friend took her, both as child and woman. Now, things were
changed; the kindly people patronized, the careless forgot all about
her, and even Fanny, with all her affection, felt that Polly the
music teacher would not be welcome in many places where Polly
the young lady had been accepted as “Miss Shaw’s friend.”
Some of the girls still nodded amiably, but never invited her to
visit them; others merely dropped their eyelids, and went by
without speaking, while a good many ignored her as entirely as if
she had been invisible. These things hurt Polly more than she
would confess, for at home every one worked, and every one was
respected for it. She tried not to care, but girls feel little slights
keenly, and more than once Polly was severely tempted to give up
her plan, and run away to the safe shelter at home.
Fanny never failed to ask her to every sort of festivity in the Shaw
mansion; but after a few trials, Polly firmly declined everything
but informal visits when the family were alone. She soon found
that even the new black silk was n’t fine enough for Fanny’s
smallest party, and, after receiving a few of the expressive glances
by which women convey their opinion of their neighbor’s toilet,
and overhearing a joke or two “about that inevitable dress,” and
“the little blackbird,” Polly folded away the once treasured frock,
saying, with a choke in her voice: “I ‘ll wear it for Will, he likes it,
and clothes can’t change his love for me.”
I am afraid the wholesome sweetness of Polly’s nature was getting
a little soured by these troubles; but before lasting harm was done,
she received, from an unexpected source, some of the real help
which teaches young people how to bear these small crosses, by
showing them the heavier ones they have escaped, and by giving
them an idea of the higher pleasures one may earn in the good,
old-fashioned ways that keep hearts sweet, heads sane, hands busy.
Everybody has their days of misfortune like little Rosamond, and
Polly was beginning to think she had more than her share. One of
these ended in a way which influenced her whole life, and so we
will record it. It began early; for the hard-hearted little grate would
n’t behave itself till she had used up a ruinous quantity of
kindlings. Then she scalded poor Puttel by upsetting her
coffee-pot; and instead of a leisurely, cosy meal, had to hurry away
uncomfortably, for everything went wrong even to the coming off
of both bonnet strings in the last dreadful scramble. Being late, she
of course forgot her music, and hurrying back for it, fell into a
puddle, which capped the climax of her despair.
Such a trying morning as that was! Polly felt out of tune herself,
and all the pianos seemed to need a tuner as much as she did. The
pupils were unusually stupid, and two of them announced that
their mamma was going to take them to the South, whither she was
suddenly called. This was a blow, for they had just begun, and
Polly had n’t the face to send in a bill for a whole quarter, though
her plans and calculations were sadly disturbed by the failure of
that sum.
Trudging home to dinner, tired and disappointed, poor Polly
received another blow, which hurt her more than the loss of all her
pupils. As she went hurrying along with a big music book in one
hand and a paper bag of rolls for tea in the other, she saw Tom and
Trix coming. As she watched them while they slowly approached,
looking so gay and handsome and happy, it seemed to Polly as if
all the sunshine and good walking was on their side of the street,
all the wintry wind and mud on hers. Longing to see a friendly face
and receive a kind word, she crossed over, meaning to nod and
smile at least. Trix saw her first, and suddenly became absorbed in
the distant horizon. Tom apparently did not see her, for his eyes
were fixed on a fine horse just prancing by. Polly thought that he