An Old-Fashioned Girl (6 page)

“Oh, yes; I’d have a little sweetheart, dear, it’s so cunning,” answered Mrs. Shaw. And Maud announced soon after that she
was engaged to “Fweddy, ’cause Hawry slapped her” when she proposed the match.

Polly laughed with the rest at the time; but when she thought of it afterward, and wondered what her own mother would have
said, if little Kitty had put such a question, she didn’t find it cunning or funny, but ridiculous and unnatural. She felt
so now about herself; and when her first petulance was over, resolved to give up coasting and everything else, rather than
have any nonsense with Tom, who, thanks to his neglected education, was as ignorant as herself of the charms of this new amusement
for schoolchildren. So Polly tried to console herself by jumping rope in the backyard, and playing tag with Maud in the drying
room, where she likewise gave lessons in “nas-gim-nics,” as Maud called it, which did that little person good. Fanny came
up sometimes to teach them a new dancing step, and more than once was betrayed into a game of romps, for which she was none
the worse. But Tom turned a cold shoulder to Polly, and made it evident, by his cavalier manner, that he really didn’t think
her “worth a sixpence.”

Another thing that troubled Polly was her clothes, for, though no one said anything, she knew they were very plain; and now
and then she wished that her blue and mouse colored merinos were rather more trimmed, her sashes had bigger bows, and her
little ruffles more lace on them. She sighed for a locket, and, for the first time in her life, thought seriously of turning
up her pretty curls and putting on a “wad.” She kept these discontents to herself, however, after she had written to ask her
mother if she might have her best dress altered like Fanny’s, and received this reply:

“No, dear; the dress is proper and becoming as it is, and the old fashion of simplicity the best for all of us. I don’t want
my Polly to be loved for her clothes, but for herself; so wear the plain frocks mother took such pleasure in making for you,
and let the
panniers
go. The least of us have some influence in this big world; and perhaps my little girl can do some good by showing others
that a contented heart and a happy face are better ornaments than any Paris can give her. You want a locket, deary; so I send
one that my mother gave me years ago. You will find father’s face on one side, mine on the other; and when things trouble
you, just look at your talisman, and I think the sunshine will come back again.”

Of course it did, for the best of all magic was shut up in the quaint little case that Polly wore inside her frock, and kissed
so tenderly each night and morning. The thought that, insignificant as she was, she yet might do some good, made her very
careful of her acts and words, and so anxious to keep heart contented and face happy, that she forgot her clothes, and made
others do the same. She did not know it, but that good old fashion of simplicity made the plain gowns pretty, and the grace
of unconsciousness beautified their little wearer with the charm that makes girlhood sweetest to those who truly love and
reverence it. One temptation Polly had already yielded to before the letter came, and repented heartily of afterward.

“Polly, I wish you’d let me call you Marie,” said Fanny one day, as they were shopping together.

“You may call me Mary, if you like; but I won’t have any
ie
put on to my name. I’m Polly at home, and I’m fond of being called so; but Marie is Frenchified and silly.”

“I spell my own name with an
ie,
and so do all the girls.”

“And what a jumble of Netties, Nellies, Hatties, and Sallies there is. How ‘Pollie’ would look spelt so!”

“Well, never mind; that wasn’t what I began to say. There’s one thing you must have, and that is, bronze boots,” said Fan,
impressively.

“Why must I, when I’ve got enough without?”

“Because it’s the fashion to have them, and you can’t be finished off properly without. I’m going to get a pair, and so must
you.”

“Don’t they cost a great deal?”

“Eight or nine dollars, I believe. I have mine charged; but it don’t matter if you haven’t got the money. I can lend you some.”

“I’ve got ten dollars to do what I like with; but I meant to get some presents for the children.” And Polly took out her purse
in an undecided way.

“You can make presents easy enough. Grandma knows all sorts of nice contrivances. They’ll do just as well; and then you can
get your boots.”

“Well; I’ll look at them,” said Polly, following Fanny into the store, feeling rather rich and important to be shopping in
this elegant manner.

“Aren’t they lovely? Your foot is perfectly divine in that boot, Polly. Get them for my party; you’ll dance like a fairy,”
whispered Fan.

