An Old-Fashioned Girl Read online

  "I 'm so glad to hear you say that, Tom! I 've sometimes thought you did n't quite appreciate your father, any more than he knew how much of a man you were."

  "Never was till to-day, you know," said Tom, laughing, yet looking as if he felt the dignity of his one and twenty years. "Odd, is n't it, how people live together ever so long, and don't seem to find one another out, till something comes to do it for them. Perhaps this smash-up was sent to introduce me to my own father."

  "There 's philosophy for you," said Polly, smiling, even while she felt as if adversity was going to do more for Tom than years of prosperity.

  They both sat quiet for a minute, Polly in the big chair looking at him with a new respect in her eyes, Tom on the stool near by slowly tearing up a folded paper he had absently taken from the floor while he talked.

  "Did this surprise you?" he asked, as a little white shower fluttered from his hands.

  "No."

  "Well, it did me; for you know as soon as we came to grief I offered to release Trix from the engagement, and she would n't let me," continued Tom, as if, having begun the subject, he wished to explain it thoroughly.

  "That surprised me," said Polly.

  "So it did me, for Fan always insisted it was the money and not the man she cared for.

  Her first answer pleased me very much, for I did not expect it, and nothing touches a fellow more than to have a woman stand by him through thick and thin."

  "She don't seem to have done it."

  "Fan was right. Trix only waited to see how bad things really were, or rather her mother did. She 's as cool, hard, and worldly minded an old soul as I ever saw, and Trix is bound to obey. She gets round it very neatly in her note, 'I won't be a burden,' 'will sacrifice her hopes,' 'and always remain my warm friend,' but the truth is, Tom Shaw rich was worth making much of, but Tom Shaw poor is in the way, and may go to the devil as fast as he likes."

  "Well, he is n't going!" cried Polly, defiantly, for her wrath burned hotly against Trix, though she blessed her for setting the bondman free.

  "Came within an ace of it," muttered Tom to himself; adding aloud, in a tone of calm resignation that assured Polly his heart would not be broken though his engagement was, "It never rains but it pours, 'specially in hard times, but when a man is down, a rap or two more don't matter much, I suppose. It 's the first blow that hurts most."

  "Glad to see you take the last blow so well." There was an ironical little twang to that speech, and Polly could n't help it. Tom colored up and looked hurt for a minute, then seemed to right himself with a shrug, and said, in his outspoken way, "To tell the honest truth, Polly, it was not a very hard one. I 've had a feeling for some time that Trix and I were not suited to one another, and it might be wiser to stop short. But she did not or would not see it; and I was not going to back out, and leave her to wear any more willows, so here we are. I don't bear malice, but hope she 'll do better, and not be disappointed again, upon my word I do."

  "That 's very good of you, quite Sydneyesque, and noble," said Polly, feeling rather ill at ease, and wishing she could hide herself behind a cap and spectacles, if she was to play Grandma to this confiding youth.

  "It will be all plain sailing for Syd, I fancy," observed Tom, getting up as if the little cricket suddenly ceased to be comfortable.

  "I hope so," murmured Polly, wondering what was coming next.

  "He deserves the very best of everything, and I pray the Lord he may get it," added Tom, poking the fire in a destructive manner.

  Polly made no answer, fearing to pay too much, for she knew Fan had made no confidant of Tom, and she guarded her friend's secret as jealously as her own. "You 'll write to Ned to-morrow, will you? I 'll take anything he 's got, for I want to be off," said Tom, casting down the poker, and turning round with a resolute air which was lost on Polly, who sat twirling the rose that had fallen into her lap.

  "I 'll write to-night. Would you like me to tell the girls about Trix and Sydney?" she asked as she rose, feeling that the council was over.

  "I wish you would. I don't know how to thank you for all you 've done for me; I wish to heaven I did," said Tom, holding out his hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the little she had done.

  As she gave him her hand, and looked up at him with those confiding eyes of hers, Tom's gratitude seemed to fly to his head, for, without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her, a proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered himself at once, and retreated into his den with the incoherent apology, "I beg pardon could n't help it grandma always let me on my birthday."

  While Polly took refuge up stairs, forgetting all about Fan, as she sat in the dark with her face hidden, wondering why she was n't very angry, and resolving never again to indulge in the delightful but dangerous pastime of playing grandmother.

  18. The Woman Who Did Not Dare

  POLLY wrote enthusiastically, Ned answered satisfactorily, and after much corresponding, talking, and planning, it was decided that Tom should go West. Never mind what the business was; it suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative class of the most conceited city in New England, needed just the healthy, hearty, social influences of the West to widen his views and make a man of him.

  Of course there was much lamentation among the women, but every one felt it was the best thing for him; so while they sighed they sewed, packed visions of a brilliant future away with his new pocket handkerchiefs, and rejoiced that the way was open before him even in the act of bedewing his boots with tears. Sydney stood by him to the last,

  "like a man and a brother" (which expression of Tom's gave Fanny infinite satisfaction), and Will felt entirely consoled for Ned's disappointment at his refusal to go and join him, since Tom was to take the place Ned had kept for him.

