8 Six years afterward. What do you think Polly is going to do this winter?' exclaimed Fanny, looking up from the letter she had been eagerly reading. "'Going to deliver lectures on women's rights,' said the young gentleman who was carefully examining his luxuriant crop of decidedly alburn hair as he lounged with both elbows on the chimney-piece. "'Going to set her cap for some young minister and marry him in the spring?' added Mrs. Shaw, whose mind ran a good deal upon matchmaking just now. I think she's going to stay at home and do all the work, because servants cost so much it would be just like her,' observed Maud, who could pronounce the letter R now. "'It's my opinion she is going to open a school or something of that sort to help those brothers of hers along,' said Mr. Shaw, who had put down his paper at the sound of Polly's name. "'Every one of you is wrong, though Papa comes nearest the truth,' cried Fanny. "'She is going to give music lessons and support herself so that we'll make her go to college. He is the studious one, and Polly is very proud of him. Ned, the other brother, has a business talent and doesn't care for books, so he has gone out west and will make his own way anywhere. Polly says she isn't needed at home now, the family is so small, and Kitty can take her place nicely, so she is actually going to earn her own living and hand over her share of the family income to Will. What a martyr that girl does make of herself!' But Fanny looked as solemn as if Polly had proposed some awful self-sacrifice. "'She is a sensible, brave-hearted girl, and I respect her for doing it,' said Mr. Shaw emphatically. One never knows what may happen, and it does no harm for young people to learn to be independent. If she is as pretty as she was last time I saw her, she'll get pupils fast enough. I wouldn't mind taking lessons myself,' was the gracious observation of Shaw Jr., as he turned from the mirror with the soothing certainty that his objectionable hair actually was growing darker. "'She wouldn't take you at any price,' said Fanny, remembering Polly's look of disappointment and disapproval when she came on her last visit, and found him an unmistakable dandy. "'You just wait and see,' was the placid reply. If Polly does carry out her plan I wish Maude to take lessons of her. Fanny can do as she likes, but it would please me very much to have one of my girls sing as Polly sings. It suits old people better than your opera things, and Mother used to enjoy it so much.' As he spoke Mr. Shaw's eye turned toward the corner of the fire where Grandma used to sit.  "'I'd like to learn, Papa, and Polly is a splendid teacher, I know. She's always so patient and makes everything so pleasant. I do hope she will get scholars enough to begin right away,' said Maude. "'When is she coming?' asked Mrs. Shaw, quite willing to help Polly, but privately resolving that Maude should be finished off by the most fashionable master in the city. She doesn't say. She thanks me for asking her here as usual, but says she shall go right to work and had better begin with her own little room at once. Won't it seem strange to have Polly in town and yet not with us?' We'll get her somehow, though little room will cost something, and she can stay with us just as well as not, even if she does teach. Tell her I say so,' said Mr. Shaw. She won't come, I know, for if she undertakes to be independent she'll do it in the most thorough manner,' answered Fanny, and Mrs. Shaw sincerely hoped she would. It was all very well to patronize the little music teacher, but it was not so pleasant to have her settled in the family. "'I shall do what I can for her among my friends, and I dare say she will get on very well with young pupils to begin with. If she starts right, puts her terms high enough and gets a few good names to give her the entree into our first families, I don't doubt she will do nicely. For I must say Polly has the manners of a lady,' observed Mrs. Shaw. "'She's a mighty taking little body, and I'm glad she's to be in town, though I'd like it better if she didn't bother about teaching but just stayed here and enjoyed herself,' said Tom lazily. "'I've no doubt she would feel highly honored to be allowed to devote her time to your amusement, but she can't afford expensive luxuries and she don't approve of flirting, so you will have to let her go her own way and refresh herself with such glimpses of you as her engagements permit,' answered Fanny, in the sarcastic tone which was becoming habitual to her. "'You are getting to be a regular old maid, fan, as sharp as a lemon and twice as sour,' returned Tom, looking down at her with an air of calm superiority. "'Do be quiet, children, you know I can't bear anything like contention,' Maude gave me my Shetland shawl, and put a cushion at my back. As Maude obeyed her mother with a reproving look at her airing brother and sister, a pause followed, for which everyone seemed grateful. They were sitting about the fire after dinner, and all looked as if a little sunshine would do them good. It had been a dull November day, but all of a sudden the clouds lifted and a bright ray shot into the room. Everyone turned involuntarily to welcome it, and everyone cried out, "'Why, Polly,' for there on the threshold stood a bright-faced girl, smiling as if there was no such thing as November weather in the world. "'You dear thing, when did you come?' cried Fanny, kissing both the blooming cheeks with real affection, while the rest hovered near, waiting for a chance. I came yesterday and have been getting my nest in order, but I couldn't keep away any longer, so I ran up to say, "'How do you do?' answered Polly, in the cheery voice that did one's heart good to hear. My Polly always brings the sunshine with her, and Mr. Shaw held out his hands to his little friend, for she was his favorite still. It was good to see her put both arms about his neck and give him a tender kiss that set a great deal, for Grandma had died since Polly met him last, and she longed to comfort him, seeing how gray and old he had grown. If Tom had any thoughts of following his father's example, something in Polly's manner made him change his mind, and shake hands with the hearty, "'I'm very glad to see you, Polly,' adding to himself as he looked at the face in the modest little bonnet, prettier than ever by Jove. There was something more than mere prettiness in Polly's face, though Tom had not learned to see it yet. The blue eyes were clear and steady, the fresh mouth frank and sweet, the white chin was a very firm one in spite of the dimple, and the smooth forehead under the little curls had a broad, benevolent arch, while all about the face were those unmistakable lines and curves which can make even a plain countenance comely by breathing into it the beauty of a lovely character. Polly had grown up, but she had no more style now than in the days of the round hat and rough coat, for she was all in gray, like a young Quakeress, with no ornament but a blue bow at the throat and another in the hair. Yet the plain suit became her excellently, and one never thought of the dress, looking at the active figure that wore it, for the freedom of her childhood gave to Polly that good gift health, and every movement was full of the vigor, grace, and ease which nothing else can so surely bestow. A happy soul and a healthy body is a rare sight in these days, when doctors flourish and everyone is ill, and this pleasant union was the charm which Polly possessed without knowing it. It does seem so good to have you here again, said Maude, cuddling Polly's cold hand as she sat at her feet, when she was fairly established between Fanny and Mr. Shaw, while Tom leaned on the back of his mother's chair and enjoyed the prospect. How do you get on? When do you begin? Where's your nest? Now tell all about it, began Fanny, who was full of curiosity about the new plan. I shall get on very well, I think, for I've got twelve scholars to begin with, all able to pay a good price, and I shall give my first lesson on Monday. Don't you dread it? asked Fanny. Not much? Why should I? answered Polly stoutly. Well, I don't know, it's a new thing, it must be a little bit hard at first, stammered Fanny, not liking to say that working for one's living seemed a dreadful hardship to her. It will be tiresome, of course, but I shall get used to it. I shall like the exercise, and the new people and places I must see will amuse me. Then the independence will be delightful, and if I can save a little to help Kitty along with, that will be best of all. Polly's face shown as if the prospect was full of pleasure instead of work, and the hardy goodwill with which she undertook the new task seemed to dignify her humble hopes and plans, and make them interesting in the sight of others. Who have you got for pupils? asked Mrs. Shaw, forgetting her nerves for a minute. Polly named her list, and took a secret satisfaction in seeing the impression which certain names made upon her hearers. How in the world did you get the Davenports and the Grays, my dear? said Mrs. Shaw, sitting erect in her surprise. Mrs. Davenport and Mother are relations, you know. You've never told us that before. The Davenports had been away some years, and I forgot all about them. But when I was making my plan I knew I must have a good name or two to set me going, so I just wrote and asked Mrs. D. if she would help me. She came and saw us, and was very kind, and has got these pupils for me, like a dear good woman as she is. Where did you learn so much worldly wisdom, Polly? asked Mr. Shaw, as his wife fell back in her chair and took out her salts, as if this discovery had been too much for her. I learned it here, sir, answered Polly, laughing. I used to think patronage and things of that sort very disagreeable and not worth having, but I've got wiser, and to a certain extent I'm glad to use whatever advantages I have in my power, if they can be honestly got. Why didn't you let us help you in the beginning? We should have been very glad too, I'm sure, put in Mrs. Shaw, who quite burned to be known as a joint patroness with Mrs. Davenport. I know you would, but you have all been so kind to me. I didn't want to trouble you with my little plans till the first steps were taken. Besides, I didn't know as you would like to recommend me as a teacher, though you like me well enough as plain Polly. My dear, of course I would, and we want you to take mod at once and teacher your sweet songs. She has a fine voice and is really suffering for a teacher. A slight smile passed over Polly's face as she returned her thanks for the new pupil, for she remembered a time when Mrs. Shaw considered her sweet songs quite unfit for a fashionable young lady's repertoire. Where is your room? asked Mod. My old friend Miss Mills has taken me in, and I am nicely settled. Mother didn't like the idea of my going to a strange boarding-house, so Miss Mills kindly made a place for me. You know she lets her rooms without board, but she is going to give me my dinners and I am to get my own breakfast and tea quite independently. I like that way, and it's very little trouble. My habits are so simple. A bowl of bread and milk, night and morning, with baked apples or something of that sort is all I want, and I can have it when I like. Is your room comfortably furnished? Can we lend you anything, my dear? An easy chair now, or a little couch, so necessary when one comes in tired? said Mrs. Shaw, taking unusual interest in the affair. Thank you, but I don't need anything, for I brought all sorts of home comforts with me. Oh, fan, you ought to have seen my triumphal entry into the city, sitting among my goods and chattels in a farmer's cart. Polly's laugh was so infectious that everyone smiled and forgot to be shocked at her performance. Yes, she added, I kept wishing I could meet you just to see your horrified face when you saw me sitting on my little sofa, with boxes and bundles all round me, a birdcage on one side, a fishing basket with a kitten's head popping in and out of the hole on the other side, and jolly old Mr. Brown and his blue frock perched on a keg of apples in front.  