Chapter I. Polly Arrives

by Louisa May Alcott

　　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 Pollycomes.""You don't expect me to go and bring home a strange girl alone, doyou?" And Tom looked as much alarmed as if his sister hadproposed to him to escort 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'd go, too. Catch me bothering about your friends another time!No, sir! " And Tom rose from the sofa with an air of indignantresolution, the impressive effect of which was somewhat damagedby a tousled head, and the hunched appearance of his garmentsgenerally."Now, don't be cross; and I'll get mamma to let you have thathorrid Ned Miller, that you are so fond of, come and make you avisit after Polly's gone," said Fanny, hoping to soothe his ruffledfeelings."How long is she going to stay?" demanded Tom, making his toiletby a promiscuous shake."A month or two, maybe. She's ever so nice; and I shall keep heras long as she's happy.""She won't stay long then, if I can help it," muttered Tom, whoregarded girls as a very unnecessary portion of creation. Boys offourteen are apt to think so, and perhaps it is a wise arrangement;for, being fond of turning somersaults, they have an opportunity ofindulging in a good one, metaphorically speaking, when, three orfour years later, they become the abject slaves of "those botheringgirls.""Look here! how am I going to know the creature? I never saw her,and she never saw me. You'll have to come too, Fan," he added,pausing on his way to the door, arrested by the awful idea that hemight have to address several strange girls before he got the rightone."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 curlypate and a glance at the mirror, feeling sure that his sister had n'tdone him 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,and she'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 tomake up 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 herbrother strolling down the street. She might have changed hermind, however, if she had followed him, for as soon as he turnedthe corner, his whole aspect altered; his hands came out of hispockets, he stopped whistling, buttoned his jacket, gave his cap apull, 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 oneelse; and however shall I know her? Too bad of Fan to make mecome alone!" thought Tom, as he stood watching the crowd streamthrough the depot, and feeling rather daunted at the array of youngladies who passed. As none of them seemed looking for any one,he did not accost them, but eyed each new batch with the air of amartyr. "That's her," he said to himself, as he presently caughtsight of a girl in gorgeous array, standing with her hands folded,and a very small hat perched on the top of a very large "chig-non,"as Tom pronounced it. "I suppose I've got to speak to her, so heregoes;" and, nerving himself to the task, Tom slowly approachedthe damsel, who looked as if the wind had blown her clothes intorags, such a flapping of sashes, scallops, ruffles, curls, and featherswas there."I say, if you please, is your name Polly Milton?" meekly askedTom, pausing before the breezy stranger."No, it is n't," answered the young lady, with a cool stare thatutterly quenched him."Where in thunder is she?" growled Tom, walking off in highdudgeon. The quick tap of feet behind him made him turn in timeto see a fresh-faced little girl running down the long station, andlooking as if she rather liked it. As she smiled, and waved her bagat him, he stopped and waited for her, saying to himself, "Hullo! Iwonder if that's Polly?"Up came the little girl, with her hand out, and a half-shy,half-merry look in her blue eyes, as she said, inquiringly, "This isTom, is n't it?""Yes. How did you know?" and Tom got over the ordeal ofhand-shaking without 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 knewyou directly." And Polly nodded at him in the most friendlymanner, having politely refrained from calling the hair "red," thenose "a pug," and the cap "old," all of which facts Fanny hadcarefully impressed upon her memory."Where are your trunks?" asked Tom, as he was reminded of hisduty by her 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 ofa hack; so I gave my check to a man, and there he is with mytrunk;" and Polly walked off after her one modest piece ofbaggage, followed by Tom, who felt a trifle depressed by his ownremissness in polite attentions. "She is n't a bit of a young lady,thank goodness! Fan did n't tell me she was pretty. Don't look likecity girls, nor act like'em, neither," he thought, trudging in therear, and eyeing with favor the brown curls bobbing 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 itsuddenly occurred to her that she was going a-visiting."Not much," said Tom, not minding what he said, for the fact thathe was shut up with the strange girl suddenly oppressed his soul."How's Fan? Why did n't