CHAPTER V. SCRAPES
AFTER being unusually good, children are apt to turn short round andrefresh themselves by acting like Sancho. For a week after Tom's mishap,the young folks were quite angelic, so much so that grandma said she wasafraid "something was going to happen to them." The dear old lady needn't have felt anxious, for such excessive virtue does n't last longenough to lead to translation, except with little prigs in the goodystory-books; and no sooner was Tom on his legs again, when the wholeparty went astray, and much tribulation was the consequence.
It all began with "Polly's stupidity," as Fan said afterward. Just asPolly ran down to meet Mr. Shaw one evening, and was helping him offwith his coat, the bell rang, and a fine bouquet of hothouse flowers wasleft in Polly's hands, for she never could learn city ways, and openedthe door herself.
"Hey! what's this? My little Polly is beginning early, after all," saidMr. Shaw, laughing, as he watched the girl's face dimple and flush, asshe smelt the lovely nosegay, and glanced at a note half hidden in theheliotrope.
Now, if Polly had n't been "stupid," as Fan said, she would have hadher wits about her, and let it pass; but, you see, Polly was an honestlittle soul and it never occurred to her that there was any need ofconcealment, so she answered in her straightforward way, "Oh, they ain'tfor me, sir; they are for Fan; from Mr. Frank, I guess. She'll be sopleased."
"That puppy sends her things of this sort, does he?" And Mr. Shaw lookedfar from pleased as he pulled out the note, and coolly opened it.
Polly had her doubts about Fan's approval of that "sort of thing," butdared not say a word, and stood thinking how she used to show her fatherthe funny valentines the boys sent her, and how they laughed over themtogether. But Mr. Shaw did not laugh when he had read the sentimentalverses accompanying the bouquet, and his face quite scared Polly, as heasked, angrily, "How long has this nonsense been going on?"
"Indeed, sir, I don't know. Fan does n't mean any harm. I wish I had n'tsaid anything!" stammered Polly, remembering the promise given to Fannythe day of the concert. She had forgotten all about it and had becomeaccustomed to see the "big boys," as she called Mr. Frank and hisfriends, with the girls on all occasions. Now, it suddenly occurred toher that Mr. Shaw did n't like such amusements, and had forbidden Fan toindulge in them. "Oh, dear! how mad she will be. Well, I can't help it.Girls should n't have secrets from their fathers, then there would n'tbe any fuss," thought Polly, as she watched Mr. Shaw twist up the pinknote and poke it back among the flowers which he took from her, saying,shortly, "Send Fanny to me in the library."
"Now you've done it, you stupid thing!" cried Fanny, both angry anddismayed, when Polly delivered the message.
"Why, what else could I do?" asked Polly, much disturbed.
"Let him think the bouquet was for you; then there'd have been notrouble."
"But that would have been doing a lie, which is most as bad as tellingone."
"Don't be a goose. You've got me into a scrape, and you ought to helpme out."
"I will if I can; but I won't tell lies for anybody!" cried Polly,getting excited.
"Nobody wants you to just hold, your tongue, and let me manage."
"Then I'd better not go down," began Polly, when a stern voice frombelow called, like Bluebeard, "Are you coming down?"
"Yes, sir," answered a meek voice; and Fanny clutched Polly, whispering,"You must come; I'm frightened out of my wits when he speaks like that.Stand by me, Polly; there's a dear."
"I will," whispered "sister Ann"; and down they went with flutteringhearts.
Mr. Shaw stood on the rug, looking rather grim; the bouquet lay on thetable, and beside it a note, directed to "Frank Moore, Esq.," in a verydecided hand, with a fierce-looking flourish after the "Esq." Pointingto this impressive epistle, Mr. Shaw said, knitting his black eyebrowsas he looked at Fanny, "I'm going to put a stop to this nonsenseat once; and if I see any more of it, I'll send you to school in aCanadian convent."
This awful threat quite took Polly's breath away; but Fanny had heard itbefore, and having a temper of her own, said, pertly, "I'm sure I haven't done anything so very dreadful. I can't help it if the boys send mephilopena presents, as they do to the other girls."
