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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:34:12 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/42287-0.txt b/42287-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18b98cb --- /dev/null +++ b/42287-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8127 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Girl from the Big Horn Country, by Mary +Ellen Chase, Illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Girl from the Big Horn Country + + +Author: Mary Ellen Chase + + + +Release Date: March 9, 2013 [eBook #42287] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN +COUNTRY*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 42287-h.htm or 42287-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h/42287-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration: “Rode down the hill into the valley.”] + + +THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + +by + +MARY ELLEN CHASE + +Illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell + + + + + + + +The Page Company +Boston--MDCCCCXVI + +Copyright, 1916, +by the Page Company + +All rights reserved + +First Impression, January, 1916 +Second Impression, March, 1916 +Third Impression, May, 1916 +Fourth Impression, June, 1916 +Fifth Impression, August, 1916 + +Presswork by +The Colonial Press + +C. H. Simonds Company, Boston, U. S. A. + + + + + TO THE MEMORY + OF MY FATHER + WHO, PERHAPS, KNOWS, AND IS GLAD + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I—VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY + CHAPTER II—THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + CHAPTER III—THE JOURNEY EAST + CHAPTER IV—VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + CHAPTER V—THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS + CHAPTER VI—ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE + CHAPTER VII—"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM" + CHAPTER VIII—THE LAST STRAW + CHAPTER IX—THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + CHAPTER X—THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XI—THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + CHAPTER XII—THE VIGILANTES + CHAPTER XIII—THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + CHAPTER XIV—WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + CHAPTER XV—VESPER SERVICE + CHAPTER XVI—A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + CHAPTER XVII—THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + CHAPTER XVIII—THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XIX—THE SENIOR PAGEANT + CHAPTER XX—THE VIGILANTES’ LAST MEETING + CHAPTER XXI—HOME ONCE MORE + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + “Rode down the hill into the valley.” + “Forded the creek in a mad splash of water.” + “Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair and stood + facing his audience.” + “Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a gray shawl.” + “Virginia knelt by the altar rail.” + “She sat her horse like a knight of old.” + “The road lay at the very base of the green foot-hills.” + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +VIRGINIA’S COUNTRY + + +A September afternoon in the Big Horn mountains! The air crystal +clear; the sky cloudless; the outlines of the hills distinct! Elk +Creek Valley lay golden in the sunshine, silent save for the incessant +hum of locust and cricket, the hurrying of the creek waters, and the +occasional bellowing of steers on the range beyond the foot-hills; +deserted except for the distant cattle, a coyote stealing across the +hills, a pheasant scurrying through the buck-brush by the creek, and +some cotton-tail rabbits and prairie dogs, who, sure of safety, meant +to enjoy the sunshine while they might. + +The foot-hills more than half-encircled the Valley. North, east, and +south they tumbled, their brown, closely-cropped sides glowing here +and there with the yellow of the quaking-asps, the red of hawthorn, +and the bronze of service-berry. Above them rose the higher ranges, +clothed in gray-green sagebrush and scant timber, and cut by +canyon-forming mountain storms, invisible from the Valley; and far +above all, seemingly near, but in reality miles away, the mountains +extended their blue, snow-furrowed summits toward a bluer sky. Peak +above peak they rose—some isolated and alone, others leaning upon the +shoulders of the higher—all silent, majestic, mysterious, as though +they held in their great hearts the secrets of the world—secrets of +which Elk Creek Valley could never know. Yet the Valley looked very +happy and content. Perhaps it had lain so long beneath their +protection that it knew no fear. + +The creek, rushing madly from the northern foothills, and fed by +melting snow from the higher mountains, had cut a canyon for itself in +its tumultuous journey from the hills; but as the land became more +level, it slackened its pace, content to make but a slight depression +through the Valley. Across it toward the west, beyond a great gap in +the foothills, stretched an open plateau, which rose in undulations, +and extended as far as one could see toward other far distant +mountains, on less clear days dim and hazy of outline, to-day almost +as blue and distinct as the nearer ranges, though sixty miles away. +This great sea of open prairie rolling westward was cut in as many +pieces and bore as many colors as a patchwork quilt. Golden +wheat-fields, the wheat shocked and piled in wigwams on the plain, met +acres of black, freshly-plowed soil, which, in turn, bordered upon the +tender green of alfalfa and of newly grown winter grain. Scattered +over the prairie stretches, at intervals of a mile, perhaps of +several, were homes—here, large ranch houses with out-lying +buildings—there, the rough shack of a lone homesteader. + +Yes, it was a golden land—smiling and peaceful in the September +sunshine. Save for horses and cattle dotted here and there, the +prairie seemed almost as deserted as Elk Creek Valley, though its +homes promised inhabitants, and a blue line of distant smoke showed +where the threshers were at work. Moreover, on the barely visible +brown road that threaded its way across the prairie, two specks were +moving rapidly in the direction of the Gap. The specks took form, +became two riders, a boy and a girl, on wildly galloping horses, +which, neck to neck, tore at last through the Gap, forded the creek in +a mad splash of water, stirrup-high, and dashed away up the Valley. +Reaching the foot-hills a trifle in advance of his companion, the boy +pulled in his restive horse, and called over his shoulder to the girl +just behind. + +“Are Pedro’s feet all right, Virginia?” + +“Yes, Don. Jim fixed them yesterday.” + +“Let’s take the Mine then, shall we?” + +“Yes, let’s!” + +And away they went, allowing the sure-footed horses to have their way +up one of the foot-hills, called the “Mine,” because some lone +prospector, dreaming of a fortune, had dug from its side some poor +coal; and then, perhaps discouraged, had abandoned the fruit of his +labors, leaving the black heap as a monument to his zeal, and a +testimony to the vanity of mere dreams. + +They reached the hill-top almost at the same instant, their good +steeds panting; they quite undisturbed, and, turning their horses’ +heads, drew rein and looked across the Valley. They were a +robust-looking pair, red-cheeked and khaki-clad, and as good riders as +Wyoming could produce. The boy was seventeen, or thereabouts, +well-knit and tall for his years, with dark, heavy hair and clear, +blue eyes that looked bluer through his coat of tan. His features were +cleanly-cut and strong, and his mouth had a laugh in the corners. A +merry, honest, manly-looking lad—Donald Keith by name, and the son of +a ranchman on the other side of the Valley. + +[Illustration: “Forded the creek in a mad splash of water.”] + +She—Virginia Hunter—was a year younger, and for sixteen as tall and +strong as he for seventeen. She was not pretty, but there was +something singularly attractive about her clear, fresh skin, brown +now, except for the red of her cheeks, her even white teeth, and her +earnest gray eyes, at times merry, but often thoughtful, which looked +so straight at you from under brows and lashes of black. Her +golden-brown hair curled about her temples, but it was brushed back +quite simply and braided down her back where it was well out of her +way. A person riding could not bother about her hair. She sat her +horse as though he were a part of her, holding her reins loosely in +her brown left hand, her right hanging idly at her side. The wind blew +back the loosened hair about her face, and the ends of the red +handkerchief, knotted cow-boy fashion, under the collar of her khaki +shirt. She, like the boy, seemed a part of the country—free, natural, +wholesome—and she shared its charm. + +They had been comrades for years—these two—for, in the ranch country, +homes are often widely separated, and the frequent society of many +persons rare. Virginia’s home lay up the Valley, beyond the first +range of the foot-hills, while the Keith ranch was situated on the +prairie, west beyond the Gap. Three miles apart across country, four +by the road; but three or four miles in Wyoming are like so many +squares in Boston, and the Keiths and Hunters considered themselves +near neighbors. This afternoon Virginia had ridden over to say good-by +to all the dear Keiths—Mr. David, Mother Mary, Donald’s older brother +Malcolm, and his younger, Kenneth, the farm-hands busy with the +threshing, and the men in from the range to help with the wheat; for +they were all her friends, and now that she was going so far away to +school, they seemed nearer and dearer—indeed, next to her father and +those upon their own ranch, the dearest of her world. + +They had been quite as sad as she to say good-by. “The country won’t +be the same without you, my lass,” Mr. David had said in his genial +Scotch way; and Donald’s mother, whom Virginia had called “Mother +Mary,” since the death of her own dear mother six years ago, had +kissed her quite as though she were her own daughter. Even Malcolm had +come in from the wheat field to shake her by the hand and wish her +good luck, and little Kenneth’s feelings had been quite wounded +because Virginia felt she must decline to carry one of his pet foxes +away with her to boarding-school. Then Donald’s father had granted the +request in the boy’s eyes that he might be excused from threshing to +ride up the Valley and home with Virginia. So now their horses, good +friends, too, stood side by side on the brow of the Mine, while their +riders looked down the Valley, beyond the cottonwood-bordered creek, +and across the wide, rolling prairie to the far away mountains; and +then, turning in their saddles, to those ranges and peaks towering +above them. + +Virginia drew a long breath. + +“We’re like Moses on Mount Nebo, looking away into the Promised Land, +aren’t we, Don?” Then, as he laughed, “Do you suppose there’s any +country so lovely as ours? Is there anything in the East like this? Do +you think I’ll be homesick, Don?” + +He laughed again, used to her questions. + +“I suppose every fellow thinks his own State is the best, Virginia, +but I don’t believe there can be any lovelier than this. You know I +told you about spending a vacation when I was at school last year with +Jack Williams in the Berkshires. Some of those hills aren’t higher +than the Mine, you know, and he called them mountains. It seemed like +a mighty small country to me, but he thought there was no place like +it. I wish he could get this sweep of country from here. No, the East +isn’t like this,—not a bit—and maybe you won’t like it, but you’re too +plucky to be homesick, Virginia.” + +Little did Virginia realize how often those words would ring in her +ears through the months that were to follow. She drew another long +breath—almost a sigh this time. + +“Oh, I wish you were going East again, Don, instead of to Colorado! +’Twould be such fun traveling together, and you could tell me all +about the states as we went through them. But, instead, I’m going all +alone, and Aunt Louise has warned me a dozen times about talking to +strangers. Four days without talking, Don! I shall die! Is it very bad +taste to talk to good, oldish-looking people, do you think?” + +“_I_ think your aunt’s mighty particular, if you ask me,” the boy said +bluntly. “You’ll have to talk to some one, Virginia. You’ll never last +four days without it, and I don’t think it’s any harm. But, you see, +your aunt’s from the East, and they’re not so sociable as we are out +here. I thought she was going East with you.” + +“No, she decided not to, and went to Los Angeles this morning; but I’m +bursting with watch-words that she left. All the way to your house I +said them over, and I nearly ran Pedro into a prairie dog’s hole, I +was thinking so hard. I. _It is very bad form to talk to strangers._ +II. _Try to be as neat in appearance on the train as you are at home._ +(Aunt Lou really means neater, Don.) III. _Don’t forget to tip the +waiter after each meal in the dining-car._ IV. _Be polite to your +traveling companions, but not familiar._ That’s all for the journey, +but I’ve heaps more for Vermont and for school. Oh, why did you choose +Colorado, Don?” + +“Oh, I don’t know, except that it’s nearer home, and since I’m going +there to college in another year, I may as well get used to it. The +East is all right, Virginia, but some way I like it out here better. +I’m a rank cow-boy, I guess. That’s what they used to call me at +school. Then, besides, the Colorado fellows ride a lot, and they don’t +in the East—that is, so much, you know,” he added hastily, as he saw +the dismay on her face. + +“Don’t ride, Don! Why, I can’t stand it not to ride! Don’t they have +horses? Don’t they—know how to ride?” + +Her genuine distress disturbed him, and he hastened to reassure her as +best he could. + +“You’ll find something to ride, I’m sure,” he said. “Don’t worry. +Maybe the horses won’t be like Pedro, but they’ll do. You see, your +school’s in a larger town than mine. You’ll write me all about it, +won’t you, Virginia?” + +“Of course, I will—every little thing. If the boys thought you were a +cow-boy, the girls will probably think I’m very queer, too.” + +“Oh, no, they won’t! You’re—you’re different some way. And, anyway, +they won’t be as nice as you,” he finished awkwardly. + +Virginia, full of questions, did not heed the honest compliment. + +“What are Eastern girls like, Don? Have you seen many? You see, I’ve +never known one, except in books. Margaret Montfort certainly was +different. Besides, you know what a time Peggy had when she went East +to school, and she was only from Ohio.” + +Donald knew nothing of Margaret or Peggy, and felt incompetent to +remark upon them; but he answered Virginia’s questions. + +“I used to see them last year at school,” he said, “at the dances and +at Commencement. And in the Berkshires, I knew Jack’s sister, Mary. +She’s great, Virginia. I hope there are some like her. She’s at some +school, but I forget where. Oh, I guess they’re nice. You see, at +parties, when they’re all dressed up, you can’t get real +well-acquainted.” + +“Dressed up!” cried Virginia. “Don, you ought to see the clothes I’ve +got! And trunks like closets?—two of them! Aunt Lou bought my things +in Chicago for father. He told her to get what I’d need, and when all +the boxes came, he grew more and more surprised. He thought they had +sent a lot for us to choose from; and when Aunt Lou told him it was +only my ‘necessary wardrobe,’ he just sat down and laughed. Then I had +to try them all on—six pairs of shoes, and sailor-suits, and coats and +sweaters and dinner dresses, and goodness knows what all! It took the +whole afternoon. That was the one last week, you know, when I didn’t +get to go hunting prairie chickens with you. And Aunt Lou made me walk +back and forth in the dinner dresses until I could ‘act natural,’ she +said.” She paused laughing, and the boy looked at her, his face +troubled. + +“I hope all those things and going away off there won’t make you +different, Virginia,” he said, a little wistfully. + +“Of course, they won’t!” she told him. “I couldn’t be any different, +Don. If it weren’t for the fun of wondering about things, I’d never +want to go even a little, but it will be new and interesting. Besides, +you know Aunt Lou says it’s ‘imperative’ that I go. I heard her say +that to father one night this summer. ‘It’s imperative that Virginia +go,’ she said. ‘She’s getting really wild out here with just you men, +and that woman in the kitchen.’ ‘That woman’ means old Hannah, who’s +been so good to us ever since mother died!” + +Donald looked angry for a moment. Apparently he did not care a great +deal for Virginia’s Aunt Louise. + +“What did your father say?” + +“He didn’t say anything, like he doesn’t when he’s thinking or +troubled; but, next morning, he told me he was going to send me East +to mother’s old school. He said he guessed I needed to see different +things. Aunt Lou was there when he told me, and she said, ‘It will be +the making of you, Virginia,—a very broadening experience!’” + +“I don’t think I’d like your aunt very well,” Donald announced +bluntly. + +Virginia was not surprised. “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t, and I don’t +think she’d like you either. That is, she _ought_ to like you, and +maybe she would, but she probably wouldn’t approve. She’s a person +that doesn’t often approve of things. She doesn’t approve of my +shooting, or of Jim teaching me to lasso the steers in the corral; and +that afternoon when I wanted to go rabbit hunting with you instead of +trying on dresses, I heard her tell father that I was getting to be +rather too much of a young lady to ride the country over with you. But +father laughed and laughed, and said he’d as soon have me with you as +with himself.” + +Donald looked pleased. Then— + +“I hope you won’t get to be too much of a young lady while you’re +gone, Virginia,” he said, “so you won’t care for hunting and—and +things like that, next summer.” + +“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t be a young lady for years. I hate to +even think of it! But we must go down, Don. The sun says five o’clock, +and it’s my last evening with father.” + +Her gray eyes, thoughtful and almost sad, swept the country before +her. + +“I hate to leave you all,” she said softly, a little catch in her +voice. “The valley and the creek and the cottonwoods and the +prairie—all of you. And, most of all, the foot-hills. You know, Don,” +she continued, turning toward him, “I think I like the foot-hills +best. They’re so sort of friendly, and they don’t make you feel little +like the mountains. You know what I mean!” + +He nodded with quick understanding. They turned their horses to look +at the peaks towering above them. + +“Sometimes they really scare me,” she said almost in a whisper. +“They’re so big, and look as though they knew so many things. +Sometimes I wish they’d talk, and then I know if they did, I’d run and +hide, I’d be so frightened at what they were going to say.” Her eyes +left the mountains and swept across the nearer hills. Suddenly she +grasped his arm, all excitement. “Hst, Don!” she whispered, her eyes +gleaming. “There! Behind that clump of pine on the range! Not a +quarter of a mile away! Bess and the new colt! I know the way she +holds her head. Wait a minute! There she is! She’s seen us, and there +she goes!” + +With a wild snort, which they could hear distinctly in the clear air, +and a mad kick of the heels, the horse tore away across the range, her +colt trying manfully with his long ungainly legs to keep near his +mother. Months on the range had transformed Bess from a corral pet to +a wild