An Old-fashioned Girl

DEAR POLLY, The Sewing Circle meets at our house this P. M. This is in your line, so do come and help me through. I shall depend on you.

Yours ever, FAN.

“Bad news, my dear?” asked Miss Mills, who had just handed the note to Polly as she came in one noon, a few weeks after Jenny's arrival.

Polly told her what it was, adding, “I suppose I ought to go and help Fanny, but I can't say I want to. The girls talk about things I have nothing to do with, and I don't find their gossip very amusing. I'm an outsider, and they only accept me on Fan's account; so I sit in a corner and sew, while they chatter and laugh.”

“Would n't it be a good chance to say a word for Jenny? She wants work, and these young ladies probably have quantities done somewhere. Jenny does fine work exquisitely, and begins to feel anxious to be earning something. I don't want her to feel dependent and unhappy, and a little well-paid sewing would be all she needs to do nicely. I can get it for her by running round to my friends, but I really have n't the time, till I get the Mullers off. They are paupers here, but out West they can take care of themselves, so I've begged the money to send them, and as soon as I can get them some clothes, off they go. That's the way to help people help themselves,” and Miss Mills clashed her big scissors energetically, as she cut out a little red flannel shirt.

“I know it is, and I want to help, but I don't know where to begin,” said Polly, feeling quite oppressed with the immensity of the work.

“We can't any of us do all we would like, but we can do our best for every case that comes to us, and that helps amazingly. Begin with Jenny, my dear; tell those girls about her, and if I'm not much mistaken, you will find them ready to help, for half the time it is n't hardness of heart, but ignorance or thoughtlessness on the part of the rich, that makes them seem so careless of the poor.”

“To tell the truth, I'm afraid of being laughed at, if I try to talk seriously about such things to the girls,” said Polly, frankly.

“You believe that'such things' are true? You are sincere in your wish to help better them, and you respect those who work for that end?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, my dear, can't you bear a little ridicule for the sake of a good cause? You said yesterday that you were going to make it a principle of your life, to help up your sex as far and as fast as you could. It did my heart good to hear you say it, for I was sure that in time you would keep your word. But, Polly, a principle that can't bear being laughed at, frowned on, and cold-shouldered, is n't worthy of the name.”

“I want to be strong-minded in the real sense of the word, but I don't like to be called so by people who don't understand my meaning; and I shall be if I try to make the girls think soberly about anything sensible or philanthropic. They call me old-fashioned now, and I'd rather be thought that, though it is n't pleasant, than be set down as a rampant woman's rights reformer,” said Polly, in whose memory many laughs, and snubs, and sarcasms still lingered, forgiven but not forgotten.

“This love and thought and care for those weaker, poorer, or worse than ourselves, which we call Christian charity, is a very old fashion, my dear. It began eighteen hundred years ago, and only those who honestly follow the beautiful example set us then, learn how to get genuine happiness out of life. I'm not a'rampant woman's rights reformer,'” added Miss Mills, with a smile at Polly's sober face; “but I think that women can do a great deal for each other, if they will only stop fearing what'people will think,' and take a hearty interest in whatever is going to fit their sisters and themselves to deserve and enjoy the rights God gave them. There are so many ways in which this can be done, that I wonder they don't see and improve them. I don't ask you to go and make speeches, only a few have the gift for that, but I do want every girl and woman to feel this duty, and make any little sacrifice of time or feeling that may be asked of them, because there is so much to do, and no one can do it as well as ourselves, if we only think so.”

“I'll try!” said Polly, influenced more by her desire to keep Miss Mills' good opinion than any love of self-sacrifice for her sex. It was rather a hard thing to ask of a shy, sensitive girl, and the kind old lady knew it, for in spite of the gray hair and withered face, her heart was very young, and her own girlish trials not forgotten. But she knew also that Polly had more influence over others than she herself suspected, simply because of her candid, upright nature; and that while she tried to help others, she was serving herself in a way that would improve heart and soul more than any mere social success she might gain by following the rules of fashionable life, which drill the character out of girls till they are as much alike as pins in a paper, and have about as much true sense and sentiment in their little heads. There was good stuff in Polly, unspoiled as yet, and Miss Mills was only acting out her principle of women helping each other. The wise old lady saw that Polly had reached that point where the girl suddenly blooms into a woman, asking something more substantial than pleasure to satisfy the new aspirations that are born; a time as precious and important to the after-life, as the hour when the apple blossoms fall, and the young fruit waits for the elements to ripen or destroy the harvest.

Polly did not know this, and was fortunate in possessing a friend who knew what influences would serve her best, and who could give her what all women should desire to give each other, the example of a sweet, good life, more eloquent and powerful than any words; for this is a right no one can deny us.

Polly turned the matter over in her mind as she dressed, while Jenny played waiting maid, little dreaming what this new friend was meaning to do for her, if she dared.

“Is it going to be a tea-party, Miss?” asked Jenny, as the black silk went rustling on, to her great admiration, for she considered Polly a beauty.

“Well, no, I think it will probably be a lecture,” answered Polly, laughing, for Jenny's grateful service and affectionate eyes confirmed the purpose which Miss Mills' little homily had suggested.

As she entered the Shaws' parlor an hour or two later, an appalling array of well-dressed girls appeared, each provided with a dainty reticule, basket, or bag, and each tongue going a good deal faster than the needle, while the white fingers stitched sleeves in upside down, put flannel jackets together hind part before, or gobbled button-holes with the best intentions in life.

