“I'M going to school this morning; so come up and get ready,” said
Fanny, a day or two after, as she left the late breakfast-table.
“You look very nice; what have you got to do?” asked Polly, following
her into the hall.
“Prink half an hour, and put on her wad,” answered the irreverent Tom,
whose preparations for school consisted in flinging his cap on to his
head, and strapping up several big books, that looked as if they were
sometimes used as weapons of defence.
“What is a wad?” asked Polly, while Fanny marched up without deigning
any reply.
“Somebody's hair on the top of her head in the place where it ought not
to be;” and Tom went whistling away with an air of sublime indifference
as to the state of his own “curly pow.”
“Why must you be so fine to go to school?” asked Polly, watching Fan
arrange the little frizzles on her forehead, and settle the various
streamers and festoons belonging to her dress.
“All the girls do; and it's proper, for you never know who you may
meet. I'm going to walk, after my lessons, so I wish you'd wear your
best hat and sack,” answered Fanny, trying to stick her own hat on at an
angle which defied all the laws of gravitation.
“I will, if you don't think this is nice enough. I like the other best,
because it has a feather; but this is warmer, so I wear it every day.”
And Polly ran into her own room, to prink also, fearing that her friend
might be ashamed of her plain costume. “Won't your hands be cold in kid
gloves?” she said, as they went down the snowy street, with a north wind
blowing in their faces.
“Yes, horrid cold; but my muff is so big, I won't carry it. Mamma won't
have it cut up, and my ermine one must be kept for best;” and Fanny
smoothed her Bismark kids with an injured air.
“I suppose my gray squirrel is ever so much too big; but it's nice and
cosy, and you may warm your hands in it if you want to,” said Polly,
surveying her new woollen gloves with a dissatisfied look, though she
had thought them quite elegant before.
“Perhaps I will, by and by. Now, Polly, don't you be shy. I'll only
introduce two or three of the girls; and you need n't mind old Monsieur
a bit, or read if you don't want to. We shall be in the anteroom; so you
'll only see about a dozen, and they will be so busy, they won't mind
you much.”
“I guess I won't read, but sit and look on. I like to watch people,
everything is so new and queer here.”
But Polly did feel and look very shy, when she was ushered into a room
full of young ladies, as they seemed to her, all very much dressed, all
talking together, and all turning to examine the new-comer with a cool
stare which seemed to be as much the fashion as eye-glasses. They nodded
affably when Fanny introduced her, said something civil, and made room
for her at the table round which they sat waiting for Monsieur. Several
of the more frolicsome were imitating the Grecian Bend, some were
putting their heads together over little notes, nearly all were eating
confectionery, and the entire twelve chattered like magpies. Being
politely supplied with caramels, Polly sat looking and listening,
feeling very young and countrified among these elegant young ladies.
“Girls, do you know that Carrie has gone abroad? There has been so much
talk, her father could n't bear it, and took the whole family off. Is
n't that gay?” said one lively damsel, who had just come in.
“I should think they'd better go. My mamma says, if I'd been going to
that school, she'd have taken me straight away,” answered another girl,
with an important air.
“Carrie ran away with an Italian music-teacher, and it got into the
papers, and made a great stir,” explained the first speaker to Polly,
who looked mystified.
“How dreadful!” cried Polly.
“I think it was fun. She was only sixteen, and he was perfectly
splendid; and she has plenty of money, and every one talked about it;
and when she went anywhere, people looked, you know, and she liked it;
but her papa is an old poke, so he's sent them all away. It's too bad,
for she was the jolliest thing I ever knew.”
Polly had nothing to say to lively Miss Belle; but Fanny observed, “I
like to read about such things; but it's so inconvenient to have it
happen right here, because it makes it harder for us. I wish you could
have heard my papa go on. He threatened to send a maid to school with me
every day, as they do in New York, to be sure I come all right. Did you
ever?” “That's because it came out that Carrie used to forge excuses in
her mamma's name, and go promenading with her Oreste, when they thought
her safe at school. Oh, was n't she a sly minx?” cried Belle, as if she
rather admired the trick.
“I think a little fun is all right; and there's no need of making a
talk, if, now and then, some one does run off like Carrie. Boys do
as they like; and I don't see why girls need to be kept so dreadfully
close. I'd like to see anybody watching and guarding me!” added another
dashing young lady.
“It would take a policeman to do that, Trix, or a little man in a tall
hat,” said Fanny, slyly, which caused a general laugh, and made Beatrice
toss her head coquettishly.
