for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma
called us all beggars, I did think I ‘d got to go round asking for cold
vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said
once I ‘d like that, but I ‘m afraid I should n’t, for I can’t bear Indian
cake and cold potatoes, that ‘s what the poor children always seem
to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing
round the back gates.”
“My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it,” said Mr.
Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she
laid her cheek against his own, “But I ‘d do it, father, if you asked
me to, for I truly want to help.”
“So do I!” cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it
would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves.
Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which
his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge
of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to
prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel.
“We shall pull through, children, so don’t borrow trouble, only be
ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your
pockets, and remember poverty is n’t disgraceful, but dishonesty
is.”
Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him
heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she
sometimes thought that he only cared for making money.
“I should n’t wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family,
though it don’t look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it
may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and
happy as mother is,” said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for
poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear
it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both.
When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave
them free, yet could n’t help lingering outside to see how tenderly
the girls parted from their father. Tom had n’t a word to say for
himself, for men don’t kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and
all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to
wring his father’s hand with a face full of respect, regret, and
affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as
they were, in a mild and modern form.
CHAPTER XVI A DRESS PARADE
THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families
have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and
fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his
plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and
touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was
given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made
comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to
live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the
house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly
precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons
tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune,
friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny’s piano, and sent it to
her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw’s
comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw’s books as he valued
most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the
most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but
made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought
them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in.
Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real
regard, but more from mere curiosity to “see how they took it.”
This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used