“You are a dear to come so early. Here's a nice place for you between Belle and Miss Perkins, and here's a sweet little dress to make, unless you like something else better,” said Fanny, receiving her friend with warmth and placing her where she thought she would enjoy herself.

“Thank you, I'll take an unbleached cotton shirt if you have such a thing, for it is likely to be needed before a cambric frock,” replied Polly, subsiding into her corner as quickly as possible, for at least six eye-glasses were up, and she did n't enjoy being stared at.

Miss Perkins, a grave, cold-looking young lady, with an aristocratic nose, bowed politely, and then went on with her work, which displayed two diamond rings to great advantage. Belle, being of the demonstrative sort, smiled and nodded, drew up her chair, and began a whispered account of Trix's last quarrel with Tom. Polly listened with interest while she sewed diligently, occasionally permitting her eyes to study the elegant intricacies of Miss Perkins' dress, for that young lady sat like a statue, quirking her delicate fingers, and accomplishing about two stitches a minute.

In the midst of Belle's story, a more exciting bit of gossip caught her ear, and she plunged into the conversation going on across the table, leaving Polly free to listen and admire the wit, wisdom, and charitable spirit of the accomplished young ladies about her. There was a perfect Babel of tongues, but out of the confusion Polly gathered scraps of fashionable intelligence which somewhat lessened her respect for the dwellers in high places. One fair creature asserted that Joe Somebody took so much champagne at the last German, that he had to be got away, and sent home with two servants. Another divulged the awful fact that Carrie P.'s wedding presents were half of them hired for the occasion. A third circulated a whisper to the effect that though Mrs. Buckminster wore a thousand-dollar cloak, her boys were not allowed but one sheet to their beds. And a fourth young gossip assured the company that a certain person never had offered himself to a certain other person, though the report was industriously spread by interested parties. This latter remark caused such a clamor that Fanny called the meeting to order in a most unparliamentary fashion.

“Girls! girls! you really must talk less and sew more, or our society will be disgraced. Do you know our branch sent in less work than any of the others last month, and Mrs. Fitz George said, she did n't see how fifteen young ladies could manage to do so little?”

“We don't talk a bit more than the old ladies do. I just wish you could have heard them go on, last time. The way they get so much done, is, they take work home, and make their seamstresses do it, and then they take credit for vast industry,” said Belle, who always spoke her mind with charming candor.

“That reminds me that mamma says they want as many things as we can make, for it's a hard winter, and the poor are suffering very much. Do any of you wish to take articles home, to do at odd times?” said Fan, who was president of this energetic Dorcas Society.

“Mercy, no! It takes all my leisure time to mend my gloves and refresh my dresses,” answered Belle.

“I think if we meet once a week, it is all that should be expected of us, with our other engagements. Poor people always complain that the winter is a hard one, and never are satisfied,” remarked Miss Perkins, making her diamonds sparkle as she sewed buttons on the wrong side of a pink calico apron, which would hardly survive one washing.

“Nobody can ask me to do any more, if they remember all I've got to attend to before summer,” said Trix, with an important air. “I've got three women hard at work, and want another, but everyone is so busy, and ask such abominable prices, that I'm in despair, and shall have to take hold myself, I'm afraid.”

“There's a chance for Jane,” thought Polly, but had n't courage “to speak out loud in meeting,” just then, and resolved to ask Trix for work, in private.

“Prices are high, but you forget how much more it costs to live now than it used to do. Mamma never allows us to beat down workwomen, but wishes us to pay them well, and economize in some other way, if we must,” said Emma Davenport, a quiet, bright-eyed girl, who was called “odd” among the young ladies, because she dressed simply, when her father was a millionaire.

“Just hear that girl talk about economy! I beg your pardon, she's some relation of yours, I believe!” said Belle, in a low tone.

“Very distant; but I'm proud of it; for with her, economy does n't mean scrimping in one place to make a show in another. If every one would follow the Davenports' example, workwomen would n't starve, or servants be such a trouble. Emma is the plainest dressed girl in the room, next to me, yet any one can see she is a true gentlewoman,” said Polly, warmly.

“And you are another,” answered Belle, who had always loved Polly, in her scatter-brained way.

“Hush! Trix has the floor.”

“If they spent their wages properly, I should n't mind so much, but they think they must be as fine as anybody, and dress so well that it is hard to tell mistress from maid. Why our cook got a bonnet just like mine (the materials were cheaper, but the effect was the same), and had the impertinence to wear it before my face. I forbid it, and she left, of course, which made papa so cross he would n't give me the camel's hair shawl he promised this year.”

“It's perfectly shameful!” said Miss Perkins, as Trix paused out of breath. “Servants ought to be made to dress like servants, as they do abroad; then we should have no more trouble,” observed Miss Perkins, who had just made the grand tour, and had brought home a French maid.

“Perky don't practise as she preaches,” whispered Belle to Polly, as Miss P. became absorbed in the chat of her other neighbors. “She pays her chamber girl with old finery; and the other day, when Betsey was out parading in her missis's cast-off purple plush suit, Mr. Curtis thought she was mademoiselle, and bowed to her. He is as blind as a bat, but recognized the dress, and pulled off his hat to it in the most elegant style. Perky adores him, and was mad enough to beat Betsey when she told the story and giggled over it. Betsey is quite as stylish and ever so much prettier than Perky, and she knows it, which is an aggravation.”