“Oh, have you read 'The Phantom Bride'? It's perfectly thrilling! There
's a regular rush for it at the library; but some prefer 'Breaking a
Butterfly.' Which do you like best?” asked a pale girl of Polly, in one
of the momentary lulls which occurred.
“I have n't read either.”
“You must, then. I adore Guy Livingston's books, and Yates's. 'Ouida's'
are my delight, only they are so long, I get worn out before I'm
through.”
“I have n't read anything but one of the Muhlbach novels since I came. I
like those, because there is history in them,” said Polly, glad to have
a word to say for herself.
“Those are well enough for improving reading; but I like real exciting
novels; don't you?”
Polly was spared the mortification of owning that she had never read
any, by the appearance of Monsieur, a gray-headed old Frenchman, who
went through his task with the resigned air of one who was used to being
the victim of giggling school-girls. The young ladies gabbled over the
lesson, wrote an exercise, and read a little French history. But it did
not seem to make much impression upon them, though Monsieur was very
ready to explain; and Polly quite blushed for her friend, when, on
being asked what famous Frenchman fought in our Revolution, she answered
Lamartine, instead of Lafayette.
The hour was soon over; and when Fan had taken a music lesson in another
room, while Polly looked on, it was time for recess. The younger girls
walked up and down the court, arm in arm, eating bread an butter; others
stayed in the school-room to read and gossip; but Belle, Trix, and
Fanny went to lunch at a fashionable ice-cream saloon near by, and Polly
meekly followed, not daring to hint at the ginger-bread grandma had put
in her pocket for luncheon. So the honest, brown cookies crumbled away
in obscurity, while Polly tried to satisfy her hearty appetite on one
ice and three macaroons.
The girls seemed in great spirits, particularly after they were joined
by a short gentleman with such a young face that Polly would have called
him a boy, if he had not worn a tall beaver. Escorted by this impressive
youth, Fanny left her unfortunate friends to return to school, and went
to walk, as she called a slow promenade down the most crowded
streets. Polly discreetly fell behind, and amused herself looking
into shop-windows, till Fanny, mindful of her manners, even at such an
interesting time, took her into a picture gallery, and bade her enjoy
the works of art while they rested. Obedient Polly went through the room
several times, apparently examining the pictures with the interest of a
connoisseur, and trying not to hear the mild prattle of the pair on the
round seat. But she could n't help wondering what Fan found so absorbing
in an account of a recent German, and why she need promise so solemnly
not to forget the concert that afternoon.
When Fanny rose at last, Polly's tired face reproached her; and taking
a hasty leave of the small gentleman, she turned homeward, saying,
confidentially, as she put one hand in Polly's muff, “Now, my dear, you
must n't say a word about Frank Moore, or papa will take my head off. I
don't care a bit for him, and he likes Trix; only they have quarrelled,
and he wants to make her mad by flirting a little with me. I scolded him
well, and he promised to make up with her. We all go to the afternoon
concerts, and have a gay time, and Belle and Trix are to be there
to-day; so just keep quiet, and everything will be all right.”
“I'm afraid it won't,” began Polly, who, not being used to secrets,
found it very hard to keep even a small one.
“Don't worry, child. It's none of our business; so we can go and enjoy
the music, and if other people flirt, it won't be our fault,” said
Fanny, impatiently.
“Of course not; but, then, if your father don't like you to do so, ought
you to go?”
“I tell mamma, and she don't care. Papa is fussy, and grandma makes a
stir about every blessed thing I do. You will hold your tongue, won't
you?”
“Yes; I truly will; I never tell tales.” And Polly kept her word,
feeling sure Fan did n't mean to deceive her father, since she told her
mother everything.
“Who are you going with?” asked Mrs. Shaw, when Fanny mentioned that it
was concert-day, just before three o'clock.
“Only Polly; she likes music, and it was so stormy I could n't go last
week, you know,” answered Fan; adding, as they left the house again, “If
any one meets us on the way, I can't help it, can I?”
“You can tell them not to, can't you?”
“That's rude. Dear me! here's Belle's brother Gus he always goes. Is
my hair all right, and my hat?”