she come, too?" asked Polly, trying tolook demure, 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 forcoming to take care of me."It was kind of Polly to say that, and Tom felt it; for his red cropwas a tender point, and to be associated with Polly's pretty browncurls seemed to lessen its coppery glow. Then he had n't doneanything for her but carry the bag a few steps; yet, she thankedhim. He felt grateful, and in a burst of confidence, offered ahandful of peanuts, for his pockets were always supplied with thisagreeable delicacy, and he might be traced anywhere by the trail ofshells he left behind him.As soon as he had done it, he remembered that Fanny consideredthem vulgar, and felt that he had disgraced his family. So he stuckhis head out of the window, and kept it there so long, that Pollyasked if anything was the matter. "Pooh! who cares for acountrified little thing like her," said Tom manfully to himself; andthen the spirit of mischief entered 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; butperhaps it would be safer if I got out and sat with the man;" andTom quite beamed with the brilliancy of this sudden mode ofrelief."Oh, do, if you ain't afraid! Mother would be so anxious ifanything should happen to me, so far away!" cried Polly, muchdistressed."Don't you be worried. I'll manage the old chap, and the horsestoo;" and opening the door, Tom vanished aloft, leaving poorvictimized Polly to quake inside, while he placidly revelled infreedom and peanuts outside, with the staid old driver.Fanny came flying down to meet her "darling Polly," as Tompresented her, with the graceful remark, "I've got her!" and the airof a dauntless hunter, producing the trophies of his skill. Polly wasinstantly whisked up stairs; and having danced a double-shuffle onthe door-mat, Tom retired to the dining-room, to restore exhaustednature with 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 thetipsy coachman; but Tom got out and kept him in order, so I wasn't much frightened," answered innocent Polly, taking off herrough-and-ready coat, 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!" andPolly opened 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 wereso busy with their French, German, and Italian, that there was notime for good English. Feeling her confidence much shaken in theyouth, Polly privately resolved to let him alone, and changed theconversation, by saying, as she looked admiringly about the large,handsome room, "How splendid it is! I never slept in a bed withcurtains before, or had such a 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, wonderingwhat harm there was in liking other people's pretty things, andsaying so. "Oh, they laugh at everything the least bit odd, and thatis n't pleasant." Fanny did n't say "countrified," but she meant it,and Polly felt uncomfortable. So she shook out her little black silkapron with a thoughtful face, and resolved not to allude to her ownhome, if she could help it."I'm so poorly, mamma says I need n't go to school regularly,while you are here, only two or three times a week, just to keep upmy music and French. You can go too, if you like; papa said so.Do, it's such fun!" cried Fanny, quite surprising her friend by thisunexpected fondness for school."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'tmean anything very bad."You are a dear, and ever so much prettier than you were lastsummer, only you've been brought up differently from us; so yourways ain't like ours, you see," began Fanny, finding it rather hardto explain."How different?" asked Polly again, for she liked to understandthings."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 apuzzled air."You are fourteen; and we consider ourselves young ladies at thatage," continued Fanny, surveying, with complacency, the pile ofhair on the top of her head, with a fringe of fuzz round herforehead, and a wavy lock streaming down her back; likewise, herscarlet-and-black suit, with its big sash, little pannier, brightbuttons, points, rosettes, and, heaven knows what. There was alocket on her neck, earrings tinkling in her ears, watch and chain ather belt, and several rings on a pair of hands that would have beenimproved 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'shome before, as they got acquainted while Fanny paid a visit to afriend who lived near Polly. But she did n't let the contrast betweenherself and Fan trouble her; for in a minute she laughed and said,contentedly, "My mother likes me to dress simply, and I don'tmind. I should n't know what to do rigged up as you are. Don't youever forget to lift your sash and fix those puffy things when you sitdown? "Before Fanny could answer, a scream from below made bothlisten. "It's only Maud; she fusses all day long," began Fanny; andthe words were hardly out of her mouth, when the door was thrownopen, and a little girl, of six or seven, came