An Old-Fashioned Girl (39 page)

“Did you really mean to run away, and not let me go home with you?”

“I’m not afraid; I didn’t want to take you away,” began Polly, secretly hoping that she didn’t look
too
pleased.

“But I like to be taken away. Why, it’s a whole year since I went home with you; do you remember that?” said Tom, flapping
the rubbers about without any signs of haste.

“Does it seem long?”

“Everlasting!”

Polly meant to say that quite easily, and smile incredulously at his answer; but in spite of the coquettish little rose-colored
hood she wore, and which she knew was very becoming, she did not look or speak gayly, and Tom saw something in the altered
face that made him say hastily —

“I’m afraid you’ve been doing too much this winter; you look tired out, Polly.”

“Oh, no! It suits me to be very busy,” and she began to drag on her gloves as if to prove it.

“But it doesn’t suit me to have you get thin and pale, you know.”

Polly looked up to thank him, but never did, for there was something deeper than gratitude in the honest blue eyes, that could
not hide the truth entirely. Tom saw it, flushed all over his brown face, and dropping the rubbers with a crash, took her
hands, saying, in his old impetuous way —

“Polly, I want to tell you something!”

“Yes, I know, we’ve been expecting it. I hope you’ll be
very
happy, Tom;” and Polly shook his hands with a smile that was more pathetic than a flood of tears.

“What!” cried Tom, looking as if he thought she had lost her mind.

“Ned told us all about her; he thought it would be so, and when you spoke of another engagement, we knew you meant your own.”

“But I didn’t! Ned’s the man; he told me to tell you. It’s just settled.”

“Is it Maria?” cried Polly, holding on to a chair as if to be prepared for anything.

“Of course. Who else should it be?”

“He didn’t say — you talked about her most — and so we thought —” stammered Polly, falling into a sudden flutter.

“That I was in love? Well, I am, but not with her.”

“Oh!” and Polly caught her breath as if a dash of cold water had fallen on her, for the more in earnest Tom grew, the blunter
he became.

“Do you want to know the name of the girl I’ve loved for more than a year? Well, it’s Polly!” As he spoke, Tom stretched out
his arms to her, with the sort of mute eloquence that cannot be resisted, and Polly went straight into them, without a word.

Never mind what happened for a little bit. Love scenes, if genuine, are indescribable; for to those who have enacted them,
the most elaborate description seems tame, and to those who have not, the simplest picture seems overdone. So romancers had
better let imagination paint for them that which is above all art, and leave their lovers to themselves during the happiest
minutes of their lives.

Before long, Tom and Polly were sitting side by side, enjoying the blissful state of mind which usually follows the first
step out of our work-a-day world, into the glorified region wherein lovers rapturously exist for a month or two. Tom just
sat and looked at Polly as if he found it difficult to believe that the winter of his discontent had ended in this glorious
spring. But Polly, being a true woman, asked questions, even while she laughed and cried for joy.

“Now, Tom, how could I know you loved me when you went away and never said a word?” she began, in a tenderly reproachful tone,
thinking of the hard year she had spent.

“And how could I have the courage to say a word, when I had nothing on the face of the earth to offer you but, my worthless
self?” answered Tom, warmly.

“That was all I wanted!” whispered Polly, in a tone which caused him to feel that the race of angels was not entirely extinct.

“I’ve always been fond of you, my Polly, but I never realized
how
fond till just before I went away. I wasn’t free, you know, and besides I had a strong impression that you liked Sydney in
spite of the damper which Fan hinted you gave him last winter. He’s such a capital fellow, I really don’t see how you could
help it.”

“It is strange; I don’t understand it myself; but women are queer creatures, and there’s no accounting for their tastes,”
said Polly, with a sly look, which Tom fully appreciated.