"There was nothing about philopenas in the note. But that's not thequestion. I forbid you to have anything to do with this Moore. He's nota boy, but a fast fellow, and I won't have him about. You knew this, andyet disobeyed me."
"I hardly ever see him," began Fanny.
"Is that true?" asked Mr. Shaw, turning suddenly to Polly.
"Oh, please, sir, don't ask me. I promised I would n't that is Fannywill tell you," cried Polly, quite red with distress at the predicamentshe was in.
"No matter about your promise; tell me all you know of this absurdaffair. It will do Fanny more good than harm." And Mr. Shaw sat downlooking more amiable, for Polly's dismay touched him.
"May I?" she whispered to Fanny.
"I don't care," answered Fan, looking both angry and ashamed, as shestood sullenly tying knots in her handkerchief.
So Polly told, with much reluctance and much questioning, all she knewof the walks, the lunches, the meetings, and the notes. It was n't much,and evidently less serious than Mr. Shaw expected; for, as he listened,his eyebrows smoothed themselves out, and more than once his lipstwitched as if he wanted to laugh, for after all, it was rather comicalto see how the young people aped their elders, playing the new-fashionedgame, quite unconscious of its real beauty, power, and sacredness.
"Oh, please, sir, don't blame Fan much, for she truly is n't half assilly as Trix and the other, girls. She would n't go sleigh-riding,though Mr. Frank teased, and she wanted to ever so much. She's sorry,I know, and won't forget what you say any more, if you'll forgive herthis once," cried Polly, very earnestly, when the foolish little storywas told.
"I don't see how I can help it, when you plead so well for her. Comehere, Fan, and mind this one thing; drop all this nonsense, and attendto your books, or off you go; and Canada is no joke in winter time, letme tell you."
As he spoke, Mr. Shaw stroked his sulky daughter's cheek, hoping to seesome sign of regret; but Fanny felt injured, and would n't show thatshe was sorry, so she only said, pettishly, "I suppose I can have myflowers, now the fuss is over."
"They are going straight back where they came from, with a line from me,which will keep that puppy from ever sending you any more." Ringingthe bell, Mr. Shaw despatched the unfortunate posy, and then turned toPolly, saying, kindly but gravely, "Set this silly child of mine a goodexample and do your best for her, won't you?"
"Me? What can I do, sir?" asked Polly, looking ready, but quite ignoranthow to begin.
"Make her as like yourself as possible, my dear; nothing would please mebetter. Now go, and let us hear no more of this folly."
They went without a word, and Mr. Shaw heard no more of the affair; butpoor Polly did, for Fan scolded her, till Polly thought seriously ofpacking up and going home next day. I really have n't the heart torelate the dreadful lectures she got, the snubs she suffered, or thecold shoulders turned upon her for several days after this. Polly'sheart was full, but she told no one, and bore her trouble silently,feeling her friend's ingratitude and injustice deeply.
Tom found out what the matter was, and sided with Polly, whichproceeding led to scrape number two.
"Where's Fan?" asked the young gentleman, strolling into his sister'sroom, where Polly lay on the sofa, trying to forget her troubles in aninteresting book.
"Down stairs, seeing company."
"Why did n't you go, too?"
"I don't like Trix, and I don't know her fine New York friends."
"Don't want to, neither, why don't you say?"
"Not polite."
"Who cares? I say, Polly, come and have some fun."
"I'd rather read."
"That is n't polite."
Polly laughed, and turned a page. Tom whistled a minute, then sigheddeeply, and put his hand to his forehead, which the blac
k plaster stilladorned.
"Does your head ache?" asked Polly.
"Awfully."
"Better lie down, then."
"Can't; I'm fidgety, and want to be'amoosed' as Pug says."
"Just wait till I finish my chapter, and then I'll come," said pitifulPolly.
