perhaps my little girl can do some good by showing others that a
contented heart and a happy face are better ornaments than any
Paris can give her. You want a locket, deary; so I send one that my
mother gave me years ago. You will find father’s face on one side,
mine on the other; and when things trouble you, just look at your
talisman, and I think the sunshine will come back again.”
Of course it did, for the best of all magic was shut up in the quaint
little case that Polly wore inside her frock, and kissed so tenderly
each night and morning. The thought that, insignificant as she was,
she yet might do some good, made her very careful of her acts and
words, and so anxious to keep head contented and face happy, that
she forgot her clothes, and made others do the same. She did not
know it, but that good old fashion of simplicity made the plain
gowns pretty, and the grace of unconsciousness beautified their
little wearer with the charm that makes girlhood sweetest to those
who truly love and reverence it. One temptation Polly had already
yielded to before the letter came, and repented heartily of
afterward.
“Polly, I wish you ‘d let me call you Marie,” said Fanny one day, as
they were shopping together.
“You may call me Mary, if you like; but I won’t have any ie put on
to my name. I ‘m Polly at home and I ‘m fond of being called so;
but Marie is Frenchified and silly.”
“I spell my own name with an ie, and so do all the girls.”
“And what a jumble of Netties, Nellies, Hatties, and Sallies there
is. How ‘Pollie’ would look spelt so!”
“Well, never mind; that was n’t what I began to say. There ‘s one
thing you must have, and that is, bronze boots,” said Fan,
impressively.
“Why must I, when I ‘ve got enough without?”
“Because it ‘s the fashion to have them, and you can’t be finished
off properly without. I ‘m going to get a pair, and so must you.”
“Don’t they cost a great deal?”
“Eight or nine dollars, I believe. I have mine charged; but it don’t
matter if you have n’t got the money. I can lend you some.”
“I ‘ve got ten dollars to do what I like with; but it ‘s meant to get
some presents for the children.” And Polly took out her purse in an
undecided way.
“You can make presents easy enough. Grandma knows all sorts of
nice contrivances. They ‘ll do just as well; and then you can get
your boots.”
“Well; I ‘ll look at them,” said Polly, following Fanny into the
store, feeling rather rich and important to be shopping in this
elegant manner.
“Are n’t they lovely? Your foot is perfectly divine in that boot,
Polly. Get them for my party; you ‘ll dance like a fairy,” whispered
Fan.
Polly surveyed the dainty, shining boot with the scalloped top, the
jaunty heel, and the delicate toe, thought her foot did look very
well in it, and after a little pause, said she would have them. It was
all very delightful till she got home, and was alone; then, on
looking into her purse, she saw one dollar and the list of things she
meant to get for mother and the children. How mean the dollar
looked all alone! and how long the list grew when there was
nothing to buy the articles.
“I can’t make skates for Ned, nor a desk for Will; and those are
what they have set their hearts upon. Father’s book and mother’s
collar are impossible now; and I ‘m a selfish thing to go and spend
all my money for myself. How could I do it?” And Polly eyed the
new boots reproachfully, as they stood in the first position as if
ready for the party. “They are lovely; but I don’t believe they will
feel good, for I shall be thinking about my lost presents all the
time,” sighed Polly, pushing the enticing boots out of sight. “I ‘ll go
and ask grandma what I can do; for if I ‘ve got to make something