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

have secrets from their fathers, then there wouldn’t be any fuss,” thought Polly, as she watched Mr. Shaw twist
     up the pink note and poke it back among the flowers which he took from her, saying, shortly, “Send Fanny to me in the library.”
    “Now you’ve done it, you stupid thing!” cried Fanny, both angry and dismayed, when Polly delivered the message.
    “Why, what else
could
I do?” asked Polly, much disturbed.
    “Let him think the bouquet was for you; then there’d have been no trouble.”
    “But that would have been doing a lie, which is most as bad as telling one.”
    “Don’t be a goose. You’ve got me into a scrape, and you ought to help me out.”
    “I will if I can; but I won’t tell lies for anybody!” cried Polly, getting excited.
    “Nobody wants you to. Just hold your tongue, and let me manage.”
    “Then I’d better not go down,” began Polly, when a stern voice from below called, like Bluebeard, “Are you coming down?”
    “Yes, sir,” answered a meek voice; and Fanny clutched Polly, whispering, “You
must
come; I’m frightened out of my wits when he speaks like that. Stand by me, Polly; there’s a dear.”
    “I will,” whispered “sister Ann”; and down they went with fluttering hearts.
    Mr. Shaw stood on the rug, looking rather grim; the bouquet lay on the table, and beside it a note directed to “Frank Moore,
     Esq.,” in a very decided hand, with a fierce-looking flourish after the “Esq.” Pointing to this impressive epistle, Mr. Shaw
     said, knitting his black eyebrows as he looked at Fanny, “I’m going to put a stop to this nonsense at once; and if I see any
     more of it, I’ll send you to school in a Canadian convent.”
    This awful threat quite took Polly’s breath away; but Fanny had heard it before, and having a temper of her own, said, pertly,
     “I’m sure I haven’t done anything so very dreadful. I can’t help it if the boys send me philopena presents, as they do to
     the other girls.”
    “There was nothing about philopenas in the note. But that’s not the question. I forbid you to have anything to do with this
     Moore. He’s not a boy, but a fast fellow, and I won’t have him about. You knew this, and yet disobeyed me.”
    “I hardly ever see him,” began Fanny.
    “Is that true?” asked Mr. Shaw, turning suddenly to Polly.
    “Oh, please, sir, don’t ask me. I promised I wouldn’t — that is — Fanny will tell you,” cried Polly, quite red with distress
     at the predicament she was in.
    “No matter about your promise; tell me all you know of this absurd affair. It will do Fanny more good than harm.” And Mr.
     Shaw sat down looking more amiable, for Polly’s dismay touched him.
    “May I?” she whispered to Fanny.
    “I don’t care,” answered Fan, looking both angry and ashamed, as she stood sullenly tying knots in her handkerchief.
    So Polly told, with much reluctance and much questioning, all she knew of the walks, the lunches, the meetings, and the notes.
     It wasn’t much, and evidently less serious than Mr. Shaw expected; for, as he listened, his eyebrows smoothed themselves out,
     and more than once his lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, for, after all, it
was
rather comical to see how the young people aped their elders, playing the new-fashioned game, quite unconscious of its real
     beauty, power, and sacredness.
    “Oh, please, sir, don’t blame Fan much, for she truly isn’t half as silly as Trix and the other girls. She wouldn’t go sleigh-riding,
     though Mr. Frank teased, and she wanted to ever so much. She’s sorry, I know, and won’t forget what you say any more, if you’ll
     forgive her this once,” cried Polly, very earnestly, when the foolish little story was told.
    “I don’t see how I can help it, when you plead so well for her. Come here, Fan, and mind this one thing; drop all this nonsense,
     and attend to your books, or off you go; and Canada is no joke in wintertime, let me tell