"All right," returned the perjured boy, who had discovered that a brokenhead was sometimes more useful than a whole one, and exulting in hisbase stratagem, he roved about the room, till Fan's bureau arrested him.It was covered with all sorts of finery, for she had dressed in a hurry,and left everything topsy-turvy. A well-conducted boy would have letthings alone, or a moral brother would have put things to rights; beingneither, Tom rummaged to his hearts content, till Fan's drawers lookedas if some one had been making hay in them. He tried the effect ofear-rings, ribbons, and collars; wound up the watch, though it was n'ttime; burnt his inquisitive nose with smelling-salts; deluged his grimyhandkerchief with Fan's best cologne; anointed his curly crop with herhair-oil; powdered his face with her violet-powder; and finished offby pinning on a bunch of false ringlets, which Fanny tried, to keep aprofound secret. The ravages committed by this bad boy are beyondthe power of language to describe, as he revelled in the interestingdrawers, boxes, and cases, which held his sister's treasures.
When the curls had been put on, with much pricking of fingers, and ablue ribbon added, la Fan, he surveyed himself with satisfaction, andconsidered the effect so fine, that he was inspired to try a stillgreater metamorphosis. The dress Fan had taken off lay on a chair,and into it got Tom, chuckling with suppressed laughter, for Pollywas absorbed, and the bed-curtains hid his iniquity. Fan's best velvetjacket and hat, ermine muff, and a sofa-pillow for pannier, finished offthe costume, and tripping along with elbows out, Tom appeared beforethe amazed Polly just as the chapter ended. She enjoyed the joke soheartily, that Tom forgot consequences, and proposed going down into theparlor to surprise, the girls.
"Goodness, no! Fanny never would forgive us if you showed her curls andthings to those people. There are gentlemen among them, and it would n'tbe proper," said Polly, alarmed at the idea.
"All the more fun. Fan has n't treated you well, and it will serve herright if you introduce me as your dear friend, Miss Shaw. Come on, itwill be a jolly lark."
"I would n't for the world; it would be so mean. Take'em off, Tom, andI'll play anything else you like."
"I ain't going to dress up for nothing; I look so lovely, someone mustadmire me. Take me down, Polly, and see if they don't call me'a sweetcreature.'"
Tom looked so unutterably ridiculous as he tossed his curls and pranced,that Polly went off into another gale of merriment; but even while shelaughed, she resolved not to let him mortify his sister.
"Now, then, get out of the way if you won't come; I'm going down," saidTom.
"No, you're not."
"How will you help it, Miss Prim?"
"So." And Polly locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and noddedat him defiantly.
Tom was a pepper-pot as to temper, and anything like opposition alwayshad a bad effect. Forgetting his costume, he strode up to Polly, saying,with a threatening wag of the head, "None of that. I won't stand it."
"Promise not to plague Fan, and I'll let you out."
"Won't promise anything. Give me that key, or I'll make you."
"Now, Tom, don't be savage. I only want to keep you out of a scrape, forFan will be raging if you go. Take off her things, and I'll give up."
Tom vouchsafed no reply, but marched to the other door, which was fast,as Polly knew, looked out of the three-story window, and finding noescape possible, came back with a wrathful face. "Will you give me thatkey?"
"No, I won't," said Polly, valiantly.
"I'm stronger than you are; so you'd better hand over."
"I know you are; but it's cowardly for a great boy like you to rob agirl."
"I don't want to hurt you; but, by George! I won't stand this!"
Tom paused as Polly spoke, evidently ashamed of himself; but his temperwas up, and he would n't give in. If Polly had cried a little justhere, he would have yielded; unfortunately she giggled, for Tom's fierceattitude was such a funny contrast to his dress that she could n't helpit. That settled the matter. No girl that ever lived should giggle athim, much less lock him up like a small child. Without a word, he madea grab at Polly's arm, for the hand holding the key was still in her,pocket. With her other hand she clutched her frock, and for a minuteheld on stoutly. But Tom's strong fingers were irresistible; rip wentthe pocket, out came the hand, and with a cry of pain from Polly, thekey fell on the floor.