“You were so good to me those last days, that I came very near speaking out, but couldn’t bear to seem to be offering you
a poor, disgraced sort of fellow, whom Trix wouldn’t have, and no one seemed to think worth much. ‘No,’ I said to myself,
‘Polly ought to have the best; if Syd can get her, let him, and I won’t say a word. I’ll try to be better worthy her friendship,
anyway; and perhaps, when I’ve proved that I
can
do something, and am not ashamed to work, then, if Polly is free, I shan’t be afraid to try my chance.’ So I held my tongue,
worked like a horse, satisfied myself and others that I could get my living honestly, and then came home to see if there was
any hope for me.”

“And I was waiting for you all the time,” said a soft voice close to his shoulder; for Polly was much touched by Tom’s manly
efforts to deserve her.

“I didn’t mean to do it the first minute, but look about me a little, and be sure Syd was all right. But Fan’s news settled
that point, and just now the look in my Polly’s face settled the other. I couldn’t wait another minute, or let you either,
and I couldn’t help stretching out my arms to my little wife, God bless her, though I know I don’t deserve her.”

Tom’s voice got lower and lower as he spoke, and his face was full of an emotion of which he need not be ashamed, for a very
sincere love ennobled him, making him humble, where a shallower affection would have been proud of its success. Polly understood
this, and found the honest, hearty speech of her lover more eloquent than poetry itself. Her hand stole up to his cheek, and
she leaned her own confidingly against the rough coat, as she said, in her frank, simple way —

“Tom, dear, don’t say that, as if I was the best girl in the world. I’ve got ever so many faults, and I want you to know them
all, and help me cure them, as you have your own. Waiting has not done us any harm, and I love you all the better for your
trial. But I’m afraid your year has been harder than mine, you look so much older and graver than when you went away. You
never would complain; but I’ve had a feeling that you were going through a good deal more than any of us guessed.”

“Pretty tough work at first, I own. It was all so new and strange, I’m afraid I shouldn’t have stood it if it had not been
for Ned. He’d laugh and say ‘Pooh!’ if he heard me say it, but it’s true nevertheless that he’s a grand fellow and helped
me through the first six months like a — well, a brother as he is. There was no reason why he should go out of his way to
back up a shiftless party like me, yet he did, and made many things easy and safe that would have been confoundedly hard and
dangerous if I’d been left to myself. The only way I can explain it is that it’s a family trait, and as natural to the brother
as it is to the sister.”

“It’s a Shaw trait to do the same. But tell me about Maria; is Ned really engaged to her?”

“Very much so; you’ll get a letter full of raptures tomorrow; he hadn’t time to send by me, I came off in such a hurry. Maria
is a sensible, pretty girl, and Ned will be a happy old fellow.”

“Why did you let us think it was you?”

“I only teased Fan a little; I did like Maria, for she reminded me of you sometimes, and was such a kind, cosy little woman
I couldn’t help enjoying her society after a hard day’s work. But Ned got jealous, and then I knew that he was in earnest,
so I left him a clear field, and promised not to breathe a word to anyone till he had got a Yes or No from his Maria.”

“I wish I’d known it,” sighed Polly. “People in love always do such stupid things!”

“So they do; for neither you nor Fan gave us poor fellows the least hint about Syd, and there I’ve been having all sorts of
scares about you.”

“Serves us right; brothers and sisters shouldn’t have secrets from each other.”

“We never will again. Did you miss me very much?”

“Yes, Tom; very, very much.”

“My patient little Polly!”

“Did you really care for me before you went?”

“See if I didn’t;” and with great pride Tom produced a portly pocketbook stuffed with businesslike documents of a most imposing
appearance, opened a private compartment, and took out a worn-looking paper, unfolded it carefully, and displayed a small
brown object which gave out a faint fragrance.

“That’s the rose you put in the birthday cake, and next week we’ll have a fresh one in another jolly little cake which you’ll
make me; you left it on the floor of my den the night we talked there, and I’ve kept it ever since. There’s love and romance
for you!”

Polly touched the little relic, treasured for a year, and smiled to read the words “My Polly’s rose,” scribbled under the
crumbling leaves.

“I didn’t know you could be so sentimental,” she said, looking so pleased that he did not regret confessing his folly.