Oh, tell about it, begged Maud, when the general laugh at Polly's picture had subsided. Well, in the first place we forgot my ivy, and Kitty came running after me with it. Then we started again, but were soon stopped by a great shouting, and there was will racing down the hill waving a pillow in one hand and a squash pie in the other. How we did laugh when he came up and explained that our neighbor, old Mrs. Dodd, had sent in a hot pillow for me in case of headache and a pie to begin housekeeping with. She seemed so disappointed at being too late that Will promised to get them to me if he ran all the way to town. The pillow was easily disposed of, but that pie, I do believe it was stowed in every part of the wagon and never stayed anywhere. I found it in my lap, then on the floor, next upside down among the books, then just on the point of coasting off a trunk into the road, and at last it landed in my rocking chair. Such a remarkable pie as it was too, for in spite of all its wanderings it never got spilt or broken, and we finally ate it for lunch in order to be left in peace. Next, my Kitty got away, and I had a chase over walls and brooks before I got her, while Mr. Brown sat shaking with fun to see me run. We finished off by having the bookshelves tumble on our heads as we went down a hill, and losing my chair off behind as we went up a hill. A shout made us pause, and looking back there was the poor little chair, rocking all by itself in the middle of the road, while a small boy sat on the fence and whooped. It was great fun, I do assure you. Polly had run on in her lively way, not because she thought her adventures amounted to much, but from a wish to cheer up her friends, who had struck her as looking rather dull and out of sorts, especially Mr. Shaw, and when she saw him lean back in his chair with the old hearty laugh she was satisfied and blessed the unlucky pie for amusing him. Oh Polly, you do tell such interesting things, sighed Maude, wiping her eyes. I wish I'd met you. I'd have given you three cheers and a tiger, for it must have been an imposing spectacle, said Tom. No, you wouldn't. You'd have whisked round the corner when you saw me coming or have stared right before you, utterly unconscious of the young woman in the baggage wagon. Polly laughed in his face, just as she used to do, when she said that, and in spite of the doubt cast upon his courtesy Tom rather liked it, though he had nothing to say for himself but a reproachful, now Polly, that's too bad. True, nevertheless. You must come and see my pets, Maude, for my cat and bird live together as happily as brother and sister, said Polly, turning to Maude, who devoured every word she said. That's not saying much for them, muttered Tom, feeling that Polly ought to address more of her conversation to him. Polly knows what she's talking about. Her brothers appreciate their sisters, observed Fanny in her sharp tone, and Polly appreciates her brothers, don't forget to add that, ma'am, answered Tom. Should I tell you that Will was going to college? Broke in Polly to avert the rising storm. Hope Hill and Joy himself, observed Tom, with the air of a man who had passed through all the mysteries and reached that state of sublime indifference which juniors seemed to pride themselves on. I think he will, he is so fond of study, and is so anxious to improve every opportunity. I only hope he won't overwork and get sick, as so many boys do. And simple Polly, with such a respectful belief in the eager thirst for knowledge of collegians as a class, that Tom regarded the deluded girl with a smile of lofty pity from the heights of his vast and varied experience. Guess he won't hurt himself. I'll see that he don't study too hard. And Tom's eyes twinkled as they used to do when he planned his boyish pranks. I'm afraid you can't be trusted as a guide, if various rumors I've heard are true," said Polly, looking up at him with a wistful expression that caused his face to assume the sobriety of an owls. Base-landers, I'm as steady as a clock, an ornament to my class and a model young man, ain't I, mother? And Tom patted her thin cheek with a caressing hand, sure of one firm friend in her, for when he ceased to be a harem-scarrem boy Mrs. Shaw began to take great pride in her son, and he, Missing Grandma, tried to fill her place with his feeble mother. Yes, dear, you are all I could ask. And Mrs. Shaw looked up at him with such affection and confidence in her eyes, that Polly gave Tom the first approving look she had vouchsafed him since she came. Why Tom should look troubled and turn grave all at once she couldn't understand, but she liked to see him stroke his mother's cheek so softly, as he stood with his head resting on the high back of her chair, for Polly fancied that he felt a man's pity for her weakness, and was learning a son's patient love for a mother who had had much to bear with him.  Polly shook her head decidedly. It sounds very nice, but it can't be done, Fanny, for I've come to work, not play, to save, not spend, and parties will be out of the question for me. You don't intend to work all the time without a bit of fun, I hope, cried Fanny, dismayed at the idea. I mean to do what I've undertaken, and not to be tempted away from my purpose by anything. I shouldn't be fit to give lessons if I was up late, should I? And how far would my earnings go towards dress, carriages, and all the little expenses which would come if I set up for a young lady in society? I can't do both, and I'm not going to try, but I can pick up bits of fun as I go along and be contented with free concerts and lectures, seeing you pretty often, and every Sunday Will is to spend with me, so I shall have quite as much dissipation as is good for me. If you don't come to my parties, I'll never forgive you," said Fanny, as Polly paused, while Tom chuckled inwardly at the idea of calling visits from a brother dissipation. Any small party where it will do to wear a plain black silk I can come to, but the big ones mustn't be thought of, thank you. It was charming to see the resolution of Polly's face when she said that, for she knew her weakness, and beyond that black silk she had determined not to go. Fanny said no more, for she felt quite sure that Polly would relent when the time came, and she planned to give her a pretty dress for a Christmas present so that one excuse should be removed. I say, Polly, won't you give some of us fellows music lessons? Nobody wants me to play, and I'd rather learn of you than any senior twanky dillo," said Tom, who didn't find the conversation interesting. Oh yes, if any of you boys honestly want to learn and will behave yourselves, I'll take you. But I shall charge extra," answered Polly, with a wicked sparkle of the eye, though her face was quite sober and her tone delightfully business-like. Why, Polly, Tom isn't a boy, he's twenty, and he says I must treat him with respect. Besides, he's engaged and does put on such heirs, broken Maud, who regarded her brother as a venerable being. Who is the little girl? asked Polly, taking the news as a joke. Tricks! Why, didn't you know it? No. Is it true, Fan? And Polly turned to her friend with a face full of surprise, while Tom struck an imposing attitude and affected absence of mind. I forgot to tell you in my last letter it's just out and we don't like it very well," observed Fanny, who would have preferred to be engaged first herself. It's a very nice thing, and I am perfectly satisfied," announced Mrs. Shaw, rousing from a slight dose. Polly looks as if she didn't believe it. Haven't I the appearance of the happiest man alive? asked Tom, wondering if it could be pity which he saw in the steady eyes fixed on him. No, I don't think you have. She said slowly. How the deuce should a man look, then, cried Tom, rather nettleed at her sober reception of the grand new. As if he had learned to care for someone a great deal more than for himself, answered Polly, with sudden color in her cheeks and a sudden softening of the voice as her eyes turned away from Tom, who was the picture of a complacent dandy from the topmost curl of his all-burn head to the tips of his aristocratic boots. I agree with you, Polly. I never liked tricks, and I hope it's only a boy and girl fancy that will soon die a natural death," said Mr. Shaw, who seemed to find it difficult to help falling into a brown study in spite of the lively chatter going on about him. Shaw, Jr., being highly incensed at the disrespectful manner in which his engagement was treated, tried to assume a superb air of indifference, and finding that a decided failure was about to stroll out of the room with a comprehensive nod when his mother called after him. Where are you going, dear? To see tricks, of course. Goodbye, Polly. And Mr. Thomas departed, hoping that by the skilful change of tone from ardent impatience to condescending coolness he had impressed one here at least with the fact that he regarded tricks as the star of his existence and Polly as a presuming little chit. If he could have heard her laugh and Fanny's remarks, his wrath would have boiled over. Fortunately he was spared the trial and went away hoping that the coquetry of his tricks would make him forget Polly's look when she answered his question.  Bell and Tricks both tried to catch him, and the slyest got him. For in spite of his heirs he is as soft-hearted as a baby. You see, Tricks has broken off two engagements already, and the third time she got jilted herself. Such a fuss as she made. I declare it really was absurd. But I do think she felt it very much, for she wouldn't go out at all and got thin and pale and blue and was really quite touching. I pitied her and had her hear a good deal, and Tom took her part. He always does stand up for the crushed ones, and that's good of him, I allow. Well, she did the forsaken very prettily, let Tom amuse her, and let him on till the poor fellow lost his wits, and finding her crying one day about her hat which wasn't becoming. He thought she was mourning for Mr. Banks, and so, to comfort her, the goose proposed. That was all she wanted. She snapped him up at once, and there he is in a nice scrape.  