steed, suspicious even of her mistress, and mindful only of her +safety and that of her colt. + +“A nice colt,” said Don, “and now she’s down this far she won’t go far +away. Doesn’t your father brand this week? They’ll probably mark the +little fellow with the rest.” + +“Yes, I suppose they will. That’s one thing I can’t bear to see—the +branding. Father and Jim will be so glad to know about the colt. You +can break it for me, Don, when it’s two years old.” + +“All right, I’ll not forget,” he promised. + +Then they turned again, and rode down the hill into the valley. This +time they did not ford the creek, but turned north, following an old +trail up the valley and through another gap in the hills a mile above. +This brought them again to the open, where Virginia’s home lay—a long, +rambling house with its back against the foot-hills and its front +looking westward across the prairie. Tall cottonwoods shaded the brown +road that led to it; and down this road, beneath the trees, they rode, +more slowly now. + +A tall man, reading on the broad front porch, rose as they drew rein +under the cottonwoods. + +“Come in to supper, Don,” he called cordially. “It’s all ready, and +we’re glad to have you.” + +“Thank you, Mr. Hunter, but I can’t. I’ve got to be making for home. +Good-by, Virginia,” he said, jumping from his horse to shake hands +with her, as she stood beside her father. “I’m going to be lonesome +without you. Don’t forget us, will you?” + +“Good-by, Don.” She had the same little catch in her voice as upon the +hills, and her eyes were grave again. “I’ll miss you, and, of course, +I won’t forget. And, Don,” she called, as he swung himself into his +saddle and galloped away, “remember, I’ll not be a young lady when I +come back!” + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + + +In the mountain country the twilights are longer and the sunset colors +lovelier than anywhere else. Long after Virginia and her father, +supper over, had come out upon the porch to sit together, the golden +light lingered in the western sky, making more blue the far distant +mountains, throwing the prairie into shadow, and casting upon the +nearer eastern foot-hills a strange, almost violet glow. Slowly the +gold changed to the deep, almost transparent blue of the mountain sky +at night. The sunset light faded to give place to the stars, which, +when the twilight was almost gone, seemed to shine out all at once, as +if fearful of the sunset’s lingering too long. + +It was very still everywhere. Virginia sat in her favorite way—on a +low stool by her father’s chair, her head upon his knees, his hand in +hers. Together they watched the light fade and the stars come out, as +they had done for so many nights. No sound anywhere, except Hannah’s +steps in the kitchen, an occasional distant laugh or song from the men +in the bunk-house, and the night noises—the stirring of the +cottonwoods and the singing of the insects. + +For a long time neither of them spoke, and the realization coming +closer every moment that this evening would be their last chance to +talk together for many months, did not seem to make conversation +easier. The big man in his chair was reviewing the years—thinking of +the time, twenty-five years back, when he had first come to this +country—then wild and unbroken like its own animals and roaming +horses. He had come like countless other young men, seeking a new +life, adventure, fortune; and he had stayed, having found an abundance +of the first two, and enough of the last. In the darkness he saw the +distant, widely separated lights of the homes on the prairie—that +prairie which he as a young man had ridden across, then +sagebrush-covered, the home of the antelope, the prairie dog, and the +rattler; now, intersected with irrigation ditches, covered with wheat +fields, dotted with homes. Yet the land possessed its old charm for +him. It was still a big country. The mountains had not changed; the +plains, though different in feature, stretched as wide; the sky was as +vast. He loved this land, so much that it had become a part of him; +but his little daughter at his feet he was sending away that she might +know another life. + +He looked down at her. She was thinking, too—filled with a great +desire to stay in her own dear, Western country, and with another as +great to experience all the new things which this year was to bring +her. Homesickness and anticipation were fighting hard. She looked up +at her father, and even in the darkness saw the sadness in his face. +Lost in her own thoughts, she had left him out—him, whose loneliness +would be far greater than her own. She sprang up from her stool and +into his lap, as she had always done before the years had made her +such a big girl; and he held her close in his strong arms, while she +cried softly against his shoulder. + +“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Daddy, dear, do you +suppose people often want two different things so much that they can’t +tell which they want the most? Did you ever?” + +He held her closer. “Yes, little girl. I expect many people do that +very thing when it comes to deciding. And your dad is doing that very +thing this minute. He thinks he wants to keep you right here with him, +but he knows away down deep that he wouldn’t let you stay if he could. +He knows he wants his little daughter to go away to her mother’s +school, and to have everything this big world can give her.” + +“But it’s going to be so lonely for you, father. I’m so selfish, just +thinking of me, and never of you. I can’t leave you all alone!” And +the tears came again. + +Silently he smoothed her hair, until with a choking little laugh she +raised her head. + +“Don would call me a quitter, I guess,” she said. “I’m homesick +already, and he said to-day of course I’d be too plucky to be +homesick.” She laughed again. “I’m not going to cry another tear. And +there are so many things I want to ask you. Father, tell me truly, do +you like the folks in Vermont? Will I like them, do you think?” + +She waited for what seemed to her long minutes before he answered her. + +“Virginia,” he said at last, “your mother’s people are not like us +away out here. They are of New England stock and know nothing of our +life here, and it naturally seems rough to them. Your mother seemed to +have a different strain in her, else she had never come to Wyoming, +and stayed to marry a ranchman like me. But they are your mother’s +people, and as such I honor and respect them. And I want you to like +them, Virginia, for your mother’s sake.” + +“I will, father,” she whispered, clinging to him. “I promise I will!” +A minute later she laughed again. + +“I’ve written down all of Aunt Lou’s warnings, and I’ll learn them all +on the train. Are grandmother and Aunt Nan like Aunt Lou, father?” + +“I don’t quite remember. Your grandmother is a lady, and looks it. +Your Aunt Nan was but a little girl of your age when I saw her, but I +think she’s—well, a little less particular than your Aunt Lou, judging +from her letters. I have been wrong,” he continued after a pause, “in +not sending you on to them in the summers, but I could not go, and it +seemed a long way to have you go without me. And though we’ve always +asked them, none of them has ever come here, until your Aunt Lou came +this summer.” + +“Why didn’t mother go oftener?” + +He hesitated a moment. “Some way she didn’t want to leave for so long. +She loved this Big Horn country as much as you and I. We went together +once before you came; and then the summer you were five years old she +took you and went again. But that was the last time. Do you remember +it?” + +“I remember the tall clock on the stairs. I held the pendulum one day +and stopped it, and grandmother said it had not stopped for +seventy-five years. Then she scolded me, and told mother I was a +little wild thing—not a bit like my mother—and mother cried and said +she wished we were back home with you.” + +They were silent again, listening to the wind in the cottonwoods. A +long silence, then her father said quietly, + +“Your grandmother was wrong. You are very like your mother. But I am +sorry you had to look like your dad. It will disappoint them in +Vermont.” + +Virginia’s eyes in the darkness sparkled dangerously. She sat up very +straight. + +“If they don’t like the way I look,” she announced deliberately, “I’ll +go on to school, and not trouble them. I’m proud of looking like my +father, and I shall tell them so!” + +Her father watched her proudly. Back through the years he heard her +mother’s voice: + +“If they don’t like the man I’ve married, we’ll come back to the +mountains, and not torment them!” + +A creaking sound, occurring regularly at intervals of a few seconds, +came from the road back of the house leading to the ranch buildings, +and gradually grew more distinct. + +“Jim’s coming,” said Virginia. “He isn’t going on the round-up +to-morrow, is he, father? Don’t let him go, please!” + +The creaking drew nearer, accompanied by hard, exhausted breathing. + +“No,” her father told her, his voice low. “I’m not going to let him +go. He’s too worn out and old for that work, though it’s wonderful how +he rides with that wooden leg; but I can’t tell him he shan’t take +charge of the branding. He couldn’t stand that disappointment. Come +on, Jim,” he called cheerily. “We’re on the porch.” + +Virginia echoed her father. “Come and talk with us, Jim.” + +“I’m a-comin’,” came from the corner of the porch, “fast as this old +stick’ll bring me. Ain’t much the way I used to come, is it, sir? But +stick or leg, I’m good for years yet. Lord, Miss Virginia, I’m a-goin’ +to teach your boys and girls how to throw the rope!” And talking as he +wheezed and creaked, Jim reached the porch and laboriously stumped up +the steps. + +Jim was an old man, fifty of whose seventy years had been spent on the +ranges and ranches of the Great West. He had grown with the country, +moving westward as the tide moved, from Iowa to Kansas and Nebraska, +Nebraska to the Dakotas, and from the Dakotas to Montana and Wyoming. +No phase of the life West had escaped Jim. He had fought Indians and +cattle-thieves, punched cattle and homesteaded, prospected and mined. +Twenty years before, seeking more adventure, he had made his way on +horseback through the mountains to Arizona. Whether he found what he +sought, he never told, but five years later, he appeared again in +Wyoming, and since that time he had been with Mr. Hunter, whom he had +known when the country was new. Had his education equaled his honesty +and foresight, Mr. Hunter would long ago have made him foreman, for he +had no man whom he so fully trusted; but Jim’s limited knowledge of +letters and figures prohibited that distinction, and he remained in +one sense an ordinary ranch-hand, apparently content. Still, in +another sense, there was something unique about his position. The +younger men looked up to him, because of his wide experience and fund +of practical knowledge; Mr. Hunter relied implicitly upon his honesty, +and consulted him upon many matters of ranch management; and, next to +her father, there was no one in all Wyoming whom Virginia so loved. + +Jim had taught her to ride when her short legs could hardly reach the +stirrups; had told her the names of every tree, bush, and flower of +the hills and plains; and had been her guard and companion on +expeditions far and wide. As she grew older, he gave and taught her +how to use her small rifle; and of late had even given her lessons in +swinging the lasso in the corral, in which art he was dexterity +itself. And last winter Virginia had been able to repay him,—though +all through the years she had given him far more than she knew,—for in +the autumn round-up, Jim, galloping over the range, had been thrown +from his horse, when the animal stumbled into a prairie dog’s hole, +and the fall had broken his leg. + +The chagrin of the old cow-puncher was more pitiable to witness than +his pain, when the boys brought him in to the ranch. That he, the +veteran of the range, should have behaved thus—“like the rankest +tenderfoot”—was almost more than his proud spirit could withstand; and +later, when the doctor said the leg below the knee must be sacrificed, +the pain and loss, even the necessity of stumping about the rest of +his days, seemed as nothing to him compared with the shame he felt +over his “tenderfoot foolishness.” + +The winter days would have been endless, indeed, had not Virginia been +there to cheer him. Mr. Hunter would not hear of his staying in the +bunk-house, but brought him to the ranch,—and there, under Hannah’s +faithful nursing, and Virginia’s companionship, the old man forgot a +little of his chagrin and humiliation. Virginia read to him by the +hour, nearly everything she had, and her books were many. Seventy is a +strange age to receive a long-deferred education, but Jim profited by +every chapter, even from “David Copperfield,” who, he privately +thought, was “a white-livered kind of fool” and his patience in +listening to David, Virginia rewarded by the convict scene in her own +dear “Great Expectations,” or by “Treasure Island,” both of which he +never tired. + +Then, when he was able to sit up, even to stump about a little, +Virginia, having reviewed the venture in her own mind, suggested +bravely one day that he learn to read, for he barely knew his letters, +so that while she was at school the hours might not drag so wearily +for him. A little to her surprise, the old man assented eagerly, and +took his first lesson that very hour, He learned rapidly, to write as +well as read, and now that his labors on the ranch were so impaired he +had found it a blessing, indeed. + +Of Jim’s early life no one knew. He was always reticent concerning it, +and no one safely tried to penetrate his reserve. His accent betokened +Scotch ancestry, but his birth-place, his parents, and his name were +alike a mystery. He was known to miles of country as “Jim.” That was +all. Enough, he said. + +As he stood there in the open doorway, the light falling upon his bent +figure, and bronzed, bearded face, Virginia realized with a quick pang +of how much of her life Jim had been the center. She realized, too, +how worn he looked, and how out of breath he was, and she sprang from +her father’s lap. + +“Come in, Jim,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “It’s cold out +here. Come, father.” + +They went into the big, low-storied living-room, where Hannah had +lighted a fire in the great stone fire-place. The spruce logs were +burning brightly, and Virginia drew her father’s big arm-chair toward +the fire. + +“Sit here, Jim, where it’s warm, and rest.” + +Jim about to sit down, hesitated. “You see, sir, I come up on an +errand with a message from the boys. If it’s all well and pleasin’ to +you both, they’d like to beg permission to come up for a minute. You +see, they’re leavin’ early in the mornin’ for the round-up, and they +want to wish Miss Virginia good luck. If they was to come, I wasn’t to +go back.” + +“Why, of course, they’re to come!” cried Virginia, while her father +nodded his approval. “I’d forgotten they go so early on the range, and +I wouldn’t go for the world without seeing them all. Sit down, Jim. +Do! Will they be right up?” + +Jim sank gratefully into the big chair, placed his broad-brimmed hat +on his knee, and gave a final twist to his clean bandanna. + +“They was a-sprucin’ up when I left the bunk-house, kind o’ reckonin’ +on your sayin’ to come along. Beats all how walkin’ with a stick takes +your wind.” He was still breathing hard. Virginia watched him +anxiously. + +“Jim,” said Mr. Hunter, after a pause, “I wish you’d look out for the +place to-morrow. I’ve some matters in town to attend to after taking +Virginia in for the train, and it may be late when I get back. A man +from Willow Creek thought he’d be around this week to look at some +sheep. I’m thinking of selling one hundred or so of that last year +lot, and I’ll leave the choice and price to your judgment.” + +“All right, sir.” This helped matters considerably. Jim himself had +decided that he could not go upon the range, but here was afforded a +valid excuse to give the boys. His tired face brightened. + +“And, Jim,” continued Virginia, eagerly, “I almost forgot to tell you. +Don and I spied Bess and the colt to-day on the lower range, not two +miles from the corral. The colt’s black like Bess, and a darling! +Don’t hurt it any more than you can help when you brand it, will you, +Jim? Does it hurt much, do you suppose?” + +“Sho’ now, don’t you worry, Miss Virginia. You see, brandin’s like +most other things that don’t hurt nearly so much as you think they’re +goin’ to. It ain’t bad after a minute. I’ll be careful of the little +fellow. Here come the boys.” + +Five stalwart forms passed the window and came to the porch, cleaning +their feet carefully upon the iron mud-scraper screwed to the side of +the lowest step for that very purpose. Then, a little embarrassed, +they filed up the steps and into the house, the two last bearing +between them a large box which they placed near the door. They were +hardy men, used to a rough life, of ages varying from young Dick +Norton, who was eighteen and a newcomer, to John Weeks, the foreman, a +man of fifty. Roughly dressed though they were, in flannel shirts and +knee-boots, they were clean, having, as Jim said, “spruced up” for the +occasion. For a moment they stood ill at ease, sombreros in their +hands, but only for a moment, for Mr. Hunter found them chairs, +talking meanwhile of the round-up, and Virginia ran to the kitchen to +ask Hannah for cider and gingerbread. + +“Come in yourself, Hannah,” she said to the kind soul, who sat by the +spotless pine table, knitting busily; and she begged until Hannah +changed her apron and joined the circle about the fire. + +“Joe,” said Virginia to a big man of thirty, whose feet worried him +because they demanded so much room. “Joe, you’ll keep an eye on the +littlest pup, won’t you? He has a lump in his throat, and the others +pick on him. I wish you’d rub the lump with liniment; and don’t forget +to tell me how he is.” + +Joe promised. If the service had been for the Queen, he could not have +been more honored. + +“And, Alec,” to a tall Scotchman, who had a wife and family in the +nearest town, “I’m leaving my black Sampson and all his clothes to +little David. You’ll take them when you go in Saturday night?” + +Alec beamed his thanks. + +“I wish you’d use Pedro all you can, Dick.” This to the young lad, who +colored and smiled. “He gets sore if he isn’t used; and give him some +sugar now and then for me. He’ll miss me at first.” + +She turned toward the farthest corner of the room where a man sat +apart from the others—a man with a kind, almost sad face, upon the +features of which the town saloon had left its mark. This was William, +one of the best cattle hands in the county when he could keep away +from town. To every one but Virginia he was “Bill,” but Virginia said +he needed to be called William. + +“William,” she said, “if you kill any snakes, I wish you’d save me the +rattles. I’m collecting them. And, if you have any time, I wish you’d +plant some perennial things in the bed under my window, so they’ll +bloom early in June. You choose whatever you like. It’ll be more fun +not to know, and then see them all in blossom when I get home. Don’t +you think it would be a good plan?” + +William’s tired face, on which were written the records of many hopes +and failures, grew so bright with interest that he did not look like +“Bill” at all. Moreover, he loved flowers. + +“Just the thing, Miss Virginia,” he said. “I’ll have it ready for you +in June, and I won’t forget them rattles, either.” + +She thanked him. “And oh, Mr. Weeks,” she said, for she dignified the +foreman by a title, “you won’t let father work too hard, will you? +Because I shall worry if you don’t promise me.” + +So the delighted Mr. Weeks promised, while they all laughed. Then the +men looked from one another to Jim with shy, embarrassed glances, as +though they were waiting for something. Jim was equal to the occasion. + +“You, Joe and Dick, bring that box in front of the fire while I get +up.” + +Joe and Dick, glad of something to do, obeyed, lifting the big box +before the fire, while Virginia stared in surprise, and her father +smiled, watching her. Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his +chair and stood facing his audience, but his eyes were on Virginia. + +“Miss Virginia,” he began, while the boys fumbled with their hats, +“none of us ain’t forgot what you’ve been to us while you’ve been +a-growin’ up. Some of us have been here a good while, and some ain’t +been so long, but we’ve all been long enough to think a deal o’ you. +You’ve always treated us like gentlemen, and we ain’t them that +forget. This old ranch ain’t goin’ to seem the same without you, but +we’re glad you’re goin’ to be educated in that school your mother went +to, for those of us who knowed her, knowed a lady. + +“Now there ain’t a better rider in all this country than yourself, +Miss Virginia, and I can just see how you’ll make them Easterners’ +eyes stick out. And we boys don’t want you to have to ride on any o’ +them flat-seated English saddles, that ain’t fit for any one but a +tenderfoot. So we’ve just took the liberty of gettin’ you a little +remembrance of us. Joe and Dick, suppose you lift the cover, and show +Miss Virginia her present.” + +[Illustration: “Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair +and stood facing his audience.”] + +Joe and Dick raised the cover of the box, and lifted from it before +Virginia’s shining eyes a new Western saddle. It was made from russet +leather with trappings complete, and could not be surpassed in design +and workmanship. On its brass-topped saddle-horn were engraved the +letters “V. H.”; the same monogram was embroidered on the four corners +of the heavy brown saddle blanket; and the brass of the bridle, +suspended from the saddle-horn, was cunningly engraved with the same +design. + +Virginia gazed at the saddle, at her father, at the men, one by one, +at Hannah, who was wiping her eyes; and then suddenly the tears came +into her own eyes, and her voice, when she tried to thank them, broke +at every word. + +“Oh, I—just—can’t—thank—you—” she managed to say, while the men’s +rough faces twitched, and tears filled the furrows of Jim’s cheeks, +“but I’ll—never forget you, never, because you’re my very best +friends!” And she went from one to the other, shaking hands with each, +while her father followed her example, for he was quite as touched and +delighted as she. + +Then, after she had examined all over again every part of the saddle; +after Jim had explained how they were to pack and ship it so that it +would reach school by the time she arrived; after gingerbread and +cider had helped them all to regain composure, Virginia went to her +room and returned with a tiny box, and her fountain pen. + +“Aunt Lou says that every girl who goes away to school must have +calling cards,” she explained, “and I’m going to use mine for the very +first time to-night to write my address for each one of you. And every +time you look at it, please remember how much I thank you every one, +and how much I’m missing you.” + +So when the men went back to the bunk-house, after an hour they would +always remember, each carried in the pocket of his flannel shirt a +calling-card, given by a “lady” to a “gentleman.” + +“Oh, daddy,” cried Virginia, as the last faint creak of Jim’s stick +died away on the road to the bunk-house. “Oh, daddy, why did they ever +do it for me? And I’ve never done a thing for them, except perhaps +reading to Jim!” + +Her father gathered her in his lap for the last few minutes before the +fire. + +“Virginia,” he said, “I learned long ago that we often help others +most by just being ourselves. When you grow older, perhaps you’ll +understand what the men mean.” They sat silently for a while, neither +wanting to leave the fire and each other. From the bunk-house came the +sound of voices singing some lusty song of the range. The boys +apparently were happy, too. “And now, little girl, it’s a long drive +to-morrow, and we must be off early. Kiss your father, and run to +bed.” + +Closely she clung to him, and kissed him again and again; but when the +lump in her throat threatened to burst with bigness, she ran to her +own room, leaving her father to watch the fire die away and to think +of many things. Pinned to her pillow, she found a brown paper parcel, +with “From Hannah” written in ungainly characters upon it. Inside were +red mittens, knitted by the same rough fingers that had penned the +words. The lump in Virginia’s throat swelled bigger. She ran across +the hall to the little room where Hannah, muffled in flannel gown and +night-cap, lay in bed, and kissed her gratefully. + +“Run to bed, dearie,” muttered the old servant. “It’s cold these +nights in the mountains.” + +But Virginia’s mind was too full of thoughts for sleep. She reviewed +her ride with Donald, her talk with her father, all the dear events of +the evening with its crowning joy. It seemed hours when she heard her +father go to his room, and yet she could not sleep. At last she sat up +in bed, bundling the covers about her, for the air was cold, and +looked out of her window. At night the mountains seemed nearer still, +and more friendly—more protecting, less strange and secretive. She +looked at them wondering. Did they really know all things? Were they +millions of years old, as she had read? Did they care at all for +people who looked at them, and wondered, and wanted to be like them? + +“To-night I half believe you do care,” she whispered. “Anyway, I’m not +frightened of you at all. And oh, do take care of those I love till I +come back again!” + +Then she lay down again, and soon was fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE JOURNEY EAST + + +As the great Puget Sound Limited was about to pull out of the little +Wyoming way-station to which Virginia and her father had driven in the +early morning, a white-haired, soldierly looking gentleman in gray +overcoat and traveling cap watched with amused interest a gray-eyed +girl in a blue suit, who, leaning over the railing of the observation +car, gave hurried and excited requests to her father who stood alone +on the station platform. + +“Father, dear,” she begged, “don’t work too hard or read too late at +night; and don’t forget to take the indigestion tablets. And, father, +I think it would be fine if Jim could have my room when it gets cold. +The bunk-house is bad for his rheumatism. And I do hope you can keep +William away from town. You’ll try hard, won’t you?” The train slowly +began to move, but she must say one thing more. “Daddy,” she called, +beckoning him nearer, and making a trumpet of her hands; “daddy, you +trust me, don’t you, to use my judgment about talking on the journey?” + +The man on the platform smiled and nodded. Then, taking his +handkerchief from his pocket, he waved to his little daughter, who, +waving her own, watched him until the now rapidly moving train quite +hid his lonely figure from sight. Then she sighed, tucked her +handkerchief in her coat pocket, and sat down beside the old +gentleman, who was apparently still amused and interested, perhaps +also touched. + +“Well,” he heard her say to herself with a little break in her voice, +“it’s all over and it’s just begun.” Then she settled herself back in +her chair, while her neighbor wondered at this somewhat puzzling +remark. + +“How can it be all over and at the same time just begun, my dear?” he +ventured to ask, his kind blue eyes studying her face. + +Virginia looked at him. They two were quite alone on the platform. The +old gentleman, having heard her last request of her father, concluded +that she was using her judgment and deciding whether or not she had +best talk to him. His conclusion was quite right. “He certainly is +oldish, and very kind looking,” Virginia was thinking. “I guess it +wouldn’t be familiar.” + +“Why, you see, sir,” she answered, having in her own mind satisfied +herself and her father, and allowing herself to forget all about Aunt +Lou, “it’s all over because I’ve said good-by to father, and it’s just +begun—that is, the making of me is just begun—because I’m on my way +East to school.” + +“So going East to school is going to be the making of you, is it?” + +“That’s what Aunt Lou says; and, besides, ‘a very broadening +experience.’” + +“I see; and who is Aunt Lou?” + +“She’s my mother’s sister from Vermont. You see, my mother lived in +Vermont when she was a girl, and went to St. Helen’s, too; but when +she got older, she came to Wyoming to teach school and married my +father. My mother is dead, sir,” she finished softly. + +His eyes grew kinder than ever. “I’m sorry for that,” he said softly, +too. + +She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly even +Aunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped he +was going all the way East. + +The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was no +station near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentleman +followed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a dark +object was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near it +slowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia’s +quick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder was +branded a horseshoe with a “C” in the center. + +“My!” she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companion +in the gray coat. “That’s a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range. +Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He’ll +say there’s rustlers around Elk Creek.” She laughed. + +“How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what’s a +rustler?” + +Virginia laughed again. “You’re like me,” she said frankly. “I ask +questions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman who +lives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to him +because I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a +‘C’ in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. There +used to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their own +brands on young cattle and colts. But there aren’t any more now, you +see, because the range isn’t open like it used to be. There are too +many people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattle +which are branded already. You see,” she went on, “Mr. Cunningham’s +mean, though he’s very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattle +ever so many times even when they’re not branding or shipping, so he +can tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, because +people in our country think it’s very small to make such a fuss over +one steer when you have hundreds.” + +“I should think so. And how many cattle have you?” + +“Oh, not so many now as we used to have,” she explained, while he +listened interested. “You see, sir, the range isn’t so open any more, +because people are taking up the land from the government every year; +and so there isn’t so much room for the cattle. Besides, we’ve been +irrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and by +almost all the cattle land that’s good for grain will be gone. The +boys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps a +thousand. Does that seem many to you?” she added, because the old +gentleman looked go surprised. + +Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he was +accustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New England +pasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the land +about, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wished +he were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived in +Boston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his married +daughter, and was now returning home. “Then he will go all the way,” +thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that he +looked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in the +Civil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel Carver +Standish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one of +her new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, she +concluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quite +simply: + +“And my name is Virginia Hunter,” which pleased the old Colonel far +better than a calling card would have done. + +“And now, Miss Virginia,” he said, “if you will pardon me for what +looks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? I +couldn’t exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hope +you’ll excuse me?” + +Virginia smiled. She did enjoy being treated like a young lady. +“Certainly,” she said. And she told him all about poor old Jim, his +wooden leg, the accident that necessitated it, his learning to read, +which greatly interested the old Colonel, and his kindness to her ever +since she was a little girl. Then, seeing that he really liked to +know, she told him of the evening before, and the new saddle which the +boys had given her. + +“Capital!” cried the Colonel, slapping his knee in his excitement, +quite to the amusement of a little boy, who had come out-of-doors and +who sat with his mother on the other side of the platform. “Capital! +Just what they should have done, too! They must be fine fellows. I’d +like to know them.” + +“Oh, you would like them!” she told him. “I know you would! I love +them all, but Jim the best. And this morning, Colonel Standish” (for +if he called her by name she must return the courtesy), “this morning +when the other men had all gone to the round-up, Jim harnessed the +horses for father to drive me to the station. But he felt so bad to +have me go away that he couldn’t bear to bring the horses up to the +door, so he tied them and called to father; and when we drove away and +I looked back, he was leaning all alone against the bunk-house. And, +some way, I think he was crying.” + +She looked up at the Colonel, her eyes filled with tears. The Colonel +slapped his knee again, and blew his nose vigorously. + +“I shouldn’t wonder a bit if that’s what he was doing, Miss Virginia,” +he said. “Fine old man! And what about William?” he asked after a few +moments. + +“Oh, William,” said Virginia. “You’d like William; and I’m sure you +wouldn’t call him ‘Bill’ like some do. It makes such a difference to +him! If you call him ‘Bill’ most of the time, he’s just Bill, and it’s +a lot easier for him to stay around the saloon. But if you say +‘William,’ it makes it easier for him to keep away—he told me so one +day. And in his spare time, he loves to take care of flowers, and +plant vines and trees.” + +The Colonel liked William. Indeed, he liked him so thoroughly that he +asked question after question concerning him; and then about Alec and +Joe and Dick. It was amazing how the time flew! Another hour passed +before either of them imagined it. The country was changing. Already +it was becoming more open, less mountainous. Some peaks towered in the +distance—blue and hazy and snow-covered. + +“We can see those from home,” Virginia told the Colonel. “They’re the +highest in all the country round. They’re the last landmark of home +I’ll see, I suppose,” she finished wistfully, and was sorry when a +bend of the road hid them from sight. + +“You love the mountains?” he said, half-questioning. + +“Oh, yes,” she cried, “better than anything!” And then they talked of +the mountains, and of how different they were at different times, like +persons with joys and disappointments and ideals. How on some days +they seemed silent and reserved and solemn, and on others sunny and +joyous and almost friendly; and how at night one somehow felt better +acquainted with them than in the day-time. + +“But the foot-hills are always friendly,” Virginia told him. “And +they’re really more like people, because you can get acquainted with +them more easily. The mountains, after all, seem more like God. Don’t +you think so?” + +The Colonel did think so, most decidedly, now that he thought at all +about it. He admitted to himself that perhaps in his long journeys +across the mountains and through the foot-hills on his visits West, he +had not thought much about them, especially as related to himself. He +wished he had had this gray-eyed girl with him for she breathed the +very spirit of the country. It had been rare good fortune for him that +by chance he was standing on the platform when she said “Good-by” to +her father, else he had missed much. It was dinner time before either +of them realized how quickly the morning had passed; and Virginia ran +to wash her hands, after the Colonel had raised his cap with a +soldierly bow, saying that he hoped to see her again in the afternoon. + +He did see her again in the afternoon, for they discovered that their +sections were in the same car, in fact, directly opposite; and again +the next morning, until by the time they reached Omaha they were old +friends. They talked more about the country, which, after leaving the +mountains, was new to Virginia’s interested eyes; and then about +books; and after that about the war, the old soldier telling a most +flattering listener story after story of his experiences. + +The conductor, coming through the car with telegrams at Omaha, found +them both so interested that he was obliged to call her name twice +before her astonished ears rightly understood him. + +“Aren’t you Miss Virginia Hunter?” he asked amused. + +“Yes, sir,” she managed to say. “But it can’t be for me, is it? I +never had a telegram in my life.” + +“It’s for you,” he said, more amused than ever, while the Colonel +smiled, too, at her surprise, and left the yellow envelope in her lap. + +“Whom can it be from?” she asked herself, puzzled. “The spell of +having a real telegram is so nice that I almost hate to break it by +finding out. But I guess I’d best.” + +She tore open the envelope, and drew out the slip inside. When she had +read it, she gazed perplexed at the Colonel. She was half-troubled, +half-amused, but at length she laughed. + +“I’ll read it to you, I think,” she said, “because in a way it’s about +you.” The Colonel in his turn looked amazed. “You see,” she went on, +“it’s from my Aunt Lou, and she warned me about talking to strangers +on the way. I suppose she thought I’d forget, and so she sent this.” +She again unfolded the telegram, and read to him: + + “Los Angeles, Cal., Sept. 15. + + “I hope you are remembering instructions, and + having a pleasant journey. + + “Aunt Louise.” + +“But I’m sure she would approve of you,” she assured him; “and I’ve +talked with almost no one else, except the baby in the end of the car +and his mother; and babies certainly would be exempt, don’t you think? +No one could help talking to a baby.” + +He agreed with her. “Aren’t you going to send her a wire in return?” +he asked. + +“Why, I never thought of that. Could I? Is there time? What can I tell +her?” + +“Of course, you could, and there’s plenty of time. Ten minutes yet. +I’ll get you a blank, and you can be thinking what you’ll tell her.” + +While he was gone, Virginia studied her aunt’s message, and decided +upon her own. She was ready when he returned. + +“Don’t go away, Colonel Standish, please,” she said, when he would +have left her to complete her message. “I never sent a telegram +before, and besides I want you to tell me if you think this is all +right. I’ve said: + + “Delightful journey. No talking except with + baby, mother, and oldish gentleman.” + +The Colonel slapped his knee, and laughed. “Capital!” he said. +“Capital! You’ve got us all in.” He laughed again, but stopped as he +noted her puzzled expression. “Not satisfied, Miss Virginia?” + +“Not quite,” she admitted. “You see it doesn’t sound exactly honest. +I’ve said, ‘No talking ex-cept—’ Now that sounds as though I’d talked +only occasionally with the three of you, and most of the time sat by +myself, when really I’ve talked hours with you. I think I’ll change +the ‘No talking,’ and say, ‘Have talked with baby, mother, and oldish +gentleman.’ I’d feel better about it.” She paused, waiting his +approval. + +“If I’d feel better about it, Miss Virginia, I’d surely make the +change,” he said approvingly. “That queer thing inside of us that +tells us how to make ourselves most comfortable, is a pretty safe +guide to follow.” + +So she rewrote the message, while he waited, and while he went to +attend to its dispatch, wondered how Aunt Lou would feel when she +received it. + + * * * * * + +At Chicago, Miss Cobb, a friend of Aunt Louise, met her and took her +across the city to the station from which she was to take the Eastern +train; and though Virginia had said “Good-by” to the Colonel until +they should again meet two hours later, it so happened that he was in +the very bus which took them with others across the city. Virginia +introduced him to Miss Cobb, and under her breath, while the Colonel +was looking out of the window, asked if Aunt Lou could possibly object +to her talking with such an evident gentleman. Miss Cobb, who, +perhaps, fortunately for herself, was not quite so particular as +Virginia’s aunt, felt very sure there could not be the slightest +objection, of which she was more than ever convinced after a half +hour’s talk with the gentleman in question. + +So Virginia with a clear conscience continued her journey from Chicago +on, and enjoyed the Colonel more than ever. As they went through the +Berkshires on the last day of the journey, she told him more about +Donald, his experience at school, and how he couldn’t seem to feel at +home. + +“I wish my grandson knew that fellow,” said the old gentleman. “Just +what he needs. Too much fol-de-rol in bringing up boys now-a-days, +Miss Virginia. The world’s made too easy for them, altogether too +easy!” And he slapped his knee vigorously to emphasize his remark. “By +the way, what’s the name of that school of yours?” + +“St. Helen’s at Hillcrest, sir.” + +“Exactly. Just what I thought you told me the first day I saw you. If +I’m not mistaken, that’s in the neighborhood of the very school that +grandson of mine attends. And if you’ll allow me, Miss Virginia, some +day when I’m there I’m going to bring that boy of mine over to see +you. You’d do him good; and I want him to see a girl who thinks of +something besides furbelows.” + +Virginia smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing the Colonel again. + +“I’d love to have you come to see me,” she said, “and bring him, too, +if he’d like to come. What is his name, and how old is he?” + +“Why, he has my name, the third one of the family, Carver Standish, +and he’s just turned seventeen. He has two more years at school, and +then he goes up to Williams where his father and I were educated. He’s +a good lad, Miss Virginia, if they don’t spoil him with too much +attention and too much society. I tell you these boys of to-day get +too much attention and too few hard knocks. I want this fellow to be a +man. He’s the only grandson I’ve got.” + +So they talked while the train bore them nearer and nearer Springfield +where Virginia’s grandmother and aunt were to meet her. At last there +were but a few minutes left, and she ran to wash and brush her hair, +so that she might carry out the first of Aunt Lou’s instructions: “Be +sure you are tidy when you meet your grandmother.” + +She was very “tidy,” at least so the Colonel thought, when, with +freshly brushed suit and hat, new gloves and little silk umbrella, she +stood with beating heart and wide-open, half-frightened eyes on the +platform of the slowly moving train. The Colonel was behind her with +her bag. + +“You see,” she told him, a little tremulously, “I’m so anxious for +them to approve of me.” + +“Well, if they don’t—” he ejaculated almost angry, and perhaps it was +just as well that the train stopped that moment. + +Virginia’s eyes were searching the faces about her for those who might +be her grandmother and aunt; and, at the same time, farther up the +platform, the eyes of a stately, white-haired lady in black and of a +fresh-faced younger woman in blue were searching for a certain little +girl whom they had not seen for years. + +“There she is, mother,” cried the younger woman at last, quickening +her steps, “there in the blue suit. She walks with her head high just +as Mary did.” + +Tears came into the eyes of the white-haired lady. “But there’s a +gentleman with her, Nan. Who can he be?” + +“Oh, probably just some one she’s met. If she’s like her mother, she’d +be sure to meet some one.” + +She hurried forward, and so sure was she that the girl in the blue +suit was Virginia, that she put both arms around her, and kissed her +at once without saying a word. + +“Oh, Aunt Nan,” breathed Virginia, her heart beating less fast. She +knew that moment that she should love Aunt Nan. But her heart beat +fast again, as Aunt Nan drew her forward to meet her grandmother, who +was drawing near more slowly. + +“And this is Virginia,” said that lady, extending her perfectly gloved +hand, and kissing Virginia’s cheek. “I am glad to see you, my dear. +Mary’s little girl!” she murmured to herself, and at that tears came +again to her eyes. + +Virginia liked her for the tears, but could somehow find nothing to +say in response to her grandmother’s greeting. She stood embarrassed; +and then all at once she remembered the Colonel. He stood, hat in +hand, with her bag—a soldierly, dignified figure, who must impress her +grandmother. + +“I—I beg your pardon, grandmother,” she stammered. “This is my friend, +Colonel Standish, who has been kind to me on the way.” + +Her grandmother acknowledged the introduction, her Aunt Nan also. The +Colonel shook hands with Virginia, and reiterated his intention to +call upon her at school. “With your permission, my dear madam,” he +added, by his cultured manner quite convincing Mrs. Webster that he +was a gentleman. Then he hurried aboard his train, and left a +gray-eyed girl with a heart beating tumultuously inside a blue suit to +go on a waiting northbound train toward Vermont. As his train pulled +out from the station, the Colonel completed his sentence. + +“If they don’t approve of that little girl,” he said to himself, with +an emphatic slap upon his knee; “if they don’t approve of her, then +they’re-they’re hopeless, as that grandson of mine says, and I +shouldn’t care to make their acquaintance further.” + +Meanwhile Virginia was fixedly gazing out of the window, as the train, +leaving Springfield, carried them northward. She tried to be +interested in the strange, new country about her; but some way, +instead of the crimson maples and yellow goldenrod, there would come +before her eyes a cottonwood bordered creek, a gap between brown +foothills, a stretch of rolling prairie land, black and green and +gold, and in the distance the hazy, snow-covered summits of far away +mountains. But with the picture came again Donald’s words—words that +made her swallow the lump in her throat, and smile at her grandmother +and Aunt Nan. + +“No, the East isn’t like this—not a bit, and maybe you won’t like it; +but you’re too plucky to be homesick, Virginia!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + + +It was not until the afternoon of the second day in Vermont that +Virginia wrote her father. The evening before she had said +“Good-night” as early as she thought polite to her grandmother, Aunt +Nan, and the minister who had come to call, and, upon being asked, +willingly stayed to tea, and had gone up-stairs to the room which had +been her mother’s to write her father about everything. But somehow +the words would not come, though she sat for an hour at the quaint +little mahogany desk and tried to write; and it all ended by her going +to bed, holding close her mother’s old copy of “Scottish Chiefs,” +which Aunt Nan had placed in her room, and forgetting in sleep the +thoughts that would come in spite of her. + +But now that the hardest first night was over, and the first forenoon, +which she had spent walking with Aunt Nan, had gone, she must write +him all about it. She sat down again at the quaint little desk, over +which hung the picture of a girl of sixteen with clear, frank eyes, +and began: + + “Webster, Vermont, Sept. 18, 19— + + “Father dearest: + + “Do you remember how the poor queen in the fairy tale dreaded + to meet the dwarf because she knew she didn’t know his name? + Well, that was just like me when the train was near + Springfield. If it hadn’t been for the dear Colonel, whom I + told you about in my train letter, I don’t believe I could + ever have been as calm as I truly _outwardly_ was; because, + daddy, I felt as though I didn’t know grandmother at all, any + more than the poor queen, and I did dread seeing her. But I + was tidy, and my heart didn’t beat on the outside, for which + blessings I could well be thankful. The Colonel carried my bag + for me, and that made it easier, for, of course, family pride + forbade my allowing him to see that my grandmother and I + weren’t really well acquainted. + + “And, after all, it wasn’t so bad. Aunt Nan is dear, father, + like mother, I know, and I love her already. She is not so + _proper_ as grandmother. _I_ kissed Aunt Nan, and + _grandmother_ kissed me. That explains the way they made me + feel, Grandmother _is_ handsome, isn’t she? And stately, like + an old portrait. But when you talk with her you feel as though + there were some one else inside your skin. + + “I do hope they don’t disapprove of me now, and will by and by + care for me for mother’s sake and yours. Aunt Nan likes me + now, I am sure, and grandmother, I am reasonably sure, doesn’t + dislike me, though I think she considers me somewhat puzzling. + She looks at me sometimes like we used to look at the tame + foxes, when we weren’t sure what they were going to do next. + + “Do you remember how the country looked coming from + Springfield to Webster, when you came with mother? It was in + September when you came, you said, and I remembered it. The + creeks, which they call ‘brooks’ here, are lovely, though not + so swift as ours, and the oaks and maples are a wonderful + color in among the fir trees. I know you remember the + goldenrod and asters, because mother always told about them. + Didn’t you miss the quaking-asps, father? I did the first + thing, and asked grandmother about them,—if none grew in + Vermont. She didn’t know what I was talking about. She had no + idea it was a tree, and thought I meant a bug, like that which + killed poor Cleopatra. But I missed them, and I think the fall + is sadder without them, because they are always so merry. I + missed the cottonwoods, too. Aunt Nan said there were a few of + those in New England, but they called them Carolina poplars. + + “The little villages in among the hills are pretty, aren’t + they?—so clean and white—but they don’t seem to care about the + rest of the world at all, it seems to me. Webster is like + that, too, I think, though it is lovely. If you remember how + it looked when you were here, then I don’t need to describe + it, for Aunt Nan says it hasn’t changed any. When we reached + here, and were driving up towards the house, grandmother asked + me how I liked Webster, and I said it was beautiful, but it + seemed very small. She couldn’t understand me at all, and said + she didn’t see how it could seem small to me when we didn’t + live in a town at all in Wyoming. I was afraid I had been + impolite, and I was just trying to explain that I meant it + seemed shut in because you couldn’t see the country all around + like you could at home, when we stopped at the house, and saw + a gentleman coming toward us with a black suit and a cane. + Grandmother looked at Aunt Nan, and Aunt Nan at grandmother, + and they both said at once, ‘Dr. Baxter!’ + + “‘We must invite him to tea,’ said grandmother. ‘It would + never do not to!’ + + “‘Nonsense!’ said Aunt Nan. ‘I don’t see why.’ + + “Well, he came up to the carriage just as grandmother finished + whispering, ‘Our pastor, Virginia,’ and handed grandmother + out, and then Aunt Nan, and lastly me. I tried to be + especially polite when grandmother introduced me, remembering + how she had warned me that he was the minister; but somehow + all I could think of was the parson in the ‘Birds of + Killingworth,’ because, when I first saw him coming down the + street, he was hitting the goldenrod with his cane, and some + way I just know he preaches about the ‘wrath of God,’ too, + just like the Killingworth parson. He did stay to tea, though + I’m sure Aunt Nan didn’t want him, and I, not being used to + ministers, didn’t want him either; but I put on one of my new + dresses, as grandmother said, and tried to be an asset and not + a liability. But, father, I know grandmother was troubled, + and, in a way, displeased, because of the following incident: + + “Dr. Baxter is bald and wears eye-glasses on a string, and the + end of his nose quivers like a rabbit’s, and he rubs his + hands, which are rather plump, together a great deal. Some + way, father, you just feel as though he didn’t care away down + deep about you at all, but was just curious. I am sorry if I + am wrong about him, but I can’t help feeling that way. All + through tea he talked about the Christianizing of Korea, and + the increased sale of the Bible, and how terrible it was that + China wasn’t going to make Christianity the state religion. He + didn’t pay much attention to me, and I thought he had + forgotten all about me, when all at once he looked at me + across the table and said: + + “‘And to what church do you belong, Miss Virginia?’ + + “Poor grandmother looked so uncomfortable that I felt sorry + for her, and after I had said, ‘I don’t belong to any, Dr. + Baxter,’ she tried to explain about our living on a ‘large + farm’ (I don’t believe grandmother thinks ranches are real + _proper_) and not being near a church. + + “Aunt Nan tried to change the subject, but Dr. Baxter just + wouldn’t have it changed, and after looking at me thoughtfully + for a few moments, he said: + + “‘I wonder that our Home Mission Board does not send + candidates to that needy field. Do you have no traveling + preachers, Miss Virginia?’ + + “Grandmother looked so uneasy that I did try to say just the + right thing, father, but I guess I made a mistake, because I + told him that we did have traveling preachers sometimes, only + we didn’t feel that we needed just the kind of preaching they + gave. His nose quivered more than ever, and grandmother tried + to explain again only she didn’t know how, and at last he + said: + + “‘If the Word is not appreciated in Wyoming, it is elsewhere, + thank God!’—just as though Wyoming were a wilderness where + ‘heathen in their blindness bow down to wood and stone.’ + Grandmother looked more mortified than ever, and the silence + grew so heavy that you could hear it whirring in your ears. By + and by we did leave the table, and then I excused myself to + write to you, but I couldn’t seem to write at all, I felt so + troubled about mortifying poor grandmother. This morning I + thought she would speak of it, but she didn’t, and perhaps, if + I make no more slips, she will forget about it. It is very + difficult to be a constant credit to one’s family, especially + when it requires so much forethought. + + “Grandmother feels very bad because she has no son to carry on + the family name. When she and Aunt Nan and Aunt Lou die, she + says ‘the name will vanish from this town where it has been + looked up to for two hundred years.’ + + “It makes a great difference in Webster _how_ one does + things—even more than _what_ one does. This morning, when Aunt + Nan and I were going to walk, Aunt Nan said, ‘I think we’ll + run in to see Mrs. Dexter, mother. She’ll want to see + Virginia.’ And grandmother said, ‘Not in the morning, Nan. It + would never do!’ So we have to go in the afternoon. I told + Aunt Nan when we were walking that at home we called on our + friends any time, and she said she wished she lived in + Wyoming! _She_ could ‘belong’ to us, father, but I’m afraid + grandmother never could enjoy Jim and William and the others. + She is too Websterized. + + “Wasn’t it thoughtful of Aunt Nan to put mother’s old + ‘Scottish Chiefs’ on my table? It has all her markings in it. + Last night—but I won’t tell you, because you will think I am + homesick, and I’m not! Please tell Don. + + “Do you remember the view of the Green Mountains from the + window in mother’s room? I can see them now as I write you. + They are beautiful, but so dressed up with trees that they + don’t seem so friendly and honest as our little brown + foot-hills. Oh, daddy, I do miss the mountains so, and our + great big country! Last night when I tried to write you and + couldn’t, I stood by the window and watched the moon come up + over the hills; and I couldn’t think of anything but a poem + that kept running through my head like this: + + To gaze on the mountains with those you love + Inspires you to do right; + But the hills of Vermont without those you love + Are but a sorry sight! + + “Aunt Nan is waiting for me down-stairs. I can hear her and + grandmother talking together. Oh, I wonder if they do approve + of me! + + “Father, dear, give my love to Jim and Hannah and Mr. Weeks + and Alec and William and Joe and Dick and all the Keiths, and + tell them I think of them every day. Give Pedro sugar as often + as you remember, won’t you?—and if the lump in the littlest + collie’s throat doesn’t go away soon, please kill him, because + I don’t want him to suffer. + + “I do love you so much, father dearest, that if I tell you any + more about it, I’ll quite break my promise to myself. + + “Virginia. + + “P. S. Just think, daddy, Aunt Nan says you must come East + in June to get me and visit them. She said also when we + were walking that you were a fine-looking man; and I told + her that you were not only that, but that you were fine + all the way through, and that every one in Sheridan County + knew it!—V. W. H.” + +And while Virginia wrote her letter to her father in the room which +had been her mother’s, downstairs, in the library, her grandmother and +Aunt Nan talked together. + +“I must admit, Nan, she isn’t nearly so wild as I expected after +having been brought up in that wilderness.” + +“Wild, mother? She’s a dear, that’s what she is! And Wyoming isn’t a +wilderness. You must remember the country has grown.” + +“I know, but it can hardly afford the advantages of New England. I +mean in a cultural way, my dear.” + +Aunt Nan actually sniffed. “Maybe not, mother. I’m sick of culture! I +like something more genuine. And as to good manners, I’m sure Virginia +has them.” + +“Yes,” her mother assented. “And I must say I’m surprised after what +Louise wrote as to the ranch life. Mary’s husband has done well by +Virginia, I must grant that.” + +“Lou is too particular for any use, mother. I’ve always said so. And +as for Virginia’s father, you’ve never half appreciated him!” + +Virginia’s grandmother felt rebuked—perhaps, a little justly. + +“Of course,” she said, a little deprecatingly, “there are crudities. +Now as to that matter last evening with Dr. Baxter. I fear he was +rather—” + +“Shocked!” finished Aunt Nan. “And I’m glad he was! Virginia only told +the truth. If he knew more about Wyoming geography and less about +Korean idolatry, he’d appear to better advantage! He needs shocking!” + +“My dear Nan!” interposed her mother. + +“Well, he does, mother, and I hope he’s so shocked that he won’t come +to tea again for a month!” + +And with that Aunt Nan, leaving her mother somewhat disturbed in mind, +went to call her niece. