velvet. Her sash was only a wide ribbon, tied in a simple bow, and
nothing but a blue snood in the pretty curls. Her only comfort was
the knowledge that the modest tucker drawn up round the plump
shoulders was real lace, and that her bronze boots cost nine
dollars.
Poor Polly, with all her efforts to be contented, and not to mind
looking unlike other people, found it hard work to keep her face
bright and her voice happy that night. No one dreamed what was
going an under the muslin frock, till grandma’s wise old eyes spied
out the little shadow on Polly’s spirits, and guessed the cause of it.
When dressed, the three girls went up to show themselves to the
elders, who were in grandma’s room, where Tom was being helped
into an agonizingly stiff collar.
Maud pranced like a small peacock, and Fan made a splendid
courtesy as every one turned to survey them; but Polly stood still,
and her eyes went from face to face, with an anxious, wistful air,
which seemed to say, “I know I ‘m not right; but I hope I don’t look
very bad.”
Grandma read the look in a minute; and when Fanny said, with a
satisfied smile, “How do we look?” she answered, drawing Polly
toward her so kindly.
“Very like the fashion-plates you got the patterns of your dresses
from. But this little costume suits me best.”
“Do you really think I look nice?” and Polly’s face brightened, for
she valued the old lady’s opinion very much.
“Yes, my dear; you look just as I like to see a child of your age
look. What particularly pleases me is that you have kept your
promise to your mother, and have n’t let anyone persuade you to
wear borrowed finery. Young things like you don’t need any
ornaments but those you wear to-night, youth, health, intelligence,
and modesty.”
As she spoke, grandma gave a tender kiss that made Polly glow
like a rose, and for a minute she forgot that there were such things
as pink silk and coral ear-rings in the world. She only said, “Thank
you, ma’am,” and heartily returned the kiss; but the words did her
good, and her plain dress looked charming all of a sudden.
“Polly ‘s so pretty, it don’t matter what she wears,” observed Tom,
surveying her over his collar with an air of calm approval.
“She has n’t got any bwetelles to her dwess, and I have,” said
Maud, settling her ruffled bands over her shoulders, which looked
like cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.
“I did wish she ‘d just wear my blue set, ribbon is so very plain;
but, as Tom says, it don’t much matter;” and Fanny gave an
effective touch to the blue bow above Polly’s left temple.
“She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls,” said Mrs.
Shaw, privately thinking that her own daughters looked much the
best, yet conscious that blooming Polly had the most attractive
face. “Bless me! I forgot my posies in admiring the belles. Hand
them out, Tom;” and Mr. Shaw nodded toward an interesting
looking box that stood on the table.
Seizing them wrong side-up, Tom produced three little bouquets,
all different in color, size, and construction.
“Why, papa! how very kind of you,” cried Fanny, who had not
dared to receive even a geranium leaf since the late scrape.
“Your father used to be a very gallant young gentleman, once upon
a time,” said Mrs. Shaw, with a simper.
“Ah, Tom, it ‘s a good sign when you find time to think of giving
pleasure to your little girls!” And grandma patted her son’s bald
head as if he was n’t more than eighteen.
Thomas Jr. had given a somewhat scornful sniff at first; but when
grandma praised his father, the young man thought better of the
matter, and regarded the flowers with more respect, as he asked,
“Which is for which?”
“Guess,” said Mr. Shaw, pleased that his unusual demonstration
had produced such an effect.
The largest was a regular hothouse bouquet, of tea-rosebuds,
scentless heath, and smilax; the second was just a handful of
sweet-peas and mignonette, with a few cheerful pansies, and one