I really don't think he cares for her half as much as he makes believe, but he'll stand by her through thick and thin rather than do as Banks did. Poor Tom, was all Polly said, when Fan had poured the story into her ear as they sat whispering in the sofa corner. My only consolation is that Tricks will break off the affair before spring. She always does, so that she may be free for the summer campaign. It won't hurt Tom, but I hate to have him make a fool of himself out of pity, for he is more of a man than he seems, and I don't want anyone to plague him. No one but yourself, said Polly, smiling. Well, that's fair. He is a torment sometimes. But I'm rather fond of him in spite of it. I get so tired of the other fellows there are such absurd things, when Tom is in his good mood he is very nice and quite refreshing. I'm glad to hear of it, said Polly, making a mental note of the fact. Yes, and when Grandma was ill he was perfectly devoted. I didn't know the boy had so much gentleness in him. He took her death sadly to heart, for though he didn't say much, he was very grave and steady for a long time. I tried to comfort him, and we had two or three real sweet little talks together, and seemed to get acquainted for the first time. It was very nice, but it didn't last. Good times never do with us. We soon got back into the old way, and now we hecter one another just as before. Fanny sighed, then yawned, and fell into her usual listless attitude as if the brief excitement of Polly's coming had begun to subside. Walk home with me, and see my funny little room. It's bright now, and the air will do you good. Come both of you, and have a phallic as we used to, said Polly, for the red sunset now burning in the west seemed to invite them out. They agreed, and soon the three were walking briskly away to Polly's new home, in a quiet street where a few old trees rustled in the summer and the morning sun shone pleasantly in wintertime. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, sang Polly, running up two flights of broad old-fashioned steps and opening the door of a back room, out of which streamed the welcome glow of firelight. These are my pet's mod, she added, pausing on the threshold and beckoning the girls to look in quietly. On the rug, luxuriously basking in the warmth lay a gray kitten, and close by, meditatively roosting on one leg, stood a plump canary, who cocked his bright eye at the newcomers, gave a loud chirp as if to wake his comrade, and then flew straight to Polly's shoulder, where he broke into a joyful song to welcome his mistress home. Allow me to introduce my family, said Polly. This noisy little chap, the boy's named Nicodemus, and this dozy cat is called Ashpetl, because the joy of her life is to get among the cinders.   I want to see everything, said mod, when the hats were off and the hands warmed. So you shall, for I think my housekeeping arrangements will amuse you. Then Polly showed her kingdom, and the three had a merry time over it. The big piano took up so much room there was no place for a bed, but Polly proudly displayed the resources of her chintz-covered couch. For the back let down, the seat lifted up, and inside were all the pillows and blankets. So convenient you see, and yet out of the way in daytime, for two or three of my pupils come to me, explained Polly. Then there was a bright drug it over the faded carpet, the little rocking chair and sewing table stood at one window, the ivy ran all over the other, and hid the banqueting performances which went on in that corner. Bookshelves hung over the sofa, a picture or two on the walls, and a great vase of autumn leaves and grasses beautified the low chimney-piece. It was a very humble little room, but Polly had done her best to make it pleasant, and it already had a home-like look, with the cheery fire and the household pets chirping and purring confidingly on the rug. How nice it is! exclaimed Maude as she emerged from the big closet where Polly kept her stores. Such a cunning tea kettle and saucepan and a tete-a-tete set, and lots of good things to eat. Do have toast for tea, Polly, and let me make it with the new toasting fork? It's such fun to play cook. Fanny was not so enthusiastic as her sister, for her eyes saw many traces of what seemed like poverty to her. But Polly was so gay, so satisfied with her small establishment, so full of happy hopes and plans, that her friend had not the heart to find a fault or suggest an improvement, and sat where she was told, laughing and talking while the others got tea. This will be a country supper, girls, said Polly bustling about. Here is real cream, brown bread, homemade cake, and honey from my own beehives. Mother fitted me out with such a supply, I'm glad to have a party, for I can't eat it all quick enough. Put the toast, Maudi, and put that little cover over it. Tell me when the kettle boils, and don't step on Nicodemus, whatever you do.  Yes, it's good practice, laughed Polly, filling her tiny teapot, and taking her place behind the tray with a matronly air which was the best joke of the whole. This is the most delicious party I ever went to, observed Maud, with her mouth full of honey, when the feast was well under way. I do wish I could have a nice room like this, and a cat, and a bird that wouldn't eat each other up, and a dear little tea-cattle, and make just as much toast as I like. Such a peel of laughter greeted Maud's pensive aspiration, that Miss Mills smiled over her solitary cup of tea, and little Nic burst into a perfect ecstasy of song as he sat on the sugar-bowl, helping himself. I don't care for the toast and the kettle, but I do envy you, your good spirits, Polly, said Fanny, as the merriment subsided. I'm so tired of everybody and everything it seems sometimes as if I should die of ennui. Don't you ever feel so? Things worry me sometimes, but I just catch up a broom and sweep, or wash hard, or walk, or go at something with all my might, and I usually find that by the time I get through the worry's gone. Or I've got courage enough to bear it without grumbling," answered Polly, cutting the brown loaf energetically. I can't do those things, you know, there's no need of it, and I don't think they'd cure my worrying, said Fanny, languidly feeding ash-puddle, who sat decorously beside her at the table, winking at the cream-pot. A little poverty would do you good, Fanny, just enough necessity to keep you busy till you find out how good work is. And when you once learn that, you won't complain of ennui any more. Returned Polly, who had taken kindly the hard lesson which twenty years of cheerful poverty had taught her. Mercy, no, I should hate that. But I wish someone would invent a new amusement for rich people. I'm dead sick of parties and flirtations, trying to outdress my neighbors and going the same round year after year like a squirrel in a cage. Fanny's tone was bitter as well as discontented, her face sad as well as listless, and Polly had an instinctive feeling that some trouble, more real than any she had ever known before, was lying heavy at her friend's heart. That was not the time to speak of it, but Polly resolved to stand ready to offer sympathy, if nothing more, whenever the confidential minute came. And her manner was so kind, so comfortable, that Fanny felt its silent magic, grew more cheerful in the quiet atmosphere of that little room, and when they said good night after an old time gossip by the fire, she kissed her hostess warmly, saying with a grateful look, Polly dear, I shall come often you do me so much good. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Lessons The first few weeks were hard ones, for Polly had not yet outgrown her natural shyness, and going among so many strangers caused her frequent panics, but her purpose gave her courage, and when the ice was once broken her little pupils quickly learned to love her. The novelty soon wore off, and though she thought she was prepared for drudgery she found it very tedious to go on doing the same thing day after day. When she was lonely, for Will could only come once a week, her leisure hours were Fanny's busiest, and the bits of pleasure were so few and far between that they only tantalized her. Even her small housekeeping lost its charms, for Polly was a social creature, and the solitary meals were often sad ones. Ash Puttle and Nick did their best to cheer her, but they too seemed to pine for country freedom and home atmosphere. For Puttle, after gazing wistfully out of the window at the gaunt city cat skulking about the yard, would retire to the rug and curl herself up, as if all hope of finding congenial society had failed. While little Nick would sing till he vibrated on his perch, without receiving any response except an inquisitive chirp from the perched sparrows, who seemed to twit him with his captivity. Yes, by the time the little tea kettle had lost its brightness, Polly had decided that getting one's living was no joke, and many of her brilliant hopes had shared the fate of the little kettle. If one could only make the sacrifice all at once and done with it, then it would seem easier. But to keep up a daily sacrifice of one's wishes, tastes and pleasures is rather a hard task, especially when one is pretty young and gay. Lessons all day, a highly instructive lecture, books over a solitary fire or music with no audience but a sleepy cat and a bird with his head tucked under his wing, for evening entertainment, was not exactly what might be called festive. So in spite of her brave resolutions Polly did long for a little fun sometimes. And after saying virtuously to herself at nine, yes, it is much wiser and better for me to go to bed early and be ready for work tomorrow. She would lie awake hearing the carriage's roll to and fro, and imagining the gay girls inside going to party, opera, or play, till Mrs. Dodd's hop pillow might as well have been stuffed with nettles for any sleep it brought, or any use it was, except to catch and hide the tears that dropped on it when Polly's heart was very full. Another thorn that wounded our Polly in her first attempt to make her way through the thicket that always bars a woman's progress, was the discovery that working for a living shuts a good many doors in one's face, even in democratic America. As Fanny's guest she had been in spite of poverty kindly received wherever her friend took her, both as child and woman. Now things were changed, the kindly people patronized, the careless forgot all about her, and even Fanny with all her affection felt that Polly the music teacher would not be welcome in many places where Polly the young lady had been accepted as Miss Shaw's friend. Some of the girls still nodded amably, but never invited her to visit them, others merely dropped their eyelids and went by without speaking, while a good many ignored her as entirely as if she had been invisible. These things hurt Polly more than she would confess, for at home everyone worked, and everyone was respected for it. She