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE “BROADENING EXPERIENCE” BEGINS + + +“I’m afraid it will look as though we didn’t show proper interest, +Nan. Besides, I never did like the idea of a child starting out alone +for boarding-school. None of my children ever did. But what can we +do?” It was Virginia’s grandmother who spoke. + +“Now, mother dear, don’t worry about ‘proper interest.’ I’ve written +Miss King all about it, so that she understands. And since I was +careless enough to sprain my ankle, and you unfortunate enough to have +to entertain the Mission Circle, we can’t do anything but let Virginia +go alone.” This from Aunt Nan, who lay on the couch with a bandaged +ankle, the result of a bad wrench the day before. + +Virginia spoke next. “Don’t worry at all, please, grandmother. It +isn’t as though I hadn’t traveled way from Wyoming. I’ll be very +careful—truly, I will—and try to do everything just as you would +wish.” + +“Oh, I don’t suppose it’s absolutely necessary that one of us go. It’s +just that I have always considered it very essential that a young and +inexperienced girl should be accompanied by some member of her family +when she enters upon such an important step. But circumstances +certainly dictate the course of events, and it looks as though you +must go alone, Virginia. Miss King remembers your mother, and will +welcome you for her sake; and she assures me you are to room with a +wholly desirable girl of excellent family. My dear, you will try, I +know, to be a credit to the Websters!” + +Away back in Virginia’s eyes gleamed a flash of light, but she +answered quietly: + +“Certainly, grandmother, and to the Hunters, too, because father is +just as anxious that I should do well as you and Aunt Nan and Aunt +Lou. Please don’t forget how anxious he is,” she finished, a little +wistfully. + +Aunt Nan gave her hand a friendly little squeeze. “Of course, he’s the +most interested of us all,” she said. “We mustn’t be selfish, mother. +They’ll send the carriage to meet you, Virginia, and Miss King will +understand about everything. It will seem strange at first, but you’ll +soon get acquainted, and love it, I know you will.” + +So it happened that on account of a sprained ankle and the Mission +Circle, Virginia again boarded the train after five days in Vermont, +and started with a heart filled with dreams and hopes to discover +whether school were really as dear and delightful as Peggy Montfort +had found it. + +Hillcrest was a five hours’ journey from Webster, and to-day Virginia +could look at the countrysides which they passed with a less perturbed +spirit than that with which she had so unsuccessfully tried to watch +them nearly a week before. The visit in Vermont was over, and after +all it had not been so hard. She really loved dear, frank, funny Aunt +Nan very dearly, and she somehow felt sure that Aunt Nan loved her. As +for Grandmother Webster, perhaps she did not love her Wyoming +granddaughter just yet; but, Virginia assured herself, remembering her +grandmother’s warm kiss at parting, she at least did not entirely +disapprove of her. After all, it was hard to have one’s only +granddaughter from Wyoming—especially hard when one could not +understand that Wyoming was not a wilderness. + +But as she reviewed the five days, she could not find any glaring +improprieties or mistakes, except perhaps shocking poor Dr. Baxter. +But even then, she had only told the truth. After all, manners are +quite the same in Wyoming as in Vermont, she thought. To be sure her +_a’s_ were hardly broad to suit Grandmother Webster, and her _r’s_ +quite too prominent. In Vermont there were no _r’s_—that is, where +they belonged. If used at all, they were hinged in the funniest sort +of way to the ends of words. Virginia laughed as she remembered how +grandmother had called her “Virginiar” and the maid “Emmar,” but +pronounced Webster, which possessed a real _r_ at the end “Websta.” +She wondered if the girls at St. Helen’s would all speak like that. If +so, they would find her funny, indeed; but she did not mind. + +New England was lovely. She did not wonder that her mother had always +talked so much of its fir-covered hills, its rocky, sunny pastures, +its little white-churched villages nestling in the hollows, its +crimson maples, its goldenrod and asters. And this very journey to St. +Helen’s, which she was now taking, her own mother years before had +taken many, many times in going back and forth to school before and +after vacations Quick tears filled her eyes as she remembered. Her +mother would be glad if she knew her little daughter was on her way to +her mother’s old school. Perhaps she did know after all. And with this +thought came a resolve to be an honor and a credit to them all. + +At one of the larger stations where the train stopped longer than +usual was gathered on the platform a merry group of persons, saying +good-by to two girls, who were apparently going to take the train. +Perhaps they also were going to St. Helen’s, thought Virginia, and she +studied the group as closely as politeness would allow. + +“Now, Priscilla, do be careful, and don’t get into any more scrapes +this year,” she heard a sweet-voiced, motherly-looking woman say, as +she kissed one of the girls good-by. + +“Mother dear, I’m going to be the model of the school, wait and see,” +the girl cried, laughing. “Dorothy is, too, aren’t you, Dot?” + +“Of course, I am, Mrs. Winthrop. Dad’s going to cut down my allowance +if I don’t get all A’s. Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, I’ve had such a heavenly +time! Thank you so much for everything.” + +“You must come again,” said a tall gentleman in white flannels, +evidently Priscilla’s father, as he shook hands, while his invitation +was echoed heartily by two jolly-looking boys—one of about Donald’s +age, though not nearly so nice-looking, Virginia thought, and the +other younger. The train gave a warning whistle. + +“Priscilla, are you sure you haven’t forgotten something?” + +“First time in her life if she hasn’t!” + +“Have you your ticket and purse, daughter?” + +“And did you put your rubbers in your suitcase?” + +“Yes, mother, yes, daddy, I’ve got everything. Come on, Dot. The +conductor’s purple with rage at us! Good-by.” + +They hurried on board the train, and into the car in which Virginia +sat. Then the one they had called Priscilla apparently remembered +something, for she flew to the platform. Already the train was moving, +but she frantically shouted to her mother: + +“Oh, mother, my ‘Thought Book’ is under my pillow! I’d die without it! +Send it right away, please, and don’t read a word on pain of death!” + +The younger boy on the station platform executed a kind of improvised +war-dance as he heard the words, meaning apparently to convey to his +troubled sister his intention of reading as soon as possible her +recorded thoughts. Priscilla returned to the car and took her seat, +directly opposite the interested Virginia. + +“If Alden Winthrop reads that ‘Thought Book,’ Dot, I’ll never speak to +him again. ’Twould be just like him to make a bee line for my room, +and capture it, and then repeat my thoughts for years afterward!” + +“That’s just the trouble with keeping a diary. I never do. My cousin +would be sure to find it. Besides, half the time I’m ashamed of my +thoughts after I write them down.” + +Virginia, sitting opposite, could not resist stealing shy and hurried +glances at the two girls, because she felt sure that they also were +bound for St. Helen’s. She liked them both, she told herself. They +were apparently about the same age—probably sixteen or thereabouts. +The one who had been so solicitous about the “Thought Book,” and whom +they had called Priscilla, had brown eyes and unruly brown hair, which +would fall about her face. She was very much tanned, wore a blue suit, +and little white felt hat, and looked merry, Virginia thought, though +she could hardly be called pretty. The other, whose name evidently was +Dorothy, was very pretty. Virginia thought she had never seen a +prettier girl. Her complexion was very fair, her eyes a deep, lovely +blue, her hair golden and fluffy about her face, her features even, +and her teeth perfect. She was dressed in dark green, and to +Virginia’s admiring eyes looked just like an apple-blossom. +Undeniably, she was lovely; but, as Virginia shyly studied the two +faces, she found herself liking Priscilla’s the better. The other some +way did not look so contented, so frank, or so merry. Still, Virginia +liked Dorothy—Dorothy what—she wondered. + +As they continued talking, she became convinced that they were going +to St. Helen’s, that they had been there a year already, and that +Dorothy had been visiting Priscilla for a month before school opened. +She longed to speak to them, but, remembering what Donald had said +about Easterners not being so sociable with strangers, she checked the +impulse, not knowing how they would regard it, and not wishing to +intrude. Still, she could not resist listening to the conversation, +which she could hardly have helped hearing, had she wished not to do +so. + +“Dear me! I wish now we hadn’t been so silly, Dorothy, and done all +those crazy things. Then we could have roomed together this year.” + +“I know. Maybe ’twas foolish, but I’ll never forget them. Especially +the time when we dropped the pumpkin pie before Miss Green’s door.” +They both laughed. “And, anyway, Priscilla, with Greenie in The +Hermitage, if we’d been saints, we couldn’t have roomed together. She +thinks we’re both heathen, and I worse than you; and just because she +does think I’m so bad, I feel like being just as bad as I can be. I +wish Miss Wallace would have the cottage alone this year. She’s such a +darling! I just adore her! I’d scrub floors for her! My dear, she +wrote me the most divine letter this summer! It absolutely thrilled +me, and I was good for a week afterward!” + +Virginia looked out of the window amused. What queer ways of saying +things! She had never heard a letter called “divine” before; nor had +she realized that scrubbing floors and adoring some one were +harmonious occupations. She listened again. Priscilla was talking this +time. + +“I adore Miss Wallace, too,” she said. “She makes you want to be fine +just by never talking about it. I wish I could like poor Miss +Green—she seems so sort of left out some way—but she just goes at you +the wrong way. Mother and daddy think she must be splendid because she +enforces rules, and they say we’re prejudiced; but I don’t think they +understand. It isn’t enforcing the rules; it’s the way she has of +doing it.” + +Dorothy acquiesced. “I suppose we’ll have to make the best of her if +she’s there. Miss Wallace’s being there, too, will make it better. I’m +wondering whom I’ll draw for a room-mate. Do you know who’s yours?” + +“No, Miss King wrote mother and said she’d selected a wholly desirable +one for me. I do hope she doesn’t chew gum, or want fish-nets up, or +like to borrow.” + +Virginia recalled Miss King’s words to her grandmother—“a wholly +desirable girl ”—but then that was just a form of expression. There +was no reason to believe, much as she would like to hope, that +Priscilla was to be her room-mate. At all events, if such a thing by +any possibility should come to pass, she was glad she did not chew +gum. As to fish-nets, she had never heard of one in a room, and as for +borrowing, she had never had any one in her life from whom she might +borrow. + +At that moment she saw the girls looking at her. Perhaps they had +suspected that she, too, was a St. Helen’s girl. They whispered one to +the other and exchanged glances, while Virginia, a little embarrassed, +looked out of the window. She only hoped they liked her half as much +as she liked them. They began to talk again. + +“My dear,” this from the extravagant Dorothy, “when you see my Navajo +rug, your eyes will leave your head for a week! It’s positively +heavenly! Daddy had it sent from California. Whoever my room-mate is, +she ought to be grateful for having that on the floor. It makes up for +me.” + +“I won’t hope for a Navajo just so long as I get some one I’ll like.” + +Virginia thought of her two Navajos in her trunk—one a gift from her +father, the other made and given her by a New Mexican Indian, whom she +had known from her babyhood. Oh, if only Priscilla might be the one! + +“Do you suppose Imogene and Vivian will be back?” Priscilla continued. + +“Imogene wrote me she was coming.” Somehow Virginia detected +embarrassment in Dorothy’s answer. Who was Imogene? she wondered. “You +know, Priscilla, Imogene’s lots of fun. Of course, she isn’t like you +or Mary Williams or Anne, but you can’t help liking her all the same.” + +“I know she’s fun, Dot, but I don’t think her fun is a very good kind; +and I don’t like the way she influences Vivian. Vivian’s a dear when +Imogene’s not around; but the minute they’re together she follows +Imogene’s lead in everything.” + +Somehow Virginia knew she should not care for Imogene. But where +before had she heard the name Mary Williams? Just then they passed a +tiny village surrounded by elm trees. + +“There’s Riverside now,” cried the girls opposite, “and Hillcrest is +the next.” + +They hurriedly gathered together their belongings, and put on their +hats. Virginia did the same, and as they noticed her preparing to +leave the train, Priscilla smiled, and Dorothy looked at her with +interest. But there was little time for exchange of greetings, for the +train was already stopping. As they went with their suit-cases toward +the door, Virginia, following, heard Priscilla say, + +“Probably Mary Williams will be at the station. Senior officers +usually meet new girls.” + +Then it all came back to her. Mary Williams was Jack Williams’ sister, +the girl in the Berkshires whom Don had liked so much. Her heart beat +fast with excitement. Could she be the very same Mary Williams? + +A moment more and they were all on the platform; and while Virginia +stood a little shyly by her suit-case, she saw running down the +platform toward them a tall, golden-haired girl in a white sweater. +Priscilla and Dorothy dropped their luggage, and ran to meet her. + +“Oh, Mary, you darling!” they both cried at once, and embraced her +until the tall girl was quite smothered. + +“I knew you’d be down. I just told Dorothy.” + +“How is every one?” + +“Is Greenie in The Hermitage?” + +“Is Miss Wallace back?” + +“Where’s Anne?” + +“Oh, let me go, please, a minute!” begged the tall girl, looking at +Virginia. “I came down to meet a new girl. She must have come with you +on your train. Wait and see her.” + +“I told you she was coming to St. Helen’s,” Priscilla whispered to +Dorothy, while the tall girl went up to Virginia. + +“You’re Virginia Hunter, aren’t you?” they heard her say cordially, +“from that wonderful Big Horn country I’ve heard so much about! Miss +King couldn’t come down to-day, and the teachers in our cottage were +away, so she sent me. I’m Mary Williams.” And she put out her hand, +which Virginia grasped heartily. + +“Oh,” she cried, her eyes shining, “aren’t you Jack Williams’ sister, +and don’t you live in the Berkshires, and don’t you know Donald Keith. +He’s my best friend. Oh, I do hope you’re the one!” + +Mary’s first surprise had turned to pleasure. She shook hands with +Virginia again, and more heartily. + +“Why, of course, I know Donald Keith! He’s the most interesting boy I +ever met in my life. Why, now I remember, of course! When Miss King +told me your name I tried to think where I’d heard it before. Why, +you’re the girl Donald talked about so much, who could ride so +wonderfully and shoot and lasso cattle and kill rattle-snakes!” + +Virginia blushed, a little embarrassed. She did not know how such +accomplishments would be regarded by Eastern girls. Mary apparently +admired them; but Virginia was not so sure of Priscilla and Dorothy. +They stood a little apart and listened, certainly with interest, but +whether with approval Virginia was not sure. However, she had little +time for wondering, for Mary drew her forward to where they stood. + +“Isn’t it wonderful to have a girl way from Wyoming?” she said. “And +isn’t it lovely that I know all about her? Her best friend is my +brother’s best friend, too. This is Virginia Hunter, and these are +Priscilla Winthrop and Dorothy Richards. Why, I almost forgot! You and +Priscilla are room-mates. Miss King just told me.” + +So the longed-for joy was to become a reality! Virginia was radiant. +She wondered if Priscilla were really glad. The handshake with which +she greeted her was surely cordial. Mary and Dorothy walked on ahead +toward the waiting carriage, and left the new room-mates to follow. + +“It’s ever so interesting to room with a girl way from Wyoming,” +Priscilla said sweetly. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. I don’t +know a thing!” + +“I will,” said Virginia. Then she laughed. “And I really don’t chew +gum, or borrow things. And what is a fish-net?” + +Priscilla laughed, too. “Oh, did you hear those silly things I said? +Why, a fish-net is a hideous thing to put pictures in. I loathe them!” + +“Besides, I have two Navajo rugs,” Virginia continued. “I hope I +wasn’t rude! I couldn’t help hearing, really, and I was so +interested.” + +“You weren’t rude at all, and I’m wild over Navajos. Dorothy will be +plain peeved, because we have two in our room.” + +Virginia gathered from the tone that “plain peeved” must mean +something akin to jealous. But she was so happy that she forgot all +about Navajos. + +“I’m so glad I’m going to room with you,” she couldn’t help saying. “I +knew I’d like you the moment you got on the train, and I like you +better every minute!” + +Priscilla in her turn was embarrassed. She was not used to such +frankness of speech, especially on first acquaintance. But very likely +the manner of speaking in Wyoming, just as Virginia’s speech, so full +of _r’s_ was different from her own. And she was ready to go half-way +at least. + +“Why,” she stammered, “I—I’m—sure I’m glad, and I—I—know I’ll like +you, too.” Which was quite an admission for a member of the +conservative Winthrop family to make to a stranger! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ST. HELEN’S AND THE HERMITAGE + + +St. Helen’s lay a mile west of the station, and half a mile from the +village itself, through whose quiet, elm-shaded streets they were soon +driving in the big, open carriage. The girls pointed out to Virginia +the places of especial interest—the little white church which they +attended on Sundays; Mrs. Brown’s cottage, where pumpkin pies and +“heavenly chocolate cake” might be purchased, if not too frequently; +and, chief of attractions, the “Forget-me-not,” whose sundaes, once +eaten, were never forgotten. + +At the little post-office, another girl joined them, and was in turn +embraced quite as rapturously by Priscilla and Dorothy as Mary had +been. She was introduced to Virginia as Anne Hill, Mary’s roommate, +and another Senior. + +“The two sharks and faculty pets of St. Helen’s,” observed Dorothy, +supplementing the introduction, and including Mary and Anne with a +wave of her pretty hand, + +Virginia had not the vaguest idea of what a shark might be. Most +apparently, not a fish; but she saw that Dorothy’s remark embarrassed +both Mary and Anne. She liked Anne at once. She was rather short and +plump, with a sweet face and soft Southern accent. + +“She comes from Virginia,” Priscilla said in a whisper to her new +room-mate, as they drove along. + +Virginia divided her attention between her great interest in the +country and her absorbing eagerness to hear all that the girls had to +say, for Mary and Anne were kept busy answering Priscilla’s and +Dorothy’s questions. Yes, Imogene Meredith had returned, and she and +Vivian Winters were rooming together as they did last year. Miss Green +was to be in The Hermitage—(a long sigh from Priscilla and +Dorothy)—but the adorable Miss Wallace was to be there likewise. The +fortunate girl, who was to be blessed with Dorothy’s Navajo rug, and, +incidentally, with Dorothy herself, was new, and a protégée of Miss +Wallace’s. (Sighs of envy from all.) Her name was Lucile Du Bose, and +Miss Wallace had become acquainted with her in France through mutual +friends. She was doubtless very nice, but a little shy and apparently +lonely, and Miss Wallace had asked as a special favor to herself that +the girls try to make her feel at home. Moreover, Miss Wallace had +proposed Dorothy as a room-mate. + +“That settles it,” announced Dorothy. “I shall be angelic to Lucile, +even if she’s positively hopeless; since I’m doing Miss Wallace a +favor!” + +“Who has the big up-stairs room?” asked Priscilla. + +Mary and Anne laughed. “Somebody very important,” said Anne in her +pretty Southern accent. “She hasn’t come herself, but she has trunks +and bags enough for the whole family, and they keep on coming. Up to +this noon there were three trunks, two bags, a shawl strap, and four +express packages. And the trunks and bags are all marked ‘K. Van R.