"It's your own fault if you're hurt. I did n't mean to," muttered Tom,as he hastily departed, leaving Polly to groan over her sprained wrist.He went down, but not into the parlor, for somehow the joke seemed tohave lost its relish; so he made the girls in the kitchen laugh, andthen crept up the back way, hoping to make it all right with Polly. Butshe had gone to grandma's room, for, though the old lady was out, itseemed a refuge. He had just time to get things in order, when Fannycame up, crosser than ever; for Trix had been telling her of all sortsof fun in which she might have had a share, if Polly had held hertongue.
"Where is she?" asked Fan, wishing to vent her vexation on her friend.
"Moping in her room, I suppose," replied Tom, who was discovered readingstudiously.
Now, while this had been happening, Maud had been getting into hotwater also; for when her maid left her, to see a friend below, Miss Maudparaded into Polly's room, and solaced herself with mischief. In an evilhour Polly had let her play boat in her big trunk, which stood empty.Since then Polly had stored some of her most private treasures in theupper tray, so that she might feel sure they were safe from all eyes.She had forgotten to lock the trunk, and when Maud raised the lid tobegin her voyage, several objects of interest met her eyes. She was deepin her researches when Fan came in and looked over her shoulder, feelingtoo cross with Polly to chide Maud.
As Polly had no money for presents, she had exerted her ingenuityto devise all sorts of gifts, hoping by quantity to atone for anyshortcomings in quality. Some of her attempts were successful, otherswere failures; but she kept them all, fine or funny, knowing thechildren at home would enjoy anything new. Some of Maud's cast-off toyshad been neatly mended for Kitty; some of Fan's old ribbons and laceswere converted into dolls' finery; and Tom's little figures, whittledout of wood in idle minutes, were laid away to show Will what could bedone with a knife.
"What rubbish!" said Fanny.
"Queer girl, is n't she?" added Tom, who had followed to see what wasgoing on.
"Don't you laugh at Polly's things. She makes nicer dolls than you, Fan;and she can wite and dwar ever so much better than Tom," cried Maud."How do you know? I never saw her draw," said Tom.
"Here's a book with lots of pictures in it. I can't wead the witing;but the pictures are so funny."
Eager to display her friend's accomplishments, Maud pulled out a fatlittle book, marked "Polly's Journal," and spread it in her lap.
"Only the pictures; no harm in taking a look at'em," said Tom.
"Just one peep," answered Fanny; and the next minute both were laughingat a droll sketch of Tom in the gutter, with the big dog howling overhim, and the velocipede running away. Very rough and faulty, but sofunny, that it was evident Polly's sense of humor was strong. A fewpages farther back came Fanny and Mr. Frank, caricatured; then grandma,carefully done; Tom reciting his battle-piece; Mr. Shaw and Polly inthe park; Maud being borne away by Katy; and all the school-girls turnedinto ridicule with an unsparing hand.
"Sly little puss, to make fun of us behind our backs," said Fan, rathernettled by Polly's quiet retaliation for many slights from herself andfriends.
"She does draw well," said Tom, looking critically at the sketch of aboy with a pleasant face, round whom Polly had drawn rays like the sun,and under which was written, "My dear Jimmy."
"You would n't admire her, if you knew what she wrote he
re about you,"said Fanny, whose eyes had strayed to the written page opposite, andlingered there long enough to read something that excited her curiosity.
"What is it?" asked Tom, forgetting his honorable resolves for a minute.
"She says, 'I try to like Tom, and when he is pleasant we do very well;but he don't stay so long. He gets cross and rough, and disrespectful tohis father and mother, and plagues us girls, and is so horrid I almosthate him. It's very wrong, but I can't help it.' How do you like that?"asked Fanny.
"Go ahead, and see how she comes down on you, ma'am," retorted Tom, whohad read on a bit.