Before Polly could answer, Mr. Gus joined them as a matter of course,
and Polly soon found herself trotting on behind, feeling that things
were not “all right,” though she did n't know how to mend them. Being
fond of music, she ignorantly supposed that every one else went for that
alone, and was much disturbed by the whispering that went on among the
young people round her. Belle and Trix were there in full dress; and, in
the pauses between different pieces, Messrs. Frank and Gus, with several
other “splendid fellows,” regaled the young ladies with college gossip,
and bits of news full of interest, to judge from the close attention
paid to their eloquent remarks. Polly regarded these noble beings with
awe, and they recognized her existence with the condescension of their
sex; but they evidently considered her only “a quiet little thing,” and
finding her not up to society talk, blandly ignored the pretty child,
and devoted themselves to the young ladies. Fortunately for Polly, she
forgot all about them in her enjoyment of the fine music, which she felt
rather than understood, and sat listening with such a happy face, that
several true music-lovers watched her smilingly, for her heart gave a
blithe welcome to the melody which put the little instrument in tune.
It was dusk when they went out, and Polly was much relieved to find the
carriage waiting for them, because playing third fiddle was not to her
taste, and she had had enough of it for one day.
“I'm glad those men are gone; they did worry me so talking, when I
wanted to hear,” said Polly, as they rolled away.
“Which did you like best?” asked Fanny, with a languid air of
superiority.
“The plain one, who did n't say much; he picked up my muff when it
tumbled down, and took care of me in the crowd; the others did n't mind
anything about me.”
“They thought you were a little girl, I suppose.”
“My mother says a real gentleman is as polite to a little girl as to a
woman; so I like Mr. Sydney best, because he was kind to me.”
“What a sharp child you are, Polly. I should n't have thought you'd
mind things like that,” said Fanny, beginning to understand that there
may be a good deal of womanliness even in a little girl.
“I'm used to good manners, though I do live in the country,” replied
Polly, rather warmly, for she did n't like to be patronized even by her
friends.
“Grandma says your mother is a perfect lady, and you are just like her;
so don't get in a passion with those poor fellows, and I'll see that
they behave better next time. Tom has no manners at all, and you don't
complain of him,” added Fan, with a laugh.
“I don't care if he has n't; he's a boy, and acts like one, and I can
get on with him a great deal better than I can with those men.”
Fanny was just going to take Polly to task for saying “those men”
in such a disrespectful tone, when both were startled by a smothered
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” from under the opposite seat.
“It's Tom!” cried Fanny; and with the words out tumbled that
incorrigible boy, red in the face, and breathless with suppressed
laughter. Seating himself, he surveyed the girls as if well satisfied
with the success of his prank, and waiting to be congratulated upon it.
“Did you hear what we were saying?” demanded Fanny, uneasily.
“Oh, did n't I, every word?” And Tom exulted over them visibly.
“Did you ever see such a provoking toad, Polly? Now, I suppose you'll
go and tell papa a great story.”
“P'r'aps I shall, and p'r'aps I shan't. How Polly did hop when I crowed!
I heard her squeal, and saw her cuddle up her feet.”
“And you heard us praise your manners, did n't you?” asked Polly, slyly.
“Yes, and you liked'em; so I won't tell on you,” said Tom, with a
re-assuring nod.
“There's nothing to tell.”
“Ain't there, though? What do you suppose the governor will say to you
girls going on so with those dandies? I saw you.”
“What has the Governor of Massachusetts to do with us?” asked Polly,
trying to look as if she meant what she said.
“Pooh! you know who I mean; so you need n't try to catch me up, as
grandma does.”
“Tom, I'll make a bargain with you,” cried Fanny, eagerly. “It was
n't my fault that Gus and Frank were there, and I could n't help their
speaking to me. I do as well as I can, and papa need n't be angry; for I
behave ever so much better than some of the girls. Don't I, Polly?”
“Bargain?” observed Tom, with an eye to business.
“If you won't go and make a fuss, telling what you'd no right to hear
it was so mean to hide and listen; I should think you'd be ashamed
of it! I'll help you tease for your velocipede, and won't say a word
against it, when mamma and granny beg papa not to let you have it.”
“Will you?” and Tom paused to consider the offer in all its bearings.
“Yes, and Polly will help; won't you?”
“I'd rather not have anything to do with it; but I'll be quiet, and
not do any harm.”
“Why won't you?” asked Tom, curiously.
“Because it seems like deceiving.”
“Well, papa need n't be so fussy,” said Fan, petulantly.
“After hearing about that Carrie, and the rest, I don't wonder he is
fussy. Why don't you tell right out, and not do it any more, if he don't
want you to?” said Polly, persuasively.
“Do you go and tell your father and mother everything right out?”
“Yes, I do; and it saves ever so much trouble.”
“Ain't you afraid of them?”
“Of course I'm not. It's hard to tell sometimes; but it's so
comfortable when it's over.”
