An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

the least idea what she said.

Things got steady again directly, and while Maud expatiated on the

great surprise, Polly ventured to look at Tom, feeling glad that her

back was toward the light, and his was not. It was not a large

room, and Tom seemed to fill it entirely; not that he had grown so

very much, except broader in the shoulders, but there was a brisk,

genial, free-and-easy air about him, suggestive of a stirring,

out-of-door life, with people who kept their eyes wide open, and

were not very particular what they did with their arms and legs.

The rough-and-ready travelling suit, stout boots, brown face, and

manly beard, changed him so much, that Polly could find scarcely

a trace of elegant Tom Shaw in the hearty-looking young man who

stood with one foot on a chair, while he talked business to his

father in a sensible way, which delighted the old gentleman. Polly

liked the change immensely, and sat listening to the state of

Western trade with as much interest as if it had been the most

thrilling romance, for, as he talked, Tom kept looking at her with a

nod or a smile so like old times, that for a little while, she forgot

Maria Bailey, and was in bliss.

By and by Fanny came flying in, and gave Tom a greater surprise

than his had been. He had not the least suspicion of what had been

going on at home, for Fan had said to herself, with girlish malice,

“If he don’t choose to tell me his secrets, I ‘m not going to tell

mine,” and had said nothing about Sydney, except an occasional

allusion to his being often there, and very kind. Therefore, when

she announced her engagement, Tom looked so staggered for a

minute, that Fan thought he did n’t like it; but after the first

surprise passed, he showed such an affectionate satisfaction, that

she was both touched and flattered.

“What do you think of this performance?” asked Tom, wheeling

round to Polly, who still sat by Mrs. Shaw, in the shadow of the

bed-curtains.

“I like it very much,” she said in such a hearty tone, that Tom

could not doubt the genuineness of her pleasure.

“Glad of that. Hope you ‘ll be as well pleased with another

engagement that ‘s coming out before long”; and with an odd

laugh, Tom carried Sydney off to his den, leaving the girls to

telegraph to one another the awful message, “It is Maria Bailey.”

How she managed to get through that evening, Polly never knew,

yet it was not a long one, for at eight o’clock she slipped out of the

room, meaning to run home alone, and not compel any one to

serve as escort. But she did not succeed, for as she stood warming

her rubbers at the dining-room fire, wondering pensively as she did

so if Maria Bailey had small feet, and if Tom ever put her rubbers

on for her, the little overshoes were taken out of her hands, and

Tom’s voice said, reproachfully, “Did you really mean to run away,

and not let me go home with you?”

“I ‘m not afraid; I did n’t want to take you away,” began Polly,

secretly hoping that she did n’t look too pleased.

“But I like to be taken away. Why, it ‘s a whole year since I went

home with you; do you remember that?” said Tom, flapping the

rubbers about without any signs of haste.

“Does it seem long?”

“Everlasting!”

Polly meant to say that quite easily, and smile incredulously at his

answer; but in spite of the coquettish little rose-colored hood she

wore, and which she knew was very becoming, she did not look or

speak gayly, and Tom saw something in the altered face that made

him say hastily, “I ‘m afraid you ‘ve been doing too much this

winter; you look tired out, Polly.”

“Oh, no! it suits me to be very busy,” and she began to drag on her

gloves as if to prove it.

“But it does n’t suit me to have you get thin and pale, you know.”

Polly looked up to thank him, but never did, for there was