"Does she?" And Fanny continued, rapidly: "As for Fan, I don't thinkwe can be friends any more; for she told her father a lie, and won'tforgive me for not doing so too. I used to think her a very fine girl;but I don't now. If she would be as she was when I first knew her, Ishould love her just the same; but she is n't kind to me; and though sheis always talking about politeness, I don't think it is polite to treatcompany as she does me. She thinks I am odd and countrified, and I daresay I am; but I should n't laugh at a girl's clothes because she waspoor, or keep her out of the way because she did n't do just as othergirls do here. I see her make fun of me, and I can't feel as I did; andI'd go home, only it would seem ungrateful to Mr. Shaw and grandma, andI do love them dearly."
"I say, Fan, you've got it now. Shut the book and come away," criedTom, enjoying this broadside immensely, but feeling guilty, as well hemight.
"Just one bit more," whispered Fanny, turning on a page or two, andstopping at a leaf that was blurred here and there as if tears haddropped on it.
"Sunday morning, early. Nobody is up to spoil my quiet time, and I mustwrite my journal, for I've been so bad lately, I could n't bear to doit. I'm glad my visit is most done, for things worry me here, and thereis n't any one to help me get right when I get wrong. I used to envyFanny; but I don't now, for her father and mother don't take care of heras mine do of me. She is afraid of her father, and makes her mother doas she likes. I'm glad I came though, for I see money don't givepeople everything; but I'd like a little all the same, for it is socomfortable to buy nice things. I read over my journal just now, andI'm afraid it's not a good one; for I have said all sorts of thingsabout the people here, and it is n't kind. I should tear it out, only Ipromised to keep my diary, and I want to talk over things that puzzle mewith mother. I see now that it is my fault a good deal; for I have n'tbeen half as patient, and pleasant as I ought to be. I will truly tryfor the rest of the time, and be as good and grateful as I can; for Iwant them to like me, though I'm only'an old-fashioned country girl.'"
That last sentence made Fanny shut the book, with a face full ofself-reproach; for she had said those words herself, in a fit ofpetulance, and Polly had made no answer, though her eyes filled and hercheeks burned. Fan opened her lips to say something, but not a soundfollowed, for there stood Polly looking at them with an expression theyhad never seen before.
"What are you doing with my things?" she demanded, in a low tone, whileher eyes kindled and her color changed.
"Maud showed us a book she found, and we were just looking at thepictures," began Fanny, dropping it as if it burnt her fingers.
"And reading my journal, and laughing at my presents, and then puttingthe blame on Maud. It's the meanest thing I ever saw; and I'll neverforgive you as long as I live!"
Polly said, this all in one indignant breath, and then as if afraidof saying too much, ran out of the room with such a look of mingledcontempt, grief, and anger, that the three culprits stood dumb withshame. Tom had n't even a whistle at his command; Maud was so scared atgentle Polly's outbreak, that she sat as still as a mouse; whileFanny, conscience stricken, laid back the poor little presents with arespectful hand, for somehow the thought of Polly's poverty came overher as it never had done before; and these odds and ends, so carefullytreasured up for those at home, touched Fanny, and grew beautiful in hereyes. As she laid by the little book, the confessions in it reproachedher more sharply that any words Polly could have spoken; for she hadlaughed at her friend, had slighted her sometimes, and been unforgivingfor an innocent offence. That last page, where Polly took the blame onherself, and promised to "truly try" to be more kind and patient, wentto Fanny's heart, melting all the coldness away, and she could only layher head on the trunk, sobbing, "It was n't Polly's fault; it was allmine."
Tom, still red with shame at being caught in such a scrape, left Fannyto her tears, and went manfully away to find the injured Polly, andconfess his manifold transgressions. But Polly could n't be found. Hesearched high and low in every room, yet no sign of the girt appeared,and Tom began to get anxious. "She can't have run away home, can she?"he said to himself, as he paused before the hat-tree. There was thelittle round hat, and Tom gave it a remorseful smooth, remembering howmany times he had tweaked it half off, or poked it over poor Polly'seyes. "Maybe she's gone down to the office, to tell pa. 'T is n't a bitlike her, though. Anyway, I'll take a look round the corner."