— +New York’ in big letters. Mary and I were so wild with curiosity that +we had the impoliteness to turn over one of the express packages to +see the name on it, and ’twas ‘Miss Katrina Van Rensaelar.’ We asked +Miss Green about her, but gleaned no information except that she would +be here in a few days, and was to room alone, as her guardian had +especially requested it.” + +“Dear me! How select!” observed Dorothy. + +“She ought to be Katrina Van Tassel, like Katrina in ‘The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow,’” said Virginia, whereupon every one laughed, and Mary +said that “Sleepy Hollow” would be a very appropriate name for the +room, as the girls who had it last year never heard the rising bell, +and were invariably late for breakfast. + +“We’re getting very near now, Virginia,” said her new room-mate. And, +a moment later, they drove through some stone gate-posts and up a +lovely curving road bordered by pines, which edged the woodland on +either side. + +“There are always hepaticas here in the spring the first of any +place,” they told her. + +Then they crossed a rustic bridge over a little brook, after which the +pines gave way to maples and oaks, on either side of which were open +fields and meadows. They snow-shoed here, they told her; and in the +spring the ground was fairly blue with violets. Now the roadsides, as +well as the land near the brook, were yellow with goldenrod and purple +with asters, her mother’s flowers. The road commenced to be more hilly +above the meadow, and as the horses walked slowly along, Virginia +noticed with interest the shrubs and trees which grew in tangled +masses on either side. She knew the sumac, now in its autumn scarlet, +and the birches; but there were many which she had never seen, and she +missed the service-berry and the buck-brush, which bordered the +Wyoming roads, the cottonwoods and her own dear quaking-asps, which +always seemed so merry and friendly in the fall. What a lovely place +for a school, she kept thinking to herself, as they climbed the hill, +and, suddenly leaving the wood road behind, came out upon an open +campus, dotted here and there with fine old elms and maples. + +“And this is St. Helen’s,” the girls told her, as they followed the +elm-shaded driveway, while her delighted eyes wandered across the +lawns to the gray stone buildings, upon which the ivy was already +turning red. + +“It’s lovely,” she said softly, “just as lovely as mother used to tell +me. You see, years ago my mother came here to school, too.” + +Perhaps the softness of her voice told the girls more than she herself +had done, for they were silent for a moment. Then Mary said, + +“Miss King wanted me to bring Virginia over to the office as soon as +she came, so you girls can go on to The Hermitage. You might as well +leave your bag in the carriage, Virginia. They’ll put it in your +room.” + +Miss King’s office was in the largest of the gray stone buildings, +which, Mary told Virginia, held the gymnasium, the big assembly hall, +some recitation rooms, and the offices of the principal and other +important personages. + +“You’ll love Miss King,” Mary reassured her, perhaps guessing that +Virginia felt a little shy. “You see, she doesn’t teach any more, and +she leaves most of the care of the girls to the younger teachers; but +she always conducts chapel, and arranges with each girl separately +about her studies. It’s wonderful how she knows every girl in St. +Helen’s, and she’s interested in every little thing that concerns us. +We just love her!” + +They went up the steps, and into a large, open hall, at the end of +which a fire blazed in a big stone fire-place. + +“We don’t really need a fire now,” Mary explained, “but Miss King says +it seems more homelike and cheerful when the girls come in.” + +From the hall many doors led to different rooms, and through two big +central ones they passed into a large office. A young woman at the +desk rose to greet them. + +“You’re to take the young lady to Miss King’s private office, Miss +Williams,” she said. + +Mary thanked her, and crossing the room, rapped upon the door of an +inner office. A sweet, cheery voice said, “Come in,” and they entered +a large sunny room, by the western window of which sat a gray-haired +lady, who rose with girlish eagerness to greet them. + +“I have been waiting for you, my dears,” she said, and Virginia +thought she had never heard such a sweet voice. “And I have been +waiting years for you, Virginia,” she continued. “Come to the window. +I want to look at my dear Mary Webster’s little girl.” + +She took them by either hand, and drew them to the window. Then she +took off Virginia’s hat, and with tears in her sweet, almost sad blue +eyes studied the girl’s face. + +“My dear,” she said at last, “you don’t look like your mother, and yet +you do. Your eyes are gray, while hers were blue, but the light in +them is just the same, and your mouth is hers. But it is only fair +that you should look also like that fine father of yours whom your +mother brought to see me eighteen years ago. It was twenty years ago +that Mary Webster left St. Helen’s the sadder for her leaving; and now +the same St. Helen’s is gladder for her coming again in her little +daughter. Oh, my dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!” + +With that her blue eyes quite brimmed over with tears, and she held +Virginia close a moment and kissed her. + +A lump rose in Virginia’s throat and she could not speak. The dear +memory of her mother, and more than all else, the genuine praise and +appreciation of her father, the first she had heard since she came +East, with the exception of Aunt Nan’s compliment, quite overcame her. +Tears filled her eyes, and her chin quivered, when she tried to thank +Miss King. But the dear lady understood, and, still holding her hand, +turned to talk with Mary until Virginia should be herself again. + +“And, now,” she said gayly, a few moments later, “you’re both to have +tea with me, for I’ve told Miss Weston I’m not to be interrupted on +any condition. We don’t have girls from Wyoming every day, do we, +Mary? You like my room, Virginia?” For Virginia’s eyes were wandering +about the room, charmed with everything. + +“I just love it, Miss King,” she said, in her natural, unaffected way. +“It makes me think of a sunny autumn afternoon at home. The walls are +just the color of our brown foot-hills, and the yellow curtains +against them are like the sunlight on the hills. And I love the +marigolds on the table, I always have them in mother’s garden at home. +She loved them so.” + +“I’m so glad it seems like that to you,” Miss King told her, “because +it always makes me think of October, my favorite month.” And she +looked about contentedly at the soft brown walls, the pale yellow silk +curtains, the darker furniture, and the bowl of yellow and brown +marigolds which saw their reflection in the polished table. The +pictures were largely soft landscapes in sepia, Corot’s and Millet’s; +but here and there was hung a water color in a sunny, golden frame. + +“I wanted a restful room with soft colors, and soothing pictures—not +profound, energy-inspiring ones—for in this room I rest and read and +talk with my girls. And some way it satisfies me—the way I have +furnished and arranged it. Now, Virginia, I want to know about that +wonderful country of yours. You must tell us while we drink our tea.” + +Then followed one of the most memorable hours of Virginia’s school +life. Years afterward the remembrance of it was to stay with her—a +sweet and helpful influence. They sat in the brown and gold room, +which the sun setting made more golden, and talked of school plans, of +the new girls, of the summer just passed, and most of all of +Virginia’s country, which neither Miss King nor Mary had seen. The +subjects of their conversation were simple enough, but in some way the +gray-haired woman by the window made everything said doubly memorable +and precious; and when they left, as the school clock was striking +five, they felt, as many before them had felt, strangely helped and +strengthened. + +“Isn’t she wonderful?” breathed Virginia, as they went down the steps +together. + +“Yes, she is,” Mary said thoughtfully. “And after I’ve been with her I +wonder what it is about her that helps one so. She doesn’t say very +much—she always makes you talk; but there’s just something beautiful +about her that you always feel. I guess that’s why St. Helen’s is such +a fine school.” + +They took the long way around the campus so that Virginia might see +the buildings. In addition to the large main one, there were two +others, also of gray stone—one for recitations and the other +containing the laboratories and Domestic Science rooms. There was +also, Mary told her, in the pine woods below the hill, a little gray +stone chapel, called St. Helen’s Retreat, where they held their vesper +services, and where the girls were free to go when they wished. It was +the quietest, dearest place, Mary said. She did not see how she had +happened to forget to show Virginia the woodsy path that led to it, as +they came up the driveway. The cottages for the girls were scattered +about the campus. There were six of them,—King Cottage, West, +Overlook, Hathaway, Willow, and The Hermitage. Each accommodated +fifteen girls, with the exception of The Hermitage, which was smaller +than the others and held but nine. Miss King did not like dormitories, +Mary explained, as they went along. She thought they lacked a home +feeling, and so St. Helen’s had never built dormitories for its girls. +Moreover, in spite of many requests, Miss King limited her number of +girls to eighty-five—a large enough family, she said, since she wished +to know each member of it. The cottages did look homelike certainly, +Virginia thought, with their wide porches, well-kept lawns, shrubs, +and garden flowers. The Hermitage was the tiniest of them all, and +stood quite apart from the others behind a clump of fir trees, through +which a gravel path led to the cottage itself. + +“Really, The Hermitage isn’t a very appropriate name for a house full +of girls,” Mary said, as they drew nearer the little cottage; “but one +of the older graduates gave the money for it and asked the privilege +of naming it herself. So she selected that name on account of the +location, forgetting that girls aren’t a bit like hermits.” + +Virginia thought the name and location alike lovely; and as they +passed through the fir trees and reached the porch which surrounded +the house, her satisfaction was complete. Inside, The Hermitage was +quite as attractive as its brown-shingled exterior. On the first floor +were the living-room, with a wide stone fire-place and book-lined +walls, the sunny, homelike dining-room, and the rooms of the two +teachers. Up-stairs were the four rooms of the girls, each large and +sunny, and opening upon a porch, and away up on the third floor was +one large room, which was this year to be occupied by the mysterious +Katrina Van Rensaelar. + +All was hurry and bustle on the second floor of The Hermitage as Mary +and Virginia went up the stairs. Five girls were frantically and +unsystematically unpacking—pausing every other minute to go the rounds +for the sake of exhibiting some new possession acquired during the +summer. Two of the girls Virginia had not seen, and her new room-mate +promptly introduced them. + +“These are our next door neighbors, Virginia,” she said, “Imogene +Meredith and Vivian Winters. And this is Virginia Hunter from the Big +Horn Mountains in Wyoming.” + +“Indeed?” remarked the one called Imogene, raising her eyebrows and +extending a rather languid hand. “Quite off the map, n’est-ce pas?” +and she laughed. + +She was tall with dark, extremely-dressed hair, and eyes that did not +meet your own. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and she wore +several pieces of expensive jewelry. Virginia was embarrassed by her +easy, uninterested manner, and her strange laugh. Vivian Winters she +liked better. Vivian was short with a sweet, childish face, and +wistful blue eyes. She, too, was dressed far too lavishly for school, +Virginia felt, but she liked her all the same, and did not feel at all +embarrassed in replying to her pleasant little welcome. As she looked +at them, she recalled the conversation she had heard between Priscilla +and Dorothy in the train, and she thought she understood Priscilla’s +feeling toward Imogene. But, perhaps, they were both mistaken, and she +wouldn’t begin by being prejudiced. Just then Dorothy called Imogene +to her room at the other end of the hall, and Priscilla took Virginia +to their own room. + +“There’s a huge box here for you,” she said, as they went down the +hall. “It nearly fills the room.” + +“Oh, it’s my saddle here already!” cried Virginia. “It is a huge box, +isn’t it?” + +“Your—what?” asked the amazed Priscilla, and listened open-mouthed +while Virginia explained, and told her about Jim and the others. So +interested did she become that before they realized it, the +supper-bell had rung, and found them sitting side by side on the big +box, friends already. + +“I never heard anything so interesting in all my life,” exclaimed +Priscilla, as they searched for hairbrushes and towels among their +confused luggage. “And will you really teach me to ride?” + +“Why, of course, I will. You’ll love it! Oh, I’m sorry to be late the +very first night!” + +“That’s the best time of all, because they expect it then. Besides, +Miss Green’s dining out, and Miss Wallace—you’ll love her!—took Lucile +Du Bose to town to see the oculist. Mary’s in charge tonight, and +she’ll excuse us.” + +“Is Mary part teacher?” Virginia asked, puzzled. + +No, not that exactly, Priscilla explained; but each year the girls of +the different cottages elected one of their number who would be a +Senior the next year to be a kind of cottage monitor, to take charge +of the table and study hours when the teachers were out. + +It was an honor to be elected, because it meant that the girls +considered you trustworthy; and every one at St. Helen’s knew and +trusted Mary Williams. + +Virginia admired Mary more than ever. It must be wonderful, she +thought as she tied her hair-ribbon and searched for a clean +handkerchief, to be trusted by every one in school. Could they say +that of her when she became a Senior? + +“What are you, Priscilla?” she asked as they went down-stairs. + +“I’m a Junior,” said Priscilla, “and so are Dorothy and Imogene. Anne +is a Senior like Mary. Vivian’s a Sophomore, and Lucile Du Bose, too, +they say. As for Miss Van Rensaelar, no one knows. Maybe she’s a +post-grad. She sounds very grand.” + +That evening they finished unpacking, and by nine o’clock their room +was quite settled. The Navajo rugs were on the floor—the envy of the +house. The saddle-box they had covered, and with pillows it made quite +a picturesque divan. Of course, the effect was lessened in the mind of +any one who might attempt to sink down upon it, but it looked well, +and there were chairs enough without it. Each cot was covered with +afghan and pillows. Even the pictures were hung, and their few +treasured books, of which Virginia discovered to her joy Priscilla was +as fond as she, were placed in the little wall book-case from +Virginia’s room at home. Altogether the big room had a cheery, +homelike atmosphere, and they both felt very happy. + +Before going to bed they visited their neighbors. Mary and Anne’s room +they found not unlike their own, only there were even more books +about, and an adorable tea-table with brass kettle and little alcohol +lamp, for Seniors were allowed to serve tea on Saturday afternoons. +Dorothy’s room was in a sad state of upheaval, the Navajo rug, +carefully spread on the floor, being the only sign of an attempt at +settlement. Dorothy herself was curled up on the couch, deep in a +magazine. Her room-mate had not returned she said, so why arrange +things? Their ideas might not harmonize. + +The room opposite their own, occupied by Imogene and Vivian, was +settled in a most unsettled manner. Virginia thought as she entered +that never in her life had she seen so many things in one room. One +entire wall was festooned with a dreaded fish-net, in which were +caught literally hundreds of relatives, friends, and acquaintances; +the other walls were covered with pennants. The couches were so piled +with pillows that one could not find room to sit down; the dressers +were loaded with costly silver toilet articles, and more friends in +silver frames; even the curtains were heavy with souvenirs, which were +pinned to them. There were no books, except a few school-books, tucked +under the desk, and no pictures, save highly decorated posters, wedged +among the pennants, where a few inches of bare space had not been +allowed to remain uncovered. It all gave Virginia a kind of stifled +sensation, and she was glad to return to their own room when the +nine-thirty bell had rung. + +It was strange to crawl into her cot-bed opposite Priscilla; strange +to talk in whispers for a few moments, and then to say “Good-night.” +For a few more moments she wondered with a wave of homesickness, more +for her father than for herself, what they were all doing at home. +Were they sleeping while the mountains kept their silent night watch? +No, that could not be, for the time was different. Colonel Standish +had explained that to her on the journey East. Dear Colonel Standish! +What was that difference? Was it two hours earlier at Hillcrest? Then +it would be only eight o’clock at home. Or was it—? But her tired +head, so weary from the day’s excitement, refused to reckon +differences in time, and Virginia fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +“PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM” + + +The first two weeks of Virginia’s life at St. Helen’s passed without a +cloud. The hours were as golden as the October days themselves. She +and Priscilla liked each other better every day. She had already +become acquainted with many of the girls at the other cottages, and +she found them as jolly and merry as those at The Hermitage. She liked +them—almost every one—and although at first her frank way of speaking, +and the strangeness of her accent had puzzled and surprised them, they +liked Virginia. Of course, all things accepted, they might have +preferred being born in Massachusetts to