An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

Fanny exerted herself, and won the prize, for Polly helped Maud,

and neglected her own work; but she did n’t care much, for Mr.

Shaw said, looking at the three bright faces at the tea-table, “I

guess Polly has been making sunshine for you to-day.” “No,

indeed, sir, I have n’t done anything, only dress Maud’s doll.”

And Polly did n’t think she had done much; but it was one of the

little things which are always waiting to be done in this world of

ours, where rainy days come so often, where spirits get out of tune,

and duty won’t go hand in hand with pleasure. Little things of this

sort are especially good work for little people; a kind little thought,

an unselfish little act, a cheery little word, are so sweet and

comfortable, that no one can fail to feel their beauty and love the

giver, no matter how small they are. Mothers do a deal of this sort

of thing, unseen, unthanked, but felt and remembered long

afterward, and never lost, for this is the simple magic that binds

hearts together, and keeps home happy. Polly had learned this

secret.

She loved to do the “little things” that others did not see, or were

too busy to stop for; and while doing them, without a thought of

thanks, she made sunshine for herself as well as others. There was

so much love in her own home, that she quickly felt the want of it

in Fanny’s, and puzzled herself to find out why these people were

not kind and patient to one another. She did not try to settle the

question, but did her best to love and serve and bear with each, and

the good will, the gentle heart, the helpful ways and simple

manners of our Polly made her dear to every one, for these virtues,

even in a little child, are lovely and attractive.

Mr. Shaw was very kind to her, for he liked her modest, respectful

manners; and Polly was so grateful for his many favors, that she

soon forgot her fear, and showed her affection in all sorts of

confiding little ways, which pleased him extremely. She used to

walk across the park with him when he went to his office in the

morning, talking busily all the way, and saying “Good-by” with a

nod and a smile when they parted at the great gate. At first, Mr.

Shaw did not care much about it; but soon he missed her if she did

not come, and found that something fresh and pleasant seemed to

brighten all his day, if a small, gray-coated figure, with an

intelligent face, a merry voice, and a little hand slipped confidingly

into his, went with him through the wintry park. Coming home

late, he liked to see a curly, brown head watching at the window;

to find his slippers ready, his paper in its place, and a pair of

willing feet, eager to wait upon him. “I wish my Fanny was more

like her,” he often said to himself, as he watched the girls, while

they thought him deep in politics or the state of the money market.

Poor Mr. Shaw had been so busy getting rich, that he had not

found time to teach his children to love him; he was more at

leisure now, and as his boy and girls grew up, he missed

something. Polly was unconsciously showing him what it was, and

making child-love so sweet, that he felt he could not do without it

any more, yet did n’t quite know how to win the confidence of the

children, who had always found him busy, indifferent, and

absentminded.

As the girls were going to bed one night, Polly kissed grandma, as

usual, and Fanny laughed at her, saying, “What a baby you are! We

are too old for such things now.”

“I don’t think people ever are too old to kiss their fathers and

mothers,” was the quick answer.

“Right, my little Polly;” and Mr. Shaw stretched out his hand to her

with such a kindly look, that Fanny stared surprised, and then said,

shyly, “I thought you did n’t care about it, father.” “I do, my dear:”

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