  Fortunately every one was so busy with the necessary preparations that there was no time for romance of any sort, and the four young people worked together as soberly and sensibly as if all sorts of emotions were not bottled up in their respective hearts. But in spite of the silence, the work, and the hurry, I think they came to know one another better in that busy little space of time than in all the years that had gone before, for the best and bravest in each was up and stirring, and the small house was as full of the magnetism of love and friendship, self-sacrifice and enthusiasm, as the world outside was full of spring sunshine and enchantment. Pity that the end should come so soon, but the hour did its work and went its way, leaving a clearer atmosphere behind, though the young folks did not see it then, for their eyes were dim because of the partings that must be.

  Tom was off to the West; Polly went home for the summer; Maud was taken to the seaside with Belle; and Fanny left alone to wrestle with housekeeping, "help," and heartache. If it had not been for two things, I fear she never would have stood a summer in town, but Sydney often called, till his vacation came, and a voluminous correspondence with Polly beguiled the long days. Tom wrote once a week to his mother, but the letters were short and not very satisfactory, for men never do tell the interesting little things that women best like to hear. Fanny forwarded her bits of news to Polly. Polly sent back all the extracts from Ned's letters concerning Tom, and by putting the two reports together, they gained the comfortable assurance that Tom was well, in good spirits, hard at work, and intent on coming out strong in spite of all obstacles.

  Polly had a quiet summer at home, resting and getting ready in mind and body for another winter's work, for in the autumn she tried her plan again, to the satisfaction of her pupils and the great joy of her friends. She never said much of herself in her letters, and Fanny's first exclamation when they met again, was an anxious "Why, Polly, dear!

  Have you been sick and never told me?"

  "No, I 'm only tired, had a good deal to do lately, and the dull weather makes me just a trifle blue. I shall soon brighten up when I get to my work again," answered Polly, bustlin
g about to put away her things.

  "You don't look a bit natural. What have you been doing to your precious little self?"

  persisted Fanny, troubled by the change, yet finding it hard to say wherein it lay.

  Polly did not look sick, though her cheeks were thinner and her color paler than formerly, but she seemed spiritless, and there was a tired look in her eyes that went to Fanny's heart.

  "I 'm all right enough, as you 'll see when I 'm in order. I 'm proper glad to find you looking so well and happy. Does all go smoothly, Fan?" asked Polly, beginning to brush her hair industriously.

  "Answer me one question first," said Fanny, looking as if a sudden fear had come over her. "Tell me, truly, have you never repented of your hint to Sydney?"

  "Never!" cried Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which she had half hidden her face at first.

  "On your honor, as an honest girl?"

  "On my honor, as anything you please. Why do you suspect me of it?" demanded Polly, almost angrily.

  "Because something is wrong with you. It 's no use to deny it, for you 've got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face when I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can't help saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were to me if I can."

  Fanny's face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly, for she was trying to be generous and found it very hard. Polly understood now and put her fear at rest by saying almost passionately, "I tell you I don't love him! If he was the only man in the world, I would n't marry him, because I don't want to."

  The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there with a half-frightened look and turned away to hide her face behind her hair again.

  "Then if it 's not him, it 's some one else. You 've got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine," said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly's manner troubled her.

  There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied and putting her arm round her friend, she said, in her most persuasive tone, "My precious Polly, do I know him?"

  "You have seen him."

  "And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear?"

  "No."

  "He ought to be if you love him. I hope he is n't bad?" cried Fan, anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned.

  "I 'm suited, that 's enough."

  "Oh, please just tell me one thing more. Don't he love back again?"

  "No. Now don't say another word, I can't bear it!" and Polly drew herself away, as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone.

  "I won't, but now I 'm not afraid to tell you that I think, I hope, I do believe that Sydney cares a little for me. He 's been very kind to us all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he comes and miss me if I 'm gone. I did n't dare to hope anything, till Papa observed something in his manner, and teased me about it. I try not to deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance of happiness for me."

  "Thank heaven for that!" cried Polly, with the heartiest satisfaction in her voice. "Now come and tell me all about it," she added, sitting down on the couch with the air of one who has escaped a great peril.

  "I 've got some notes and things I want to ask your opinion about, if they really mean anything, you know," said Fanny, getting out a bundle of papers from the inmost recesses of her desk. "There 's a photograph of Tom, came in his last letter. Good, is n't it? He looks older, but that 's the beard and the rough coat, I suppose. Dear old fellow, he is doing so well I really begin to feel quite proud of him."

  Fan tossed her the photograph, and went on rummaging for a certain note. She did not see Polly catch up the picture and look at it with hungry eyes, but she did hear something in the low tone in which Polly said, "It don't do him justice," and glancing over her shoulder, Fan's quick eye caught a glimpse of the truth, though Polly was half turned away from her. Without stopping to think, Fan dropped her letters, took Polly by the shoulders, and cried in a tone full of astonishment, "Polly, is it Tom?"

