stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and
dustings when the coast was clear.
“Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and
you must show me how, Polly,” said Fan.
“Good practice, ma’am, as you ‘ll find out some day,” answered
Polly, laughing significantly.
Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. “This changes
everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when
their father failed, and my ‘prospects,’ as we say, are quite ruined.”
“I don’t believe it; your real friends won’t drop you, and you ‘ll find
out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be
kinder than ever.”
“Oh, Polly, do you think so?” and Fanny’s eyes softened with
sudden tears.
“I know who she means,” cried Maud, always eager to find out
things. “It ‘s herself; Polly won’t mind if we are poor, ’cause she
likes beggars.”
“Is that who you meant?” asked Fan, wistfully.
“No, it ‘s a much better and dearer friend than I am,” said Polly,
pinching Fanny’s cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes.
“You ‘ll never guess, Maud, so I would n’t try, but be planning what
you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get
it.”
Having got rid of “Miss Paulina Pry,” as Tom called Maud, who
was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly
discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was
surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny
showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had
made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend’s new
patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her
prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her
new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her.
“Do bankrupting men” (Maud liked that new word) “always have
fits?”
“Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?” cried Polly.
“Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got
one down there, and it kind of frightened me.”
“Mr. Merton’s was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don’t wonder he
had a fit. Ours is n’t, and papa won’t do anything of that sort, you
may be sure,” said Fanny, with as proud an air as if “our failure”
was rather an honor than otherwise.
“Don’t you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?”
asked Polly.
“Perhaps he would n’t like it; and I don’t know what to say, either,”
began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, “I know he would like it. Never
mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don’t doubt or
blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and
glad to help him bear the trouble.”
“I ‘m going, I ain’t afraid; I ‘ll just hug him, and say I ‘m ever so
glad we are going to the little house,” cried Maud, scrambling off
the bed, and running down stairs.
“Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do,” said Fanny,
drawing her friend after her.
“You ‘ll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell
you,” answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they
considered her “quite one of the family,” as Tom said.
At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out,
for Mr. Merton’s fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and
the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire
was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair,
his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed
down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the
gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her
voice, “Father dear, we ‘ve come to help you bear it”
Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter’s face something
that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned
his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found
the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with