An Old-Fashioned Girl (28 page)

“Becky and Bess, how do you do? This is my friend, Fanny Shaw. We are out on a rampage; so go on with your work, and let us
lazy ones look on and admire.”

As Polly spoke, both girls looked up and nodded, smilingly; Bess gave Fan the one easy-chair; Becky took an artistic survey
of the newcomer, with eyes that seemed to see everything; then each went on with her work, and all began to talk.

“You are just what I want, Polly. Pull up your sleeve, and give me an arm while you sit; the muscles here aren’t right, and
you’ve got just what I want,” said Becky, slapping the round arm of the statue, at which Fan was gazing with awe.

“How do you get on?” asked Polly, throwing off her cloak, and rolling up her sleeves, as if going to washing.

“Slowly. The idea is working itself clear, and I follow as fast as my hands can. Is the face better, do you think?” said Becky,
taking off a wet cloth, and showing the head of the statue.

“How beautiful it is!” cried Fanny, staring at it with increased respect.

“What does it mean to you?” asked Rebecca, turning to her with a sudden shine in her keen eyes.

“I don’t know whether it is meant for a saint or a muse, a goddess or a fate; but to me it is only a beautiful woman, bigger,
lovelier, and more imposing than any woman I ever saw,” answered Fanny, slowly, trying to express the impression the statue
made upon her.

Rebecca smiled brightly, and Bess looked round to nod approvingly, but Polly clapped her hands, and said —

“Well done, Fan! I didn’t think you’d get the idea so well, but you have, and I’m proud of your insight. Now I’ll tell you,
for Becky will let me, since you have paid her the compliment of understanding her work. Some time ago we got into a famous
talk about what women should be, and Becky said she’d show us her idea of the coming woman. There she is, as you say, bigger,
lovelier, and more imposing than any we see nowadays; and at the same time, she is a true woman. See what a fine forehead,
yet the mouth is both firm and tender, as if it could say strong, wise things, as well as teach children and kiss babies.
We couldn’t decide what to put in the hands as the most appropriate symbol. What do you say?”

“Give her a sceptre; she would make a fine queen,” answered Fanny.

“No, we have had enough of that; women have been called queens a long time, but the kingdom given them isn’t worth ruling,”
answered Rebecca.

“I don’t think it is nowadays,” said Fanny, with a tired sort of sigh.

“Put a man’s hand in hers to help her along, then,” said Polly, whose happy fortune it had been to find friends and helpers
in father and brothers.

“No; my woman is to stand alone, and help herself,” said Rebecca, decidedly.

“She’s to be strong-minded, is she?” and Fanny’s lip curled a little as she uttered the misused words.

“Yes, strong-minded, strong-hearted, strong-souled, and strong-bodied; that is why I made her larger than the miserable, pinched-up
woman of our day. Strength and beauty must go together. Don’t you think these broad shoulders can bear burdens without breaking
down, these hands work well, these eyes see clearly, and these lips do something besides simper and gossip?”

Fanny was silent; but a voice from Bess’s corner said —

“Put a child in her arms, Becky.”

“Not that even, for she is to be something more than a nurse.”

“Give her a ballot box,” cried a new voice, and turning round, they saw an odd-looking woman perched on a sofa behind them.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Kate. I’ll put that with the other symbols at her feet; for I’m going to have needle, pen,
palette, and broom somewhere, to suggest the various talents she owns, and the ballot box will show that she has earned the
right to use them. How goes it?” and Rebecca offered a clay-daubed hand, which the newcomer cordially shook.

“Great news, girls! Anna is going to Italy!” cried Kate, tossing up her bonnet like a schoolboy.

“Oh, how splendid! Who takes her? Has she had a fortune left her? Tell all about it,” exclaimed the girls, gathering round
the speaker.

“Yes, it
is
splendid; just one of the beautiful things that does everybody heaps of good, it is so generous and so deserved. You know
Anna has been longing to go; working and hoping for a chance, and never getting it, till all of a sudden Miss Burton is inspired
to invite the girl to go with her for several years to Italy. Think of the luck of that dear soul, the advantages she’ll have,
the good it will do her, and, best of all, the lovely way in which it comes to her. Miss Burton wants her as a friend, asks
nothing of her but her company, and Anna will go through fire and water for her, of course. Now, isn’t that fine?”