“I never was till I loved you, my dear, and I’m not very bad yet, for I don’t wear my posy next my heart, but where I can
see it every day, and so never forget for whom I am working. Shouldn’t wonder if that bit of nonsense had kept me economical,
honest, and hard at it, for I never opened my pocketbook that I didn’t think of you.”

“That’s lovely, Tom,” and Polly found it so touching that she felt for her handkerchief; but Tom took it away, and made her
laugh instead of cry, by saying, in a wheedlesome tone —

“I don’t believe you did as much, for all your romance. Did you, now?”

“If you won’t laugh, I’ll show you my treasures. I began first, and I’ve worn them longest.”

As she spoke, Polly drew out the old locket, opened it, and showed the picture Tom gave her in the bag of peanuts, cut small
and fitted in on one side; on the other was a curl of reddish hair and a black button. How Tom laughed when he saw them!

“You don’t mean you’ve kept that frightful guy of a boy all this time? Polly! Polly! You are the most faithful ‘loveress,’
as Maud says, that was ever known.”

“Don’t flatter yourself that I’ve worn it all these years, sir; I only put it in last spring because I didn’t dare to ask
for one of the new ones. The button came off the old coat you insisted on wearing after the failure, as if it was your duty
to look as shabby as possible, and the curl I stole from Maud. Aren’t we silly?”

He did not seem to think so, and after a short pause for refreshments, Polly turned serious, and said anxiously —

“When must you go back to your hard work?”

“In a week or two; but it won’t seem drudgery now, for you’ll write every day, and I shall feel that I’m working to get a
home for you. That will give me a forty-man-power, and I’ll pay up my debts and get a good start, and then Ned and I will
be married and go into partnership, and we’ll all be the happiest, busiest people in the West.”

“It sounds delightful; but won’t it take a long time, Tom?”

“Only a few years, and we needn’t wait a minute after Syd is paid, if you don’t mind beginning rather low down, Polly.”

“I’d rather work up with you, than sit idle while you toil away all alone. That’s the way father and mother did, and I think
they were very happy in spite of the poverty and hard work.”

“Then we’ll do it by another year, for I must get more salary before I take you away from a good home here. I wish, oh, Polly,
how I wish I had a half of the money I’ve wasted, to make you comfortable now.”

“Never mind, I don’t want it; I’d rather have less, and know you earned it all yourself,” cried Polly, as Tom struck his hand
on his knee with an acute pang of regret at the power he had lost.

“It’s like you to say it, and I won’t waste any words bewailing myself, because I was a fool. We will work up together, my
brave Polly, and you shall yet be proud of your husband, though he is ‘poor Tom Shaw.’”

She was as sure of that as if an oracle had foretold it, and was not deceived; for the loving heart that had always seen,
believed, and tried to strengthen all good impulses in Tom, was well repaid for its instinctive trust by the happiness of
the years to come.

“Yes,” she said, hopefully, “I
know
you will succeed, for the best thing a man can have, is work with a purpose in it, and the will to do it heartily.”

“There is one better thing, Polly,” answered Tom, turning her face up a little, that he might see his inspiration shining
in her eyes.

“What is it, dear?”

“A good woman to love and help him all his life, as you will me, please God.”

“Even though she
is
old-fashioned,” whispered Polly, with happy eyes, the brighter for their tears, as she looked up at the young man, who, through
her, had caught a glimpse of the truest success, and was not ashamed to owe it to love and labor, two beautiful old fashions
that began long ago, with the first pair in Eden.

Lest any of my young readers who have honored Maud with their interest should suffer the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity as
to her future, I will add for their benefit that she did
not
marry Will, but remained a busy, lively spinster all her days, and kept house for her father in the most delightful manner.

Will’s ministerial dream came to pass in the course of time, however, and a gentle, bright-eyed lady ruled over the parsonage,
whom the reverend William called his “little Jane.”

Farther into futurity even this rash pen dares not proceed, but pauses here, concluding in the words of the dear old fairy
tales, “And so they were married, and all lived happily till they died.”