Produced by David Reed
AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL
By Louisa M. Alcott
Preface
AS a preface is the only place where an author can with proprietyexplain a purpose or apologize for shortcomings, I venture to availmyself of the privilege to make a statement for the benefit of myreaders.
As the first part of "An Old-Fashioned Girl" was written in 1869, thedemand for a sequel, in beseeching little letters that made refusalimpossible, rendered it necessary to carry my heroine boldly forwardsome six or seven years into the future. The domestic nature of thestory makes this audacious proceeding possible; while the lively fanciesof my young readers will supply all deficiencies, and overlook alldiscrepancies.
This explanation will, I trust, relieve those well-regulated minds,who cannot conceive of such literary lawlessness, from the bewildermentwhich they suffered when the same experiment was tried in a former book.
The "Old-Fashioned Girl" is not intended as a perfect model, but asa possible improvement upon [Page] the Girl of the Period, who seemssorrowfully ignorant or ashamed of the good old fashions which makewoman truly beautiful and honored, and, through her, render home whatit should be,-a happy place, where parents and children, brothers andsisters, learn to love and know and help one another.
If the history of Polly's girlish experiences suggests a hint orinsinuates a lesson, I shall feel that, in spite of many obstacles, Ihave not entirely neglected my duty toward the little men and women, forwhom it is an honor and a pleasure to write, since in them I have alwaysfound my kindest patrons, gentlest critics, warmest friends.
L. M. A.
Contents
Chapter 1. Polly Arrives Chapter 2. New Fashions Chapter 3. Polly's Troubles Chapter 4. Little Things Chapter 5. Scrapes Chapter 6. Grandma Chapter 7. Good-by Chapter 8. Six Years Afterward Chapter 9. Lessons Chapter 10. Brothers and Sisters Chapter 11. Needles and Tongues Chapter 12. Forbidden Fruit Chapter 13. The Sunny Side Chapter 14. Nipped in the Bud Chapter 15. Breakers Ahead Chapter 16. A Dress Parade Chapter 17. Playing Grandmother Chapter 18. The Woman Who Did Not Dare Chapter 19. Tom's Success
An Old-fashioned Girl
CHAPTER I. POLLY ARRIVES
"IT'S time to go to the station, Tom."
"Come on, then."
"Oh, I'm not going; it's too wet. Should n't have a crimp left if Iwent out such a day as this; and I want to look nice when Polly comes."
"You don't expect me to go and bring home a strange girl alone, do you?"And Tom looked as much alarmed as if his sister had proposed to him toescort the wild woman of Australia.
"Of course I do. It's your place to go and get her; and if you was n'ta bear, you'd like it."
"Well, I call that mean! I supposed I'd got to go; but you said you'dgo, too. Catch me bothering about your friends another time! No, sir!"And Tom rose from the sofa with an air of indignant resolution, theimpressive effect of which was somewhat damaged by a tousled head, andthe hunched appearance of his garments generally.
"Now, don't be cross; and I'll get mamma to let you have that horridNed Miller, that you are so fond of, come and make you a visit afterPolly's gone," said Fanny, hoping to soothe his ruffled feelings.
"How long is she going to stay?" demanded Tom, making his toilet by apromiscuous shake.
"A month or two, maybe. She's ever so nice; and I shall keep her aslong as she's happy."
"She won't stay long then, if I can help it," muttered Tom, who regardedgirls as a very unnecessary portion of creation. Boys of fourteen areapt to think so, and perhaps it is a wise arrangement; for, being fondof turning somersaults, they have an opportunity of indulging in a goodone, metaphorically speaking, when, three or four years later, theybecome the abject slaves of "those bothering girls."
"Look here! how am I going to know the creature? I never saw her, andshe never saw me. You'll have to come too, Fan," he added, pausing onhis way to the door, arrested by the awful idea that he might have toaddress several strange girls before he got the right one.
"You'll find her easy enough; she'll probably be standing roundlooking for us. I dare say she'll know you, though I'm not there,because I've described you to her."
"Guess she won't, then;" and Tom gave a hasty smooth to his curly pateand a glance at the mirror, feeling sure that his sister had n't donehim justice. Sisters never do, as "we fellows" know too well.
