Free An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott Page A

and Fanny to wondering why they didn’t have better times together, and enjoy themselves, as Polly and Jim did.
    “Fan don’t care for anybody but herself,” said Tom.
    “Tom is such a bear,” retorted Fanny.
    “I wouldn’t say such things, for if anything should happen to either of you, the other one would feel so sorry. Every cross
     word I ever said to Jimmy comes back now, and makes me wish I hadn’t.”
    Two great tears rolled down Polly’s cheeks, and were quietly wiped away; but I think they watered that sweet sentiment, called
     fraternal love, which till now had been neglected in the hearts of this brother and sister. They didn’t say anything then,
     or make any plans, or confess any faults; but when they parted for the night, Fanny gave the wounded head a gentle pat (Tom
     never would have forgiven her if she had kissed him), and said, in a whisper, “I hope you’ll have a good sleep, Tommy, dear.”
    And Tom nodded back at her, with a hearty “Same to you, Fan.”
    That was all; but it meant a good deal for the voices were kind, and the eyes met full of that affection which makes words
     of little consequence. Polly saw it; and though she didn’t know that she had made the sunshine, it shone back upon her so
     pleasantly, that she fell happily asleep, though her Jimmy wasn’t there to say “good-night.”

Scrapes
C HAPTER 5
    A fter being unusually good, children are apt to turn short round and refresh themselves by acting like Sancho. For a week after
     Tom’s mishap, the young folks were quite angelic, so much so that grandma said she was afraid “something was going to happen
     to them.” The dear old lady needn’t have felt anxious, for such excessive virtue doesn’t last long enough to lead to translation,
     except with little prigs in the goody storybooks; and no sooner was Tom on his legs again, when the whole party went astray,
     and much tribulation was the consequence.
    It all began with “Polly’s stupidity,” as Fan said afterward. Just as Polly ran down to meet Mr. Shaw one evening, and was
     helping him off with his coat, the bell rang, and a fine bouquet of hothouse flowers was left in Polly’s hands, for she never
     could learn city ways, and opened the door herself.
    “Hey! What’s this? My little Polly is beginning early, after all,” said Mr. Shaw, laughing, as he watched the girl’s face
     dimple and flush, as she smelt the lovely nosegay, and glanced at a note half hidden in the heliotrope.
    Now, if Polly hadn’t been “stupid,” as Fan said, she would have had her wits about her, and let it pass; but, you see, Polly
     was an honest little soul, and it never occurred to her that there was any need of concealment, so she answered in her straightforward
     way, “Oh, they ain’t for me, sir; they are for Fan; from Mr. Frank, I guess. She’ll be so pleased.”
    “That puppy sends her things of this sort, does he?” And Mr. Shaw looked far from pleased as he pulled out the note, and coolly
     opened it.
    Polly had her doubts about Fan’s approval of that “sort of thing,” but dared not say a word, and stood thinking how she used
     to show her father the funny valentines the boys sent her, and how they laughed over them together. But Mr. Shaw did not laugh
     when he had read the sentimental verses accompanying the bouquet, and his face quite scared Polly, as he asked, angrily, “How
     long has this nonsense been going on?”
    “Indeed, sir, I don’t know. Fan doesn’t mean any harm. I wish I hadn’t said anything!” stammered Polly, remembering the promise
     given to Fanny the day of the concert. She had forgotten all about it, and had become accustomed to see the “big boys,” as
     she called Mr. Frank and his friends, with the girls on all occasions. Now, it suddenly occurred to her that Mr. Shaw didn’t
     like such amusements, and had forbidden Fan to indulge in them. “Oh, dear! How mad she will be. Well, I can’t help it. Girls
     shouldn’t