An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

‘m still so weak and poor and silly.”

“We don’t think so; and I know you ‘ll be all he hopes to find you,

for he ‘s just the husband you ought to have.”

“Thank you all the more, then, for not keeping him yourself,” said

Fanny, laughing the old blithe laugh again.

“That was only a slight aberration of his; he knew better all the

time. It was your white cloak and my idiotic behavior the night we

went to the opera that put the idea into his head,” said Polly,

feeling as if the events of that evening had happened some twenty

years ago, when she was a giddy young thing, fond of gay bonnets

and girlish pranks.

“I ‘m not going to tell Tom a word about it, but keep it for a

surprise till he comes. He will be here next week, and then we ‘ll

have a grand clearing up of mysteries,” said Fan, evidently feeling

that the millennium was at hand.

“Perhaps,” said Polly, as her heart fluttered and then sunk, for this

was a case where she could do nothing but hope, and keep her

hands busy with Will’s new set of shirts.

There is a good deal more of this sort of silent suffering than the

world suspects, for the “women who dare” are few, the women

who “stand and wait” are many. But if work-baskets were gifted

with powers of speech, they could tell stories more true and tender

than any we read. For women often sew the tragedy or comedy of

life into their work as they sit apparently safe and serene at home,

yet are thinking deeply, living whole heart-histories, and praying

fervent prayers while they embroider pretty trifles or do the weekly

mending.

CHAPTER XIX TOM’S SUCCESS

“Come, Philander, let us be a marching, Every one his true love a

searching,”

WOULD be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because,

intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints

showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a

certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving

satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to

pair off everybody I can lay my hands on.

Occasionally a matrimonial epidemic appears, especially toward

spring, devastating society, thinning the ranks of bachelordom, and

leaving mothers lamenting for their fairest daughters. That spring

the disease broke out with great violence in the Shaw circle,

causing paternal heads much bewilderment, as one case after

another appeared with alarming rapidity. Fanny, as we have seen,

was stricken first, and hardly had she been carried safely through

the crisis, when Tom returned to swell the list of victims. As Fanny

was out a good deal with her Arthur, who was sure that exercise

was necessary for the convalescent, Polly went every day to see

Mrs. Shaw, who found herself lonely, though much better than

usual, for the engagement had a finer effect upon her constitution

than any tonic she ever tried. Some three days after Fan’s joyful

call Polly was startled on entering the Shaws’ door, by Maud, who

came tumbling down stairs, sending an avalanche of words before

her, “He ‘s come before he said he should to surprise us! He ‘s up in

mamma’s room, and was just saying, ‘How ‘s Polly?’ when I heard

you come, in your creep-mouse way, and you must go right up. He

looks so funny with whiskers, but he ‘s ever so nice, real big and

brown, and he swung me right up when he kissed me. Never mind

your bonnet, I can’t wait.”

And pouncing upon Polly, Maud dragged her away like a captured

ship towed by a noisy little steam-tug.

“The sooner it ‘s over the better for me,” was the only thought Polly

had time for before she plunged into the room above, propelled by

Maud, who cried triumphantly, “There he is! Ain’t he splendid?”

For a minute, everything danced before Polly’s eyes, as a hand

shook hers warmly, and a gruffish voice said heartily, “How are

you, Polly?” Then she slipped into a chair beside Mrs. Shaw,

hoping that her reply had been all right and proper, for she had not

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