An Old-Fashioned Girl. Луиза Мэй Олкотт

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      “Ain’t you tired to death? Don’t you want to lie down?” said Fanny, sitting on the side of the bed in Polly’s room, and chattering hard, while she examined everything her friend had on.

      “Not a bit. I had a nice time coming, and no trouble, except the tipsy coachman; but Tom got out and kept him in order, so I wasn’t much frightened,” answered innocent Polly, taking off her rough-and-ready coat, and the plain hat without a bit of a feather.

      “Fiddlestick! He wasn’t tipsy; and Tom only did it to get out of the way. He can’t bear girls,” said Fanny, with a superior air.

      “Can’t he? Why, I thought he was very pleasant and kind!” and Polly opened her eyes with a surprised expression.

      “He’s an awful boy, my dear; and if you have anything to do with him, he’ll torment you to death. Boys are all horrid; but he’s the horridest one I ever saw.”

      Fanny went to a fashionable school, where the young ladies were so busy with their French, German, and Italian, that there was no time for good English. Feeling her confidence much shaken in the youth, Polly privately resolved to let him alone, and changed the conversation, by saying, as she looked admiringly about the large, handsome room, “How splendid it is! I never slept in a bed with curtains before, or had such a fine toilet-table as this.”

      “I’m glad you like it; but don’t, for mercy sake, say such things before the other girls!” replied Fanny, wishing Polly would wear earrings, as everyone else did.

      “Why not?” asked the country mouse of the city mouse, wondering what harm there was in liking other people’s pretty things, and saying so.

      “Oh, they laugh at everything the least bit odd, and that isn’t pleasant.” Fanny didn’t say “countrified,” but she meant it, and Polly felt uncomfortable. So she shook out her little black-silk apron with a thoughtful face, and resolved not to allude to her own home, if she could help it.

      “I’m so poorly, mamma says I needn’t go to school regularly, while you are here – only two or three times a week, just to keep up my music and French. You can go too, if you like; papa said so. Do, it’s such fun!” cried Fanny, quite surprising her friend by this unexpected fondness for school.

      “I should be afraid, if all the girls dress as finely as you do, and know as much,” said Polly, beginning to feel shy at the thought.

      “La, child! you needn’t mind that. I’ll take care of you, and fix you up, so you won’t look odd.”

      “Am I odd?” asked Polly, struck by the word, and hoping it didn’t mean anything very bad.

      “You are a dear, and ever so much prettier than you were last summer, only you’ve been brought up differently from us; so your ways ain’t like ours, you see,” began Fanny, finding it rather hard to explain.

      “How different?” asked Polly again, for she liked to understand things.

      “Well, you dress like a little girl, for one thing.”

      “I am a little girl; so why shouldn’t I?” and Polly looked at her simple blue merino frock, stout boots, and short hair, with a puzzled air.

      “You are fourteen; and we consider ourselves young ladies at that age,” continued Fanny, surveying, with complacency, the pile of hair on the top of her head, with a fringe of fuzz round her forehead, and a wavy lock streaming down her back; likewise, her scarlet-and-black suit, with its big sash, little pannier, bright buttons, points, rosettes – and, heaven knows what. There was a locket on her neck, earrings tinkling in her ears, watch and chain at her belt, and several rings on a pair of hands that would have been improved by soap and water.

      Polly’s eye went from one little figure to the other, and she thought that Fanny looked the oddest of the two; for Polly lived in a quiet country town, and knew very little of city fashions. She was rather impressed by the elegance about her, never having seen Fanny’s home before, as they got acquainted while Fanny paid a visit to a friend who lived near Polly. But she didn’t let the contrast between herself and Fan trouble her; for in a minute she laughed and said, contentedly, “My mother likes me to dress simply, and I don’t mind. I shouldn’t know what to do rigged up as you are. Don’t you ever forget to lift your sash and fix those puffy things when you sit down?”

      Before Fanny could answer, a scream from below made both listen. “It’s only Maud; she fusses all day long,” began Fanny; and the words were hardly out of her mouth, when the door was thrown open, and a little girl, of six or seven, came roaring in. She stopped at sight of Polly, stared a minute, then took up her roar just where she left it, and cast herself into Fanny’s lap, exclaiming wrathfully, СКАЧАТЬ