An Old-Fashioned Girl (24 page)

As Polly paused, several keen eyes discovered that Emma’s cheeks were very red, and saw a smile lurking in the corners of
the mouth that tried to look demure, which told them who Polly meant.

“Do the Biddies all turn out saints in that well-regulated family?” asked the irrepressible Trix.

“No; few of us do that, even in the parlor; but every one of the Biddies is better for being there, whether they are grateful
or not. I ought not to have mentioned this, perhaps, but I wanted to show you one thing that we girls can do. We all complain
about bad servants, most as much as if we were housekeepers ourselves; but it never occurs to us to try and mend the matter,
by getting up a better spirit between mistress and maid. Then there’s another thing we can do,” added Polly, warming up. “Most
of us find money enough for our little vanities and pleasures, but feel dreadfully poor when we come to pay for work, sewing
especially. Couldn’t we give up a few of the vanities, and pay the seamstresses better?”

“I declare I will!” cried Belle, whose conscience suddenly woke, and smote her for beating down the woman who did her plain
sewing, in order that she might have an extra flounce on a new dress.

“Belle has got a virtuous fit; pity it won’t last a week,” said Trix.

“Wait and see,” retorted Belle, resolving that it should last, just to disappoint “that spiteful minx,” as she sweetly called
her old schoolmate.

“Now we shall behold Belle galloping away at a great pace, on her new hobby. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear of her preaching
in the jail, adopting a nice dirty little orphan, or passing round tracts at a Woman’s Rights meeting,” said Trix, who never
could forgive Belle for having a lovely complexion, and so much hair of her own that she never patronized either rats, mice,
waterfalls, switches, or puff-combs.

“Well, I might do worse; and I think, of the two, I’d rather amuse myself so, than as some young ladies do, who get into the
papers for their pranks,” returned Belle, with a moral air.

“Suppose we have a little recess, and rest while Polly plays to us. Will you, Polly? It will do us good; they all want to
hear you, and begged I’d ask.”

“Then I will, with pleasure”; and Polly went to the piano with such obliging readiness, that several reproachful glances fell
upon Trix, who didn’t need her glass to see them.

Polly was never too sad, perturbed, or lazy to sing, for it was almost as easy to her as breathing, and seemed the most natural
outlet for her emotions. For a minute her hands wandered over the keys, as if uncertain what to play; then, falling into a
sad, sweet strain, she sang “The Bridge of Sighs.” Polly didn’t know why she chose it, but the instinct seemed to have been
a true one, for, old as the song was, it went straight to the hearts of the hearers, and Polly sung it better than she ever
had before, for now the memory of little Jane lent it a tender pathos which no art could give. It did them all good, for music
is a beautiful magician, and few can resist its power. The girls were touched by the appeal; Polly was lifted out of herself,
and when she turned round, the softened look on all the faces told her that for the moment foolish differences and frivolous
beliefs were forgotten in the one womanly sentiment of pity for the wrongs and woes of which the listeners’ happy lives were
ignorant.

“That song always makes me cry, and feel as if I had no right to be so comfortable,” said Belle, openly wiping her eyes on
a crash towel.

“Fortunately such cases are very rare,” said another young lady, who seldom read the newspapers.

“I wish they were, but I’m afraid they are not: for only three weeks ago, I saw a girl younger than any of us, and no worse,
who tried to destroy herself, simply because she was so discouraged, sick, and poor,” said Polly.

“Do tell about her,” cried Belle, eagerly.

Feeling that the song had paved the way for the story, and given her courage to tell it, Polly did tell it, and must have
done it well, for the girls stopped work to listen, and when she ended, other eyes beside warmhearted Belle’s were wet. Trix
looked quite subdued; Miss Perkins thawed to such a degree, that something glittered on her hand as she bent over the pink
pinafore again, better and brighter than her biggest diamond; Emma got up and went to Polly with a face full of affectionate
respect, while Fanny, moved by a sudden impulse, caught up a costly Sèvres plate that stood on the
etagère,
and laying a five-dollar bill in it, passed it round, quoting Polly’s words —

“Girls, I know you’ll like to help poor little Jenny ‘begin again, and do better this time.’”