tried not to care, but girls feel little slights keenly, and more than once Polly was severely tempted to give up her plan and run away to the safe shelter at home. Fanny never failed to ask her to every sort of festivity in the Shaw mansion, but after a few trials Polly firmly declined everything but informal visits when the family were alone. She soon found that even the new black silk wasn't fine enough for Fanny's smallest party, and after receiving a few of the expressive glances by which women convey their opinion of their neighbor's toilet, and overhearing a joke or two about that inevitable dress and the little black bird, Polly folded away the once treasured frock, saying with a choke in her voice, I'll wear it for will, he likes it, and clothes can't change his love for me. I'm afraid the wholesome sweetness of Polly's nature was getting a little soured by these troubles, but before lasting harm was done she received from an unexpected source some of the real help which teaches young people how to bear these small crosses by showing them the heavier ones they have escaped, and by giving them an idea of the higher pleasures one may earn in the good old-fashioned ways that keep hearts sweet, heads sane, hands busy. Everybody has their days of misfortune like little Rosamond, and Polly was beginning to think she had more than her share. One of these ended in a way which influenced her whole life, and so we will record it. It began early, for the hard-hearted little great wouldn't behave itself till she had used up a ruinous quantity of kindlings. Then she scalded poor puddle by upsetting her coffee pot, and instead of a leisurely cozy meal had to hurry away uncomfortably, for everything went wrong, even to the coming off of both bonnet strings in the last dreadful scramble. Being late she of course forgot her music, and hurrying back for it fell into a puddle which capped the climax of her despair. Such a trying morning as that was! Polly felt out of tune herself, and all the pianos seemed to need a tuner as much as she did. The pupils were unusually stupid, and two of them announced that their mama was going to take them to the south, whether she was suddenly called. This was a blow, for they had just begun, and Polly hadn't the face to send in a bill for a whole quarter, though her plans and calculations were sadly disturbed by the failure of that sum. Going home to dinner, tired and disappointed, poor Polly received another blow, which hurt her more than the loss of all her pupils. As she went hurrying along with a big music-book in one hand and a paper-bag of rolls for tea in the other, she saw Tom and Trix coming. As she watched them while they slowly approached looking so gay and handsome and happy, it seemed to Polly as if all the sunshine and good walking was on their side of the street, all the wintry wind and mud on hers. Longing to see a friendly face and receive a kind word, she crossed over, meaning to not in smile at least. Trix saw her first, and suddenly became absorbed in the distant horizon. Tom apparently did not see her, for his eyes were fixed on a fine horse just prancing by. Polly thought that he had seen her, and approached with a curious little flutter at her heart, for if Tom cut her she felt that her cup would be full. On they came, Trix intent on the view, Tom staring at the handsome horse, and Polly with red cheeks, expectant eyes and the brown bundle in full sight. One dreadful minute as they came parallel and no one spoke or bowed, then it was all over, and Polly went on feeling as if someone had slapped her in the face. She wouldn't have believed it of Tom, it was all the doings of that horrid Trix, while she wouldn't trouble him any more if he was such a snob as to be ashamed of her just because she carried bundles and worked for her bread. She clutched the paper bag fiercely as she said this to herself, then her eyes filled and her lips trembled as she added, how could he do it? Before her, too. Now Tom was quite guiltless of this offence, and had always nodded to Polly when they met, but it so happened he had always been alone till now, and that was why it cut so deeply, especially as Polly had never approved of Trix. Before she could clear her eyes or steady her face, a gentleman met her, lifted his hat, smiled and said pleasantly, Good morning, Miss Polly. I'm glad to meet you. Then with a sudden change of voice and manner he added, I beg pardon, is anything the matter? Can I be of service? It was very awkward, but it couldn't be helped, and all Polly could do was to tell the truth and make the best of it. It's very silly, but it hurts me to be cut by my old friends. I shall get used to it presently, I daresay. Mr. Sidney glanced back, recognized the couple behind them, and turned round with a disgusted expression. Polly was fumbling for her handkerchief, and without a word he took both book and bundle from her, a little bit of kindness that meant a good deal just then. Polly felt it, and it did her good, hastily wiping the traitorous eyes she laughed and said cheerfully, There, I'm all right again. Thank you. Don't trouble yourself with my parcels. No trouble, I assure you, and this book reminds me of what I was about to say. Have you an hour to spare for my little niece? Her mother wants her to begin and desired me to make the inquiry. Did she really? And Polly looked up at him as if she suspected him of inventing the whole thing out of kindness. Mr. Sidney smiled, and taking a note from his pocket presented it, saying with a reproachful look, Behold the proof of my truth and never doubt again. Polly begged pardon, read the note from the little girl's mother which was to have been left at her room as she was absent, and gave the bearer a very grateful look as she accepted this welcome addition to her pupils. Well pleased at the success of his mission, Sidney artfully led the conversation to music, and for a time Polly forgot her woes, talking enthusiastically on her favorite theme. As she reclaimed her book and bag at her own door, she said in her honest way, Thank you very much for trying to make me forget my foolish little troubles. Then let me say one thing more, though appearances are against him, I don't believe Tom Shaw saw you. Miss Tricks is equal to that sort of thing, but it isn't like Tom, for with all his phoppery he is a good fellow at heart. As Mr. Sidney said this, Polly held out her hand with a hearty, Thank you for that. The young man shook the little hand in the gray woolen glove, gave her exactly the same bow which he did the honorable Mrs. Davenport, and went away, leaving Polly to walk upstairs and address Puddle with the peculiar remark, You are a true gentleman, so kind to say that about Tom. I'll think it's so, anyway, and won't I teach many in my very best style. Puddle purred, Nick chirped approvingly, and Polly ate her dinner with a better appetite than she had expected. But at the bottom of her heart there was a sore spot still, and the afternoon lessons dragged dismally. It was dusk when she got home, and as she sat in the firelight eating her bread and milk, several tears bedewed the little rolls, and even the home honey had a bitter taste. Now this won't do. She broke out all at once. This is silly and wicked and can't be allowed. I'll try the old plan and put myself right by doing some little kindness to somebody. Now what shall it be? Oh, I know. Fan is going to a party tonight. I'll run up and help her dress. She likes to have me and I enjoy seeing the pretty things. Yes, and I'll take her two or three clusters of my Daphne. It's so sweet. Up got Polly and taking her little posy trotted away to the shaws, determined to be happy and contented in spite of tricks and hard work. She found Fanny enduring torment under the hands of the hairdresser, who was doing his best to spoil her hair and distort her head with a mass of curls, braids, frizzles, and puffs. For though I discreetly refrain from any particular description, still judging from present fashions, I think one may venture to predict that six years hence they would be something frightful. How kind of you, Polly! I was just wishing you were here to arrange my flowers. These lovely Daphne's will give odor to my camellias, and you were a deer to bring them. There's my dress. How do you like it? said Fanny, hardly daring to lift her eyes from under the yellow tower on her head. It's regularly splendid, but how do you ever get into it? Answered Polly, surveying with girlish interest the cloud of pink and white lace that lay upon the bed. It's fearfully and wonderfully made, but distractingly becoming as you shall see. Tricks thinks I'm going to wear blue, so she has got a green one, and told Belle it would spoil the effect of mine as we are much together, of course. And that's sweet of her. Belle came and told me in time, and I just got pink, so my amiable sister, that is, to be, won't succeed in her pretty little plot. I guess she's been reading the life of Josephine. You know she made a pretty lady of whom she was jealous sit beside her on a green sofa, which set off her own white dress and spoiled the blue one of her guest. Answered Polly, busy with the flowers. Tricks never reads anything.  I'll remember and use this one. Am I done? Yes, that is charming, isn't it, Polly? And fan rose to inspect the success of Monsieur's long labour. You know I don't appreciate a stylish coiffure as I ought, so I like your hair in the old way best. But this is the thing, I suppose, and not a word must be said. Of course it is. Why, child, I have frizzed and burnt my hair so that I look like an old maniac with it in its natural state and have to repair damages as well as I can.  Oh, fan, don't! It looks horribly so! cried Polly, longing to add a little beauty to her friend's sallow face by a graceful adjustment of the flowers. Can't help it, that's the way, and so it must be, answered fan, planting another sprig halfway up the tower. Polly groaned and offered no more suggestions as the work went on, but when fan was finished from top to toe she admired all she honestly could and tried to keep her thoughts to herself. But her frank face betrayed her, for Fanny turned on her suddenly, saying, You may as well free your mind, Polly, for I see by your eyes that something don't suit. I was only thinking of what Grandma once said, that modesty had gone out of fashion, answered Polly, glancing at the waist of her friend's dress, which consisted of a belt, a bit of lace, and a pair of shoulder straps. Fanny laughed good-naturedly, saying as she clasped her necklace, If I had such shoulders as yours, I shouldn't care what the fashion was. Now don't preach, but put my cloak on nicely and come along, for I'm to meet Tom and Tricks and promise to be there early. Polly was to be left at home after depositing fan at Bell's. I feel as if I was going myself, she said as they rolled along. I wish you were, and you would be Polly if you weren't such a resolute thing. I've teased and begged and offered anything I have if you'll only break your absurd vow and come and enjoy yourself. Thank you, but I won't, so don't trouble your kind heart about me. I'm all right," said Polly stoutly. But when they drew up before the lighted house, and she found herself in the midst of the pleasant stir of festivity, the coming and going of carriages, the glimpses of bright colors, forms and faces, the bursts of music, and a general atmosphere of gaiety. Polly felt that she wasn't all right, and as she drove away for a dull evening in her lonely little room, she just cried as hardly as any child denied a stick of candy. It's dreadful wicked of me, but I can't help it," she sobbed to herself in the corner of the carriage. That music sets me all in a Twitter, and I should have looked nice in fans' blue Tarleton, and I know I could behave as well as anyone and have lots of partners, though I'm not in that set. Oh, just one good gallop with Mr. Sidney or Tom. No, Tom wouldn't ask me there, and I wouldn't accept if he did. Oh, me. Oh, me, I wish I was as old and homely and good and happy as Miss Mills.  