Eager to get his boots, Tom pulled open the door of a dark closet underthe stairs, and nearly tumbled over backward with surprise; for there,on the floor, with her head pillowed on a pair of rubbers, lay Pollyin an attitude of despair. This mournful spectacle sent Tom's penitentspeech straight out of his head, and with an astonished "Hullo!" hestood and stared in impressive silence. Polly was n't crying, and layso still, that Tom began to think she might be in a fit or a faint,and bent anxiously down to inspect the pathetic bunch. A glimpse of weteyelashes, a round cheek redder than usual, and lips parted by quick,breathing, relieved his mind upon that point; so, taking courage, he satdown on the boot-jack, and begged pardon like a man.
Now, Polly was very angry, and I think she had a right to be; but shewas not resentful, and after the first flash was over, she soon began tofeel better about it. It was n't easy to forgive; but, as she listenedto Tom's honest voice, getting gruff with remorse now and then, shecould n't harden her heart against him, or refuse to make up when he sofrankly owned that it "was confounded mean to read her book that way."She liked his coming and begging pardon at once; it was a handsome thingto do; she appreciated it, and forgave him in her heart some time beforeshe did with her lips; for, to tell the truth, Polly had a spice ofgirlish malice, and rather liked to see domineering Tom eat humble-pie,just enough to do him good, you know. She felt that atonement wasproper, and considered it no more than just that Fan should drench ahandkerchief or two with repentant tears, and that Tom should sit ona very uncomfortable seat and call himself hard names for five or tenminutes before she relented.
"Come, now, do say a word to a fellow. I'm getting the worst of it,anyway; for there's Fan, crying her eyes out upstairs, and here areyou stowed away in a dark closet as dumb as a fish, and nobody but me tobring you both round. I'd have cut over to the Smythes and got ma hometo fix things, only it looked like backing out of the scrape; so I didn't," said Tom, as a last appeal.
Polly was glad to hear that Fan was crying. It would do her good; butshe could n't help softening to Tom, who did seem in a predicamentbetween two weeping damsels. A little smile began to dimple the cheekthat was n't hidden, and then a hand came slowly out from under thecurly head, and was stretched toward him silently. Tom was just goingto give it a hearty shake, when he saw a red mark on the wrist, and knewwhat made it. His face changed, and he took the chubby hand so gently,that Polly peeped to see what it meant.
"Will you forgive that, too?" he asked, in a whisper, stroking the redwrist.
"Yes, it don't hurt much now." And Polly drew her hand away, sorry hehad seen it.
"I was a beast, that's what I was!" said Tom, in a tone of greatdisgust. And just at that awkward minute down tumbled his father'sold beaver over his head and face, putting a comical quencher on hisself-reproaches. Of course, neither could help laughing at that; andwhen he emerged, Polly was sitting up, looking as much better for hershower as he did for his momentary eclipse.
"Fan feels dreadfully. Will you kiss and
be friends, if I trot herdown?" asked Tom, remembering his fellow-sinner.
"I'll go to her." And Polly whisked out of the closet as suddenly asshe had whisked in, leaving Tom sitting on the boot-jack, with a radiantcountenance.
How the girls made it up no one ever knew. But after much talking andcrying, kissing and laughing, the breach was healed, and peace declared.A slight haze still lingered in the air after the storm, for Fannywas very humble and tender that evening; Tom a trifle pensive, butdistressingly polite, and Polly magnanimously friendly to every one; forgenerous natures like to forgive, and Polly enjoyed the petting afterthe insult, like a very human girl.
As she was brushing her hair at bedtime there came a tap on her doorand, opening it, she beheld nothing but a tall black bottle, with astrip of red flannel tied round it like a cravat, and a cocked-hat noteon the cork. Inside were these lines, written in a sprawling hand withvery black ink:
DEAR POLLY, Opydilldock is first-rate for sprains. You put a lot on theflannel and do up your wrist, and I guess it will be all right in themorning. Will you come a sleigh-ride tomorrow? I'm awful sorry I hurtyou.
TOM