Polly surveyed the dainty, shining boot with the scalloped top, the jaunty heel, and the delicate toe, thought her foot did
look very well in it, and after a little pause, said she would have them. It was all very delightful till she got home, and
was alone; then, on looking into her purse, she saw one dollar and the list of things she meant to get for mother and the
children. How mean the dollar looked all alone! And how long the list grew when there was nothing to buy the articles.

“I can’t make skates for Ned, nor a desk for Will; and those are what they have set their hearts upon. Father’s book and mother’s
collar are impossible now; and I’m a selfish thing to go and spend all my money for myself. How could I do it?” And Polly
eyed the new boots reproachfully, as they stood in the first position as if ready for the party. “They
are
lovely; but I don’t believe they will feel good, for I shall be thinking about my lost presents all the time,” sighed Polly,
pushing the enticing boots out of sight. “I’ll go and ask grandma what I can do; for if I’ve got to make something for everyone,
I must begin right away, or I shan’t get done;” and off she bustled, glad to forget her remorse in hard work.

Grandma proved equal to the emergency, and planned something for everyone, supplying materials, taste, and skill in the most
delightful manner. Polly felt much comforted; but while she began to knit a pretty pair of white bed-socks, to be tied with
rose-colored ribbons, for her mother, she thought some very sober thoughts upon the subject of temptation; and if anyone had
asked her just then what made her sigh, as if something lay heavy on her conscience, she would have answered, “Bronze boots.”

“I
t’s so wainy, I can’t go out, and evwybody is so cwoss they won’t play with me,” said Maud, when Polly found her fretting
on the stairs, and paused to ask the cause of her wails.

“I’ll play with you; only don’t scream and wake your mother. What shall we play?”

“I don’t know; I’m tired of evwything, ’cause my toys are all bwoken, and my dolls are all sick but Clawa,” moaned Maud, giving
a jerk to the Paris doll which she held upside down by one leg in the most unmaternal manner.

“I’m going to dress a dolly for my little sister; wouldn’t you like to see me do it?” asked Polly, persuasively, hoping to
beguile the cross child and finish her own work at the same time.

“No, I shouldn’t, ’cause she’ll look nicer than my Clawa. Her clothes won’t come off; and Tom spoilt ’em playing ball with
her in the yard.”

“Wouldn’t you like to rip these clothes off, and have me show you how to make some new ones, so you can dress and undress
Clara as much as you like?”

“Yes; I love to cut.” And Maud’s face brightened; for destructiveness is one of the earliest traits of childhood, and ripping
was Maud’s delight.

Establishing themselves in the deserted dining room, the children fell to work; and when Fanny discovered them, Maud was laughing
with all her heart at poor Clara, who, denuded of her finery, was cutting up all sorts of capers in the hands of her merry
little mistress.

“I should think you’d be ashamed to play with dolls, Polly. I haven’t touched one this ever so long,” said Fanny, looking
down with a superior air.

“I ain’t ashamed, for it keeps Maud happy, and will please my sister Kitty; and I think sewing is better than prinking or
reading silly novels, so, now.” And Polly stitched away with a resolute air, for she and Fanny had had a little tiff, because
Polly wouldn’t let her friend do up her hair “like other folks,” and bore her ears.

“Don’t be cross, dear, but come and do something nice, it’s so dull today,” said Fanny, anxious to be friends again, for it
was doubly dull without Polly.

“Can’t; I’m busy.”

“You always
are
busy. I never saw such a girl. What in the world do you find to do all the time?” asked Fanny, watching with interest the
set of the little red merino frock Polly was putting on to her doll.

“Lots of things; but I like to be lazy sometimes as much as you do; just lie on the sofa, and read fairy stories, or think
about nothing. Would you have a white muslin apron or a black silk?” added Polly, surveying her work with satisfaction.

“Muslin, with pockets and tiny blue bows. I’ll show you how.” And forgetting her late contempt for dolls, down sat Fanny,
soon getting as much absorbed as either of the others.

