An Old-Fashioned Girl (5 page)

Tom soon got over staring at Polly, and at first did not take much notice of her, for, in his opinion, “girls didn’t amount
to much, anyway”; and, considering the style of girl he knew most about, Polly quite agreed with him. He occasionally refreshed
himself by teasing her, to see how she’d stand it, and caused Polly much anguish of spirit, for she never knew where he would
take her next. He bounced out at her from behind doors, booed at her in dark entries, clutched her feet as she went upstairs,
startled her by shrill whistles right in her ear, or sudden tweaks of the hair as he passed her in the street; and as sure
as there was company to dinner, he fixed his round eyes on her, and never took them off till she was reduced to a piteous
state of confusion and distress. She used to beg him not to plague her; but he said he did it for her good; she was too shy,
and needed toughening like the other girls. In vain she protested that she didn’t want to be like the other girls in that
respect; he only laughed in her face, stuck his red hair straight up all over his head, and glared at her, till she fled in
dismay.

Yet Polly rather liked Tom, for she soon saw that he was neglected, hustled out of the way, and left to get on pretty much
by himself. She often wondered why his mother didn’t pet him as she did the girls; why his father ordered him about as if
he was a born rebel, and took so little interest in his only son. Fanny considered him a bear, and was ashamed of him, but
never tried to polish him up a bit; and Maud and he lived together like a cat and dog who did not belong to a “happy family.”
Grandma was the only one who stood by poor old Tom; and Polly more than once discovered him doing something kind for Madam,
and seeming very much ashamed when it was found out. He wasn’t respectful at all; he called her “the old lady,” and told her
he “wouldn’t be fussed over”; but when anything was the matter, he always went to “the old lady,” and was very grateful for
the “fussing.” Polly liked him for this, and often wanted to speak of it; but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t do, for in
praising their affection, she was reproaching others with neglect; so she held her tongue, and thought about it all the more.

Grandma was rather neglected, too, and perhaps that is the reason why Tom and she were such good friends. She was even more
old-fashioned than Polly; but people didn’t seem to mind it so much in her, as her day was supposed to be over, and nothing
was expected of her but to keep out of everybody’s way, and to be handsomely dressed when she appeared “before people.” Grandma
led a quiet, solitary life up in her own rooms, full of old furniture, pictures, books, and relics of a past for which no
one cared but herself. Her son went up every evening for a little call, was very kind to her, and saw that she wanted nothing
money could buy; but he was a busy man, so intent on getting rich that he had no time to enjoy what he already possessed.
Madam never complained, interfered, or suggested; but there was a sad sort of quietude about her, a wistful look in her faded
eyes, as if she wanted something which money could not buy, and when children were near, she hovered about them, evidently
longing to cuddle and caress them as only grandmothers can. Polly felt this; and, as she missed the home-petting, gladly showed
that she liked to see the quiet old face brighten as she entered the solitary room, where few children came, except the phantoms
of little sons and daughters, who, to the motherly heart that loved them, never faded or grew up. Polly wished the children
would be kinder to grandma; but it was not for her to tell them so, although it troubled her a good deal, and she could only
try to make up for it by being as dutiful and affectionate as if their grandma was her own.

Another thing that disturbed Polly was the want of exercise. To dress up and parade certain streets for an hour every day,
to stand talking in doorways, or drive out in a fine carriage, was not the sort of exercise she liked, and Fan would take
no other. Indeed, she was so shocked, when Polly, one day, proposed a run down the mall, that her friend never dared suggest
such a thing again. At home, Polly ran and rode, coasted and skated, jumped rope and raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed
her boat; so no wonder she longed for something more lively than a daily promenade with a flock of giddy girls, who tilted
along in high-heeled boots, and costumes which made Polly ashamed to be seen with some of them. So she used to slip out alone
sometimes, when Fanny was absorbed in novels, company, or millinery, and get fine brisk walks round the park, on the unfashionable
side, where the babies took their airings; or she went inside, to watch the boys coasting, and to wish she could coast too,
as she did at home. She never went far, and always came back rosy and gay.