"Do go along, or you'll be too late; and then, what will Polly thinkof me?" cried Fanny, with the impatient poke which is peculiarlyaggravating to masculine dignity.
"She'll think you cared more about your frizzles than your friends, andshe'll be about right, too."
Feeling that he said rather a neat and cutting thing, Tom saunteredleisurely away, perfectly conscious that it was late, but bent on notbeing hurried while in sight, though he ran himself off his legs to makeup for it afterward.
"If I was the President, I'd make a law to shut up all boys till theywere grown; for they certainly are the most provoking toads in theworld," said Fanny, as she watched the slouchy figure of her brotherstrolling down the street. She might have changed her mind, however,if she had followed him, for as soon as he turned the corner, his wholeaspect altered; his hands came out of his pockets, he stopped whistling,buttoned his jacket, gave his cap a pull, and went off at a great pace.
The train was just in when he reached the station, panting like arace-horse, and as red as a lobster with the wind and the run.
"Suppose she'll wear a top-knot and a thingumbob, like every one else;and however shall I know her? Too bad of Fan to make me come alone!"thought Tom, as he stood watching the crowd stream through the depot,and feeling rather daunted at the array of young ladies who passed. Asnone of them seemed looking for any one, he did not accost them, buteyed each new batch with the air of a martyr. "That's her," he saidto himself, as he presently caught sight of a girl in gorgeous array,standing with her hands folded, and a very small hat perched on the topof a very large "chig-non," as Tom pronounced it. "I suppose I've gotto speak to her, so here goes;" and, nerving himself to the task, Tomslowly approached the damsel, who looked as if the wind had blown herclothes into rags, such a flapping of sashes, scallops, ruffles, curls,and feathers was there.
"I say, if you please, is your name Polly Milton?" meekly asked Tom,pausing before the breezy stranger.
"No, it is n't," answered the young lady, with a cool stare that utterlyquenched him.
"Where in thunder is she?" growled Tom, walking off in high dudgeon. Thequick tap of feet behind him made him turn in time to see a fresh-facedlittle girl running down the long station, and looking as if she ratherliked it. As she smiled, and waved her bag at him, he stopped and waitedfor her, saying to himself, "Hullo! I wonder if that's Polly?"
Up came the little girl, with her hand out, and a half-shy, half-merrylook in her blue eyes, as she said, inquiringly, "This is Tom, is n'tit?"
"Yes. How did you know?" and Tom got over the ordeal of hand-shakingwithout thinking of it, he was so surprised.
"Oh, Fan told me you'd got curly hair, and a funny nose, and keptwhistling, and wore a gray cap pulled over your eyes; so I knew youdirectly." And Polly nodded at him in the most friendly manner, havingpolitely refrained from calling the hair "red," the nose "a pug," andthe cap "old," all of which facts Fanny had carefully impressed upon hermemory.
"Where are your trunks?" asked Tom, as he was reminded of his duty byher handing him the bag, which he had not offered to take.
"Father told me not to wait for any one, else I'd lose my chance of ahack; so I gave my check to a man, and there he is with my trunk;" andPolly walked off after her one modest piece of baggage, fo
llowed by Tom,who felt a trifle depressed by his own remissness in polite attentions."She is n't a bit of a young lady, thank goodness! Fan did n't tell meshe was pretty. Don't look like city girls, nor act like'em, neither,"he thought, trudging in the rear, and eyeing with favor the brown curlsbobbing along in front.
As the carriage drove off, Polly gave a little bounce on the springyseat, and laughed like a delighted child. "I do like to ride in thesenice hacks, and see all the fine things, and have a good time, don'tyou?" she said, composing herself the next minute, as if it suddenlyoccurred to her that she was going a-visiting.
"Not much," said Tom, not minding what he said, for the fact that he wasshut up with the strange girl suddenly oppressed his soul.
"How's Fan? Why did n't she come, too?" asked Polly, trying to lookdemure, while her eyes danced in spite of her.
"Afraid of spoiling her crinkles;" and Tom smiled, for this basebetrayal of confidence made him feel his own man again.
