An Old-Fashioned Girl. Луиза Мэй Олкотт

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.”

      “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