Wyoming, for to many of them, +as to Grandmother Webster, Wyoming seemed more or less of a +wilderness, and a ranch rather a queer kind of home, but they had the +good sense, and better manners, not to announce their preferences to +Virginia; and as the days went by they liked her more and more. +Wyoming might be a wilderness, they said to themselves; but this +ranch-bred girl certainly was as cultured as any girl at St. Helen’s. +So the letters which Virginia wrote almost daily to her father were +very happy ones, and she almost began to doubt the possibility of +being homesick in this beautiful place. Still, there were many weeks +yet to come! + +Her studies, with Miss King’s help, had been pleasantly arranged; and, +thanks to her book of compositions she had brought, her wide reading, +and her year of Algebra in the country school, she found herself, to +her great joy, ranked as a Sophomore, and in classes with Lucile and +Vivian. She liked Vivian very much, and tried hard to like Imogene for +Vivian’s sake. As for Lucile, she found her interesting in a queer +foreign kind of way, for Lucile’s French father, and her years in +Paris and Lausanne, had given her ways hardly American. Besides, +Virginia agreed with Dorothy, she would like Lucile for Miss Wallace’s +sake alone; for Virginia, as the prophets had foretold, already loved +Miss Wallace with unswerving loyalty. + +Two more different persons than Miss Margaret Wallace and Miss Harriet +Green would have been hard to find, especially housed beneath one +roof, and presumably dedicated to the same ideals. Miss Wallace was +young, enthusiastic, and attractive in appearance and personality; +Miss Green was middle-aged, languid, and unattractive, certainly in +appearance, and, as far as one could judge, in personality. Both were +scrupulously conscientious, but Miss Wallace enforced the rules +because she loved the girls, and Miss Green because it was her duty. +Moreover, Margaret Wallace, remembering her own recent college days, +trusted the girls before she suspected them; whereas Miss Green +reversed the proceedings, and watched them closely before she decided +to trust. The result of these different methods may be imagined. The +girls obeyed Miss Wallace, because she never expected them to do +otherwise. If they obeyed Miss Green, it was done unwillingly to save +trouble. + +Be it said to Miss Green’s credit that she was an excellent teacher. +The colleges which the St. Helen’s girls entered, expected and +received girls whose training in Latin and Greek was unexcelled. She +had been ten years at St. Helen’s. Perhaps her superior teaching and +her unshaken faithfulness to duty, more than offset her failure, which +she herself did not perceive, as a disciplinarian. However that might +be, the girls at St. Helen’s did not love Miss Green. + +Virginia, being a new-comer, resolved to like her; and to that end she +really strove, being the one girl in The Hermitage and often the only +one in school, who defended the teacher, whose strict adherence to her +own interpretation of duty brought with it sad mishaps, often for the +girls and sometimes for herself. Even Mary, who was Miss Green’s +helper, though she did not say much at the indignation meetings of the +other girls, quite clearly did not like Miss Green. + +“I think it’s sweet of you, Virginia, to stand up for her,” Priscilla +announced one evening, as they wrestled with extra hard Latin lessons, +“but your time hasn’t come yet. I hope you’ll always be able to like +Greenie, but I have my doubts.” + +“Well, I’m going to try hard, anyway. Of course, I shan’t love her—I +don’t hope for that—but she seems so left out with us all loving Miss +Wallace so much, that I’m going to try.” + +“That’s just what I thought when I came last year,” observed the +experienced Priscilla. “But after she just the same as accused me of +borrowing the down-stairs ink-bottle and never returning it, I +couldn’t like her any longer.” + +Whether Miss Green liked the gray-eyed Western girl, who was trying so +hard in the face of so many odds to like her was not as yet known. +Perhaps she was slowly deciding whether or not Virginia might be +trusted; and very soon events were to come to pass requiring that +decision to be made. + +The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days began +to grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; and +the girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supper +around the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the third +week of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight to +nine o’clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of various +subjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among other +things they spoke of their “vocations” in life—each painting in +glowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach, +and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to look +toward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who sat +opposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as “doctoring” the girls +when they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer and +consolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning’s “Court Lady,” +though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go on +the stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, and +never take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have a +villa outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had come +to Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. She +had seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would give +them encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a little +embarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she must +admit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books that +should inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at once +squeezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also. +Imogene “hadn’t decided,” and Vivian made them all laugh by saying she +wanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies and +take care of them every one herself. + +Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, the +other with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls had +finished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty to +declare that dreams were fleeting, said, + +“You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen’s ‘Master Builder,’ +you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I have +lived long enough to discover that one’s vocation in life is usually +thrust upon her.” + +“Horrors!” cried Dorothy. “Then I won’t have any!” + +The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm. +Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, being +honestly interested in Miss Green’s observation, and feeling +intuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence. + +“Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?” she asked politely. + +“It was,” returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, but +Virginia mistook the tone for one of regret. + +“I’m so sorry,” she said. “You can’t be half so interested in it as +you would be if you could have chosen it. If I were you, I would +change, and choose another.” + +An inadvertent giggle from Imogene broke the embarrassed silence which +followed Virginia’s remark; and led Miss Green to mistake Virginia’s +honest interest for ill-bred sarcasm. She gathered the gray knit +shawl, which she often wore, more closely about her shoulders, rose +from her chair and left the room, saying in a frigid tone as she went: + +“Will you come to my room, Virginia, immediately upon the ringing of +the study-bell?” + +“Why—certainly—Miss Green,” stammered poor surprised Virginia. + +“Mean old thing!” muttered Dorothy, as a slam of Miss Green’s door +announced her complete departure. “Virginia didn’t—” + +“Dorothy,” warned Miss Wallace quietly. + +“I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace. I forgot.” + +Then Miss Wallace tactfully turned the conversation into other +channels, but Virginia could not enter into it with any interest. She +could not think how she had been impolite. Such a thought had never +entered her mind. Why had Imogene laughed? She caught Priscilla and +Mary looking reproachfully at Imogene. Even Dorothy seemed annoyed. +The study-bell put an end to the forced conversation, and as Virginia +went slowly toward Miss Green’s room, after encouraging pats and +squeezes from the girls, who left her to go up-stairs, Miss Wallace +asked Imogene to remain a few moments with her. + +Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy and +forbidding than when she had hurried from the room. + +“Sit down, Virginia.” Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch. + +“I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely.” + +Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat. + +“I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry to +be obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school. +I cannot understand your rudeness of—” + +“But, Miss Green,” Virginia interrupted, because she could not help +it, “really I—” + +“Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish.” + +Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyes +bright, her heart rebellious. + +“Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation? +Will you attempt to justify Imogene’s giggle? It all looks to me like +a contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak.” + +But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all to +blame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it all +made her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears which +were blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. +Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginia +spoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school long +enough to know the meaning of diplomacy. + +“Miss Green,” she said, “I think you are very unjust. I felt sorry for +you when you said your vocation had been thrust upon you. That is why +I said I thought you would be happier if you changed. I don’t know why +Imogene laughed; but I think you are suspicious to think of a +conspiracy. I don’t know what you mean.” + +“Do not add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanors, Virginia.” +Miss Green was becoming angry—calmly so, perhaps, but angry. + +“I do not mean to be impertinent, Miss Green. I—I—have been trying +hard to like you”—her voice quavered and broke—“but I think you are +unfair to me.” + +Miss Green’s eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. She had never +dreamed of such frankness in a pupil brought before her for a +reprimand! She fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps, this +interview had been long enough. It did not seem fruitful. + +“Do not try to like me, I beg of you, Virginia. You seem to find it +hard work. But I tell you, as I tell all my pupils, the day will come +when you will be deeply grateful to me for my correction.” + +In her tumultuous heart Virginia doubted the arrival of that day of +gratitude. She waited for Miss Green to finish. + +“We will grant, perhaps, that you may not have meant rudeness. I will +give you the benefit of the doubt. But we must admit that you were +hardly decorous in your remarks. Have you anything to say?” + +Suddenly into Virginia’s’ mind there came an idea—so quickly that she +smiled a little, greatly to Miss Green’s discomfiture. + +“Yes, please,” she answered in reply to the question asked her. “I +can’t seem to think. What is the noun for ‘decorous’?” + +Miss Green’s eyes and mouth again widened, this time in greater +astonishment. Evidently, this interview was not producing the desired +change of heart. It would far better be ended. She cleared her throat +again. + +“The noun for ‘decorous’ is ‘decorum.’ I am sorry my words have had no +greater effect. Goodnight.” + +“Of course, it’s decorum” said Virginia, as she went toward the door. +“How foolish of me to forget! You’ve really given me a brand new idea, +Miss Green. Good-night.” And she went upstairs, leaving behind her a +puzzled and almost angry woman, whose knowledge of having done her +duty was in some way quite eclipsed by a strange, yet indisputable, +sense of having been badly beaten. + +Study hour was in session when Virginia hurried through the hall +toward her room; but two doors noiselessly opened as she passed, and +four hands extended notes, which she took wonderingly. The door +opposite her own did not open. In her room, Priscilla, instead of +studying, was writing furiously in her “Thought Book,” which, +apparently unread, had been sent two weeks before. As Virginia came +in, she jumped up from the desk, and threw her arms around her. + +“You poor, dear thing!” she cried. “We’re all furious! You didn’t do +one thing but be polite. We’re more furious at Imogene for giggling! +That only aroused Greenie’s suspicions. What did she say? Was she +awful? I’m so glad you’re not crying. You got the notes, didn’t you?” + +“Yes,” said Virginia, returning the embrace. She read the notes. All +expressed a mixture of fury, loyalty, and sympathy. Then she took down +her own “Thought Book,” for she had also begun to keep one, and placed +the notes carefully between its pages. Priscilla watched her, puzzled. +Most of the girls were crying with rage when they came from Miss +Green’s room. Virginia opened the back part of her “Thought Book,” and +separated some thirty pages from those before. Then she dipped her pen +in the ink, but before writing, turned to Priscilla. + +“Priscilla,” she said slowly, “she is a very unjust woman. I think she +is very nearly a cruel one. I shall _never_ try to like her again!” + +While Priscilla watched her, more puzzled than ever, she began to +write in large letters on the first of the pages thus separated. + + “‘ALL TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED ONLY + THROUGH EXPERIENCE.’” + + “These pages will contain accounts of wisdom-giving + experiences, and will pertain especially to matters + of Decorum.” + +“Experience I. Oct. 18. I have learned that the most careful +politeness may be called rudeness. Also that Pity is _not_ akin to +Love, even though the Bible says it is. Also, that remarks, intended +to be polite, about one’s vocation, had best be avoided, especially +when it is previously known that one’s vocation has been thrust upon +her. + + “Why these things are so, + I don’t pretend to know.” + +She closed the book, and replaced it in her desk. Afterward she sat +for a long moment watching a crescent moon sink below the horizon. + +“Are you going to study to-night, Priscilla?” she asked at last. + +Priscilla turned almost fiercely upon her. “I shall fail in Latin on +Monday and Tuesday, _anyway_,” she said, with unreasoning loyalty, +“and maybe on Wednesday, and I’m not exactly sure about Thursday. I +know it will hurt _me_ and not _her_, but it doesn’t seem as though I +could ever get a good lesson for her again.” + +At nine there was an indignation meeting in their room, which every +one attended, except Imogene and Vivian, and at which Virginia, though +the center of attraction, said little. She appreciated their loyalty, +but somehow she could not talk. It had all surprised her too much. But +the others could talk. The room hummed with their vehement +whisperings. + +“It just shows how suspicious she is!” + +“Never mind, Virginia. It’s no disgrace to you.” + +“It’s really Imogene’s fault. Why did she giggle like that?” + +“Do you suppose it could have been on purpose?” Courageous Anne +ventured to give voice to a suspicion which, except for Dorothy, +seemed general enough. + +But Dorothy, though annoyed at Imogene’s thoughtlessness, which had +caused trouble for Virginia, was loath to believe that it had arisen +from anything but thoughtlessness. To speak truly, Dorothy was +fascinated by Imogene—her wit, money, clothes, and, above all, by her +air of wisdom, and her “don’t care” ways. Therefore she defended her +hotly. + +“Of course it wasn’t on purpose, Anne!” she said indignantly. “Imogene +wouldn’t do such a thing!” But the silence which followed seemed to +show that all did not share Dorothy’s confidence; and Anne, growing +more courageous, said: + +“I’m not so sure about that.” + +“I’d like to know what Miss Wallace said to her.” + +“So should I.” + +“She was plain mad when she came up-stairs, for she slammed the door +like anything.” + +“Yes, and I heard her give Vivian fits for having the window open.” + +But Imogene kept her own counsel, and no one knew what Miss Wallace +had said. Neither did they learn that night from Virginia of her +interview with Miss Green. Her strange silence during the conference +quelled the curiosity which prompted them to ask; and, when the +nine-thirty bell rang, they went home, feeling that she was queer some +way but that they liked her more than ever. + +The world had suddenly lost its brightness for Virginia. She undressed +in silence, and was in bed before Priscilla, who sat on the edge of +her cot a moment before going to her own, and hugged her room-mate +sympathetically. Virginia returned the hug with a bear-like one of her +own, and kissed Priscilla good-night, but still she could not talk. +Neither could she go to sleep. Long after Priscilla’s breathing showed +that she had forgotten indignation and all else, Virginia lay awake, +choking back a great, obstinate lump of homesickness, which would rise +in her throat. She longed for her father. He would understand as no +one else could. She longed for Don, who would call Miss Green “an old +prune.” Most of all she longed for her own big country, where, her +poor injured heart told her, people didn’t look for impoliteness. And +just this morning she had been so happy! + +Then the tears came, and she sobbed into her pillow. “I’m not plucky +at all,” she thought, “because I _am_ homesick, and I don’t care if I +am!” She felt better after a good cry, and thought she could go to +sleep, but the room seemed warm and close, though the windows were +open. She got out of bed, put on her kimono, and went to the French +windows which opened upon the porch. The moon had set, but the sky was +clear and star-filled. Unhesitatingly she opened the doors and stepped +out. From where she stood no trees obstructed her view of the campus. +The buildings stood dark and dim among the trees. It was so still that +she could hear the brook falling over the stones, half a mile away. +She felt better out there under the sky—somewhat as she felt among the +mountains at home. + +All at once she heard steps on the gravel walk. Who could be out so +late. A bulky form emerging from the firs and coming along the walk +below where she stood answered her question. It was Michael, the old +night watchman. Were it not for fear of disturbing some one she would +call to him, for she liked his funny Irish ways, and already they had +become good friends. She went nearer the railing to watch him as he +walked slowly toward West Cottage, and as she moved a board in the +floor of the porch creaked. + +Michael looked up hastily, and descried her figure. He had been too +long at St. Helen’s not to know that young ladies on porches at +midnight usually meant mischief, and he hurriedly retraced his steps +toward The Hermitage, rounded the cottage, and—truly Fate was +unkind!