"You and I don't mind dampness. I'm much obliged to you for coming totake care of me."
It was kind of Polly to say that, and Tom felt it; for his red crop wasa tender point, and to be associated with Polly's pretty brown curlsseemed to lessen its coppery glow. Then he had n't done anything for herbut carry the bag a few steps; yet, she thanked him. He felt grateful,and in a burst of confidence, offered a handful of peanuts, for hispockets were always supplied with this agreeable delicacy, and he mightbe traced anywhere by the trail of shells he left behind him.
As soon as he had done it, he remembered that Fanny considered themvulgar, and felt that he had disgraced his family. So he stuck hishead out of the window, and kept it there so long, that Polly asked ifanything was the matter. "Pooh! who cares for a countrified little thinglike her," said Tom manfully to himself; and then the spirit of mischiefentered in and took possession of him.
"He's pretty drunk; but I guess he can hold his horses," replied thisevil-minded boy, with an air of calm resignation.
"Is the man tipsy? Oh, dear! let's get out! Are the horses bad? It'svery steep here; do you think it's safe?" cried poor Polly, making acocked hat of her little beaver, by thrusting it out of the half-openwindow on her side.
"There's plenty of folks to pick us up if anything happens; but perhapsit would be safer if I got out and sat with the man;" and Tom quitebeamed with the brilliancy of this sudden mode of relief.
"Oh, do, if you ain't afraid! Mother would be so anxious if anythingshould happen to me, so far away!" cried Polly, much distressed.
"Don't you be worried. I'll manage the old chap, and the horses too;"and opening the door, Tom vanished aloft, leaving poor victimized Pollyto quake inside, while he placidly revelled in freedom and peanutsoutside, with the staid old driver.
Fanny came flying down to meet her "darling Polly," as Tom presentedher, with the graceful remark, "I've got her!" and the air of adauntless hunter, producing the trophies of his skill. Polly wasinstantly whisked up stairs; and having danced a double-shuffle on thedoor-mat, Tom retired to the dining-room, to restore exhausted naturewith half a dozen cookies.
"Ain't you tired to death? Don't you want to lie down?" said Fanny,sitting on the side of the bed in Polly's room, and chattering hard,while she examined everything her friend had on.
"Not a bit. I had a nice time coming, and no trouble, except the tipsycoachman; but Tom got out and kept him in order, so I was n't muchfrightened," answered innocent Polly, taking off her rough-and-readycoat, and the plain hat without a bit of a feather.
"Fiddlestick! he was n't tipsy; and Tom only did it to get out of theway. He can't bear girls," said Fanny, with a superior air.
"Can't he? Why, I thought he was very pleasant and kind!" and Pollyopened her eyes with a surprised expression.
"He's an awful boy, my dear; and if you have anything to do withhim, he'll torment you to death. Boys are all horrid; but he's thehorridest one I ever saw."
Fanny went to a fashionable school, where the young ladies were so busywith their French, German, and Italian, that there was no time forgood English. Feeling her confidence much shaken in the youth, Pollyprivately resolved to let him alone, and changed the conversation, bysaying, as she looked admiringly about the large, handsome room, "Howsplendid it is! I never slept in a bed with curtains before, or had sucha fine toilet-table as this."
"I'm glad you like it; but don't, for mercy sake, say such thingsbefore the other girls!" replied Fanny, wishing Polly would wearear-rings, as every one else did.
"Why not?" asked the country mouse of the city mouse, wondering whatharm there was in liking other people's pretty things, and sayingso. "Oh, they laugh at everything the least bit odd, and that is n'tpleasant." Fanny did n't say "countrified," but she meant it, and Pollyfelt uncomfortable. So she shook out her little black silk apron witha thoughtful face, and resolved not to allude to her own home, if shecould help it.
"I'm so poorly, mamma says I need n't go to school regularly, while youare here, only two or three times a week, just to keep up my music andFrench. You can go too, if you like; papa said so. Do, it's such fun!"cried Fanny, quite surprising her friend by this unexpected fondness forschool.