But Polly didn't get a chance to be miserable very long, for as she went upstairs feeling like the most injured girl in the world, she caught a glimpse of Miss Mills, sewing away with such a bright face that she couldn't resist stopping for a word or two. Sit down, my dear, I'm glad to see you, but excuse me if I go on with my work as I'm in a driving hurry to get these things done to-night," said the brisk little lady with a smile and an odd, as she took a new needleful of thread and ran up a seam as if for a wager. Let me help you then.  Well, if I can't be happy, I can be useful, perhaps. Thank you, my dear. Yes, you can just hem the skirt while I put in the sleeves, and that will be a great lift. Polly put on her thimble in silence, but as Miss Mills spread the white flannel over her lap, she exclaimed, Why, it looks like a shroud. Is it one? No, dear, thank God it isn't, but it might have been if we hadn't saved the poor little soul, cried Miss Mills with a sudden brightening of the face which made it beautiful in spite of the stiff gray curl that bobbed on each temple, the want of teeth, and a crooked nose. Will you tell me about it? I like to hear your adventures and good work so much," said Polly, ready to be amused by anything that made her forget herself. Oh, my dear, it's a very common story, and that's the saddest part of it. I'll tell you all about it, for I think you may be able to help me. Last night I watched with poor Mary Floyd, she's dying of consumption, you know. Began Miss Mills as her nimble fingers flew, and her kind old face beamed over the work as if she put a blessing in with every stitch. Mary was very low, but about midnight fell asleep, and I was trying to keep things quiet when Mrs. Finn, she's the woman of the house, came and beckoned me out with a scared face. Little Jane has killed herself and I don't know what to do, she said, leading me up to the attic. Who was Little Jane? broken Polly dropping her work. I only knew her as a pale, shy young girl who went in and out and seldom spoke to anyone. Mrs. Finn told me she was poor, but a busy, honest little thing who didn't mix with the other folks, but lived and worked alone. She has looked so downhearted and pale for a week that I thought she was sick and asked her about it, said Mrs. Finn, but she thanked me in her bashful way and said she was pretty well, so I let her alone. But tonight as I went up late for bed I was kind of impressed to look in and see how the poor thing did, for she hadn't left her room all day. I did look in and here's what I found. As Mrs. Finn ended she opened the door of the back attic and I saw about as sad a sight as these old eyes ever looked at. Oh, what! cried Polly, pale now with interest. A bare room, cold as a barn, and on the bed a little dead white face that almost broke my heart. It was so thin, so patient, and so young.  Read that, my dear, and don't think hard of Little Jane. Polly took the bit of paper Miss Mills gave her and read these words. Dear Mrs. Finn, please forgive me for the trouble I make you, but I don't see any other way. I can't get work that pays enough to keep me. The doctor says I can't be well unless I rest.  I've sold my things to pay what I owe you. Please let me be as I am, and don't let people come and look at me. I hope it isn't very wicked, but there don't seem to be any room for me in the world, and I'm not afraid to die now, though I should be if I stayed and got bad because I hadn't strength to keep right. Give my love to the baby, and so goodbye. Goodbye. Jane Bryant. Oh, Miss Mills, how dreadful! cried Polly, with her eyes so full she could hardly read the little letter. Not so dreadful as it might have been, but a bitter sad thing to see that child only seventeen lying there in her clean old nightgown, waiting for death to come and take her because there didn't seem to be any room for her in the world. Oh, well, we saved her, for it wasn't too late, thank heaven, and the first thing she said was, oh, why did you bring me back? I've been nursing her all day hearing her story and trying to show her that there is room and a welcome for her. Her mother died a year ago and since then she has been struggling along alone. She's one of the timid, innocent, humble creatures who can't push their way and so get put aside and forgotten. She has tried all sorts of poorly paid work, couldn't live on it decently, got discouraged, sick, frightened, and could see no refuge from the big bad world but to get out of it while she wasn't afraid to die. A very old story, my dear, new and dreadful as it seems to you, and I think it won't do you any harm to see and help this little girl who has gone through dark places that you are never like to know. I will. Indeed, I will do all I can. Where is she now? asked Polly, touched to the heart by the story, so simple yet so sad. There, and Miss Mills pointed to the door of her own little bedroom. She was well enough to be moved tonight, so I brought her home and laid her safely in my bed. Poor little soul, she looked about her for a minute, then the lost look went away and she gave a great sigh and took my hand in both of her thin bits of ones and said, Oh, ma'am, I feel as if I'd been born into a new world. Help me to begin again and I'll do better. So I told her she was my child now, and might rest here sure of a home as long as I had one. Miss Mills spoke in her motherly tone and cast a proud and happy look toward the warm and quiet nest in which she had sheltered this friendless little sparrow, feeling sure that God meant her to keep it from falling to the ground. Polly put both arms about her neck and kissed her withered cheek with as much loving reverence as if she had been a splendid saint, for in the likeness of this plain old maid she saw the lovely charity that blesses and saves the world. How could you are? Dear Miss Mills, tell me what to do. Let me help you, I'm ready for anything, said Polly very humbly, for her own troubles looked so small and foolish beside the stern hardships which had nearly had so tragical an end that she felt hardly ashamed of herself and quite burned to a tone for them. Miss Mills stopped to stroke the fresh cheek opposite, to smile and say, Then Polly, I think I'll ask you to go in and say a friendly word to my little girl. The sight of you will do her good, and you have just the right way of comforting people without making a fuss. Have I, said Polly, looking much gratified by the words? Yes, dear, you've the gift of sympathy and the rare art of showing it without offending. I wouldn't let many girls in to see my poor Jenny because they'd only flutter and worry her, but you'll know what to do. So go and take this wrapper with you. It's done now, thanks to your nimble fingers. Polly threw the warm garment over her arm, feeling a thrill of gratitude that it was to wrap a living girl in and not to hide away a young heart that had grown cold too soon. Pushing open the door she went quietly into the dimly lighted room, and on the pillow saw a face that drew her to it with an irresistible power, for it was touched by a solemn shadow that made its youth pathetic. As she paused at the bedside, thinking the girl asleep, a pair of hollow dark eyes opened wide and looked up at her. Startled at first, then softening with pleasure at sight of the bonny face before them, and then a humble beseeching expression filled them, as if asking pardon for the rash act nearly committed, and pity for the hard fate that prompted it. Polly read the language of these eyes and answered their mute prayer with a simple eloquence that said more than any words, for she just stooped down and kissed the poor child with her own eyes full, and lips that trembled with the sympathy she could not tell. Jenny put both arms about her neck and began to shed the quiet tears that so refresh and comfort heavy hearts when a tender touch unseals the fountain where they lie. Everybody is so kind, she sobbed, and I was so wicked I don't deserve it. Oh yes, you do. Don't think of that, but rest and let us pet you. The old life was too hard for such a little thing as you, and we are going to try and make the new one ever so much easier and happier, said Polly, forgetting everything except that this was a girl like herself who needed heartening up. Do you live here? asked Jenny, when her tears were wiped away, still clinging to the newfound friend.  You must come up and see me tomorrow if you're available. I'm often lonely, for there are no young people in the house to play with me, answered Polly, smiling hospitably. Do you so? asked Jenny. No, I'm a music teacher and trot round giving lessons all day. How beautiful it sounds, and how happy you must be so strong and pretty and able to go round making music all the time. Side, Jenny, looking with respectful admiration at the plump, firm hand held in both hearthin and feeble ones. It did sound pleasant, even to Polly's ears, and she felt suddenly so rich and so contented that she seemed a different creature from the silly girl who cried because she couldn't go to the party. It passed through her mind like a flash, the contrast between her life and that of the wan creature lying before her, and she felt as if she could not give enough out of her abundance to this needy little sister who had nothing in the wide world but the life just saved to her.  