“Let's!” was Tom's brief advice.
“Mercy me! what a fuss about nothing!” said Fanny, ready to cry with
vexation.
“T is n't nothing. You know you are forbidden to go gallivanting round
with those chaps, and that's the reason you're in a pucker now. I
won't make any bargain, and I will tell,” returned Tom, seized with a
sudden fit of moral firmness.
“Will you if I promise never, never to do so any more?” asked Fanny,
meekly; for when Thomas took matters into his own hands, his sister
usually submitted in spite of herself.
“I'll think about it; and if you behave, maybe I won't do it at all. I
can watch you better than papa can; so, if you try it again, it's
all up with you, miss,” said Tom, finding it impossible to resist the
pleasure of tyrannizing a little when he got the chance.
“She won't; don't plague her any more, and she will be good to you when
you get into scrapes,” answered Polly, with her arm round Fan.
“I never do; and if I did, I should n't ask a girl to help me out.”
“Why not? I'd ask you in a minute, if I was in trouble,” said Polly, in
her confiding way.
“Would you? Well, I'd put you through, as sure as my name's Tom Shaw.
Now, then, don't slip, Polly,” and Mr. Thomas helped them out with
unusual politeness, for that friendly little speech gratified him. He
felt that one person appreciated him; and it had a good effect upon
manners and temper made rough and belligerent by constant snubbing and
opposition.
After tea that evening, Fanny proposed that Polly should show her how
to make molasses candy, as it was cook's holiday, and the coast would
be clear. Hoping to propitiate her tormentor, Fan invited Tom to join in
the revel, and Polly begged that Maud might sit up and see the fun;
so all four descended to the big kitchen, armed with aprons, hammers,
spoons, and pans, and Polly assumed command of the forces. Tom was set
to cracking nuts, and Maud to picking out the meats, for the candy was
to be “tip-top.” Fan waited on Polly cook, who hovered over the kettle
of boiling molasses till her face was the color of a peony. “Now, put
in the nuts,” she said at last; and Tom emptied his plate into the
foamy syrup, while the others watched with deep interest the mysterious
concoction of this well-beloved sweetmeat. “I pour it into the buttered
pan, you see, and it cools, and then we can eat it,” explained Polly,
suiting the action to the word.
“Why, it's all full of shells!” exclaimed Maud, peering into the pan.
“Oh, thunder! I must have put'em in by mistake, and ate up the meats
without thinking,” said Tom, trying to conceal his naughty satisfaction,
as the girls hung over the pan with faces full of disappointment and
despair.
“You did it on purpose, you horrid boy! I'll never let you have
anything to do with my fun again!” cried Fan, in a passion, trying to
catch and shake him, while he dodged and chuckled in high glee.
Maud began to wail over her lost delight, and Polly gravely poked at the
mess, which was quite spoilt. But her attention was speedily diverted
by the squabble going on in the corner; for Fanny, forgetful of her
young-ladyism and her sixteen years, had boxed Tom's ears, and Tom,
resenting the insult, had forcibly seated her in the coal-hod, where he
held her with one hand while he returned the compliment with the
other. Both were very angry, and kept twitting one another with every
aggravation they could invent, as they scolded and scuffled, presenting
a most unlovely spectacle.
Polly was not a model girl by any means, and had her little pets and
tempers like the rest of us; but she did n't fight, scream, and squabble
with her brothers and sisters in this disgraceful way, and was much
surprised to see her elegant friend in such a passion. “Oh, don't!
Please, don't! You'll hurt her, Tom! Let him go, Fanny! It's no matter
about the candy; we can make some more!” cried Polly, trying to part
them, and looking so distressed, that they stopped ashamed, and in a
minute sorry that she should see such a display of temper.
“I ain't going to be hustled round; so you'd better let me alone, Fan,”
said Tom, drawing off with a threatening wag of the head, adding, in
a different tone, “I only put the shells in for fun, Polly. You cook
another kettleful, and I'll pick you some meats all fair. Will you?”
“It's pretty hot work, and it's a pity to waste things; but I'll try
again, if you want me to,” said Polly, with a patient sigh, for her arms
were tired and her face uncomfortably hot.
“We don't want you; get away!” said Maud, shaking a sticky spoon at him.
“Keep quiet, cry-baby. I'm going to stay and help; may n't I, Polly?”
“Bears like sweet things, so you want some candy, I guess. Where is
the molasses? We've used up all there was in the jug,” said Polly,
good-naturedly, beginning again.
“Down cellar; I'll get it;” and taking the lamp and jug, Tom departed,
bent on doing his duty now like a saint.
