An Old-Fashioned Girl HTML version
"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 have n't done anything so very
dreadful. I can't help it if the boys send me philopena presents, as they do to the other
"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 would n't that is Fanny will tell you," cried
Polly, quite red with distress at the predicament she was in.