Sitting on the bedside Polly listened while Jane told the story, which was so new to her listener that every word sank deep into her heart and never was forgotten. Now you must go to sleep. Don't cry nor think nor do anything but rest. That will please Miss Mills best. I'll leave the doors open and play you a lullaby that you can't resist. Good night, dear. And with another kiss Polly went away to sit in the darkness of her own room, playing her softest airs till the tired eyes below were shut and little Jane seemed to float away on a sea of pleasant sounds into the happier life which had just dawned for her. Polly had fully intended to be very miserable and cry herself to sleep, but when she lay down at last her pillow seemed very soft, her little room very lovely with the firelight flickering on all the home-like objects and her new blown roses breathing her a sweet good night. She no longer felt an injured, hard-working unhappy Polly, but as if quite burdened with blessings for which she wasn't half-grateful enough. She had heard of poverty and suffering in the vague, far-off way which is all that many girls safe in happy homes ever know of it, but now she had seen it in a shape which she could feel and understand, and life grew more earnest to her from that minute. So much to do in the great busy world and she had done so little. Where should she begin? Then like an answer came little Jenny's words now taking a new significance to Polly's mind, to be strong and beautiful and go round making music all the time. Yes, she could do that, and with a very earnest prayer Polly asked for the strength of an upright soul, the beauty of a tender heart, the power to make her life a sweet and stirring song, helpful while it lasted, remembered when it died. Little Jane's last thought had been to wish with all her might that God would bless the dear kind girl up there and give her all she asked. I think both prayers, although too humble to be put in words, went up together, for in the fullness of time they were beautifully answered. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of An Old-Fashioned Girl. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jeanette Selig. An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott. Chapter 10. Brothers and Sisters. Polly's happiest day was Sunday, for Will never failed to spend it with her. Instead of sleeping later than usual that morning she was always up bright and early, flying round to get ready for her guest, for Will came to breakfast and they made a long day of it. Will considered his sister the best and prettiest girl going, and Polly, knowing well that a time would come when he would find a better and a prettier, was grateful for his good opinion and tried to deserve it. So she made her room and herself as neat and inviting as possible, and always ran to meet him with a bright face and a motherly greeting, when he came tramping in, ruddy, brisk and beaming, with the brown loaf and the little pot of beans from the bakehouse nearby.  Another pleasure was to let him help clear away as they used to do at home, while the peals of laughter that always accompanied this performance did Miss Mills heart good to hear, for the room was so small and Will so big that he seemed to be everywhere at once, and Polly and Puddle were continually dodging his long arms and legs. Then they used to inspect the flower pots, pay Nick a visit, and have a little music as a good beginning for the day, after which they went to church and dined with Miss Mills, who considered Will an excellent young man. If the afternoon was fair they took a long walk together over the bridges into the country or about the city streets full of sabbath quietude. Most people meeting them would have seen only an awkward young man with a boy's face atop his tall body and a quietly dressed, fresh-faced little woman hanging on his arm, but a few people, with eyes to read romances and pleasant histories everywhere, found something very attractive in this couple, and smiled as they passed, wondering if they were young lovers or country cousins looking round. If the day was stormy they stayed at home, reading, writing letters, talking over their affairs, and giving each other good advice. For though Will was nearly three years younger than Polly, he couldn't for the life of him help assuming amusingly venerable heirs when he became a freshman. In the twilight he had a good lounge on the sofa and Polly sung to him, which arrangements he particularly enjoyed it was so cozy and homey. At nine o'clock Polly packed his bag with clean clothes, nicely mended, such remnants of the festive tea as were transportable, and kissed him good night, with many injunctions to muffle up his throat going over the bridge and be sure that his feet were dry and warm when he went to bed. All of which Will laughed at, accepted graciously and didn't obey, but he liked it, and trudged away for another week's worth, rested, cheered, and strengthened by that quiet, happy day with Polly, for he had been brought up to believe in home influences, and this brother and sister loved one another dearly, and were not ashamed to own it. One other person enjoyed the humble pleasures of these Sundays quite as much as Polly and Will. Maude used to beg to come to tea, and Polly glad to do anything for those who had done a good deal for her, made a point of calling her the little girl as they came home from their walk, or sending Will to escort her in the carriage, which Maude always managed to secure if bad weather threatened to quench her hopes. Tom and Fanny laughed at her fancy, but she did not tire of it, for the child was lonely, and found something in that little room which the great house could not give her.  She was just at the unattractive fidgety age when no one knew what to do with her, and so let her fumble her way up as she could, finding pleasure in odd things and living much alone, for she did not go to school because her shoulders were growing round, and Mrs. Shaw would not allow her figure to be spoiled. That suited Maude excellently, and whenever her father spoke of sending her again or getting a governess, she was seized with bad headaches, a pain in her back, or weakness of the eyes, at which Mr. Shaw laughed but let her holiday go on. Nobody seemed to care much for plain pugnosed little Maude. Her father was busy, her mother nervous and sick, Fanny absorbed in her own affairs, and Tom regarded her as most young men do their younger sisters, as a person born for his amusement and convenience, nothing more. Maude admired Tom with all her heart and made a little slave of herself to him, feeling well repaid if he merely said, Thank you, chicken? Or didn't pinch her nose, or nip her ear as he had a way of doing, just as if I was a doll or a dog and hadn't got any feelings? She sometimes said to Fanny, when some service or sacrifice had been accepted without gratitude or respect.  He was fond of her in his fashion, but he didn't take the trouble to show it, so Maude worshiped him afar off, afraid to betray the affection that no rebuff could kill or cool. One snowy Sunday afternoon Tom lay on the sofa in his favorite attitude, reading, Penn Dennis for the fourth time, and smoking like a chimney as he did so. Maude stood at the window, watching the falling flakes with an anxious countenance, and presently a great sigh broke from her. Don't do that again, chicken, or you'll blow me away. What's the matter? Asked Tom, throwing down his book with a yawn that threatened dislocation. I'm afraid I can't go to Polly's, answered Maude disconsolately. Of course you can't, it's snowing hard, and Father won't be home with the carriage till this evening. What are you always cutting off to Polly's for? I like it. We have such nice times there, and Will is there, and we bake little Johnny cakes in the baker before the fire, and they sing, and it is so pleasant. Warbling Johnny cakes must be interesting. Come and tell me all about it. No, you'll only laugh at me. I give you my word I won't, if I can help it, but I really am dying of curiosity to know what you do down there.  It isn't a secret, but you wouldn't care for it. Do you want another pillow? She added as Tom gave his a thump. This will do, but why you women always stick tassels and fringe all over a sofa cushion to tease and tickle a fellow is what I don't understand. One thing that Polly does Sunday nights is to take Will's head in her lap and smooth his forehead. It rests him after studying so hard, she says. If you don't like the pillow, I could do that for you, because you look as if you were more tired of studying them Will, said Maude, with some hesitation, but an evident desire to be useful and agreeable. Well, I don't care if you do try it, for I am confoundedly tired, and Tom laughed as he recalled the phallic he had been on the night before. Maude established herself with great satisfaction, and Tom owned that a silk apron was nicer than a fuzzy cushion. Do you like it? She asked after a few strokes over the hot forehead which she thought was fevered by intense application to Greek and Latin. The bad playaway was the gracious reply as Tom shut his eyes and lay so still that Maude was charmed with the success of her attempt. Presently, she said softly, Tom, are you asleep? Just turning the corner. Before you get quite round, would you please tell me what a public admonition is? What do you want to know for? I demanded Tom, opening his eyes very wide. I heard Will talking about publics and privates, and I meant to ask him but I forgot. What did he say? I don't remember. It was about somebody who cut prayers and got a private and had done all sorts of bad things and had one or two publics. I didn't hear the name and didn't care. I only wanted to know what the words meant. So Will tells tales, does he? And Tom's forehead wrinkled with a frown. No, he didn't. Polly knew about it and asked him. Will said, dig, growled Tom, shutting his eyes again as if nothing more could be said of the delinquent William. I don't care if he is, I like him very much and so does Polly. Happy fresh, said Tom with a comical groan.  He's good to Polly always and puts on her cloak for her and says my dear and kisses her good night and I don't think it's silly and I wish I had a brother just like him, yes I do. And Maud showed signs of woe, for her disappointment about going was very great. Bless my boots! What's the chicken ruffling up her little feathers and pecking at me for? Is that the way Polly sooves the best of brothers? Said Tom, still laughing. Oh, I forgot. There I won't cry but I do want to go. And Maud swallowed her tears and began to stroke again. Now Tom's horse and sleigh were in the stable for he meant to drive out to college that evening but he didn't take Maud's hint. It was less trouble to lie still and say in a conciliatory tone, tell me some more about this good boy, it's very interesting. No, I shan't, but I shall tell about puddles playing on the piano, said Maud, anxious to efface the memory of her momentary weakness. Polly points to the right key with a little stick and puddle sits on the stool and pats each key as it's touched and it makes a tune. It's so funny to see her and Nick perches on the rack and sings as if he'd kill himself. Very thrilling, said Tom in a sleepy tone. Maud felt that her conversation was not as interesting as she hoped and tried again. Polly thinks you are handsomer than Mr. Sidney. Much obliged. I asked which she thought had the nicest face and she said yours was the handsomest and his the best. Does he ever go there? I asked a sharp voice behind them and looking round Maud saw Fanny in the big chair cooking her feet over the register. I never saw him there. He sent up some books one day and will tease her about it. What did she do? Demanded Fanny. Oh, she shook him. What