It was good to see how heartily these girls sympathized in their comrade’s good fortune. Polly danced all over the room, Bess
and Becky hugged one another, and Kate laughed with her eyes full, while even Fanny felt a glow of pride and pleasure at the
kind act.

“Who is that?” she whispered to Polly, who had subsided into a corner.

“Why, it’s Kate King, the authoress. Bless me, how rude not to introduce you! Here, my King, is an admirer of yours, Fanny
Shaw, and my well-beloved friend,” cried Polly, presenting Fan, who regarded the shabby young woman with as much respect,
as if she had been arrayed in velvet and ermine; for Kate had written a successful book by accident, and happened to be the
fashion, just then.

“It’s time for lunch, girls, and I brought mine along with me, it’s so much jollier to eat in sisterhood. Let’s club together,
and have a revel,” said Kate, producing a bag of oranges, and several big, plummy buns.

“We’ve got sardines, crackers, and cheese,” said Bess, clearing off a table with all speed.

“Wait a bit, and I’ll add my share,” cried Polly, and catching up her cloak, she ran off to the grocery store nearby.

“You’ll be shocked at our performances, Miss Shaw, but you can call it a picnic, and never tell what dreadful things you saw
us do,” said Rebecca, polishing a paint knife by rubbing it up and down in a pot of ivy, while Kate spread forth the feast
in several odd plates, and a flat shell or two.

“Let us have coffee to finish off with; put on the pot, Bess, and skim the milk,” added Becky, as she produced cups, mugs,
and a queer little vase, to supply drinking vessels for the party.

“Here’s nuts, a pot of jam, and some cake. Fan likes sweet things, and we want to be elegant when we have company,” said Polly,
flying in again, and depositing her share on the table.

“Now, then, fall to, ladies, and help yourselves. Never mind if the china don’t hold out; take the sardines by their little
tails, and wipe your fingers on my brown-paper napkins,” said Kate, setting the example with such a relish, that the others
followed it in a gale of merriment.

Fanny had been to many elegant lunches, but never enjoyed one more than that droll picnic in the studio; for there was a freedom
about it that was charming, an artistic flavor to everything, and such a spirit of goodwill and gayety, that she felt at home
at once. As they ate, the others talked and she listened, finding it as interesting as any romance to hear these young women
discuss their plans, ambitions, successes, and defeats. It was a new world to her, and they seemed a different race of creatures
from the girls whose lives were spent in dress, gossip, pleasure, or
ennui
. They were girls still, full of spirits, fun, and youth; but below the lightheartedness each cherished a purpose, which seemed
to ennoble her womanhood, to give her a certain power, a sustaining satisfaction, a daily stimulus, that led her on to daily
effort, and in time to some success in circumstance or character, which was worth all the patience, hope, and labor of her
life.

Fanny was just then in the mood to feel the beauty of this, for the sincerest emotion she had ever known was beginning to
make her dissatisfied with herself, and the aimless life she led. “Men must respect such girls as these,” she thought; “yes,
and love them too, for in spite of their independence, they are womanly. I wish I had a talent to live for, if it would do
as much for me as it does for them. It is this sort of thing that is improving Polly, that makes her society interesting to
Sydney, and herself so dear to everyone. Money can’t buy these things for me, and I want them very much.”

As these thoughts were passing through her mind, Fanny was hearing all sorts of topics discussed with feminine enthusiasm
and frankness. Art, morals, politics, society, books, religion, housekeeping, dress, and economy, for the minds and tongues
roved from subject to subject with youthful rapidity, and seemed to get something from the dryest and the dullest.

“How does the new book come on?” asked Polly, sucking her orange in public with a composure which would have scandalized the
good ladies of “Cranford.”

“Better than it deserves. My children, beware of popularity; it is a delusion and a snare; it puffeth up the heart of man,
and especially of woman; it blindeth the eyes to faults; it exalteth unduly the humble powers of the victim; it is apt to
be capricious, and just as one gets to liking the taste of this intoxicating draught, it suddenly faileth, and one is left
gasping, like a fish out of water,” and Kate emphasized her speech by spearing a sardine with a penknife, and eating it with
a groan.

