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 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 could n't bear it, and took the whole family off. Is n'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 every one 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 inconvenient 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, was n'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, some one 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 have n'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 have n'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 Mousieur, 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 school-girls. 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 hour was soon over; and when Fan had taken a music lesson in another room, while Polly looked on, it was time for recess. The younger girls walked up and down the court, arm in arm, eating bread an butter; others stayed in the school-room to read and gossip; but Belle, Trix, and Fanny went to lunch at a fashionable ice-cream saloon near by, and Polly meekly followed, not daring to hint at the ginger-bread grandma had put in her pocket for luncheon. So the honest, brown cookies crumbled away in obscurity, while Polly tried to satisfy her hearty appetite on one ice and three macaroons.
The girls seemed in great spirits, particularly after they were joined by a short gentleman with such a young face that Polly would have called him a boy, if he had not worn a tall beaver. Escorted by this impressive youth, Fanny left her unfortunate friends to return to school, and went to walk, as she called a slow promenade down the most crowded streets. Polly discreetly fell behind, and amused herself looking into shop-windows, till Fanny, mindful of her manners, even at such an interesting time, took her into a picture gallery, and bade her enjoy the works of art while they rested. Obedient Polly went through the room several times, apparently examining the pictures with
