An Old-Fashioned Girl (23 page)

“I’ll try!” said Polly, influenced more by her desire to keep Miss Mills’ good opinion than any love of self-sacrifice for
her sex. It was rather a hard thing to ask of a shy, sensitive girl, and the kind old lady knew it, for in spite of the gray
hair and withered face, her heart was very young, and her own girlish trials not forgotten. But she knew also that Polly had
more influence over others than she herself suspected, simply because of her candid, upright nature; and that while she tried
to help others, she was serving herself in a way that would improve heart and soul more than any mere social success she might
gain by following the rules of fashionable life, which drill the character out of girls till they are as much alike as pins
in a paper, and have about as much true sense and sentiment in their little heads. There was good stuff in Polly, unspoiled
as yet, and Miss Mills was only acting out her principle of women helping each other. The wise old lady saw that Polly had
reached that point where the girl suddenly blooms into a woman, asking something more substantial than pleasure to satisfy
the new aspirations that are born; a time as precious and important to the afterlife, as the hour when the apple blossoms
fall, and the young fruit waits for the elements to ripen or destroy the harvest.

Polly did not know this, and was fortunate in possessing a friend who knew what influences would serve her best, and who could
give her what all women should desire to give each other, the example of a sweet, good life, more eloquent and powerful than
any words; for this is a right no one can deny us.

Polly turned the matter over in her mind as she dressed, while Jenny played waiting maid, little dreaming what this new friend
was meaning to do for her, if she dared.

“Is it going to be a tea party, Miss?” asked Jenny, as the black silk went rustling on, to her great admiration, for she considered
Polly a beauty.

“Well, no, I think it will probably be a lecture,” answered Polly, laughing, for Jenny’s grateful service and affectionate
eyes confirmed the purpose which Miss Mills’ little homily had suggested.

As she entered the Shaws’ parlor an hour or two later, an appalling array of well-dressed girls appeared, each provided with
a dainty reticule, basket, or bag, and each tongue going a good deal faster than the needle, while the white fingers stitched
sleeves in upside down, put flannel jackets together hind part before, or gobbled buttonholes with the best intentions in
life.

“You are a dear to come so early. Here’s a nice place for you between Belle and Miss Perkins, and here’s a sweet little dress
to make, unless you like something else better,” said Fanny, receiving her friend with warmth, and placing her where she thought
she would enjoy herself.

“Thank you, I’ll take an unbleached cotton shirt if you have such a thing, for it is likely to be needed before a cambric
frock,” replied Polly, subsiding into her corner as quickly as possible, for at least six eyeglasses were up, and she didn’t
enjoy being stared at.

Miss Perkins, a grave, cold-looking young lady, with an aristocratic nose, bowed politely, and then went on with her work,
which displayed two diamond rings to great advantage. Belle, being of the demonstrative sort, smiled and nodded, drew up her
chair, and began a whispered account of Trix’s last quarrel with Tom. Polly listened with interest while she sewed diligently,
occasionally permitting her eyes to study the elegant intricacies of Miss Perkins’ dress, for that young lady sat like a statue,
quirking her delicate fingers, and accomplishing about two stitches a minute.

In the midst of Belle’s story, a more exciting bit of gossip caught her ear, and she plunged into the conversation going on
across the table, leaving Polly free to listen and admire the wit, wisdom, and charitable spirit of the accomplished young
ladies about her. There was a perfect Babel of tongues, but out of the confusion Polly gathered scraps of fashionable intelligence
which somewhat lessened her respect for the dwellers in high places. One fair creature asserted that Joe Somebody took so
much champagne at the last German, that he had to be got away, and sent home with two servants. Another divulged the awful
fact that Carrie P.’s wedding presents were half of them hired for the occasion. A third circulated a whisper to the effect
that though Mrs. Buckminster wore a thousand-dollar cloak, her boys were not allowed but one sheet to their beds. And a fourth
young gossip assured the company that a certain person
never
had offered himself to a certain other person, though the report was industriously spread by interested parties. This latter
remark caused such a clamor that Fanny called the meeting to order in a most unparliamentary fashion.

