An Old-Fashioned Girl Read Free Page A

death; and the first money I ever earned was five dollars
     which he offered as a prize to whichever of his six girls would lay the handsomest darn in his silk stockings.”
    “How proud you must have been!” cried Polly, leaning on the old lady’s knee with an interested face.
    “Yes; and we all learned to make bread, and cook, and wore little chintz gowns, and were as gay and hearty as kittens. All
     lived to be grandmothers and fathers; and I’m the last — seventy, next birthday, my dear, and not worn out yet; though daughter
     Shaw is an invalid at forty.”
    “That’s the way I was brought up, and that’s why Fan calls me old-fashioned, I suppose. Tell more about your papa, please;
     I like it,” said Polly.
    “Say ‘father.’ We never called him papa; and if one of my brothers had addressed him as ‘governor,’ as boys do now, I really
     think he’d have him cut off with a shilling.”
    Madam raised her voice in saying this, and nodded significantly; but a mild snore from the other room seemed to assure her
     that it was a waste of shot to fire in that direction.
    Before she could continue, in came Fanny with the joyful news that Clara Bird had invited them both to go to the theatre with
     her that very evening, and would call for them at seven o’clock. Polly was so excited by this sudden plunge into the dissipations
     of city life, that she flew about like a distracted butterfly, and hardly knew what happened, till she found herself seated
     before the great green curtain in the brilliant theatre. Old Mr. Bird sat on one side, Fanny on the other, and both let her
     alone, for which she was very grateful, as her whole attention was so absorbed in the scene around her, that she couldn’t
     talk.
    Polly had never been much to the theatre; and the few plays she had seen were the good old fairy tales, dramatized to suit
     young beholders — lively, bright, and full of the harmless nonsense which brings the laugh without the blush. That night she
     saw one of the new spectacles which have lately become the rage, and run for hundreds of nights, dazzling, exciting, and demoralizing
     the spectator by every allurement French ingenuity can invent, and American prodigality execute. Never mind what its name
     was, it was very gorgeous, very vulgar, and very fashionable; so, of course, it was much admired, and everyone went to see
     it. At first, Polly thought she had got into fairyland, and saw only the sparkling creatures who danced and sung in a world
     of light and beauty; but, presently, she began to listen to the songs and conversation, and then the illusion vanished; for
     the lovely phantoms sang Negro melodies, talked slang, and were a disgrace to the good old-fashioned elves whom she knew and
     loved so well.
    Our little girl was too innocent to understand half the jokes, and often wondered what people were laughing at; but, as the
     first enchantment subsided, Polly began to feel uncomfortable, to be sure her mother wouldn’t like to have her there, and
     to wish she hadn’t come. Somehow, things seemed to get worse and worse, as the play went on; for our small spectator was being
     rapidly enlightened by the gossip going on all about her, as well as by her own quick eyes and girlish instincts. When four-and-twenty
     girls, dressed as jockeys, came prancing on to the stage, cracking their whips, stamping the heels of their topboots, and
     winking at the audience, Polly did not think it at all funny, but looked disgusted, and was glad when they were gone; but
     when another set appeared in a costume consisting of gauze wings, and a bit of gold fringe round the waist, poor unfashionable
     Polly didn’t know what to do; for she felt both frightened and indignant, and sat with her eyes on her playbill, and her cheeks
     getting hotter and hotter every minute.
    “What are you blushing so for?” asked Fanny, as the painted sylphs vanished.
    “I’m so ashamed of those girls,” whispered Polly, taking