“OH, dear! Must you really go home Saturday?” said Fan, some days after
what Tom called the “grand scrimmage.”
“I really must; for I only came to stay a month and here I've been
nearly six weeks,” answered Polly, feeling as if she had been absent a
year.
“Make it two months and stay over Christmas. Come, do, now,” urged Tom,
heartily.
“You are very kind; but I would n't miss Christmas at home for anything.
Besides, mother says they can't possibly do without me.”
“Neither can we. Can't you tease your mother, and make up your mind to
stay?” began Fan.
“Polly never teases. She says it's selfish; and I don't do it now
much,” put in Maud, with a virtuous air.
“Don't you bother Polly. She'd rather go, and I don't wonder. Let's be
just as jolly as we can while she stays, and finish up with your party,
Fan,” said Tom, in a tone that settled the matter.
Polly had expected to be very happy in getting ready for the party; but
when the time came, she was disappointed; for somehow that naughty thing
called envy took possession of her, and spoiled her pleasure. Before she
left home, she thought her new white muslin dress, with its fresh blue
ribbons, the most elegant and proper costume she could have; but
now, when she saw Fanny's pink silk, with a white tarlatan tunic, and
innumerable puffings, bows, and streamers, her own simple little
toilet lost all its charms in her eyes, and looked very babyish and
old-fashioned.
Even Maud was much better dressed than herself, and looked very splendid
in her cherry-colored and white suit, with a sash so big she could
hardly carry it, and little white boots with red buttons. They both
had necklaces and bracelets, ear-rings and brooches; but Polly had no
ornament, except the plain locket on a bit of blue velvet. Her sash was
only a wide ribbon, tied in a simple bow, and nothing but a blue snood
in the pretty curls. Her only comfort was the knowledge that the modest
tucker drawn up round the plump shoulders was real lace, and that her
bronze boots cost nine dollars.
Poor Polly, with all her efforts to be contented, and not to mind
looking unlike other people, found it hard work to keep her face bright
and her voice happy that night. No one dreamed what was going an under
the muslin frock, till grandma's wise old eyes spied out the little
shadow on Polly's spirits, and guessed the cause of it. When dressed,
the three girls went up to show themselves to the elders, who were in
grandma's room, where Tom was being helped into an agonizingly stiff
collar.
Maud pranced like a small peacock, and Fan made a splendid courtesy as
every one turned to survey them; but Polly stood still, and her eyes
went from face to face, with an anxious, wistful air, which seemed to
say, “I know I'm not right; but I hope I don't look very bad.”
Grandma read the look in a minute; and when Fanny said, with a satisfied
smile, “How do we look?” she answered, drawing Polly toward her so
kindly.
“Very like the fashion-plates you got the patterns of your dresses from.
But this little costume suits me best.”
“Do you really think I look nice?” and Polly's face brightened, for she
valued the old lady's opinion very much.
“Yes, my dear; you look just as I like to see a child of your age look.
What particularly pleases me is that you have kept your promise to your
mother, and have n't let anyone persuade you to wear borrowed finery.
Young things like you don't need any ornaments but those you wear
to-night, youth, health, intelligence, and modesty.”
As she spoke, grandma gave a tender kiss that made Polly glow like a
rose, and for a minute she forgot that there were such things as pink
silk and coral ear-rings in the world. She only said, “Thank you,
ma'am,” and heartily returned the kiss; but the words did her good, and
her plain dress looked charming all of a sudden.
“Polly's so pretty, it don't matter what she wears,” observed Tom,
surveying her over his collar with an air of calm approval.
“She has n't got any bwetelles to her dwess, and I have,” said Maud,
settling her ruffled bands over her shoulders, which looked like
cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.
“I did wish she'd just wear my blue set, ribbon is so very plain; but,
as Tom says, it don't much matter;” and Fanny gave an effective touch to
the blue bow above Polly's left temple.
“She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls,” said Mrs. Shaw,
privately thinking that her own daughters looked much the best, yet
conscious that blooming Polly had the most attractive face. “Bless me!
