learn that, you won’t complain of ennui any more,” returned Polly,
who had taken kindly the hard lesson which twenty years of
cheerful poverty had taught her.
“Mercy, no, I should hate that; but I wish some one would invent a
new amusement for rich people. I ‘m dead sick of parties, and
flirtations, trying to out-dress my neighbors, and going the same
round year after year, like a squirrel in a cage.”
Fanny’s tone was bitter as well as discontented, her face sad as
well as listless, and Polly had an instinctive feeling that some
trouble, more real than any she had ever known before, was lying
heavy at her friend’s heart. That was not the time to speak of it, but
Polly resolved to stand ready to offer sympathy, if nothing more,
whenever the confidential minute came; and her manner was so
kind, so comfortable, that Fanny felt its silent magic, grew more
cheerful in the quiet atmosphere of that little room, and when they
said good-night, after an old-time gossip by the fire, she kissed her
hostess warmly, saying, with a grateful look, “Polly, dear, I shall
come often, you do me so much good.”
CHAPTER IX LESSONS
THE first few weeks were hard ones, for Polly had not yet
outgrown her natural shyness and going among so many strangers
caused her frequent panics. But her purpose gave her courage, and
when the ice was once broken, her little pupils quickly learned to
love her. The novelty soon wore off, and though she thought she
was prepared for drudgery, she found it very tedious to go on doing
the same thing day after day. Then she was lonely, for Will could
only come once a week, her leisure hours were Fanny’s busiest, and
the “bits of pleasure” were so few and far between that they only
tantalized her. Even her small housekeeping lost its charms, for
Polly was a social creature, and the solitary meals were often sad
ones. Ashputtel and Nick did their best to cheer her, but they too,
seemed to pine for country freedom and home atmosphere. Poor
Puttel, after gazing wistfully out of the window at the gaunt city
cats skulking about the yard, would retire to the rug, and curl
herself up as if all hope of finding congenial society had failed;
while little Nick would sing till he vibrated on his perch, without
receiving any response except an inquisitive chirp from the pert
sparrows, who seemed to twit him with his captivity. Yes, by the
time the little teakettle had lost its brightness, Polly had decided
that getting one’s living was no joke, and many of her brilliant
hopes had shared the fate of the little kettle.
If one could only make the sacrifice all at once, and done with it,
then it would seem easier; but to keep up a daily sacrifice of one’s
wishes, tastes, and pleasures, is rather a hard task, especially when
one is pretty, young, and gay. Lessons all day, a highly instructive
lecture, books over a solitary fire, or music with no audience but a
sleepy cat and a bird with his head tucked under his wing, for
evening entertainment, was not exactly what might be called
festive; so, in spite of her brave resolutions, Polly did long for a
little fun sometimes, and after saying virtuously to herself at nine:
“Yes, it is much wiser and better for me to go to bed early, and be
ready for work tomorrow,” she would lie awake hearing the
carriages roll to and fro, and imagining the gay girls inside, going
to party, opera, or play, till Mrs. Dodd’s hop pillow might as well
have been stuffed with nettles, for any sleep it brought, or any use
it was, except to catch and hide the tears that dropped on it when
Polly’s heart was very full.
Another thorn that wounded our Polly in her first attempt to make
her way through the thicket that always bars a woman’s progress,
was the discovery that working for a living shuts a good many
doors in one’s face even in democratic America. As Fanny’s guest
she had been, in spite of poverty, kindly received wherever her