roaring in. She stoppedat sight of Polly, stared a minute, then took up her roar just whereshe left it, and cast herself 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'llfrighten Polly!" and Fan gave the cherub a shake, which producedan explanation."I only said we had cold cweam at the party, last night, and helaughed!""Ice-cream, child!" and Fanny followed Tom's reprehensibleexample."I don't care! it was cold; and I warmed mine at the wegister, andthen it was nice; only, Willy Bliss spilt it on my new Gabwielle!"and Maud wailed again over her accumulated woes."Do go to Katy! You're as cross as a little bear to-day!" saidFanny, pushing her away."Katy don't amoose me; and I must be amoosed,'cause I'mfwactious; mamma said I was!" sobbed Maud, evidently laboringunder the delusion that fractiousness was some interesting malady."Come down and have dinner; that will amuse you;" and Fanny gotup, pluming herself as a bird does before its flight.Polly hoped the "dreadful boy" would not be present; but he was,and stared at her all dinner-time, in a most trying manner. Mr.Shaw, a busy-looking gentleman, said," How do you do, my dear?Hope you'll enjoy yourself;" and then appeared to forget herentirely. Mrs. Shaw, a pale, nervous woman, greeted her littleguest kindly, and took care that she wanted for nothing. MadamShaw, a quiet old lady, with an imposing cap, exclaimed on seeingPolly, "Bless my heart! the image of her mother a sweet womanhow is she, dear?" and kept peering at the new-comer over herglasses, till, between Madam and Tom, poor Polly lost herappetite.Fanny chatted like a magpie, and Maud fidgeted, till Tomproposed to put her under the big dish-cover, which produced suchan explosion, that the young lady was borne screaming away, bythe much-enduring Katy. It was altogether an uncomfortabledinner, and Polly was very glad when it was over. They all wentabout their own affairs; and after doing the honors of the house,Fan was called to the dressmaker, leaving Polly to amuse herself inthe great drawing-room.Polly was glad to be alone for a few minutes; and, havingexamined all the pretty things about her, began to walk up anddown over the soft, flowery carpet, humming to herself, as thedaylight faded, and only the ruddy 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 it to me, my dear. I have n'theard it this many a day." Polly did n't like to sing beforestrangers, for she had had no teaching but such as her busy mothercould give her; but she had been taught the utmost respect for oldpeople, and having no reason for refusing, she directly went to thepiano, 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,that went straight to the listener's heart and nestled there. Thesweet old tunes that one is never tired of were all Polly's store; andher favorites were Scotch airs, such as, "Yellow-Haired Laddie,""Jock o' Hazeldean," "Down among the Heather," and "Birks ofAberfeldie." The more she sung, the better she did it; and when shewound up with "A Health to King Charlie," the room quite rungwith the stirring music made 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 highback of the chair where he had hidden himself.It gave Polly quite a turn, for she thought no one was hearing herbut the old lady dozing by the fire. "I can't sing any more; I'mtired," she said, and walked away to Madam in the other room.The red head vanished like a meteor, for Polly's tone had beendecidedly cool.The old lady put out her hand, and drawing Polly to her knee,looked into her face with such kind eyes, that Polly forgot theimpressive cap, and smiled at her confidingly; for she saw that hersimple music had pleased her listener, and she felt glad to know it."You must n't mind my staring, dear," said Madam, softly pinchingher rosy cheek. "I have n't seen a little girl for so long, it does myold eyes good to look at you."Polly thought that a very odd speech, and could n't help saying,"Are n't Fan and Maud little girls, too?""Oh, dear, no! not what I call little girls. Fan has been a young ladythis 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, stillholding her by the chin."No'm; not quite.""Well, dear, I'll tell you. In my day, children of fourteen andfifteen did n't dress in the height of the fashion; go to parties, asnearly like those of grown people as it's possible to make them;lead idle, giddy, unhealthy lives, and get blas, at twenty. We werelittle folks till eighteen or so; worked and studied, dressed andplayed, like children; honored our parents; and our days weremuch longer in the land than now, it seems to, me."The old lady appeared to forget Polly at the end of her speech; forshe sat patting the plump little hand that lay in her own, andlooking up at a faded picture of an old gentleman with a ruffledshirt 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 which heoffered 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 oldlady's knee 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 invalidat forty.""