One afternoon, just before dinner, she felt so tired of doing nothing, that she slipped out for a run. It had been a dull
day; but the sun was visible now, setting brightly below the clouds. It was cold but still, and Polly trotted down the smooth,
snow-covered mall, humming to herself, and trying not to feel homesick. The coasters were at it with all their might, and
she watched them, till her longing to join the fun grew irresistible. On the hill, some little girls were playing with their
sleds — real little girls, in warm hoods and coats, rubber boots and mittens — and Polly felt drawn toward them in spite of
her fear of Fan.

“I want to go down, but I darsn’t, it’s so steep,” said one of these “common children,” as Maud called them.

“If you’ll lend me your sled, and sit in my lap, I’ll take you down all nice,” answered Polly, in a confidential tone.

The little girls took a look at her, seemed satisfied, and accepted her offer. Polly looked carefully round to see that no
fashionable eye beheld the awful deed, and finding all safe, settled her freight, and spun away downhill, feeling all over
the delightsome excitement of swift motion which makes coasting such a favorite pastime with the more sensible portion of
the child-world. One after another, she took the little girls down the hill and dragged them up again, while they regarded
her in the light of a gray-coated angel, descended for their express benefit. Polly was just finishing off with one delicious
“go” all by herself, when she heard a familiar whistle behind her, and before she could get off, up came Tom, looking as much
astonished as if he had found her mounted on an elephant.

“Hullo, Polly! What’ll Fan say to you?” was his polished salutation.

“Don’t know, and don’t care. Coasting is no harm; I like it, and I’m going to do it, now I’ve got a chance; so clear the lul-la!”
And away went independent Polly, with her hair blowing in the wind, and an expression of genuine enjoyment, which a very red
nose didn’t damage in the least.

“Good for you, Polly!” And casting himself upon his sled, with the most reckless disregard for his ribs, off whizzed Tom after
her, and came alongside just as she reined up “General Grant” on the broad path below. “Oh, won’t you get it when we go home?”
cried the young gentleman, even before he changed his graceful attitude.

“I shan’t, if you don’t go and tell; but of course you will,” added Polly, sitting still, while an anxious expression began
to steal over her happy face.

“I just won’t, then,” returned Tom, with the natural perversity of his tribe.

“If they ask me, I shall tell, of course; if they don’t ask, I think there’s no harm in keeping still. I shouldn’t have done
it, if I hadn’t known my mother was willing; but I don’t wish to trouble your mother by telling of it. Do you think it was
very dreadful of me?” asked Polly, looking at him.

“I think it was downright jolly; and I won’t tell, if you don’t want me to. Now, come up and have another,” said Tom, heartily.

“Just one more; the little girls want to go, and this is their sled.”

“Let ’em take it, ’tisn’t good for much; and you come on mine. Mazeppa’s a stunner; you see if he isn’t.”

So Polly tucked herself up in front, Tom hung on behind in some mysterious manner, and Mazeppa proved that he fully merited
his master’s sincere if inelegant praise. They got on capitally now, for Tom was in his proper sphere, and showed his best
side, being civil and gay in the bluff boy-fashion that was natural to him; while Polly forgot to be shy, and liked this sort
of “toughening” much better than the other. They laughed and talked, and kept taking “just one more,” till the sunshine was
all gone, and the clocks struck dinnertime.

“We shall be late; let’s run,” said Polly, as they came into the path after the last coast.

“You just sit still, and I’ll get you home in a jiffy;” and before she could unpack herself, Tom trotted off with her at a
fine pace.

“Here’s a pair of cheeks! I wish you’d get a color like this, Fanny,” said Mr. Shaw, as Polly came into the dining room after
smoothing her hair.

“Your nose is as red as that cranberry sauce,” answered Fan, coming out of the big chair where she had been curled up for
an hour or two, deep in “Lady Audley’s Secret.”

“So it is,” said Polly, shutting one eye to look at the offending feature. “Never mind; I’ve had a good time, anyway,” she
added, giving a little prance in her chair.

“I don’t see much fun in these cold runs you are so fond of taking,” said Fanny, with a yawn and a shiver.

“Perhaps you would if you tried it;” and Polly laughed as she glanced at Tom.

“Did you go alone, dear?” asked grandma, patting the rosy cheek beside her.

“Yes’m; but I met Tom, and we came home together.” Polly’s eyes twinkled when she said that, and Tom choked in his soup.

“Thomas, leave the table!” commanded Mr. Shaw, as his incorrigible son gurgled and gasped behind his napkin.