“Girls! girls! You really must talk less and sew more, or our society will be disgraced. Do you know our branch sent in less
work than any of the others last month, and Mrs. Fitz George said, she didn’t see how fifteen young ladies
could
manage to do so little?”

“We don’t talk a bit more than the old ladies do. I just wish you could have heard them go on, last time. The way they get
so much done, is, they take work home, and make their seamstresses do it, and then they take credit for vast industry,” said
Belle, who always spoke her mind with charming candor.

“That reminds me that mamma says they want as many things as we can make, for it’s a hard winter, and the poor are suffering
very much. Do any of you wish to take articles home, to do at odd times?” said Fan, who was president of this energetic Dorcas
Society.

“Mercy, no! It takes all my leisure time to mend my gloves and refresh my dresses,” answered Belle.

“I think if we meet once a week, it is all that should be expected of us, with our other engagements. Poor people
always
complain that the winter is a hard one, and
never
are satisfied,” remarked Miss Perkins, making her diamonds sparkle as she sewed buttons on the wrong side of a pink calico
apron, which would hardly survive one washing.

“Nobody can ask me to do any more, if they remember all I’ve got to attend to before summer,” said Trix, with an important
air. “I’ve got three women hard at work, and want another, but everyone is so busy, and ask such abominable prices, that I’m
in despair, and shall have to take hold myself, I’m afraid.”

“There’s a chance for Jane,” thought Polly, but hadn’t courage “to speak out loud in meeting,” just then, and resolved to
ask Trix for work, in private.

“Prices
are
high, but you forget how much more it costs to live now than it used to do. Mamma never allows us to beat down workwomen,
but wishes us to pay them well, and economize in some other way, if we must,” said Emma Davenport, a quiet, bright-eyed girl,
who was called “odd” among the young ladies, because she dressed simply, when her father was a millionaire.

“Just hear that girl talk about economy! I beg your pardon, she’s some relation of yours, I believe!” said Belle, in a low
tone.

“Very distant; but I’m proud of it; for with her economy doesn’t mean scrimping in one place to make a show in another. If
everyone would follow the Davenports’ example, workwomen wouldn’t starve, or servants be such a trouble. Emma is the plainest
dressed girl in the room, next to me, yet anyone can see she is a true gentlewoman,” said Polly, warmly.

“And you are another,” answered Belle, who had always loved Polly, in her scatterbrained way.

“Hush! Trix has the floor.”

“If they spent their wages properly, I shouldn’t mind so much, but they think they must be as fine as anybody, and dress so
well that it is hard to tell mistress from maid. Why, our cook got a bonnet just like mine (the materials were cheaper, but
the effect was the same), and had the impertinence to wear it before my face. I forbid it, and she left, of course, which
made papa so cross he wouldn’t give me the camel’s hair shawl he promised this year.”

“It’s perfectly shameful!” said Miss Perkins, as Trix paused out of breath. “Servants ought to be made to dress like servants,
as they do abroad; then we should have no more trouble,” observed Miss Perkins, who had just made the grand tour, and had
brought home a French maid.

“Perky don’t practise as she preaches,” whispered Belle to Polly, as Miss P. became absorbed in the chat of her other neighbors.
“She pays her chamber girl with old finery; and the other day, when Betsey was out parading in her missis’s cast-off purple
plush suit, Mr. Curtis thought she was mademoiselle, and bowed to her. He is as blind as a bat, but recognized the dress,
and pulled off his hat to it in the most elegant style. Perky adores him, and was mad enough to beat Betsey when she told
the story and giggled over it. Betsey is quite as stylish and ever so much prettier than Perky, and she knows it, which is
an aggravation.”

Polly couldn’t help laughing, but grew sober a minute after, as Trix said, pettishly —

“Well, I’m sick of hearing about beggars; I believe half of them are humbugs, and if we let them alone they’d go to work and
take care of themselves. There’s altogether too much fuss made about charity. I do wish we could be left in peace.”

“There can’t be
too much
charity!” burst out Polly, forgetting her shyness all at once.

“Oh, indeed! Well, I take the liberty to differ from you,” returned Trix, putting up her glass, and bestowing upon Polly her
most “toploftical stare,” as the girls called it.

