mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her
father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up
stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her
husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual
demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father’s knee, and
whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, “Papa,
we don’t mind it much, and I ‘m going to help Fan keep house for
you; I ‘d like to do it, truly.”
Mr. Shaw’s other arm went round the child, and for a minute no
one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that
nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from
misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw
steadied himself and asked, “Where is my other daughter, where ‘s
my Polly?”
She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had
more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say “my
other daughter,” and then she whispered, “Don’t you want Tom,
too?”
“Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?”
“I ‘ll bring him;” and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity.
But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if
she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat
and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in
his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her
throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black
beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or
romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular “stove
pipe” seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if
its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it
was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner’s head was now in
danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and
respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls
will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I
think we like them the better for it, after all.
Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the
handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was
steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed
to say to fate, “Hit away, I ‘m ready.” He did not hear Polly come
in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently
saw a very different future there from that which it used to show
him; but when she said, “Tom, dear, your father wants you,” he got
up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, “Come too, we can’t
get on without you,” and took her back into the study with him.
Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm
and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the
young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his
business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them
blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the
storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all
alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the
first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a
certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over,
encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people
do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one
umbrella.
It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly
comforted by his children’s unexpected sympathy, and they, trying
to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear
themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their
ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously
unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty
peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the
plans for the future had been explained to her, “I ‘m so relieved;