"I should be afraid, if all the girls dress as finely as you do, andknow as much," said Polly, beginning to feel shy at the thought.
"La, child! you need n't mind that. I'll take care of you, and fix youup, so you won't look odd."
"Am I odd?" asked Polly, struck by the word and hoping it did n't meananything very bad.
"You are a dear, and ever so much prettier than you were last summer,only you've been brought up differently from us; so your ways ain'tlike ours, you see," began Fanny, finding it rather hard to explain.
"How different?" asked Polly again, for she liked to understand things.
"Well, you dress like a little girl, for one thing."
"I am a little girl; so why should n't I?" and Polly looked at hersimple blue merino frock, stout boots, and short hair, with a puzzledair.
"You are fourteen; and we consider ourselves young ladies at that age,"continued Fanny, surveying, with complacency, the pile of hair on thetop of her head, with a fringe of fuzz round her forehead, and a wavylock streaming down her back; likewise, her scarlet-and-black suit, withits big sash, little pannier, bright buttons, points, rosettes, and,heaven knows what. There was a locket on her neck, ear-rings tinklingin her ears, watch and chain at her belt, and several rings on a pair ofhands that would have been improved by soap and water.
Polly's eye went from one little figure to the other, and she thoughtthat Fanny looked the oddest of the two; for Polly lived in a quietcountry town, and knew very little of city fashions. She was ratherimpressed by the elegance about her, never having seen Fanny's homebefore, as they got acquainted while Fanny paid a visit to a friend wholived near Polly. But she did n't let the contrast between herself andFan trouble her; for in a minute she laughed and said, contentedly, "Mymother likes me to dress simply, and I don't mind. I should n't knowwhat to do rigged up as you are. Don't you ever forget to lift your sashand fix those puffy things when you sit down?"
Before Fanny could answer, a scream from below made both listen. "It's only Maud; she fusses all day long," began Fanny; and the words werehardly out of her mouth, when the door was thrown open, and a littlegirl, of six or seven, came roaring in. She stopped at sight of Polly,stared a minute, then took up her roar just where she left it, and castherself into Fanny's lap, exclaiming wrathfully, "Tom's laughing at me!Make him stop!"
"What did you do to set him going? Don't scream so, you'll frightenPolly!" and Fan gave the cherub a shake, which produced an explanation.
"I only said we had cold cweam at the party, last night, and helaughed!"
"Ice-cream, child!" and Fanny followed Tom's reprehensible example.
"I don't care! it was cold; and I warmed mine at the wegister, and thenit was nice; only, Willy Bliss spilt it on my new Gabwielle!" and Maudwailed again over her accumulated woes.
"Do go to Katy! You're as cross as a little bear to-day!" said Fanny,pushing her away.
"Katy don't amoose me; and I must be amoosed,'cause I'm fwactious;mamma said I was!" sobbed Maud, evidently laboring under the delusionthat fractiousness was some interesting malady.
"Come down and have dinner; that will amuse you;" and Fanny got up,pluming herself as a bird does before its flight.
Polly hoped the "dreadful boy" would not be present; but he was, andstared at her all dinner-time, in a most trying manner. Mr. Shaw, abusy-looking gentleman, said, "How do you do, my dear? Hope you'llenjoy yourself;" and then appeared to forget her entirely. Mrs. Shaw, apale, nervous woman, greeted her little guest kindly, and took care thatshe wanted for nothing. Madam Shaw, a quiet old lady, with an imposingcap, exclaimed on seeing Polly, "Bless my heart! the image of her mothera sweet woman how is she, dear?" and kept peering at the new-comer overher glasses, till, between Madam and Tom, poor Polly lost her appetite.
Fanny chatted like a magpie, and Maud fidgeted, till Tom proposed to puther under the big dish-cover, which produced such an explosion, that theyoung lady was borne screaming away, by the much-enduring Katy. It wasaltogether an uncomfortable dinner, and Polly was very glad when it wasover. They all went about their own affairs; and after doing the honorsof the house, Fan was called to the dressmaker, leaving Polly to amuseherself in the great drawing-room.
