youthful appetite, and Polly was kept on such a short allowance of happiness for six months, that she got quite thin and interesting; and often, when she saw how big her eyes were getting, and how plainly the veins on her temples showed, indulged the pensive thought that perhaps spring dandelions might blossom o'er her grave. She had no intention of dying till Tom's visit was over, however, and as the time drew near, she went through such alternations of hope and fear, and lived in such a state of feverish excitement, that spirits and color came back, and she saw that the interesting pallor she had counted on would be an entire failure.
May came at last, and with it a burst of sunshine which cheered even poor Polly's much-enduring heart. Fanny came walking in upon her one day, looking as if she brought tidings of such great joy that she hardly knew how to tell them.
'Prepare yourself somebody is engaged!' she said, in a solemn tone, that made Polly put up her hand as if to ward off an expected blow. 'No, don't look like that, my poor dear; it is n't Tom, it 's I!'
Of course there was a rapture, followed by one of the deliciously confidential talks which bosom friends enjoy, interspersed with tears and kisses, smiles and sighs.
'Oh, Polly, though I 've waited and hoped so long I could n't believe it when it came, and don't deserve it; but I will! for the knowledge that he loves me seems to make everything possible,' said Fanny, with an expression which made her really beautiful, for the first time in her life.
'You happy girl!' sighed Polly, then smiled and added, 'I think you deserve all that 's come to you, for you have truly tried to be worthy of it, and whether it ever came or not that would have been a thing to be proud of.'
'He says that is what made him love me,' answered Fanny, never calling her lover by his name, but making the little personal pronoun a very sweet word by the tone in which she uttered it. 'He was disappointed in me last year, he told me, but you said good things about me and though he did n't care much then, yet when he lost you, and came back to me, he found that you were not altogether mistaken, and he has watched me all this winter, learning to respect and love me better every day. Oh, Polly, when he said that, I could n't bear it, because in spite of all my trying, I 'm still so weak and poor and silly.'
'We don't think so; and I know you 'll be all he hopes to find you, for he 's just the husband you ought to have.'
'Thank you all the more, then, for not keeping him yourself,' said Fanny, laughing the old blithe laugh again.
'That was only a slight aberration of his; he knew better all the time. It was your white cloak and my idiotic behavior the night we went to the opera that put the idea into his head,' said Polly, feeling as if the events of that evening had happened some twenty years ago, when she was a giddy young thing, fond of gay bonnets and girlish pranks.
'I 'm not going to tell Tom a word about it, but keep it for a surprise till he comes. He will be here next week, and then we 'll have a grand clearing up of mysteries,' said Fan, evidently feeling that the millennium was at hand.
'Perhaps,' said Polly, as her heart fluttered and then sunk, for this was a case where she could do nothing but hope, and keep her hands busy with Will's new set of shirts.
There is a good deal more of this sort of silent suffering than the world suspects, for the
'women who dare' are few, the women who 'stand and wait' are many. But if work-baskets were gifted with powers of speech, they could tell stories more true and tender than any we read. For women often sew the tragedy or comedy of life into their work as they sit apparently safe and serene at home, yet are thinking deeply, living whole heart-histories, and praying fervent prayers while they embroider pretty trifles or do the weekly mending.
19. Tom?s Success
'Come, Philander, let us be a marching,
Every one his true love a searching,'
WOULD be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because, intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to pair off everybody I can lay my hands on.
Occasionally a matrimonial epidemic appears, especially toward spring, devastating society, thinning the ranks of bachelordom, and leaving mothers lamenting for their fairest daughters. That spring the disease broke out with great violence in the Shaw circle, causing paternal heads much bewilderment, as one case after another appeared with alarming rapidity. Fanny, as we have seen, was stricken first, and hardly had she been carried safely through the crisis, when Tom returned to swell the list of victims. As Fanny was out a good deal with her Arthur, who was sure that exercise was necessary for the convalescent, Polly went every day to see Mrs. Shaw, who found herself lonely, though much better than usual, for the engagement had a finer effect upon her constitution than any tonic she ever tried. Some three days after Fan's joyful call Polly was startled on entering the Shaws' door, by Maud, who came tumbling down stairs, sending an avalanche of words before her, 'He 's come before he said he should to surprise us! He 's up in mamma's room, and was just saying, 'How 's Polly?' when I heard you come, in your creep-mouse way, and you must go right up. He looks so funny with whiskers, but he 's ever so nice, real big and brown, and he swung me right up when he kissed me. Never mind your bonnet, I can't wait.'
And pouncing upon Polly, Maud dragged her away like a captured ship towed by a noisy little steam-tug.
'The sooner it 's over the better for me,' was the only thought Polly had time for before she plunged into the room above, propelled by Maud, who cried triumphantly, 'There he is! Ain't he splendid?'
For a minute, everything danced before Polly's eyes, as a hand shook hers warmly, and a gruffish voice said heartily, 'How are you, Polly?' Then she slipped into a chair beside Mrs. Shaw, hoping that her reply had been all right and proper, for she had not the least idea what she said.
Things got steady again directly, and while Maud expatiated on the great surprise, Polly ventured to look at Tom, feeling glad that her back was toward the light, and his was not. It was not a large room, and Tom seemed to fill it entirely; not that he had grown so very much, except broader in the shoulders, but there was a brisk, genial, free-and-easy air about him, suggestive of a stirring, out-of-door life, with people who kept their eyes wide open, and were not very particular what they did with their arms and legs. The rough-and-ready travelling suit, stout boots, brown face, and manly beard, changed him so much, that Polly could find scarcely a trace of elegant Tom Shaw in the hearty-looking young man who stood with one foot on a chair, while he talked business to his father in a sensible way, which delighted the old gentleman. Polly liked the change immensely, and sat listening to the state of Western trade with as much interest as if it had been the most thrilling romance, for, as he talked, Tom kept looking at her with a nod or a smile so like old times, that for a little while, she forgot Maria Bailey, and was in bliss.
By and by Fanny came flying in, and gave Tom a greater surprise than his had been.