I forgot my posies in admiring the belles. Hand them out, Tom;” and Mr.
Shaw nodded toward an interesting looking box that stood on the table.
Seizing them wrong side-up, Tom produced three little bouquets, all
different in color, size, and construction.
“Why, papa! how very kind of you,” cried Fanny, who had not dared to
receive even a geranium leaf since the late scrape.
“Your father used to be a very gallant young gentleman, once upon a
time,” said Mrs. Shaw, with a simper.
“Ah, Tom, it's a good sign when you find time to think of giving
pleasure to your little girls!” And grandma patted her son's bald head
as if he was n't more than eighteen.
Thomas Jr. had given a somewhat scornful sniff at first; but when
grandma praised his father, the young man thought better of the matter,
and regarded the flowers with more respect, as he asked, “Which is for
which?”
“Guess,” said Mr. Shaw, pleased that his unusual demonstration had
produced such an effect.
The largest was a regular hothouse bouquet, of tea-rosebuds, scentless
heath, and smilax; the second was just a handful of sweet-peas and
mignonette, with a few cheerful pansies, and one fragrant little rose in
the middle; the third, a small posy of scarlet verbenas, white feverfew,
and green leaves.
“Not hard to guess. The smart one for Fan, the sweet one for Polly, and
the gay one for Pug. Now, then, catch hold, girls.” And Tom proceeded
to deliver the nosegays, with as much grace as could be expected from a
youth in a new suit of clothes and very tight boots.
“That finishes you off just right, and is a very pretty attention of
papa's. Now run down, for the bell has rung; and remember, not to dance
too often, Fan; be as quiet as you can, Tom; and Maud, don't eat too
much supper. Grandma will attend to things, for my poor nerves won't
allow me to come down.”
With that, Mrs. Shaw dismissed them, and the four descended to receive
the first batch of visitors, several little girls who had been asked
for the express purpose of keeping Maud out of her sister's way. Tom
had likewise been propitiated, by being allowed to bring his three bosom
friends, who went by the school-boy names of Rumple, Sherry, and Spider.
“They will do to make up sets, as gentlemen are scarce; and the party is
for Polly, so I must have some young folks on her account,” said Fanny,
when sending out her invitations.
Of course, the boys came early, and stood about in corners, looking as
if they had more arms and legs than they knew what to do with. Tom did
his best to be a good host; but ceremony oppressed his spirits, and he
was forced to struggle manfully with the wild desire to propose a game
of leap-frog, for the long drawing-rooms, cleared for dancing, tempted
him sorely.
Polly sat where she was told, and suffered bashful agonies as Fan
introduced very fine young ladies and very stiff young gentlemen, who
all said about the same civil things, and then appeared to forget all
about her. When the first dance was called, Fanny cornered Tom, who had
been dodging her, for he knew what she wanted, and said, in an earnest
whisper: “Now, Tom, you must dance this with Polly. You are the young
gentleman of the house, and it's only proper that you should ask your
company first.”
“Polly don't care for manners. I hate dancing; don't know how. Let go
my jacket, and don't bother, or I'll cut away altogether,” growled Tom,
daunted by the awful prospect of opening the ball with Polly.
“I'll never forgive you if you do. Come, be clever, and help me, there
's a dear. You know we both were dreadfully rude to Polly, and agreed
that we'd be as kind and civil to her as ever we could. I shall keep
my word, and see that she is n't slighted at my party, for I want her to
love me, and go home feeling all right.”
This artful speech made an impression on the rebellious Thomas, who
glanced at Polly's happy face, remembered his promise, and, with a
groan, resolved to do his duty.
“Well, I'll take her; but I shall come to grief, for I don't know
anything about your old dances.”
“Yes, you do. I've taught you the steps a dozen times. I'm going to
begin with a redowa, because the girls like it, and it's better fun
than square dances. Now, put on your gloves, and go and ask Polly like a
gentleman.”
