An Old-Fashioned Girl Page 25

  "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her.

  "You 'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said.

  At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we 've come to help you bear it"

  Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I 'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I 'd like to do it, truly."

  Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where 's my Polly?"

  She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?"

  "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?"

  "I 'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity.

  But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all.

  Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I 'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him.

  Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella.

  It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I 'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I 'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I 'd like that, but I 'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that 's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates."

  "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I 'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help."

  "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves.

  Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel.

  "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is."

  Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money.

  "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so.

  Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both.

  When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form.

  16. A Dress Parade

  THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go.

  Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the
hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect.

  She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse.

  This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do.

  The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution

  "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her.

  Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner.

  From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding.

  Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving nothing suited her better than to trot up and down, lugging heavy things, to pound her fingers black and blue nailing carpets and curtains, and the day she nearly broke her neck tumbling down the cellar stairs, in her eagerness to see that Mrs. Shaw's wine was rightly stored, she felt that she was only paying her debts, and told Tom she liked it, when he picked her up looking as grimy as a chimney-sweep.

  "You can turn your hand to anything, you clever girl, so do come and give me some advice, for I am in the depths of despair," said Fanny when the "maid-of-all-work" as Polly called herself, found a leisure hour.

  "What is it? Moths in the furs, a smoky chimney, or small-pox next door?" asked Polly, as they entered Fan's room, where Maud was trying on old bonnets before the looking-glass.

  "Actually I have nothing to wear," began Fan impressively; "I 've been too busy to think or care till now, but here it is nearly May and I have hardly a decent rag to my back.

  Usually, you know, I just go to Mrs. O'Grady and tell her what I want; she makes my spring wardrobe, Papa pays the bill, and there I am. Now I 've looked into the matter, and I declare to you, Polly, I 'm frightened to see how much it costs to dress me."

  "Not so much as some girls I know," said Polly encouragingly.

  "Perhaps not, for I have a conscience, and taste is economy sometimes; but really, Polly, I have n't the heart to ask Papa for a cent just now, and yet I must have clothes.

  You are such a genius for planning and working wonders, that I throw myself upon you and ask, 'How shall I make a spring wardrobe out of nothing?' "

  "Let me see the 'nothing' before I advise. Bring out every rag you 've got, and we 'll see what can be done," said Polly, looking as if she enjoyed the prospect, for she had a great deal of that feminine faculty which we call "knack," and much practice had increased it.

  Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maud, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here 's another."

  "There 's a discouraging heap of rubbish for you!" said Fan, as she added a faded muslin to the last pile.

  "Now, to me your 'rubbish' looks very encouraging, because there is good material there, and not much worn-out finery, that 's my detestation, for you can't do anything with it. Let me see, five bonnets. Put the winter ones away till autumn, rip up the summer ones, and out of three old ones we 'll get a pretty new one, if my eyes don't deceive me."

  "I 'll rip, and then do let me see you make a bonnet, it must be so interesting," said Maud, whipping out her scissors and eagerly beginning to reduce a shabby little bonnet to its original elements. "Now the dresses," continued Polly, who had rapidly sorted out the piles.

  "Will you have the goodness to look at this?" said Fan, holding up a gray street suit faded past cure.

  Polly whisked it wrong side out, and showing the clean, bright fabric, said, with a triumphant wave, "Behold your new suit; fresh trimming and less of it will finish you off as smart as ever."

  "I never wore a turned dress in my life; do you suppose people will know it?" said Fan doubtfully.

  "What if they do? It won't hurt you. Not one in a hundred will ever think anything about your dress, except that it is pretty. I 've worn turned and dyed gowns all my days, and it don't seem to have alienated my friends, or injured my constitution."

  "That it has n't; I 'm a goose, Polly, and I 'll get over the feeling that it 's sort of disgraceful to be poor and have to economize. We 'll turn the gray, and I 'll wear it bravely."

  "Then it will be more becoming than ever. Oh, here 's the pretty violet silk. That will make a lovely suit," cried Polly, going on with the review.

  "Don't see how two draggled skirts and a stained waist can be transformed into a whole rig," said Fan, sitting on the bed, with her garments strewn about her in various attitudes of limp despondency.

  "Well, ma'am, my plan is this," began Polly, imitating Mrs. O'Grady's important tone, and bad grammar: "Gores is out, and plaits is in; therefore, as the top of this skirt is quite fresh, we will take off the ruffles, turn it upside down, and leave it plain. The upper skirt will be made scanter, and finished with a frill; then the waist can be refreshed with the best parts of these wide flounces, and out of those new bits we will concoct a hat. The black lace Maud has just taken off the green one will do to edge the violet, and with your nice silk mantilla you are complete, don't you see?"

  "I don't quite see it yet, but I have firm faith that I shall in time, and consider my calling costume finished," said Fanny, getting more and more interested as she saw her condemned wardrobe coming out fresh again under Polly's magic knack.

  "There are two; then that piqué is all right, if you cut the tail off the jacket and change the trimming a bit. The muslins only need mending and doing up to look as well as ever; you ought not to put them away torn and soiled, my child. The two black silks will be good stand-bys for years. If I were you, I 'd have a couple of neat, pretty prints for home-wear, and then I don't see why you are n't fixed well enough for our short season."

  "Can't I do anything with this barege? It 's one of my favorite dresses, and I hate to give it up."

  "You wore that thoroughly out, and it 's only fit for the rag-bag. Yes, it was very pretty and becoming, I remember, but its day is over."

  Fanny let the dress lie in her lap a minute as she absently picked at the fringe, smiling to herself over the happy time when she wore it last and Sydney said she only needed cowslips in her lap to look like spring. Presently she folded it up and put it away with a sigh, but it never went into the rag-bag, and my sen
timental readers can understand what saved it.

  "The ball dresses had better be put nicely away till next year," began Polly, coming to a rainbow colored heap.

  "My day is over, I shall never use them again. Do what you like with them," said Fan calmly.

  "Did you ever sell your cast-off finery, as many ladies do?" asked Polly.

  "Never; I don't like the fashion. I give it away, or let Maud have it for tableaux."

  "I wonder if you would mind my telling you something Belle proposed?"

  "If it 's an offer to buy my clothes, I should mind," answered Fanny, sharply.

  "Then I won't," and Polly retired behind a cloud of arsenic-green gauze, which made her look as if she had the cholera.

  "If she wanted to buy that horrid new 'gooseberry-colored gown,' as Tom calls it, I 'd let her have it cheap," put in Maud, who was of a practical turn.

  "Does she want it, Polly?" asked Fan, whose curiosity got the better of her pride.

  "Well, she merely asked me if I thought you 'd be mortally offended, if she offered to take it off your hands, as you 'd never worn it. You don't like it, and in another season it will be all out of fashion," said Polly from her verdant retreat.

  "What did you say?"

  "I saw she meant it kindly, so I said I 'd ask. Now between ourselves, Fan, the price of that dress would give you all you 'll want for your spring fixings, that 's one consideration; then here 's another, which may have some weight with you," added Polly slyly. "Trix told Belle she was going to ask you for the dress, as you would n't care to wear it now. That made Belle fire up, and say it was a mean thing to do without offering some return for a costly thing like that; and then Belle said, in her blunt way, 'I 'll give Fan all she paid for it, and more, too, if it will be any help to her. I don't care for the dress, but I 'd like to slip a little money into her pocket, for I know she needs it and is too good to ask dear Mr. Shaw for anything she can get on without.' "