionally indulged when something gave him a turn in that direction, and at such
times he was as sober and sincere as could be desired. Anyone might have lectured him for an hour without doing as much good
as that little call and the chat that grew out of it, for, though nothing very wise or witty was said, many things were suggested,
and everyone knows that persuasive influences are better than any amount of moralizing. Neither Polly nor Will
tried
to do anything of the sort, and that was the charm of it. Nobody likes to be talked to, but nobody can resist the eloquence
of unconscious preaching. With all his thoughtlessness, Tom was quick to see and feel these things, and was not spoilt enough
yet to laugh at them. The sight of Will and Polly’s simple affection for one another reminded him of a neglected duty so pleasantly,
that he could not forget it. Talking of early days made him wish he could go back and start again, doing better. Grandma’s
name recalled the tender memory that always did him good, and the thought that Polly trusted her dearest brother to his care
stirred up a manful desire to deserve the confidence. Tortures wouldn’t have drawn a word of all this from him, but it had
its effect, for boys don’t leave their hearts and consciences behind them when they enter college, and little things of this
sort do much to keep both from being damaged by the four years’ scrimmage which begins the battle of life for most of them.

D
EAR
P
OLLY
— The Sewing Circle meets at our house this P.M. This is in your line, so do come and help me through. I shall depend on
you.

Yours ever,
F
AN
.

“Bad news, my dear?” asked Miss Mills, who had just handed the note to Polly as she came in one noon, a few weeks after Jenny’s
arrival.

Polly told her what it was, adding, “I suppose I ought to go and help Fanny, but I can’t say I want to. The girls talk about
things I have nothing to do with, and I don’t find their gossip very amusing. I’m an outsider, and they only accept me on
Fan’s account; so I sit in a corner and sew, while they chatter and laugh.”

“Wouldn’t it be a good chance to say a word for Jenny? She wants work, and these young ladies probably have quantities done
somewhere. Jenny does fine work exquisitely, and begins to feel anxious to be earning something. I don’t want her to feel
dependent and unhappy, and a little well-paid sewing would be all she needs to do nicely. I can get it for her by running
round to my friends, but I really haven’t the time, till I get the Mullers off. They are paupers here, but out West they can
take care of themselves, so I’ve begged the money to send them, and as soon as I can get them some clothes, off they go. That’s
the way to help people help themselves,” and Miss Mills clashed her big scissors energetically, as she cut out a little red
flannel shirt.

“I know it is, and I want to help, but I don’t know where to begin,” said Polly, feeling quite oppressed with the immensity
of the work.

“We can’t any of us do
all
we would like, but we can do our best for every case that comes to us, and that helps amazingly. Begin with Jenny, my dear;
tell those girls about her, and if I’m not much mistaken, you will find them ready to help, for half the time it isn’t hardness
of heart, but ignorance or thoughtlessness on the part of the rich, that makes them seem so careless of the poor.”

“To tell the truth, I’m afraid of being laughed at, if I try to talk seriously about such things to the girls,” said Polly,
frankly.

“You believe that ‘such things’
are
true? You are sincere in your wish to help better them, and you respect those who work for that end?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, my dear, can’t you bear a little ridicule for the sake of a good cause? You said yesterday that you were going to make
it a principle of your life, to help up your sex as far and as fast as you could. It did my heart good to hear you say it,
for I was sure that in time you would keep your word. But, Polly, a principle that can’t bear being laughed at, frowned on,
and cold-shouldered, isn’t worthy of the name.”

“I want to
be
strong-minded in the real sense of the word, but I don’t like to be called so by people who don’t understand my meaning;
and I shall be if I try to make the girls think soberly about anything sensible or philanthropic. They call me old-fashioned
now, and I’d rather be thought that, though it isn’t pleasant, than be set down as a rampant woman’s rights reformer,” said
Polly, in whose memory many laughs, and snubs, and sarcasms still lingered, forgiven but not forgotten.

“This love and thought and care for those weaker, poorer, or worse than ourselves, which we call Christian charity, is a very
old fashion, my dear. It began eighteen hundred years ago, and only those who honestly follow the beautiful example set us
then, learn how to get genuine happiness out of life.
I’m
not a ‘rampant woman’s rights reformer,’” added Miss Mills, with a smile at Polly’s sober face; “but I think that women can
do a great deal for each other, if they will only stop fearing what ‘people will think,’ and take a hearty interest in whatever
is going to fit their sisters and themselves to deserve and enjoy the rights God gave them. There are so many ways in which
this can be done, that I wonder they don’t see and improve them. I don’t ask you to go and make speeches, only a few have
the gift for that, but I do want every girl and woman to feel this duty, and make any little sacrifice of time or feeling
that may be asked of them, because there is so much to do, and no one can do it as well as ourselves, if we only think so.”