It was good to see how quickly the pretty purses were out, how generously each gave of its abundance, and what hearty applause
broke from the girls, as Belle laid down her gold thimble, saying with an April face —

“There, take that; I never have any money, somehow it won’t stay with me, but I can’t let the plate pass me this time.”

When Fanny brought the contributions to Polly, she just gathered it up in her two hands with such a glad, grateful face, the
girls wished they had had more to give.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said, with an eloquent little choke in her voice. “This will help Jenny very much; but the
way in which it was done will do her more good than double the money, because it will prove to her that she isn’t without
friends, and make her feel that there
is
a place in the world for her. Let her work for you in return for this; she don’t ask alms, she only wants employment and
a little kindness, and the best charity we can bestow is to see that she has both.”

“I’ll give her as much sewing as she wants, and she can stay at our house while she does it, if she needs a home,” said Trix,
in a spasm of benevolence.

“She doesn’t need a home, thank you; Miss Mills has given half of hers, and considers Jane her child,” answered Polly, with
proud satisfaction in the fact.

“What an old dear!” cried Belle.

“I want to know her. May I?” whispered Emma.

“Oh, yes; I’m glad to make her known to anyone. She is a quiet little old lady, but she does one heaps of good, and shows
you how to be charitable in the wisest way.”

“Do tell us about it. I’m sure I want to do my duty, but it’s such a muddle, I don’t know how,” said Belle.

Then, quite naturally, the conversation fell upon the great work that none should be too busy to think of, and which few are
too young or too poor to help on with their mite. The faces grew more earnest, the fingers flew faster, as the quick young
hearts and brains took in the new facts, ideas, and plans that grew out of the true stories, the sensible hints, the successful
efforts which Polly told them, fresh from the lips of Miss Mills; for, of late, Polly had talked much with the good lady,
and learned quickly the lessons her unselfish life conveyed. The girls found this more interesting than gossip, partly owing
to its novelty, doubtless; but the enthusiasm was sincere while it lasted, and did them good. Many of them forgot all about
it in a week, but Polly’s effort was not lost, for Emma, Belle, and Fanny remained firm friends to Jane, so kindly helping
her that the poor child felt as if she had indeed been born again, into a new and happy world.

Not till long afterward did Polly see how much good this little effort had done her, for the first small sacrifice of this
sort leads the way to others, and a single hand’s turn given heartily to the world’s great work helps one amazingly with one’s
own small tasks. Polly found this out as her life slowly grew easier and brighter, and the beautiful law of compensation gave
her better purposes and pleasures than any she had lost. The parents of some of her pupils were persons of real refinement,
and such are always quick to perceive the marks of culture in others, no matter where they find them. These, attracted first
by Polly’s cheerful face, modest manners, and faithful work, soon found in her something more than a good teacher; they found
a real talent for music, an eager desire for helpful opportunities, and a heart grateful for the kindly sympathy that makes
rough places smooth. Fortunately those who have the skill to detect these traits also possess the spirit to appreciate and
often the power to serve and develop them. In ways so delicate that the most sensitive pride could not resent the favor, these
true gentlefolk showed Polly their respect and regard, put many pleasures in her way, and when they paid her for her work,
gave her also the hearty thanks that takes away all sense of degradation even from the humblest service, for money so earned
and paid sweetens the daily bread it buys, and makes the mutual obligation a mutual benefit and pleasure.

A few such patrons did much for Polly, and the music she gave them had an undertone of gratitude that left blithe echoes in
those great houses, which money could not buy.

Then, as her butterfly acquaintances deserted her, she found her way into a hive of friendly bees, who welcomed her, and showed
her how to find the honey that keeps life sweet and wholesome. Through Miss Mills, who was the counsellor and comforter of
several, Polly came to know a little sisterhood of busy, happy, independent girls, who each had a purpose to execute, a talent
to develop, an ambition to achieve, and brought to the work patience and perseverance, hope and courage. Here Polly found
her place at once, for in this little world love and liberty prevailed; talent, energy, and character took the first rank;
money, fashion, and position were literally nowhere; for here, as in the big world outside, genius seemed to blossom best
when poverty was head gardener. Young teachers, doing much work for little pay; young artists, trying to pencil, paint, or
carve their way to Rome; young writers, burning to distinguish themselves; young singers, dreaming of triumphs, great as those
of Jenny Lind; and some who tried to conquer independence, armed only with a needle, like poor Jane. All these helped Polly
as unconsciously as she helped them, for purpose and principle are the best teachers we can have, and the want of them makes
half the women of America what they are, restless, aimless, frivolous, and sick.