Polly was glad to be alone for a few minutes; and, having examined allthe pretty things about her, began to walk up and down over the soft,flowery carpet, humming to herself, as the daylight faded, and only theruddy glow of the fire filled the room. Presently Madam came slowly in,and sat down in her arm-chair, saying, "That's a fine old tune; sing itto me, my dear. I have n't heard it this many a day." Polly did n't liketo sing before strangers, for she had had no teaching but such as herbusy mother could give her; but she had been taught the utmost respectfor old people, and having no reason for refusing, she directly went tothe piano, and did as she was bid.
"That's the sort of music it's a pleasure to hear. Sing some more,dear," said Madam, in her gentle way, when she had done.
Pleased with this praise, Polly sang away in a fresh little voice, thatwent straight to the listener's heart and nestled there. The sweetold tunes that one is never tired of were all Polly's store; and herfavorites were Scotch airs, such as, "Yellow-Haired Laddie," "Jock o'Hazeldean," "Down among the Heather," and "Birks of Aberfeldie." Themore she sung, the better she did it; and when she wound up with "AHealth to King Charlie," the room quite rung with the stirring musicmade by the big piano and the little maid.
"By George, that's a jolly tune! Sing it again, please," cried Tom'svoice; and there was Tom's red head bobbing up over the high back of thechair where he had hidden himself.
It gave Polly quite a turn, for she thought no one was hearing her butthe old lady dozing by the fire. "I can't sing any more; I'm tired,"she said, and walked away to Madam in the other room. The red headvanished like a meteor, for Polly's tone had been decidedly cool.
The old lady put out her hand, and drawing Polly to her knee, lookedinto her face with such kind eyes, that Polly forgot the impressive cap,and smiled at her confidingly; for she saw that her simple music hadpleased her listener, and she felt glad to know it.
"You must n't mind my staring, dear," said Madam, softly pinching herrosy cheek. "I have n't seen a little girl for so long, it does my oldeyes good to look at you."
Polly thought that a very odd speech, and could n't help saying, "Aren't Fan and Maud little girls, too?"
"Oh, dear, no! not what I call little girls. Fan has been a younglady this two years, and Maud is a spoiled baby. Your mother's a verysensible woman, my child."
"What a very queer old lady!" thought Polly; but she said "Yes'm"respectfully, and looked at the fire.
"You don't understand what I mean, do you?" asked Madam, still holdingher by the chin.
"No'm; not quite."
"Well, dear, I'll tell you. In my day, children of fourteen and fifteendid n't dress in the height of the fashion; go to parties, as nearlylike those of grown people as it's possible to make them; lead idle,giddy, unhealthy lives, and get blase at twenty. We were little folkstill eighteen or so; worked and studied, dressed and played, likechildren; honored our parents; and our days were much longer in the landthan now, it seems to, me."
The old lady appeared to forget Polly at the end of her speech; for shesat patting the plump little hand that lay in her own, and looking up ata faded picture of an old gentleman with a ruffled shirt and a queue.
"Was he your father, Madam?
"Yes, dear; my honored father. I did up his frills to the day of hisdeath; and the first money I ever earned was five dollars whichhe offered as a prize to whichever of his six girls would lay thehandsomest darn in his silk stockings."
"How proud you must have been!" cried Polly, leaning on the old lady'sknee with an interested face.
"Yes, and we all learned to make bread, and cook, and wore littlechintz gowns, and were as gay and hearty as kittens. All lived to begrandmothers and fathers; and I'm the last, seventy, next birthday,my dear, and not worn out yet; though daughter Shaw is an invalid atforty."
"That's the way I was brought up, and that's why Fan calls meold-fashioned, I suppose. Tell more about your papa, please; I like it,"said Polly.
"Say'father.' We never called him papa; and if one of my brothers hadaddressed him as'governor,' as boys do now, I really think he'd havehim cut off with a shilling."
Madam raised her voice in saying this, and nodded significantly; but amild snore from the other room seemed to assure her that it was a wasteof shot to fire in that direction.
