Short Fiction

to whom he is so thoroughly devoted that all the other girls in Plumplington envy her. If anything is to be done Polly is asked to go to her father, and if Polly does go to her father the thing is done. As far as money is concerned it is not known that Mr. Peppercorn ever refused Polly anything. It is the pride of his heart that Polly shall be, at any rate, as well dressed as Emily Greenmantle. In truth nearly double as much is spent on her clothes, all of which Polly accepts without word to show her pride. Her father does not say much, but now and again a sigh does escape him. Then it came out, as a blow to Plumplington, that Polly too had a lover. And the last person in Plumplington who heard the news was Mr. Peppercorn. It seemed from his demeanour, when he first heard the tidings, that he had not expected that any such accident would ever happen. And yet Polly Peppercorn was a very pretty, bright girl of one-and-twenty of whom the wonder was⁠—if it was true⁠—that she had never already had a lover. She looked to be the very girl for lovers, and she looked also to be one quite able to keep a lover his place.

Emily Greenmantle’s lover was a two-months’-old story when Polly’s lover became known to the public. There was a young man in Barchester who came over on Thursdays dealing with Mr. Peppercorn for malt He was a fine stalwart young fellow, six-feet-one, with bright eyes and very light hair and whiskers, with a pair of shoulders which would think nothing of a sack of wheat, a hot temper, and a thoroughly good heart. It was known to all Plumplington that he had not a shilling in the world, and that he earned forty shillings a week from Messrs. Mealing’s establishment at Barchester. Men said of him that he was likely to do well in the world, but nobody thought that he would have the impudence to make up to Polly Peppercorn.

But all the girls saw it and many of the old women, and some even of the men. And at last Polly told him that if he had anything to say to her he must say it to her father. “And you mean to have him, then?” said Bessy Rolt in surprise. Her lover was by at the moment, though not exactly within hearing of Bessy’s question. But Polly when she was alone with Bessy spoke up her mind freely. “Of course I mean to have him, if he pleases. What else? You don’t suppose I would go on with a young man like that and mean nothing. I hate such ways.”

“But what will your father say?”

“Why shouldn’t he like it? I heard papa say that he had but 7s. 6d. a week when he first came to Du Boungs. He got poor mamma to marry him, and he never was a good-looking man.”

“But he had made some money.”

“Jack has made no money as yet, but he is a good-looking fellow. So they’re quits. I believe that father would do anything for me, and when he knows that I mean it he won’t let me break my heart.”

But a week after that a change had come over the scene. Jack had gone to Mr. Hickory Peppercorn, and Mr. Peppercorn had given him a rough word or two. Jack had not borne the rough word well, and old Hickory, as he was called, had said in his wrath, “Impudent cub! you’ve got nothing. Do you know what my girl will have?”

“I’ve never asked.”

“You knew she was to have something.”

“I know nothing about it. I’m ready to take the rough and the smooth together. I’ll marry the young lady and wait till you give her something.” Hickory couldn’t turn him out on the spur of the moment because there was business to be done, but warned him not to go into his private house. “If you speak another word to Polly, old as I am, I’ll measure you across the back with my stick.” But Polly, who knew her father’s temper, took care to keep out of her father’s sight on that occasion.

Polly after that began the battle in a fashion that had been invented by herself. No one heard the words that were spoken between her and her father⁠—her father who had so idolized her; but it appeared to the people of Plumplington that Polly was holding her own. No disrespect was shown to her father, not a word was heard from her mouth that was not affectionate or at least decorous. But she took upon herself at once a certain lowering of her own social standing. She never drank tea with Emily Greenmantle, or accosted her in the street with her old friendly manner. She was terribly humble to Dr. Freeborn, who however would not acknowledge her humility on any account. “What’s come over you?” said the Doctor. “Let me have none of your stage plays or I shall take you and shake you.”

“You can shake me if you like it, Dr. Freeborn,” said Polly, “but I know who I am and what my position is.”

“You are a determined young puss,” said the Doctor, “but I am not going to help you in opposing your own father.” Polly said not a word further, but looked very demure as the Doctor took his departure.

But Polly performed her greatest stroke in reference to a change in her dress. All her new silks, that had been the pride of her father’s heart, were made to give way to old stuff gowns. People wondered where the old gowns, which had not been seen for years, had been stowed away. It was the same on Sundays as on Mondays and Tuesdays. But the due gradation was kept between Sundays and weekdays. She was quite well enough dressed for a brewer’s foreman’s daughter on one day as on the