“Oh, thunder!” muttered Tom. And having split the detested gloves in
dragging them on, he nerved himself for the effort, walked up to Polly,
made a stiff bow, stuck out his elbow, and said, solemnly, “May I have
the pleasure, Miss Milton?”
He did it as much like the big fellows as he could, and expected that
Polly would be impressed. But she was n't a bit; for after a surprised
look she laughed in his face, and took him by the hand, saying,
heartily, “Of course you may; but don't be a goose, Tommy.”
“Well, Fan told me to be elegant, so I tried to,” whispered Tom, adding,
as he clutched his partner with a somewhat desperate air, “Hold on
tight, and we'll get through somehow.”
The music struck up, and away they went; Tom hopping one way and Polly
the other, in a most ungraceful manner.
“Keep time to the music,” gasped Polly.
“Can't; never could,” returned Tom.
“Keep step with me, then, and don't tread on my toes,” pleaded Polly.
“Never mind; keep bobbing, and we'll come right by and by,” muttered
Tom, giving his unfortunate partner a sudden whisk, which nearly landed
both on the floor.
But they did not “get right by and by”; for Tom, In his frantic efforts
to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he
skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her
up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress,
and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed;
but as everyone else was flying about also, she bore it as long as
she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling
grateful to him for the sacrifice.
“Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!” cried Polly, breathlessly, after a
few wild turns.
“Is n't it?” said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense
relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, “Thank
you,” and dropped into a chair exhausted.
“I know I've made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear
you'd be offended if I did n't go the first dance with you,” said Tom,
remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her crushed sash,
which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to turn and twist her;
“I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won't ever want to dance with me
any more,” he added, as he began to fan her so violently, that her hair
flew about as if in a gale of wind.
“Yes, I will. I'd like to; and you shall put your name down here on
the sticks of my fan. That's the way, Trix says, when you don't have a
ball-book.”
Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump of a lead-pencil, and
wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it back, “Now I'm
going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the redowa well, so
you can have a real good go before the music stops.”
Off went Tom; but before he could catch any eligible partner, Polly was
provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney had seen and heard
the whole thing; and though he had laughed quietly, he liked honest Tom
and good-natured Polly all the better for their simplicity. Polly's foot
was keeping time to the lively music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully
on the smoothly-gliding couples before her, when Mr. Sydney came to
her, saying, in the pleasant yet respectful way she liked so much, “Miss
Polly, can you give me a turn?”
“Oh, yes; I'm dying for another.” And Polly jumped up, with both hands
out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved she should have
as many turns as she liked.
This time all went well; and Tom, returning from an unsuccessful search,
was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully about the room, guided by
a most accomplished partner.
“Ah, that's something like,” he thought, as he watched the bronze boots
retreating and advancing in perfect time to the music. “Don't see how
Sydney does the steering so well; but it must be fun; and, by Jupiter! I
'll learn it!” added Shaw, Jr., with an emphatic gesture which burst the
last button off his gloves.
Polly enjoyed herself till the music stopped; and before she had time to
thank Mr. Sydney as warmly as she wished, Tom came up to say, with his
most lordly air, “You dance splendidly, Polly. Now, you just show me any
one you like the looks of, and I'll get him for you, no matter who he
is.”
“I don't want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don't care
to dance with me; but I like those boys over there, and I'll dance with
any of them if they are willing,” said Polly, after a survey.
“I'll trot out the whole lot.” And Tom gladly brought up his friends,
who all admired Polly immensely, and were proud to be chosen instead of
the “big fellows.”
There was no sitting still for Polly after that, for the lads kept her
going at a great pace; and she was so happy, she never saw or suspected
how many little manoeuvres, heart-burnings, displays of vanity,
affectation, and nonsense were going on all round her. She loved
dancing, and entered into the gayety of the scene with a heartiness that
was pleasant to see. Her eyes shone, her face glowed, her lips smiled,
and the brown curls waved in the air, as she danced, with a heart as
light as her feet.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Polly?” asked Mr. Shaw, who looked in, now
and then, to report to grandma that all was going well.
