An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

pricked her head, the leaves tickled her ear, and the flower was

upside down.

Fanny laughed at his want of skill, but Polly would n’t have it

altered, and everybody fell to eating cake, as if indigestion was one

of the lost arts. They had a lively tea, and were getting on famously

afterward, when two letters were brought for Tom, who glanced at

one, and retired rather precipitately to his den, leaving Maud

consumed with curiosity, and the older girls slightly excited, for

Fan thought she recognized the handwriting on one, and Polly, on

the other.

One half an hour and then another elapsed, and Tom did not

return. Mr. Shaw went out, Mrs. Shaw retired to her room escorted

by Maud, and the two girls sat together wondering if anything

dreadful had happened. All of a sudden a voice called, “Polly!” and

that young lady started out of her chair, as if the sound had been a

thunder-clap.

“Do run! I ‘m perfectly fainting to know what the matter is,” said

Fan.

“You ‘d better go,” began Polly, wishing to obey, yet feeling a little

shy.

“He don’t want me; besides, I could n’t say a word for myself if that

letter was from Sydney,” cried Fanny, hustling her friend towards

the door, in a great flutter.

Polly went without another word, but she wore a curiously anxious

look, and stopped on the threshold of the den, as if a little afraid of

its occupant. Tom was sitting in his favorite attitude, astride of a

chair, with his arms folded and his chin on the top rail; not an

elegant posture, but the only one in which, he said, he could think

well.

“Did you want me, Tom?”

“Yes. Come in, please, and don’t look scared; I only want to show

you a present I ‘ve had, and ask your advice about accepting it.”

“Why, Tom, you look as if you had been knocked down!”

exclaimed Polly, forgetting all about herself, as she saw his face

when he rose and turned to meet her.

“I have; regularly floored; but I ‘m up again, and steadier than ever.

Just you read that, and tell me what you think of it.”

Tom snatched a letter off the table, put it into her hands, and began

to walk up and down the little room, like a veritable bear in its

cage. As Polly read that short note, all the color went out of her

face, and her eyes began to kindle. When she came to the end, she

stood a minute, as if too indignant to speak, then gave the paper a

nervous sort of crumple and dropped it on the floor, saying, all in

one breath, “I think she is a mercenary, heartless, ungrateful girl!

That ‘s what I think.”

“Oh, the deuce! I did n’t mean to show that one; it ‘s the other.”

And Tom took up a second paper, looking half angry, half

ashamed at his own mistake. “I don’t care, though; every one will

know to-morrow; and perhaps you ‘ll be good enough to keep the

girls from bothering me with questions and gabble,” he added, as

if, on second thoughts, he was relieved to have the communication

made to Polly first.

“I don’t wonder you looked upset. If the other letter is as bad, I ‘d

better have a chair before I read it,” said Polly, feeling that she

began to tremble with excitement.

“It ‘s a million times better, but it knocked me worse than the

other; kindness always does.” Tom stopped short there, and stood a

minute turning the letter about in his hand as if it contained a

sweet which neutralized the bitter in that smaller note, and touched

him very much. Then he drew up an armchair, and beckoning

Polly to take it, said in a sober, steady tone, that surprised her

greatly, “Whenever I was in a quandary, I used to go and consult

grandma, and she always had something sensible or comfortable to

say to me. She ‘s gone now, but somehow, Polly, you seem to take

her place. Would you mind sitting in her chair, and letting me tell

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