To outsiders that was a very hardworking and uneventful winter to Polly. She thought so herself; but as spring came on, the
seed of new virtues, planted in the wintertime, and ripened by the sunshine of endeavor, began to bud in Polly’s nature, betraying
their presence to others by the added strength and sweetness of her character, long before she herself discovered these May
flowers that had blossomed for her underneath the snow.

“I’
m perfectly aching for some fun,” said Polly to herself, as she opened her window one morning, and the sunshine and frosty
air set her blood dancing, and her eyes sparkling with youth, health, and overflowing spirits. “I really must break out somewhere,
and have a good time; it’s quite impossible to keep steady any longer. Now what will I do?” Polly sprinkled crumbs to the
doves, who came daily to be fed; and while she watched the gleaming necks and rosy feet, she racked her brain to devise some
unusually delightful way of enjoying herself, for she really had bottled up her spirits so long, they were in a state of uncontrollable
effervescence.

“I’ll go to the opera,” she suddenly announced to the doves. “It’s expensive, I know, but it’s remarkably good, and music
is such a treat to me. Yes, I’ll get two tickets as cheap as I can, send a note to Will — poor lad, he needs fun as much as
I do — and we’ll go and have a nice time in some corner, as Charles Lamb and his sister used to.”

With that, Polly slammed down the window, to the dismay of her gentle little pensioners, and began to fly about with great
energy, singing and talking to herself, as if it was impossible to keep quiet. She started early to her first lesson, that
she might have time to buy the tickets, hoping, as she put a five-dollar bill into her purse, that they wouldn’t be very high,
for she felt that she was not in a mood to resist temptation. But she was spared any struggle, for when she reached the place,
the ticket office was blocked up by eager purchasers, and the disappointed faces that turned away told Polly there was no
hope for her.

“Well, I don’t care; I’ll go somewhere, for I will have my fun,” she said, with great determination, for disappointment only
seemed to whet her appetite. But the playbills showed her nothing inviting, and she was forced to go away to her work with
the money burning her pocket, and all manner of wild schemes floating in her head. At noon, instead of going home to dinner,
she went and took an ice, trying to feel very gay and festive all by herself. It was rather a failure, however; and after
a tour of the picture shops, she went to give Maud a lesson, feeling that it was very hard to quench her longings, and subside
into a prim little music teacher.

Fortunately she did not have to do violence to her feelings very long, for the first thing Fanny said to her was —

“Can you go?”

“Where?”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

“I didn’t go home to dinner.”

“Tom wants us to go to the opera tonight and —” Fan got no further, for Polly uttered a cry of rapture and clasped her hands.

“Go? Of course I will; I’ve been dying to go all day; tried to get tickets this morning and couldn’t; been fuming about it
ever since; and now — oh, how splendid!” and Polly could not restrain an ecstatic skip, for this burst of joy rather upset
her.

“Well, you come to tea, and we’ll dress together, and go all comfortable with Tom, who is in a heavenly frame of mind today.”

“I must run home and get my things,” said Polly, resolving on the spot to buy the nicest pair of gloves the city afforded.

“You shall have my white cloak, and any other little rigging you want. Tommy likes to have his ladies a credit to him, you
know,” said Fanny, departing to take a beauty sleep.

Polly instantly decided that she wouldn’t borrow Becky’s best bonnet, as she at first intended, but get a new one, for in
her present excited state, no extravagance seemed too prodigal in honor of this grand occasion. I am afraid that Maud’s lesson
was not as thorough as it should have been, for Polly’s head was such a chaos of bonnets, gloves, opera-cloaks and fans, that
Maud blundered through, murdering time and tune at her own sweet will. The instant it was over, Polly rushed away and bought
not only the kids, but a bonnet frame, a bit of illusion, and a pink crape rose, which had tempted her for weeks in a certain
shop window; then home and to work with all the skill and speed of a distracted milliner.