“Oh, such a splendid time!” cried Polly, with an enthusiastic little
gesture, as she chassed into the corner where he stood.
“She is a regular belle among the boys,” said Fanny, as she promenaded
by.
“They are so kind in asking me and I'm not afraid of them,” explained
Polly, prancing, simply because she could n't keep still.
“So you are afraid of the young gentlemen, hey?” and Mr. Shaw held her
by one curl.
“All but Mr. Sydney. He don't put on airs and talk nonsense; and, oh! he
does'dance like an angel,' as Trix says.”
“Papa, I wish you'd come and waltz with me. Fan told me not to go near
her, 'cause my wed dwess makes her pink one look ugly; and Tom won't;
and I want to dwedfully.”
“I've forgotten how, Maudie. Ask Polly; she'll spin you round like a
teetotum.” “Mr. Sydney's name is down for that,” answered Polly, looking
at her fan with a pretty little air of importance. “But I guess he would
n't mind my taking poor Maud instead. She has n't danced hardly any,
and I've had more than my share. Would it be very improper to change
my mind?” And Polly looked up at her tall partner with eye which plainly
showed that the change was a sacrifice.
“Not a bit. Give the little dear a good waltz, and we will look on,”
answered Mr. Sydney, with a nod and smile.
“That is a refreshing little piece of nature,” said Mr. Shaw, as Polly
and Maud whirled away.
“She will make a charming little woman, if she is n't spoilt.”
“No danger of that. She has got a sensible mother.”
“I thought so.” And Sydney sighed, for he had lately lost his own good
mother.
When supper was announced, Polly happened to be talking, or trying to
talk, to one of the “poky” gentlemen whom Fan had introduced. He took
Miss Milton down, of course, put her in a corner, and having served her
to a dab of ice and one macaroon, he devoted himself to his own supper
with such interest, that Polly would have fared badly, if Tom had not
come and rescued her.
“I've been looking everywhere for you. Come with me, and don't sit
starving here,” said Tom, with a scornful look from her empty plate to
that of her recreant escort, which was piled with good things.
Following her guide, Polly was taken to the big china closet, opening
from the dining-room to the kitchen, and here she found a jovial little
party feasting at ease. Maud and her bosom friend, “Gwace,” were seated
on tin cake-boxes; Sherry and Spider adorned the refrigerator; while Tom
and Rumple foraged for the party.
“Here's fun,” said Polly, as she was received with a clash of spoons
and a waving of napkins.
“You just perch on that cracker-keg, and I'll see that you get enough,”
said Tom, putting a dumbwaiter before her, and issuing his orders with a
fine air of authority.
“We are a band of robbers in our cave, and I'm the captain; and we
pitch into the folks passing by, and go out and bring home plunder. Now,
Rumple, you go and carry off a basket of cake, and I'll watch here till
Katy comes by with a fresh lot of oysters; Polly must have some. Sherry,
cut into the kitchen, and bring a cup of coffee. Spider, scrape up the
salad, and poke the dish through the slide for more. Eat away, Polly,
and my men will be back with supplies in a jiffy.”
Such fun as they had in that closet; such daring robberies of jelly-pots
and cake-boxes; such successful raids into the dining-room and kitchen;
such base assaults upon poor Katy and the colored waiter, who did his
best, but was helpless in the hands of the robber horde. A very harmless
little revel; for no wine was allowed, and the gallant band were so
busy skirmishing to supply the ladies, that they had not time to eat
too much. No one missed them; and when they emerged, the feast was over,
except for a few voracious young gentlemen, who still lingered among the
ruins.
“That's the way they always do; poke the girls in corners, give'em
just one taste of something, and then go and stuff like pigs,” whispered
Tom, with a superior air, forgetting certain private banquets of his
own, after company had departed.
