LITMIR.BIZ

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was waiting to see them comfortably into bed.

      “Did you have a good time, dear?” she asked, looking at Polly’s feverish cheeks and excited eyes.

      “I don’t wish to be rude, but I didn’t,” answered Polly. “Some of it was splendid; but a good deal of it made me want to go under the seat. People seemed to like it, but I don’t think it was proper.”

      As Polly freed her mind, and emphasized her opinion with a decided rap of the boot she had just taken off, Fanny laughed, and said, while she pirouetted about the room, like Mademoiselle Therese, “Polly was shocked, grandma. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her face as red as my sash, and once I thought she was going to cry. Some of it was rather queer; but, of course, it was proper, or all our set wouldn’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 wasn’t proper for little girls to see, or I shouldn’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 haven’t yet learned that modesty has gone out of fashion.” And with a goodnight 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 2

      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 needn’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 newcomer with a cool stare which seemed to be as much the fashion as eyeglasses. 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 more frolicsome were imitating the Grecian Bend, some were putting their heads together over little notes, nearly all were eating confectionery, and the entire twelve chattered like magpies. Being politely supplied with caramels, Polly sat looking and listening, feeling very young and countrified among these elegant young ladies.

      “Girls, do you know that Carrie has gone abroad? There has been so much talk, her father couldn’t bear it, and took the whole family off. Isn’t that gay?” said one lively damsel, who had just come in.

      “I should think they’d better go. My mamma says, if I’d been going to that school, she’d have taken me straight away,” answered another girl, with an important air.

      “Carrie ran away with an Italian music teacher, and it got into the papers, and made a great stir,” explained the first speaker to Polly, who looked mystified.

      “How dreadful!” cried Polly.

      “I think it was fun. She was only sixteen, and he was perfectly splendid; and she has plenty of money, and everyone talked about it; and when she went anywhere, people looked, you know, and she liked it; but her papa is an old poke, so he’s sent them all away. It’s too bad, for she was the jolliest thing I ever knew.”

      Polly had nothing to say to lively Miss Belle; but Fanny observed, “I like to read about such things; but it’s so in convenient to have it happen right here, because it makes it harder for us. I wish you could have heard my papa go on. He threatened to send a maid to school with me every day, as they do in New York, to be sure I come all right. Did you ever?”

      “That’s because it came out that Carrie used to forge excuses in her mamma’s name, and go promenading with her Oreste, when they thought her safe at school. Oh, wasn’t she a sly minx?” cried Belle, as if she rather admired the trick.

      “I think a little fun is all right; and there’s no need of making a talk, if, now and then, someone does run off like Carrie. Boys do as they like; and I don’t see why girls need to be kept so dreadfully close. I’d like to see anybody watching and guarding me!” added another dashing young lady.

      “It would take a policeman to do that, Trix, or a little man in a tall hat,” said Fanny, slyly, which caused a general laugh, and made Beatrice toss her head coquettishly.

      “Oh, have you read ‘The Phantom Bride’? It’s perfectly thrilling! There’s a regular rush for it at the library; but some prefer ‘Breaking a Butterfly.’ Which do you like best?” asked a pale girl of Polly in one of the momentary lulls which occurred.

      “I haven’t read either.”

      “You must, then. I adore Guy Livingston’s books, and Yates’s. ‘Ouida’s’ are my delight, only they are so long, I get worn out before I’m through.”

      “I haven’t read anything but one of the Muhlbach novels since I came. I like those, because there is history in them,” said Polly, glad to have a word to say for herself.

      “Those are well enough for improving reading; but I like real exciting novels; don’t you?”

      Polly was spared the mortification of owning that she had never read any, by the appearance of Monsieur, a gray-headed old Frenchman, who went through his task with the resigned air of one who was used to being the victim of giggling schoolgirls. The young ladies gabbled over the lesson, wrote an exercise, and read a little French history. But it did not seem to make much impression upon them, though Monsieur was very ready to explain; and Polly quite blushed for her friend, when, on being asked what famous Frenchman fought in our Revolution, she answered Lamartine, instead of Lafayette.

      The

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