  Poor Polly was so taken by surprise, that she had not a word to say. None were needed; her telltale face answered for her, as well as the impulse which made her hide her head in the sofa cushion, like a foolish ostrich when the hunters are after it.

  "Oh, Polly, I am so glad! I never thought of it you are so good, and he 's such a wild boy, I can't believe it but it is so dear of you to care for him."

  "Could n't help it tried not to but it was so hard you know, Fan, you know," said a stifled voice from the depths of the very fuzzy cushion which Tom had once condemned.

  The last words, and the appealing hand outstretched to her, told Fanny the secret of her friend's tender sympathy for her own love troubles, and seemed so pathetic, that she took Polly in her arms, and cried over her, in the fond, foolish way girls have of doing when their hearts are full, and tears can say more than tongues. The silence never lasts long, however, for the feminine desire to "talk it over" usually gets the better of the deepest emotion. So presently the girls were hard at it, Polly very humble and downcast, Fanny excited and overflowing with curiosity and delight.

  "Really my sister! You dear thing, how heavenly that will be," she cried.

  "It never will be," answered Polly in a tone of calm despair.

  "What will prevent it?"

  "Maria Bailey," was the tragic reply.

  "What do you mean? Is she the Western girl? She shan't have Tom; I 'll kill her first!"

  "Too late, let me tell you is that door shut, and Maud safe?"

  Fanny reconnoitered, and returning, listened breathlessly, while Polly poured into her ear the bitter secret which was preying on her soul.

  "Has n't he mentioned Maria in his letters?"

  "Once or twice, but sort of jokingly, and I thought it was only some little flirtation. He can't have time for much of that fun, he 's so busy."

  "Ned writes good, gossipy letters I taught him how and he tells me all that 's going on.

  When he 'd spoken of this girl several times (they board with her mother, you know), I asked about her, quite carelessly, and he told me she was pretty, good, and well educated, and he thought Tom was rather smitten. That was a blow, for you see, Fan, since Trix broke the engagement, and it was n't wrong to think of Tom, I let myself hope, just a little, and was so happy! Now I must give it up, and now I see how much I hoped, and what a dreadful loss it 's going to be."

  Two great tears rolled down Polly's cheeks, and Fanny wiped them away, feeling an intense desire to go West by the next train, wither Maria Bailey with a single look, and bring Tom back as a gift to Polly.

  "It was so stupid of me not to guess before. But you see Tom always seems so like a boy, and you are more womanly for your age than any girl I know, so I never thought of your caring for him in that way. I knew you were very good to him, you are to every one, my precious; and I knew that he was fond of you as he is of me, fonder if anything, because he thinks you are perfect; but still I never dreamed of his loving you as more than a dear friend."

  "He does n't," sighed Polly.

  "Well, he ought; and if I could get hold of him, he should!"

  Polly clutched Fan at that, and held her tight, saying sternly, "If you ever breathe a word, drop a hint, look a look that will tell him or any one else about me, I 'll yes, as sure as my name is Mary Milton I 'll proclaim from the housetops that you like Ar " Polly got no further, for Fan's hand was on her mouth, and Fan's alarmed voice vehemently protested, "I won't! I promise solemnly I 'll never say a word to a mortal creature. Don't be so fierce, Polly; you quite frighten me."

  "It 's bad enough to love some one who don't love you, but to have them told of it is perfectly awful. It makes me wild just to think of it. Oh, Fan, I 'm getting so ill-tempered and envious and wicked, I don't know what will happen to me."

  "I 'm not afraid for you, my dear, and I do believe things will go right, because you are so goo
d to every one. How Tom could help adoring you I don't see. I know he would if he had stayed at home longer after he got rid of Trix. It would be the making of him; but though he is my brother, I don't think he 's good enough for you, Polly, and I don't quite see how you can care for him so much, when you might have had a person so infinitely superior."

  "I don't want a 'superior' person; he 'd tire me if he was like A. S. Besides, I do think Tom is superior to him in many things. Well, you need n't stare; I know he is, or will be.

  He 's so different, and very young, and has lots of faults, I know, but I like him all the better for it, and he 's honest and brave, and has got a big, warm heart, and I 'd rather have him care for me than the wisest, best, most accomplished man in the world, simply because I love him!"

  If Tom could only have seen Polly's face when she said that! It was so tender, earnest, and defiant, that Fanny forgot the defence of her own lover in admiration of Polly's loyalty to hers; for this faithful, all absorbing love was a new revelation to Fanny, who was used to hearing her friends boast of two or three lovers a year, and calculate their respective values, with almost as much coolness as the young men discussed the fortunes of the girls they wished for, but "could not afford to marry." She had thought her love for Sydney very romantic, because she did not really care whether he was rich or poor, though she never dared to say so, even to Polly, for fear of being laughed at. She began to see now what true love was, and to feel that the sentiment which she could not conquer was a treasure to be accepted with reverence, and cherished with devotion.