An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

proper, or all our set would n’t go. I heard Mrs. Smythe Perkins

say, ‘It was charming; so like dear Paris;’ and she has lived abroad;

so, of course, she knows what is what.”

“I don’t care if she has. I know it was n’t proper for little girls to

see, or I should n’t have been so ashamed!” cried sturdy Polly,

perplexed, but not convinced, even by Mrs. Smythe Perkins.

“I think you are right, my dear; but you have lived in the country,

and have n’t yet learned that modesty has gone out of fashion.”

And with a good-night kiss, grandma left Polly to dream dreadfully

of dancing in jockey costume, on a great stage; while Tom played

a big drum in the orchestra; and the audience all wore the faces of

her father and mother, looking sorrowfully at her, with eyes like

saucers, and faces as red as Fanny’s sash.

CHAPTER II NEW FASHIONS

“I ‘M going to school this morning; so come up and get ready,” said

Fanny, a day or two after, as she left the late breakfast-table.

“You look very nice; what have you got to do?” asked Polly,

following her into the hall.

“Prink half an hour, and put on her wad,” answered the irreverent

Tom, whose preparations for school consisted in flinging his cap

on to his head, and strapping up several big books, that looked as if

they were sometimes used as weapons of defence.

“What is a wad?” asked Polly, while Fanny marched up without

deigning any reply.

“Somebody’s hair on the top of her head in the place where it ought

not to be;” and Tom went whistling away with an air of sublime

indifference as to the state of his own “curly pow.”

“Why must you be so fine to go to school?” asked Polly, watching

Fan arrange the little frizzles on her forehead, and settle the

various streamers and festoons belonging to her dress.

“All the girls do; and it ‘s proper, for you never know who you may

meet. I ‘m going to walk, after my lessons, so I wish you ‘d wear

your best hat and sack,” answered Fanny, trying to stick her own

hat on at an angle which defied all the laws of gravitation.

“I will, if you don’t think this is nice enough. I like the other best,

because it has a feather; but this is warmer, so I wear it every day.”

And Polly ran into her own room, to prink also, fearing that her

friend might be ashamed of her plain costume. “Won’t your hands

be cold in kid gloves?” she said, as they went down the snowy

street, with a north wind blowing in their faces.

“Yes, horrid cold; but my muff is so big, I won’t carry it. Mamma

won’t have it cut up, and my ermine one must be kept for best;”

and Fanny smoothed her Bismark kids with an injured air.

“I suppose my gray squirrel is ever so much too big; but it ‘s nice

and cosy, and you may warm your hands in it if you want to,” said

Polly, surveying her new woollen gloves with a dissatisfied look,

though she had thought them quite elegant before.

“Perhaps I will, by and by. Now, Polly, don’t you be shy. I ‘ll only

introduce two or three of the girls; and you need n’t mind old

Monsieur a bit, or read if you don’t want to. We shall be in the

anteroom; so you ‘ll only see about a dozen, and they will be so

busy, they won’t mind you much.”

“I guess I won’t read, but sit and look on. I like to watch people,

everything is so new and queer here.”

But Polly did feel and look very shy, when she was ushered into a

room full of young ladies, as they seemed to her, all very much

dressed, all talking together, and all turning to examine the

new-comer with a cool stare which seemed to be as much the

fashion as eye-glasses. They nodded affably when Fanny

introduced her, said something civil, and made room for her at the

table round which they sat waiting for Monsieur. Several of the