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 likeit," said Polly."Say'father.' We never called him papa; and if one of my brothershad addressed him as'governor,' as boys do now, I really think he'd have him cut off with a shilling."Madam raised her voice in saying this, and nodded significantly;but a mild snore from the other room seemed to assure her that itwas a waste of shot to fire in that direction.Before she could continue, in came Fanny with the joyful newsthat Clara Bird had invited them both to go to the theatre with herthat very evening, and would call for them at seven o'clock. Pollywas so excited by this sudden plunge into the dissipations of citylife, that she flew about like a distracted butterfly, and hardly knewwhat happened, till she found herself seated before the great greencurtain in the brilliant theatre. Old Mr. Bird sat on one side, Fannyon the other, and both let her alone, for which she was verygrateful, as her whole attention was so absorbed in the scenearound her, that she could n't talk.Polly had never been much to the theatre; and the few plays shehad seen were the good old fairy tales, dramatized to suit youngbeholders, lively, bright, and full of the harmless nonsense whichbrings the laugh without the blush. That night she saw one of thenew spectacles which have lately become the rage, and run forhundreds of nights, dazzling, exciting, and demoralizing thespectator by every allurement French ingenuity can invent, andAmerican prodigality execute. Never mind what its name was, itwas very gorgeous, very vulgar, and very fashionable; so, ofcourse, it was much admired, and every one went to see it. At first,Polly thought she had got into fairy-land, and saw only thesparkling creatures who danced and sung in a world of light andbeauty; but, presently, she began to listen to the songs andconversation, and then the illusion vanished; for the lovelyphantoms sang negro melodies, talked slang, and were a disgraceto the good old-fashioned elves whom she knew and loved so well.Our little girl was too innocent to understand half the jokes, andoften wondered what people were laughing at; but, as the firstenchantment subsided, Polly began to feel uncomfortable, to besure her mother would n't like to have her there, and to wish shehad n't come. Somehow, things seemed to get worse and worse, asthe play went on; for our small spectator was being rapidlyenlightened by the gossip going on all about her, as well as by herown quick eyes and girlish instincts. When four-and-twenty girls,dressed as jockeys, came prancing on to the stage, cracking theirwhips, stamping the heels of their topboots, and winking at theaudience, Polly did not think it at all funny, but looked disgusted,and was glad when they were gone; but when another set appearedin a costume consisting of gauze wings, and a bit of gold fringeround the waist, poor unfashionable Polly did n't know what to do;for she felt both frightened and indignant, and sat with her eyes onher play-bill, and her cheeks getting hotter and hotter everyminute."What are you blushing so for?" asked Fanny, as the painted sylphsvanished."I'm so ashamed of those girls," whispered Polly, taking a longbreath of 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 innocentnature rebelled against the spectacle, which, as yet, gave her morepain than pleasure. She did not know how easy it was to "get usedto it," as Fanny did; and it was well for her that the temptation wasnot often offered. She could not explain the feeling; but she wasglad when the play was done, and they were safe at home, wherekind grandma was waiting to see them comfortably into bed."Did you have a good time, dear?" she asked, looking at Polly'sfeverish cheeks 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 theseat. People seemed to like it, but I don't think it was proper."As Polly freed her mind, and emphasized her opinion with adecided rap of the boot she had just taken off, Fanny laughed, andsaid, while she pirouetted about the room, like MademoiselleTherese, "Polly was shocked, grandma. Her eyes were as big assaucers. her face as red as my sash, and once I thought she wasgoing to cry. Some of it was rather queer; but, of course, it wasproper, or all our set would n't go. I heard Mrs. Smythe Perkinssay,'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 girls tosee, 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,and have n't yet learned that modesty has gone out of fashion."And with a good-night kiss, grandma left Polly to dream dreadfullyof dancing in jockey costume, on a great stage; while Tom playeda big drum in the orchestra; and the audience all wore the faces ofher father and mother, looking sorrowfully at her, with eyes likesaucers, and faces as red as Fanny's sash.