The moment his light vanished, Fanny bolted the door, saying,
spitefully, “Now, we are safe from any more tricks. Let him thump and
call, it only serves him right; and when the candy is done, we'll let
the rascal out.”
“How can we make it without molasses?” asked Polly, thinking that would
settle the matter.
“There's plenty in the store-room. No; you shan't let him up till I'm
ready. He's got to learn that I'm not to be shaken by a little chit
like him. Make your candy, and let him alone, or I'll go and tell papa,
and then Tom will get a lecture.”
Polly thought it was n't fair; but Maud clamored for her candy, and
finding she could do nothing to appease Fan, Polly devoted her mind to
her cookery till the nuts were safely in, and a nice panful set in the
yard to cool. A few bangs at the locked door, a few threats of vengeance
from the prisoner, such as setting the house on fire, drinking up the
wine, and mashing the jelly-pots, and then all was so quiet that the
girls forgot him in the exciting crisis of their work.
“He can't possibly get out anywhere, and as soon we've cut up the
candy, we'll unbolt the door and run. Come and get a nice dish to put
it in,” said Fan, when Polly proposed to go halves with Tom, lest he
should come bursting in somehow, and seize the whole.
When they came down with the dish in which to set forth their treat,
and opened the back-door to find it, imagine their dismay on discovering
that it was gone, pan, candy, and all, utterly and mysteriously gone!
A general lament arose, when a careful rummage left no hopes; for
the fates had evidently decreed at candy was not to prosper on this
unpropitious night.
“The hot pan has melted and sunk in the snow perhaps,” said Fanny,
digging into the drift where it was left.
“Those old cats have got it, I guess,” suggested Maud, too much
overwhelmed by this second blow to howl as usual.
“The gate is n't locked, and some beggar has stolen it. I hope it will
do him good,” added Polly, turning from her exploring expedition.
“If Tom could get out, I should think he'd carried it off; but not
being a rat, he can't go through the bits of windows; so it was n't
him,” said Fanny, disconsolately, for she began to think this double
loss a punishment for letting angry passions rise, “Let's open the door
and tell him about it,” proposed Polly.
“He'll crow over us. No; we'll open it and go to bed, and he can come
out when he likes. Provoking boy! if he had n't plagued us so, we should
have had a nice time.”
Unbolting the cellar door, the girls announced to the invisible captive
that they were through, and then departed much depressed. Half-way up
the second flight, they all stopped as suddenly as if they had seen
a ghost; for looking over the banisters was Tom's face, crocky but
triumphant, and in either hand a junk of candy, which he waved above
them as he vanished, with the tantalizing remark, “Don't you wish you
had some?”
“How in the world did he get out?” cried Fanny, steadying herself after
a start that nearly sent all three tumbling down stairs.
“Coal-hole!” answered a spectral voice from the gloom above.
“Good gracious! He must have poked up the cover, climbed into the
street, stole the candy, and sneaked in at the shed-window while we were
looking for it.”
“Cats got it, did n't they?” jeered the voice in a tone that made Polly
sit down and laugh till she could n't laugh any longer.
“Just give Maud a bit, she's so disappointed. Fan and I are sick of it,
and so will you be, if you eat it all,” called Polly, when she got her
breath.
“Go to bed, Maudie, and look under your pillow when you get there,” was
the oracular reply that came down to them, as Tom's door closed after a
jubilant solo on the tin pan.
The girls went to bed tired out; and Maud slumbered placidly, hugging
the sticky bundle, found where molasses candy is not often discovered.
Polly was very tired, and soon fell asleep; but Fanny, who slept with
her, lay awake longer than usual, thinking about her troubles, for her
head ached, and the dissatisfaction that follows anger would not let her
rest with the tranquillity that made the rosy face in the little round
nightcap such a pleasant sight to see as it lay beside her. The gas was
turned down, but Fanny saw a figure in a gray wrapper creep by her door,
and presently return, pausing to look in. “Who is it?” she cried, so
loud that Polly woke.
“Only me, dear,” answered grandma's mild voice. “Poor Tom has got a
dreadful toothache, and I came down to find some creosote for him. He
told me not to tell you; but I can't find the bottle, and don't want to
disturb mamma.”
“It's in my closet. Old Tom will pay for his trick this time,” said
Fanny, in a satisfied tone.
“I thought he'd get enough of our candy,” laughed Polly; and then they
fell asleep, leaving Tom to the delights of toothache and the tender
mercies of kind old grandma.