The dull day brightened wonderfully after that, and the time flew pleasantly, as tongues and needles went together. Grandma
peeped in, and smiled at the busy group, saying, “Sew away, my dears; dollies are safe companions, and needlework an accomplishment
that’s sadly neglected nowadays. Small stitches, Maud; neat buttonholes, Fan; cut carefully, Polly, and don’t waste your cloth.
Take pains; and the best needlewoman shall have a pretty bit of white satin for a doll’s bonnet.”

Fanny exerted herself, and won the prize, for Polly helped Maud, and neglected her own work; but she didn’t care much, for
Mr. Shaw said, looking at the three bright faces at the tea table, “I guess Polly has been making sunshine for you today.”

“No, indeed, sir, I haven’t done anything, only dress Maud’s doll.”

And Polly didn’t think she
had
done much; but it was one of the little things which are always waiting to be done in this world of ours, where rainy days
come so often, where spirits get out of tune, and duty won’t go hand in hand with pleasure. Little things of this sort are
especially good work for little people; a kind little thought, an unselfish little act, a cheery little word, are so sweet
and comfortable, that no one can fail to feel their beauty and love the giver, no matter how small they are. Mothers do a
deal of this sort of thing, unseen, unthanked, but felt and remembered long afterward, and never lost, for this is the simple
magic that binds hearts together, and keeps home happy. Polly had learned this secret. She loved to do the “little things”
that others did not see, or were too busy to stop for; and while doing them, without a thought of thanks, she made sunshine
for herself as well as others. There was so much love in her own home, that she quickly felt the want of it in Fanny’s, and
puzzled herself to find out why these people were not kind and patient to one another. She did not try to settle the question,
but did her best to love and serve and bear with each; and the good will, the gentle heart, the helpful ways and simple manners
of our Polly made her dear to everyone, for these virtues, even in a little child, are lovely and attractive.

Mr. Shaw was very kind to her, for he liked her modest, respectful manners; and Polly was so grateful for his many favors,
that she soon forgot her fear, and showed her affection in all sorts of confiding little ways, which pleased him extremely.
She used to walk across the park with him when he went to his office in the morning, talking busily all the way, and saying
“Good-by” with a nod and a smile when they parted at the great gate. At first, Mr. Shaw did not care much about it; but soon
he missed her if she didn’t come, and found that something fresh and pleasant seemed to brighten all his day, if a small,
gray-coated figure, with an intelligent face, a merry voice, and a little hand slipped confidingly into his, went with him
through the wintry park. Coming home late, he liked to see a curly, brown head watching at the window; to find his slippers
ready, his paper in its place, and a pair of willing feet, eager to wait upon him. “I wish my Fanny was more like her,” he
often said to himself, as he watched the girls while they thought him deep in politics or the state of the money market. Poor
Mr. Shaw had been so busy getting rich, that he had not found time to teach his children to love him; he was more at leisure
now, and as his boy and girls grew up, he missed something. Polly was unconsciously showing him what it was, and making child-love
so sweet, that he felt he could not do without it any more, yet didn’t quite know how to win the confidence of the children,
who had always found him busy, indifferent, and absentminded.

As the girls were going to bed one night, Polly kissed grandma, as usual, and Fanny laughed at her, saying, “What a baby you
are! We are too old for such things now.”

“I don’t think people
ever
are too old to kiss their fathers and mothers,” was the quick answer.

“Right, my little Polly;” and Mr. Shaw stretched out his hand to her with such a kindly look, that Fanny stared surprised,
and then said, shyly, “I thought you didn’t care about it, father.”

“I do, my dear.” And Mr. Shaw put out the other hand to Fanny, who gave him a daughterly kiss, quite forgetting everything
but the tender feeling that sprung up in her heart at the renewal of the childish custom which we never need outgrow.

Mrs. Shaw was a nervous, fussy invalid, who wanted something every five minutes; so Polly found plenty of small things to
do for her, and did them so cheerfully, that the poor lady loved to have the quiet, helpful child near, to wait upon her,
read to her, run errands, or hand the seven different shawls which were continually being put on or off.

Grandma, too, was glad to find willing hands and feet to serve her; and Polly passed many happy hours in the quaint rooms,
learning all sorts of pretty arts, and listening to pleasant chat, never dreaming how much sunshine she brought to the solitary
old lady.