The rest of the evening was to be devoted to the German; and, as Polly
knew nothing about it, she established herself in a window recess to
watch the mysteries. For a time she enjoyed it, for it was all new to
her, and the various pretty devices were very charming; but, by and by,
that bitter weed, envy, cropped up again, and she could not feel happy
to be left out in the cold, while the other girls were getting gay
tissue-paper suits, droll bonbons, flowers, ribbons, and all manner of
tasteful trifles in which girlish souls delight. Everyone was absorbed;
Mr. Sydney was dancing; Tom and his friends were discussing base-ball on
the stairs; and Maud's set had returned to the library to play.
Polly tried to conquer the bad feeling; but it worried her, till she
remembered something her mother once said to her, “When you feel out
of sorts, try to make some one else happy, and you will soon be so
yourself.”
“I will try it,” thought Polly, and looked round to see what she could
do. Sounds of strife in the library led her to enter. Maud and the young
ladies were sitting on the sofa, talking about each other's clothes, as
they had seen their mammas do.
“Was your dress imported?” asked Grace.
“No; was yours?” returned Blanche.
“Yes; and it cost oh, ever so much.”
“I don't think it is as pretty as Maud's.”
“Mine was made in New York,” said Miss Shaw, smoothing her skirts
complacently.
“I can't dress much now, you know, 'cause mamma's in black for
somebody,” observed Miss Alice Lovett, feeling the importance which
affliction conferred upon her when it took the form of a jet necklace.
“Well, I don't care if my dress is n't imported; my cousin had three
kinds of wine at her party; so, now,” said Blanche.
“Did she?” And all the little girls looked deeply impressed, till Maud
observed, with a funny imitation of her father's manner, “My papa said
it was scan-dill-us; for some of the little boys got tipsy, and had to
be tooked home. He would n't let us have any wine; and gwandma said it
was vewy impwoper for childwen to do so.”
“My mother says your mother's coup, is n't half so stylish as ours,” put
in Alice.
“Yes, it is, too. It's all lined with gween silk, and that's nicer
than old wed cloth,” cried Maud, ruffling up like an insulted chicken.
“Well, my brother don't wear a horrid old cap, and he's got nice hair.
I would n't have a brother like Tom. He's horrid rude, my sister says,”
retorted Alice.
“He is n't. Your brother is a pig.”
“You're a fib!”
“So are you!”
Here, I regret to say, Miss Shaw slapped Miss Lovett, who promptly
returned the compliment, and both began to cry.
Polly, who had paused to listen to the edifying chat, parted the
belligerents, and finding the poor things tired, cross, and sleepy,
yet unable to go home till sent for, proposed to play games. The
young ladies consented, and “Puss in the corner” proved a peacemaker.
Presently, in came the boys; and being exiles from the German,
gladly joined in the games, which soon were lively enough to wake the
sleepiest. “Blind-man's-buff” was in full swing when Mr. Shaw peeped in,
and seeing Polly flying about with band-aged eyes, joined in the fun to
puzzle her. He got caught directly; and great merriment was caused by
Polly's bewilderment, for she could n't guess who he was, till she felt
the bald spot on his head.
This frolic put every one in such spirits, that Polly forgot her
trouble, and the little girls kissed each other good-night as
affectionately as if such things as imported frocks, coups, and rival
brothers did n't exist “Well, Polly, do you like parties?” asked Fan
when the last guest was gone.
“Very much; but I don't think it would be good for me to go to many,”
answered Polly, slowly.
“Why not?”
“I should n't enjoy them if I did n't have a fine dress, and dance all
the time, and be admired, and all the rest of it.”
“I did n't know you cared for such things,” cried Fanny, surprised.
“Neither did I till to-night; but I do; and as I can't have'em, it's
lucky I'm going home tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear! So you are! What shall I do without my'sweet P.,' as Sydney
calls you?” sighed Fanny, bearing Polly away to be cuddled.
Every one echoed the exclamation next day; and many loving eyes followed
the little figure in the drab frock as it went quietly about, doing for
the last time the small services which would help to make its absence
keenly felt. Polly was to go directly after an early dinner, and having
packed her trunk, all but one tray, she was told to go and take a run
while grandma finished. Polly suspected that some pleasant surprise
was going to be put in; for Fan did n't offer to go with her, Maud kept
dodging about with something under her apron, and Tom had just whisked
into his mother's room in a mysterious manner. So Polly took the hint
and went away, rejoicing in the thought of the unknown treasures she was
to carry home.