a spectacle! And Tom looked as if he would have enjoyed seeing it, but Fanny's face grew so forbidding that Tom's little dog, who was approaching to welcome her, put his tail between his legs and fled under the table. Then there isn't any sparking Sunday night, sung Tom, who appeared to have waked up again. Of course not. Polly isn't going to marry anybody. She's going to keep house for Will when he's a minister. I heard her say so, cried Maud with importance. What a fate for pretty Polly, ejaculated Tom. She likes it. And I'm sure I should think she would. It's beautiful to hear him plan it all out. Any more gossip to retail, pug? Asked Tom a minute after, as Maud seemed absorbed in visions of the future. He told us a funny story about blowing up one of the professors. You never told us, so I suppose you didn't know it. Some bad fellow put a torpedo or some sort of powder thing under the chair, and it went off in the midst of the lesson, and the poor man flew up, frightened most of pieces, and the boys ran with pales of water to put the fire out. But the thing that made Will laugh most was that the very fellow who did it got his trousers burnt trying to put out the fire, and he asked the, is it faculty or president? Either will do, murmured Tom, who was shaking with suppressed laughter. Well he asked him to give him some new ones, and they did give him money enough for a nice pair, but he got some cheap ones with horrid great stripes on them and always wore them to that particular class, which was one too many for the fellows, Will said, and with the rest of the money he had a punch party, wasn't it dreadful? Awful, and Tom exploded into a great laugh that made Fanny cover her ears, and the little dog barked wildly. Did you know that bad boy? Asked innocent Maud. Slightly, gasped Tom, in whose wardrobe at college those identical trousers were hanging at that moment. Don't make such a noise, my head aches dreadfully, said Fanny fretfully. Girls' heads always do ache, answered Tom, subsiding from a roar into a chuckle. What pleasure you boys can find in such ungentlemanly things I don't see, said Fanny, who was evidently out of sorts. As much a mystery to you as it is to us how you girls can like to gabble and prank from one week's end to the other, retorted Tom. There was a pause after this little passage at arms, but Fan wanted to be amused for time hung heavily on her hands, so she asked in a more amiable tone, How's Trix? As sweet as ever, answered Tom gruffly, Did she scold you as usual? She just did. Well, I'll leave it to you if this isn't unreasonable. She won't dance with me herself, yet don't like me to go out with anybody else. I said I thought if a fellow took a girl to a party she ought to dance with him once, at least, especially if they were engaged. She said that was the very reason why she shouldn't do it. So at the last hop I left her alone and had a gay time with Belle, and to-day Trix gave it to me hot and heavy coming home from church. If you go and engage yourself to a girl like that, I don't know what you can expect. Did she wear her Paris hat to-day? added Fan with sudden interest in her voice. She wore some sort of a blue thing with a confounded bird of paradise in it that kept whisking into my face every time she turned her head. Men never know a pretty thing when they see it. That hat is perfectly lovely. They know a lady when they see her, and Trix don't look like one. I can't say where the trouble is, but there's too much fuss and feathers for my taste.  Touched by this unusual compliment, Fanny drew her chair nearer as she replied with complacency, Yes, I flatter myself. I do know how to dress well. Trix never did.  Can't you give her a hint? Tell her not to wear blue gloves anyway.  I've done my best for your sake, Tom. But she is a perverse creature and don't mind a word I say, even about things much more objectionable than blue gloves.  Mod went, and as soon as the door was shut, Tom rose on his elbow saying in a cautiously lowered voice, Fan, does Trix paint? Yes, and draws, too, answered Fanny with a sly laugh. Come, you know what I mean. I have a right to ask and you ought to tell, said Tom soberly, for he was beginning to find that being engaged was not unmitigated bliss. What makes you think she does? Well, between ourselves, said Tom, looking a little sheepish but anxious to set his mind at rest.  Then the other day as I took a bit of heliotrope out of a vase to put in my buttonhole, I whisked a drop of water into her face. I was going to wipe it off, but she pushed my hand away and ran to the glass, where she carefully dabbed it dry and came back with one cheek redder than the other. I didn't say anything, but I had my suspicions. Come now, does she? Yes, she does, but don't say a word to her for she'll never forgive my telling if she knew it. I don't care for that. I don't like it and I won't have it, said Tom decidedly. You can't help yourself. Half the girls do it, either paint or powder, darken their lashes with burnt hairpins, or take cologne on lumps of sugar or belladonna to make their eyes bright. Clara tried arsenic for her complexion, but her mother stopped it, said Fanny, betraying the secrets of the prison house in the basest manner. I knew you girls were a set of humbugs and very pretty ones too, some of you, but I can't say I like to see you painted up like a lot of actresses. Muttered Tom with an air of disgust. I don't do anything of the sort or need it, but tricks does, and having chosen her you must abide your choice for better or worse. And hasn't come to that yet, muttered Tom as he lay down again with a rebellious air. Mott's return put an end to these confidences, though Tom excited her curiosity by asking the mysterious question, I say, is Polly up to that sort of thing? No, she thinks it's awful. When she gets pale and dragged out she will probably change her mind. I doubt it, said Tom. Polly says it isn't proper to talk secrets before people who ain't in them, observed Mott with dignity. Do, for mercy's sake, stop talking about Polly, I'm sick to death of it, cried Fanny snavishly. Hello, and Tom sat up to take a survey. I thought you were bosom friends and as spoony as ever. Well, I am fond of Polly, but I get tired of hearing Mott sing her praises everlastingly. Now don't go and repeat that, chatterbox. My goodness, isn't she cross, whispered Mott to Tom. As two sticks, let her be. There's the bell. See who it is, pug, answered Tom as a tingle broke the silence of the house. Mott went to peep over the banisters and came flying back in a rapture. It's Will, come for me. Can't I go? It don't snow hard and I'll bundle up and you can send for me when Papa comes.  Without waiting for any other permission, Mott rushed away to get ready. Will wouldn't come up, he was so snowy and Fanny was glad, because with her he was bashful, awkward and silent. So Tom went down and entertained him with Mott's report. They were very good friends, but led entirely different lives. Will being a dig, and Tom a bird, or in plain English, one was a hard student, and the other a jolly young gentleman. Tom had rather patronized Will, who didn't like it, and showed that he didn't by refusing to borrow money of him or accept any of his invitations to join the clubs and societies to which Tom belonged. So Shaw let Milton alone, and he got on very well in his own way, doggedly sticking to his books, and resisting all temptations but those of certain libraries, athletic games, and such inexpensive pleasures as were within his means. For this benighted youth had not yet discovered that college nowadays is a place in which to skylark, not to study. When Mott came down and trotted contentedly away holding Will's hand, Tom watched them out of sight, and then strolled about the house whistling and thinking till he went to sleep in his father's arm chair for want of something better to do. He awoke to the joys of a solitary tea, for his mother never came down and Fanny shut herself and her headache up in her own room. Well, this is cheerful, he said, as the clock struck eight, and his fourth cigar came to an end. Tricks is mad and fan in the dumps, so I'll take myself off. I guess I'll go round to Polly's and ask Will to drive out with me and save him the walk, poor chap. Might bring Midget home, it will please her, and there's no knowing when the Governor will be back. With these thoughts in his head, Tom leisurely got under way, and left his horse at a neighboring stable, for he meant to make a little call and see what it was Mott enjoyed so much. Polly is holding forth, he said to himself as he went quietly upstairs, and the steady murmur of a pleasant voice came down to him. Tom laughed at Polly's earnest way of talking when she was interested in anything, but he liked it because it was so different from the coquettish clatter of most of the girls with whom he talked. Young men often laugh at the sensible girls whom they secretly respect, and effect to admire the silly ones whom they secretly despise, because earnestness, intelligence, and womanly dignity are not the fashion. The door was ajar, and pausing in the dark entry Tom took a survey before he went in. The prospect was not dazzling but home-like and pleasant. The light of a bright fire filled the little room, and down on a stool before it was Mott, tending puddle, and watching with deep interest the roasting of an apple intended for her special benefit. On the couch lounged Will, his thoughtful eyes fixed on Polly, who while she talked, smoothed the broad forehead of her yellow-haired laddie in a way that Tom thought an immense improvement on Mott's performance. They had evidently been building castles in the air, for Polly was saying in her most impressive manner, Well, whatever you do, Will, don't have a great costly church that takes so much money to build and support it that you have nothing to give away. I like the plain old-fashioned churches built for use, not show, where people met for hearty praying and preaching, and where everybody made their own music instead of listening to opera singers as we do now. I don't care if the old churches were barren cold and the seeds hard. There was a real piety in them, and the sincerity of it was felt in the lives of the people. I don't want a religion that I put away with my Sunday clothes and don't take out till the day comes round again. I want something to see and feel and live by, day by day, and I hope you'll be one of the true ministers who can teach by precept and example how to get and keep it. I hope I shall be Polly, but you know they say that in families, if there is a boy who can't do anything else, they make a minister of them. I sometimes think I ain't good for much, and that seems to me the reason why I shouldn't even try to be a minister," said Will, smiling, yet looking as if with all his humility he did have faith in the aspirations that came to him in his best moments. One said that very thing to Father once, and I remember he answered, I am glad to give my best and brightest son to the service of God. Did he say that? And Will's