“It won’t hurt you much, I guess; you have worked and waited so long, a large dose will do you good,” said Rebecca, giving
her a generous spoonful of jam, as if eager to add as much sweetness as possible to a life that had not been an easy one.

“When are you and Becky going to dissolve partnership?” asked Polly, eager for news of all.

“Never! George knows he can’t have one without the other, and has not suggested such a thing as parting us. There is always
room in my house for Becky, and she lets me do as she would if she was in my place,” answered Bess, with a look which her
friend answered by a smile.

“The lover won’t separate this pair of friends, you see,” whispered Polly to Fan. “Bess is to be married in the spring, an
Becky is to live with her.”

“By the way, Polly, I’ve got some tickets for you. People are always sending me such things, and as I don’t care for them,
I’m glad to make them over to you young and giddy infants. There are passes for the statuary exhibition, Becky shall have
those; here are the concert tickets for you, my musical girl; and that is for a course of lectures on literature, which I’ll
keep for myself.”

As Kate dealt out the colored cards to the grateful girls, Fanny took a good look at her, wondering if the time would ever
come when women could earn a little money and success, without paying such a heavy price for them; for Kate looked sick, tired,
and too early old. Then her eye went to the unfinished statue, and she said, impulsively —

“I hope you’ll put that in marble, and show us what we ought to be.”

“I wish I could!” And an intense desire shone in Rebecca’s face, as she saw her faulty work, and felt how fair her model was.

For a minute, the five young women sat silent, looking up at the beautiful, strong figure before them, each longing to see
it done, and each unconscious that she was helping, by her individual effort and experience, to bring the day when their noblest
ideal of womanhood should be embodied in flesh and blood, not clay.

The city bells rung one, and Polly started up.

“I must go, for I promised a neighbor of mine a lesson at two.”

“I thought this was a holiday,” said Fanny.

“So it is, but this is a little labor of love, and doesn’t spoil the day at all. The child has talent, loves music, and needs
help. I can’t give her money, but I
can
teach her; so I do, and she is the most promising pupil I have. Help one another, is part of the religion of our sisterhood,
Fan.”

“I must put you in a story, Polly. I want a heroine, and you will do,” said Kate.

“Me! Why, there never was such a humdrum, unromantic thing as I am,” cried Polly, amazed.

“I’ve booked you, nevertheless, so in you go; but you may add as much romance as you like, it’s time you did.”

“I’m ready for it when it comes, but it can’t be forced, you know,” and Polly blushed and smiled as if some little spice of
that delightful thing
had
stolen into her life, for all its prosaic seeming.

Fanny was amused to see that the girls did not kiss at parting, but shook hands in a quiet, friendly fashion, looking at one
another with eyes that said more than the most “gushing” words.

“I like your friends very much, Polly. I was afraid I should find them mannish and rough, or sentimental and conceited. But
they are simple, sensible creatures, full of talent, and all sorts of fine things. I admire and respect them, and want to
go again, if I may.”

“Oh, Fan, I
am
so glad! I hoped you’d like them, I knew they’d do you good, and I’ll take you any time, for you stood the test better than
I expected. Becky asked me to bring you again, and she seldom does that for fashionable young ladies, let me tell you.”

“I want to be ever so much better, and I think you and they might show me how,” said Fanny, with a traitorous tremble in her
voice.

“We’ll show you the sunny side of poverty and work, and that is a useful lesson for anyone, Miss Mills says,” answered Polly,
hoping that Fan
would
learn how much the poor can teach the rich, and what helpful friends girls may be to one another.

O
n the evening of Fan’s visit, Polly sat down before her fire with a resolute and thoughtful aspect. She pulled her hair down,
turned her skirt back, put her feet on the fender, and took Puttel into her lap, all of which arrangements signified that
something very important had got to be thought over and settled. Polly did not soliloquize aloud, as heroines on the stage
and in books have a way of doing, but the conversation she held with herself was very much like this —