“Please, don’t send him away, sir. I made him laugh,” said Polly, penitently.

“What’s the joke?” asked Fanny, waking up at last.

“I shouldn’t think you’d make him laugh, when he’s always making you cwy,” observed Maud, who had just come in.

“What have you been doing now, sir?” demanded Mr. Shaw, as Tom emerged, red and solemn, from his brief obscurity.

“Nothing but coast,” he said, gruffly, for papa was always lecturing him, and letting the girls do just as they liked.

“So’s Polly; I saw her. Me and Blanche were coming home just now, and we saw her and Tom widing down the hill on his sled,
and then he dwagged her ever so far!” cried Maud, with her mouth full.

“You didn’t?” and Fanny dropped her fork with a scandalized face.

“Yes, I did, and liked it ever so much,” answered Polly, looking anxious but resolute.

“
Did
anyone see you?” cried Fanny.

“Only some little girls, and Tom.”

“It was horridly improper; and Tom ought to have told you so, if you didn’t know any better. I should be mortified to death
if any of my friends saw you,” added Fan, much disturbed.

“Now, don’t you scold. It’s no harm, and Polly shall coast if she wants to; mayn’t she, grandma?” cried Tom, gallantly coming
to the rescue, and securing a powerful ally.

“My mother lets me; and if I don’t go among the boys, I can’t see what harm there is in it,” said Polly, before Madam could
speak.

“People do many things in the country that are not proper here,” began Mrs. Shaw, in her reproving tone.

“Let the child do it if she likes, and take Maud with her. I should be glad to have one hearty girl in my house,” interrupted
Mr. Shaw, and that was the end of it.

“Thank you, sir,” said Polly, gratefully, and nodded at Tom, who telegraphed back “All right!” and fell upon his dinner with
the appetite of a young wolf.

“Oh, you sly-boots! You’re getting up a flirtation with Tom, are you?” whispered Fanny to her friend, as if much amused.

“What!” and Polly looked so surprised and indignant, that Fanny was ashamed of herself, and changed the subject by telling
her mother she needed some new gloves.

Polly was very quiet after that, and the minute dinner was over, she left the room to go and have a quiet “think” about the
whole matter. Before she got halfway upstairs, she saw Tom coming after, and immediately sat down to guard her feet. He laughed,
and said, as he perched himself on the post of the banisters, “I won’t grab you, honor bright. I just wanted to say, if you’ll
come out tomorrow some time, we’ll have a good coast.”

“No,” said Polly, “I can’t come.”

“Why not? Are you mad? I didn’t tell.” And Tom looked amazed at the change which had come over her.

“No; you kept your word, and stood by me like a good boy. I’m not mad, either; but I don’t mean to coast any more. Your mother
don’t like it.”

“That isn’t the reason,
I
know. You nodded to me after she’d freed her mind, and you meant to go then. Come, now, what is it?”

“I shan’t tell you; but I’m not going,” was Polly’s determined answer.

“Well, I did think you had more sense than most girls; but you haven’t, and I wouldn’t give a sixpence for you.”

“That’s polite,” said Polly, getting ruffled.

“Well, I hate cowards.”

“I ain’t a coward.”

“Yes, you are. You’re afraid of what folks will say; ain’t you, now?”

Polly knew she was, and held her peace, though she longed to speak; but how could she?

“Ah, I knew you’d back out.” And Tom walked away with an air of scorn that cut Polly to the heart.

“It’s too bad! Just as he was growing kind to me, and I was going to have a good time, it’s all spoilt by Fan’s nonsense.
Mrs. Shaw don’t like it, nor grandma either, I dare say. There’ll be a fuss if I go, and Fan will plague me; so I’ll give
it up, and let Tom think I’m afraid. Oh, dear! I never did see such ridiculous people.”

Polly shut her door hard, and felt ready to cry with vexation, that her pleasure should be spoilt by such a silly idea; for,
of all the silly freaks of this fast age, that of little people playing at love is about the silliest. Polly had been taught
that it was a very serious and sacred thing; and, according to her notions, it was far more improper to flirt with one boy
than to coast with a dozen. She had been much amazed, only the day before, to hear Maud say to her mother, “Mamma, must I
have a beau? The girls all do, and say I ought to have Fweddy Lovell; but I don’t like him as well as Hawry Fiske.”