I regret to say that Polly never could talk with or be near Trix without feeling irritated and combative. She tried to conquer
this feeling, but she couldn’t, and when Trix put on airs, Polly felt an intense desire to box her ears. That eyeglass was
her especial aversion, for Trix was no more nearsighted than herself, but pretended to be because it was the fashion, and
at times used the innocent glass as a weapon with which to put down anyone who presumed to set themselves up. The supercilious
glance which accompanied her ironically polite speech roused Polly, who answered with sudden color and the kindling of the
eyes that always betrayed a perturbed spirit —

“I don’t think many of us would enjoy that selfish sort of peace, while little children starve, and girls no older than us
kill themselves because their dreadful poverty leaves them no choice but sin or death.”

A sudden lull took place, for, though Polly did not raise her voice, it was full of indignant emotion, and the most frivolous
girl there felt a little thrill of sympathy; for the most utterly fashionable life does not kill the heart out of women, till
years of selfish pleasure have passed over their heads. Trix was ashamed of herself; but she felt the same antagonism toward
Polly, that Polly did toward her; and, being less generous, took satisfaction in plaguing her. Polly did not know that the
secret of this was the fact that Tom often held her up as a model for his
fiancée
to follow, which caused that young lady to dislike her more than ever.

“Half the awful stories in the papers are made up for a sensation, and it’s absurd to believe them, unless one likes to be
harrowed up. I don’t; and as for peace, I’m not likely to get much, while I have Tom to look after,” said Trix, with an aggravating
laugh.

Polly’s needle snapped in two, but she did not mind it, as she said, with a look that silenced even sharp-tongued Trix —

“I can’t help believing what my own eyes and ears have seen and heard. You lead such safe and happy lives, you can’t imagine
the misery that is all round you; but if you
could
get a glimpse of it, it would make your hearts ache, as it has mine.”

“Do you suffer from heartache? Someone hinted as much to me, but you looked so well, I couldn’t believe it.”

Now that was cruel in Trix, more cruel than anyone guessed; but girls’ tongues can deal wounds as sharp and sudden as the
slender stiletto Spanish women wear in their hair, and Polly turned pale, as those words stabbed her. Belle saw it, and rushed
to the rescue with more goodwill than wisdom.

“Nobody ever accused
you
of having any heart to ache with. Polly and I are not old enough yet to get tough and cool, and we are still silly enough
to pity unhappy people, Tom Shaw especially,” added Belle, under her breath.

That was a two-edged thrust, for Trix was decidedly an old girl, and Tom was generally regarded as a hapless victim. Trix
turned red; but before she could load and fire again, Emma Davenport, who labored under the delusion that this sort of skirmishing
was ill-natured, and therefore ill-bred, spoke up in her pleasant way —

“Speaking of pitying the poor, I always wonder why it is that we all like to read and cry over their troubles in books, but
when we have the real thing before us, we think it is uninteresting and disagreeable.”

“It’s the genius that gets into the books, which makes us like the poverty, I fancy. But I don’t quite agree that the real
thing isn’t interesting. I think it would be, if we knew how to look at and feel it,” said Polly, very quietly, as she pushed
her chair out of the arctic circle of Miss Perkins, into the temperate one of the friendly Emma.

“But how shall we learn that? I don’t see what we girls can do, more than we do now. We haven’t much money for such things,
shouldn’t know how to use it if we had; and it isn’t proper for us to go poking into dirty places, to hunt up the needy. ‘Going
about doing good, in pony phaetons,’ as somebody says, may succeed in England, but it won’t work here,” said Fanny, who had
begun, lately, to think a good deal of someone beside herself, and so found her interest in her fellow-beings increasing daily.

“We can’t do much, perhaps, just yet; but still there are things left undone that naturally fall to us. I know a house,” said
Polly, sewing busily as she talked, “where every servant who enters it becomes an object of interest to the mistress and her
daughters. These women are taught good habits, books are put where they can get them, sensible amusements are planned for
them sometimes, and they soon feel that they are not considered mere scrubs, to do as much work as possible, for as little
money as possible, but helpers in the family, who are loved and respected in proportion to their faithfulness. This lady feels
her duty to them, owns it, and does it, as conscientiously as she wants them to do theirs by her; and that is the way it ought
to be, I think.”