Mr. Shaw had not said he should come home so early, but Polly thought he
might, and went to meet him. Mr. Shaw did n't expect to see Polly, for
he had left her very busy, and now a light snow was falling; but, as he
turned into the mall there was the round hat, and under it the bright
face, looking all the rosier for being powdered with snow-flakes, as
Polly came running to meet him.
“There won't be any one to help the old gentleman safely home
to-morrow,” he said, as Polly took his hand in both hers with an
affectionate squeeze.
“Yes, there will; see if there is n't,” cried Polly, nodding and
smiling, for Fan had confided to her that she meant to try it after her
friend had gone.
“I'm glad of it. But, my dear, I want you to promise that you will
come and make us a visit every winter, a good long one,” said Mr. Shaw,
patting the blue mittens folded round his hand.
“If they can spare me from home, I'd love to come dearly.”
“They must lend you for a little while, because you do us all good, and
we need you.”
“Do I? I don't see how; but I'm glad to hear you say so,” cried Polly,
much touched.
“I can't tell you how, exactly; but you brought something into my house
that makes it warmer and pleasanter, and won't quite vanish, I hope,
when you go away, my child.”
Polly had never heard Mr. Shaw speak like that before, and did n't know
what to say, she felt so proud and happy at this proof of the truth of
her mother's words, when she said that “even a little girl could exert
an influence, and do some good in this big, busy world.” She only gave
her friend a grateful look sweeter than any words, and they went on
together, hand in hand, through the “soft-falling snow.”
If Polly could have seen what went into that top tray, she would have
been entirely overcome; for Fanny had told grandma about the poor little
presents she had once laughed at, and they had all laid their heads
together to provide something really fine and appropriate for every
member of the Milton family. Such a mine of riches! and so much
good-will, affection, and kindly forethought was packed away in the
tempting bundles, that no one could feel offended, but would find an
unusual charm about the pretty gifts that made them doubly welcome. I
only know that if Polly had suspected that a little watch was ticking
away in a little case, with her name on it, inside that trunk, she never
could have left it locked as grandma advised, or have eaten her dinner
so quietly. As it was, her heart was very full, and the tears rose to
her eyes more than once, everyone was so kind, and so sorry to have her
go.
Tom did n't need any urging to play escort now; and both Fan and Maud
insisted on going too. Mrs. Shaw forgot her nerves, and put up some
ginger-bread with her own hands; Mr. Shaw kissed Polly as if she had
been his dearest daughter; and grandma held her close, whispering in a
tremulous tone, “My little comfort, come again soon”; while Katy waved
her apron from the nursery window, crying, as they drove, away, “The
saints bless ye, Miss Polly, dear, and sind ye the best of lucks!”
But the crowning joke of all was Tom's good-by, for, when Polly was
fairly settled in the car, the last “All aboard!” uttered, and the train
in motion, Tom suddenly produced a knobby little bundle, and thrusting
it in at the window, while he hung on in some breakneck fashion, said,
with a droll mixture of fun and feeling in his face, “It's horrid;
but you wanted it, so I put it in to make you laugh. Good-by, Polly;
good-by, good-by!”
The last adieu was a trifle husky, and Tom vanished as it was uttered,
leaving Polly to laugh over his parting souvenir till the tears ran down
her cheeks. It was a paper bag of peanuts, and poked down at the very
bottom a photograph of Tom. It was “horrid,” for he looked as if taken
by a flash of lightning, so black, wild, and staring was it; but Polly
liked it, and whenever she felt a little pensive at parting with her
friends, she took a peanut, or a peep at Tom's funny picture, which made
her merry again.
So the short journey came blithely to an end, and in the twilight she
saw a group of loving faces at the door of a humble little house, which
was more beautiful than any palace in her eyes, for it was home.