Before she could continue, in came Fanny with the joyful news thatClara Bird had invited them both to go to the theatre with her that veryevening, and would call for them at seven o'clock. Polly was so excitedby this sudden plunge into the dissipations of city life, that she flewabout like a distracted butterfly, and hardly knew what happened, tillshe found herself seated before the great green curtain in the brillianttheatre. Old Mr. Bird sat on one side, Fanny on the other, and both lether alone, for which she was very grateful, as her whole attention wasso absorbed in the scene around her, that she could n't talk.
Polly had never been much to the theatre; and the few plays she hadseen were the good old fairy tales, dramatized to suit young beholders,lively, bright, and full of the harmless nonsense which brings the laughwithout the blush. That night she saw one of the new spectacles whichhave lately become the rage, and run for hundreds of nights, dazzling,exciting, and demoralizing the spectator by every allurement Frenchingenuity can invent, and American prodigality execute. Never mind whatits name was, it was very gorgeous, very vulgar, and very fashionable;so, of course, it was much admired, and every one went to see it. Atfirst, Polly thought she had got into fairy-land, and saw only thesparkling creatures who danced and sung in a world of light and beauty;but, presently, she began to listen to the songs and conversation, andthen the illusion vanished; for the lovely phantoms sang negro melodies,talked slang, and were a disgrace to the good old-fashioned elves whomshe knew and loved so well.
Our little girl was too innocent to understand half the jokes, and oftenwondered what people were laughing at; but, as the first enchantmentsubsided, Polly began to feel uncomfortable, to be sure her motherwould n't like to have her there, and to wish she had n't come. Somehow,things seemed to get worse and worse, as the play went on; for our smallspectator was being rapidly enlightened by the gossip going on allabout her, as well as by her own quick eyes and girlish instincts.When four-and-twenty girls, dressed as jockeys, came prancing on to thestage, cracking their whips, stamping the heels of their topboots, andwinking at the audience, Polly did not think it at all funny, butlooked disgusted, and was glad when they were gone; but when anotherset appeared in a costume consisting of gauze wings, and a bit of goldfringe round the waist, poor unfashionable Polly did n't know what todo; for she felt both fright
ened and indignant, and sat with her eyes onher play-bill, and her cheeks getting hotter and hotter every minute.
"What are you blushing so for?" asked Fanny, as the painted sylphsvanished.
"I'm so ashamed of those girls," whispered Polly, taking a long breathof relief.
"You little goose, it's just the way it was done in Paris, and thedancing is splendid. It seems queer at first; but you'll get used toit, as I did."
"I'll never come again," said Polly, decidedly; for her innocent naturerebelled against the spectacle, which, as yet, gave her more pain thanpleasure. She did not know how easy it was to "get used to it," as Fannydid; and it was well for her that the temptation was not often offered.She could not explain the feeling; but she was glad when the play wasdone, and they were safe at home, where kind grandma was waiting to seethem comfortably into bed.
"Did you have a good time, dear?" she asked, looking at Polly's feverishcheeks and excited eyes.
"I don't wish to be rude, but I did n't," answered Polly. "Some of itwas splendid; but a good deal of it made me want to go under the seat.People seemed to like it, but I don't think it was proper."
As Polly freed her mind, and emphasized her opinion with a decided rapof the boot she had just taken off, Fanny laughed, and said, whileshe pirouetted about the room, like Mademoiselle Therese, "Polly wasshocked, grandma. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her face as red asmy sash, and once I thought she was going to cry. Some of it was ratherqueer; but, of course, it was proper, or all our set would n't go. Iheard Mrs. Smythe Perkins say, 'It was charming; so like dear Paris;'and she has lived abroad; so, of course, she knows what is what."
"I don't care if she has. I know it was n't proper for little girlsto see, or I should n't have been so ashamed!" cried sturdy Polly,perplexed, but not convinced, even by Mrs. Smythe Perkins.
"I think you are right, my dear; but you have lived in the country, andhave n't yet learned that modesty has gone out of fashion." And with agood-night kiss, grandma left Polly to dream dreadfully of dancing injockey costume, on a great stage; while Tom played a big drum in theorchestra; and the audience all wore the faces of her father and mother,looking sorrowfully at her, with eyes like saucers, and faces as red asFanny's sash.