color rose, for the big book-loving fellow was as sensitive as a girl to the praise of those dearest to him. Yes, said Polly, unconsciously giving the strongest stimulus to her brother's hope and courage. Yes, and he added, I shall let my boys follow the guide that is in them and only ask of them to use their gifts conscientiously and be honest, useful men. So we will. Ned is doing well out west, and I'm hard-headed here. If Father does his best to give us the chance we each want, the least we can do is to work with a Will. Whatever you do you can't help working with a Will," cried Tom, who had been so interested that he forgot he was playing eavesdropper. Polly flew up, looking so pleased and surprised that Tom reproached himself for not having called Offener. I've come for Maude. He announced in a paternal tone which made that young lady open her eyes. I can't go till my apple is done, besides it isn't nine yet, and Will is going to take me along when he goes. I'd rather have him. I'm going to take you both in the cutter. The storm is over, but it is heavy walking, so you'll drive out with me, old man? said Tom, with a nod at Will. Of course he will, and thank you very much. I've been trying to keep him all night. Miss Mills always manages to find a corner for straight people, but he insists on going, so as to get to work early tomorrow. Said Polly, delighted to see that Tom was taking off his coat as if he meant to wait for Maude's apple, which Polly blessed for being so slow to cook. Putting her guest into the best chair, Polly sat down and beamed at him with such hospitable satisfaction that Tom went up several pegs in his own estimation. You don't come very often, so we are rather overpowered when you do honor us, she said demurely. Well, you know, we fellows are so busy we haven't much time to enjoy ourselves, answered Tom. Ahem! said Will loudly. Take a trokey, said Tom. Then they both burst out laughing, and Polly, fully understanding the joke, joined them, saying, Here are some peanuts, Tom, do enjoy yourself while you can. Now I call that a delicate compliment, and Tom, who had not lost his early relish for this sort of refreshment, though he seldom indulged his passion nowadays, because peanuts are considered vulgar, fell to cracking and munching with great satisfaction. Do you remember the first visit I made at your house, how you gave me peanuts coming from the depot, and frightened me out of my wits pretending the coachman was tipsy? asked Polly. Of course I do, and how we coasted one day, answered Tom, laughing. Yes, and the velocipede, you've got the scar of that yet, I see. I remember how you stood by me while it was sewed up. That was very plucky, Polly. I was dreadfully afraid, but I remember I wanted to seem very brave, because you'd called me a coward. Did I? I ought to have been ashamed of myself. I used to rough you shamefully, Polly, and you were so good natured, you let me do it. Couldn't help myself, laughed Polly. I did used to think you were an awful boy, but seems to me I rather liked it. She had so much of it at home she got used to it, put in will, pulling the little curl behind Polly's ear. You boys never teased me as Tom did. That's the reason it amused me, I suppose. Novelty half-charms, you know. Grandma used to lecture Tom for plaguing you, Polly, and he used to say he'd be a tip-top boy, but he wasn't. Observed mod with a venerable air. Dear old Grandma, she did her best, but I'm a bad lot, said Tom with a shake of the head and a sober face. It always seems as if she must be up in her rooms, and I can't get used to finding them empty, added Polly softly. Father wouldn't have anything moved, and Tom sits up there sometimes, it makes him feel good, he says, said mod, who had a talent for betraying trifles which people preferred should not be mentioned in public. You'd better hurry up your apple, for if it isn't done pretty soon you'll have to leave it, pug, said Tom, looking annoyed. How is Fan, asked Polly with tact. Well, Fan is rather under the weather, says she's dyspeptic, which means cross. She is cross, but she's sick, too, for I found her crying one day, and she said nobody cared about her, and she might as well be dead, added mod, having turned her apple with tender care. We must try to cheer her up among us. If I wasn't so busy I'd like to devote myself to her, she has done so much for me, said Polly gratefully. I wish you could. I can't understand her, for she acts like a weathercock, and I never know how I'm going to find her. I hate to have her mope so, but upon my life I don't know what to do, said Tom, but as he uttered the words something was suggested by the sight before him. Chairs were few, and Polly had taken half of Wills when they drew round the fire. Now she was leaning against him in a cozy confiding way, delightful to behold, while Wills' strong arm went round her with a protecting air which said as plainly as any words that this big brother and small sister knew how to love and help one another. It was a pleasant little picture, all the pleasanter for its unconsciousness, and Tom found it both suggestive and agreeable. Poor old fan, she don't get much petting. Maybe that's what she wants. I'll try it and see, for she stands by me like a Trump. If she was a rosy, cozy little woman like Polly, it would come easier, though, thought Tom as he meditatively ate his last nut, feeling that fraternal affection could not be very difficult of demonstration to brothers blessed with pretty good tempered sisters. I told Tom about the bad fellow who blew up the professor, and he said he knew him slightly, and I was so relieved because I had a kind of feeling that it was Tom himself, you and Wills laughed so about it. Maude had a queer way of going on with her own thoughts and suddenly coming out with whatever lay uppermost, regardless of time, place, or company. As this remark fell from her there was a general smile, and Polly said with mock solemnity, It was a sad thing and I've no doubt that misguided young man is very sorry for it now.  He is always remorseful after a scrape, I've understood, for he isn't a very bad fellow only his spirits are one too many for him, and he isn't as fond of his book as another fellow I know. I'm afraid he'll be expelled if he don't mind, said Polly warningly. Shouldn't wonder if he was he's such an unlucky dog, answered Tom rather soberly. I hope he'll remember that his friends will be very much disappointed if he is. He might make them so proud and happy that I guess he will, for he isn't half as thoughtless as he makes himself out, said Polly, looking across at Tom with such friendly eyes that he was quite touched, though of course he didn't show it. Thank you, Polly, he may pull through but I have my doubts. Now old man let us putt along, it's getting late for the chicken, he added, relapsing into the graceful diction with which a classical education gifts its fortunate possessor. Taking advantage of the moment while Will was wrestling with his boots in the closet, and Maude was absorbed in packing her apple into a large basket, Polly said to Tom in a low tone, Thank you very much for being so kind to Will. Bless your heart, I haven't done anything.  But you do in many little ways, to-night, for example. Do you think I don't know that the suit of clothes he's just got would have cost a good deal more if your tailor hadn't made them? He's only a boy and don't understand things yet, but I know your way of helping proud people so that they don't find it out. And I do thank you, Tom, so much. Oh, come Polly, that won't do. What do you know about tailors and college matters? Said Tom, looking as much confused as if she had found him out in something reprehensible. I don't know much, and that's the reason why I'm grateful for your kindness to Will. I don't care what stories they tell about you. I'm sure you won't lead him into trouble but keep him straight for my sake. You know I've lost one brother. And Will takes Jimmy's place to me now. The tears in Polly's eyes as she said that made Tom vow a tremendous vow within himself to stand by Will through thick and thin and keep him straight for Polly's sake, feeling all the time how ill-fitted he was for such a task. I'll do my best," he said heartily, as he pressed the hand Polly gave him with a look which assured her that he felt the appeal to his honour and that henceforth the country lad was safe from all the temptations Tom could have offered him. There! Now I shall give that to Mama to take her pills in. It's just what she likes and it pleases her to be thought of, said Maude, surveying her gift with complacency as she put on her things.  While she was so pleased with the grapes you brought her, I thought I'd try something and maybe she'd say thank you, darling, to me, too. Do you think she will? whispered Maude with the wistful look so often seen on her little plain face. See if she don't. And to Maude's great surprise Tom didn't laugh at her project. Good night, dear.  Then the three piled into the sleigh and drove off, leaving Polly nodding on the doorstep. Maude found the drive altogether too short, but was consoled by the promise of a longer one if the slaying lasted till next Saturday. And when Tom ran up to bid his mother good-bye and give her a hint about Maude's gift, she stayed below, to say at the last minute, in unconscious imitation of Polly, Good night. Take care of yourself, my dear. Tom laughed, and was about to pinch the much-enduring little nose.  It was a rather silent drive, for Will obediently kept his muffler up, and Tom fell into a brown study. He was not much given to reflection, but occasionally indulged when something gave him a turn in that direction, and at such times he was as sober and sincere as could be desired. One might have lectured him for an hour without doing as much good as that little call and the chat that grew out of it, for though nothing very wise or witty was said, many things were suggested, and everyone knows that persuasive influences are better than any amount of moralizing. Neither Polly nor Will tried to do anything of the sort, and that was the charm of it. Nobody likes to be talked to, but nobody can resist the eloquence of unconscious preaching. With all his thoughtfulness, Tom was quick to see and feel these things, and was not spoiled enough yet to laugh at them. The sight of Will and Polly's simple affection for one another reminded him of a neglected duty so pleasantly that he could not forget it. Talking of early days made him wish he could go back and start again doing better. Grandma's name recalled the tender memory that always did him good, and the thought that Polly trusted her dearest brother to his care stirred up a manful desire to deserve the confidence. Tortures wouldn't have drawn a word of all this from him, but it had its effect. For boys don't leave their hearts and consciences behind them when they enter college. And little things of this sort do much to keep both from being damaged by the four years scrimmage, which begins the battle of life for most of them. End of chapter 10