—rapped on Miss Green’s instead of Miss Wallace’s window. + +So perfectly innocent was Virginia that she did not for one moment +connect Michael’s return with herself. Miss Green’s room was on the +other side of the cottage from her own, and she could not hear +Michael’s quiet warning. Therefore, she was surprised and not a little +startled when she found herself five minutes later enveloped in a +strange light. She turned around quickly to see in the doorway Miss +Green, clothed in a gray flannel wrapper, and armed with a miniature +search-light, which always accompanied her on her night journeyings. +Virginia felt a strange desire to laugh. Miss Green’s scant locks were +arranged in curl-papers about her forehead; she still wore her +spectacles; and the combination gave the sinister effect of a beetle. +But the look on Miss Green’s countenance checked the unborn laugh. + +“What are you doing here on the porch at midnight?” Miss Green’s words +were punctuated with pauses of horror. + +“Something inside of me said I’d feel happier out here, Miss Green.” + +Virginia’s honest eyes looked into Miss Green’s shrinking ones. Miss +Green apparently felt uncomfortable. She wrestled again with that +disagreeable sense of having been beaten. Slow as she was to perceive +honesty, she could not doubt this girl who faced her with flushed +cheeks and tear-swollen eyes. She stood aside, shivering in the night +air, to let Virginia enter her room. Then she followed her. Once +inside, she hesitated a moment, then locked the French windows, and +slipped the key into her capacious pocket. Virginia’s unwavering eyes +watched her. She cleared her throat nervously. + +“I need hardly remind you, Virginia, that it is highly indecorous for +a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono! Moreover, +let us ever avoid all appearance of evil.” + +Then she went. Virginia heard her padded footsteps stealing down the +stairs. Priscilla had, fortunately, not awakened. Virginia was too +surprised to be angry. Had it really happened, or was it just a dream? +She tried the French windows to make sure. They were securely locked. +Then she laughed as she remembered Miss Green’s curlpapers and +spectacles and horrified expression. + +She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go to +sleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her “Thought Book.” This +evening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turn +on the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling by +the window, she traced these words by the dim light: + +“Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highly +indecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a +kimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!” + +Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE LAST STRAW + + +No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green, +clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resist +relating such an experience as that of the night before to her +roommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she told +Priscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing her +to eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealed +whether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair. +They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a little +worry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in the +small hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case for +report. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicit +trust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. She +was still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled the +events of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would “bear +watching.” + +Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. To +begin with, every one was late; and Miss Green’s frigid manner really +did not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed upon +late comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse, +and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Mary +and Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the +“Continental Breakfast,” and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, who +hoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogene +was not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in good +spirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green’s curl-papers. +However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivened +by Miss Wallace’s futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Green +felt Virginia’s gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, and +apparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve. + +Poor Virginia, who upon awaking had decided to try to forget all the +discomfort of the evening before and be happy again, felt her +resolution impossible of fulfillment in this atmosphere; and by the +time breakfast was over (be assured it was a short repast) was as +discouraged and homesick as the night before. She declined Mary’s and +Anne’s invitation to walk with them and the sad-eyed Vivian to the +village after Saturday morning’s house-cleaning; refused to play +tennis with Priscilla and the Blackmore twins (two jolly girls from +Hathaway); quite enraged Dorothy by discovering her and Imogene in +secret conversation, when she went to find her sweater which Lucile +had borrowed; and at last, completely discouraged, and sick of +everything, wandered off down the hill by herself, pretending not to +hear some girls from King Cottage, who called to her to wait. + +On the way she met the postman, who handed her three letters. She +stuffed them in her pocket; and then, for fear of being followed by +the King girls, hurried into the woods by a short cut she had already +discovered, and found her way to the little gray stone chapel. She +opened the door and went in, but it seemed cold and damp inside, and +she came out again into the sunshine. + +Here she was practically sure of being undisturbed, for the girls did +not often visit St. Helen’s Retreat on Saturday morning. She sat down +on the stone steps and listened to the wind in the pine trees, which +completely surrounded the little chapel. Shafts of sunlight fell +through the branches upon the brown needles beneath. In among the +tangled thickets beyond the trees, the birds were gathering to go +southward. They seemed in a great bustle of preparation. Virginia +spied thrushes and tow-hees, brown thrashers and robins in great +numbers; also many bluebirds, whose color was not so brilliant as that +of their mountain bluebird at home. The English sparrows, however, +were undisturbed by thoughts of moving, and chattered about the eaves +of the Retreat, quite lazy and content. + +At any other time Virginia would have watched the birds with eager +interest, creeping through the thickets to observe them, for she was a +real little student of their ways, and loved them dearly. But to-day +the world was wrong, and birds were just birds, she told +herself,—nothing more! Besides, she had been treated unjustly and +unfairly, and she had a good cause for feeling blue. No one could +blame her—not even Donald, whose words kept coming to her. She wished +Don had never said them—they bothered her! + +She drew her letters from her pocket. In a way, she hated to read +them, she said to herself, because they would make her more homesick. +But in a very short time curiosity overcame her, and she began to open +them eagerly. Two were from her father and Don, the other from Aunt +Lou in California. She read Aunt Lou’s first—saving the best for the +last. Aunt Lou was glad to hear such pleasing reports both from those +in Vermont, and from Miss King. From Grandmother Webster she had been +convinced that Colonel Standish was a gentleman though she would again +warn Virginia that one could not be too careful. She knew that St. +Helen’s and her experiences there would surely be the making of +Virginia, etc., etc. + +Virginia folded the letter. In a way she could not help feeling glad +that her grandmother and Aunt Nan, and especially Miss King, were +pleased with her. Still, if Miss Green told, would Miss King +understand? But it was of no use to worry, and it was in a little +better humor that she opened Donald’s letter. + +He had missed her, he said. Everything had seemed lost without her. It +was no fun riding alone, and he had been glad when October came, and +he had gone to Colorado. He liked it much better than the East. The +fellows were more his sort, and they rode a lot; but not one of them +could ride better than she. + +“I’m mighty glad,” the letter ended, “that Mary Williams is in your +cottage. She’s a peach, isn’t she? Jack’s all right, too. He wrote me +the other day that maybe he would come to Wyoming another summer. +Wouldn’t it be great if Mary could visit you then? I’m glad you’ve got +a good room-mate. Don’t forget though, you promised not to be a young +lady in June!” + +Before she opened her father’s letter, Virginia felt decidedly better. +Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mary could go to Wyoming with Jack? +Maybe—of course, not probably, but maybe—Priscilla’s father might let +her go, too. Dreams of glorious days in the mountains made her eyes +shine. She was almost happy again. + +Her father’s dear fat letter was supplemented by a laboriously written +one from Jim, and a note—yes, actually a note from William. And +William could write a good hand, without misspelling a word! Jim’s +letter told her that the little colt was growing beautifully, and was +the image of his mother; that he hadn’t much minded the branding; and +that Joe sent his best regards and wished to say that the lump in the +littlest collie’s throat had quite disappeared. His rheumatism got +worse, he said, with the colder weather, and he read her books a lot +for company. He closed by saying they all missed her worse every day, +and by asking her for them all how she liked the saddle, and “how it +set”? + +William’s note told her that he should send by the next mail two sets +of rattles, whose former owners he had killed the week before; and +that he had already planted her garden with some perennials which he +knew she would like. He would not tell her what they were, as he +wanted to surprise her. + +She read her father’s letter over and over again. It was filled with +pride, for he, too, had received a letter from Miss King, and—what was +stranger yet!—actually one from Grandmother Webster, telling of their +pleasure in Virginia. He was glad every day that she was so happy at +St. Helen’s. Were she often homesick, he would be troubled; but her +happiness made his loneliness the less. + +The fall threshing was over, he said, and the round-up and branding +completed. The men were having a much-needed rest. William had not +gone to town once since she left, and if he continued in his +determination, she would not know him when she came home. Jim, he was +sorry to tell her, seemed far from well. The Keiths were also finished +with the hardest of the fall labor; and they had all decided to ride +up the canyon the next Saturday “To-day,” thought Virginia—and camp +for over Sunday, just for a change. How they wished she and Don were +there to go along! + +Virginia folded the letter and jumped to her feet. An idea had seized +her, dispelling the few remaining blues, for to a nature like her own +a new idea is often a cure-all. Why had she not thought of it before? +She would ride to-day, just as they were doing at home. Not yet had +she used her new saddle, but really there had been little opportunity. +The days had been too filled with lessons and getting acquainted to +allow much time for riding; and they had now become so short that it +was impossible after supper. The first two Saturdays had been taken +up—one by a tennis tournament, the other by the Senior and Junior +basket-ball game—and this was only the third. + +But to-day she would ride. She would hurry home, learn her +lessons—yes, she even thought she might learn her Latin—and then after +luncheon have the man from the village stable bring up the horse he +had recommended at a previous interview. + +The atmosphere at luncheon was less chilled. Mary, Anne, and Vivian +brought from the village the glad tidings that the “Forget-me-not” +would be open all winter, and serve hot chocolate and cakes instead of +sundaes; Priscilla and Lucile had won four sets from the Blackmore +twins; and Virginia’s spirits were certainly improved. Only Imogene +and Dorothy, who had been together all the morning, preserved, the one +a haughty, the other an embarrassed, silence. + +Virginia’s announcement that she was to ride brought forth great +interest on the part of the girls, and solicitude on the part of Miss +Green. + +“You have permission, I presume, Virginia?” + +“Oh, certainly, Miss Green. I’ve talked with Miss King all about it,” +answered Virginia, striving to be polite. Later, when she heard Miss +Green supplementing over the telephone her own directions to the +stable-man, and cautioning him to bring the safest horse in the +stable, she tried not to mind. + +The horse arrived. To The Hermitage girls, and several from Hathaway, +who had come over to watch the proceedings, and who, if they had +ridden at all, had mounted nothing larger than ponies, he was a huge +beast. They watched with great interest while Virginia herself threw +across his broad back her shining new saddle, and tightened the +girths. + +“What a queer saddle!” + +“What’s that thing in front, Virginia?” + +“The saddle-horn.” + +“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall against it and hurt you?” + +Virginia laughed. “Oh, no!” + +“See the ‘V. H.’ on the brass, Anne. Some style to you, Virginia!” + +“What’s the horse’s name, Mr. Hanly?” asked Virginia, preparing to +mount. + +“Napoleon Bonaparte.” + +The girls laughed. Virginia swung herself into the saddle. To the +admiring girls it seemed as though she had not touched the stirrup at +all. She gathered her reins in one hand. + +“Remember, you’re to try him, Priscilla, when I get back,” she called, +riding away. + +From one of the lower windows of the Hermitage, some, one cleared her +throat. + +“Use extreme caution, Virginia,” some one called, but Virginia was +already out of hearing. + +She had intended to ride down to the gate-posts, and then farther out +into the country on the road which led away from Hillcrest. But by the +time she came in sight of the stone posts she had quite decidedly +changed her mind. Napoleon Bonaparte was hopeless! If he had not so +annoyed her she might have laughed at his combination of gaits. His +trot was torture; and it was only by the utmost urging that one could +prevail upon him to canter. This urging, Virginia discovered to her +surprise, was most effective when accomplished by yanking upon the +reins, a proceeding which a Western horse would not have borne at all. +His periods of willingness to canter were of short duration, for which +the rider at the end of the period usually felt thankful. Moreover, he +invariably stumbled when going down hill; and, to cap the climax, and +add the finishing touch, he had the asthma, and, after a few moments +of speed, sounded like a freight train. + +The gate-posts reached, Virginia was resolved upon one thing! She +could not ride Napoleon! She would ride to the village stable and see +if a change were possible. She turned Napoleon’s heavy head, and rode +on, wondering what Donald would say if he could see her steed, and +greatly hoping that the village stable contained some improvement. + +Mr. Hanly, who had driven down with the mail-carrier just ahead of +her, met her at the stable door. + +“Anything the trouble, miss?” + +Virginia for the moment ignored his question. + +“Mr. Hanly, how old is Napoleon?” + +Mr. Hanly calculated. “About eighteen, miss.” + +“Eighteen!” cried Virginia. “Then I don’t wonder! Why, Mr. Hanly, he +can’t go at all. He hasn’t a gait to his name! Besides, he wheezes +terribly. Has he the asthma?” + +Mr. Hanly explained that for years Napoleon had been afflicted with a +chronic cold; but that he had been in his day a good saddle-horse, and +safe. + +“Oh, he’s perfectly safe, Mr. Hanly! He’s too safe! But, you see, I’ve +ridden all my life, and I can’t ride him. I really can’t! Haven’t you +something else?” + +Mr. Hanly considered. Yes, he had a saddle-horse belonging to a +Hillcrest gentleman, who was away at present, but who had left word +that his horse might be exercised. Still, he would hardly venture to +saddle him for Virginia. He was safe enough, but inclined to take the +bit in his teeth. No, he would not dare to allow her to have him. +Still, she might look at him if she liked. + +Virginia swung herself off Napoleon, and went in the stable to view +the horse described. He was assuredly not in the same class as +Napoleon. She knew by his build that he was a good saddle-horse. She +must have him, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes later, the +persuaded, if not convinced, Mr. Hanly was somewhat dubiously removing +the saddle from poor, perspiring Napoleon, and strapping it, with +Virginia’s help, on the back of the black horse. + +In another moment Virginia was up and away, leaving Mr. Hanly, who was +watching her, somewhat reassured in the doorway. + +This was something like riding, she told herself, as she cantered +along the country road. The black horse, though nothing like her own +Pedro, was still a good horse. He could even singlefoot, and did not +have the asthma. + +She rode miles into the country beyond St. Helen’s. The afternoon was +perfect—one of those autumn afternoons when the summer lingers, loath +to go; when the leaves drift slowly down, and the air is filled with +an unseen chorus; and when all about an Unseen Presence makes itself +felt, and causes one to feel in harmony with the God of the +Out-of-doors. + +Virginia’s cheeks were rosy red; her hair was flying in the wind, for +she had lost her ribbon, and had long since stuffed her cap in her +pocket; her eyes were glowing with happiness. She reached the Five +Mile Crossways and turned back toward home. Then the black horse +showed his paces. He fairly flew over the road, Virginia delighting in +his every motion. One mile—two—three—he galloped furiously. They were +within a mile of St. Helen’s. Virginia sought to quiet him, but he was +on the homeward way, and he knew it. They rounded a curve, still on +the gallop, when some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl. It was Miss Green. Virginia strove with all her might to +pull the black horse into a walk so that she might speak, but he did +not choose to walk; and it was with a considerably lessened, but, to +the startled Miss Green, furious gallop that they passed, Virginia +waving her hand as her only means of salutation. She heard Miss +Green’s peremptory and horrified command for her to stop, but she +could not heed it. Her mind was at that time completely occupied with +wondering if the horse would willingly turn into the avenue leading to +St. Helen’s. Fortunately he did, perhaps imagining it for a new +entrance to his stable, and Virginia disappeared from sight among the +pines. + +[Illustration: “Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl.”] + +It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended the +hill leading to St. Helen’s in such a short space of time. When she +arrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was just +preparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interested +audience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease until +she might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throat +vigorously: + +“Priscilla,” she said, “dismount immediately. Virginia, tie that +dangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly to +come at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me to +Miss King’s office!” + +The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, more +dazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stony +silence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King’s gold and brown room. +Miss King sat by the western window, a book in her hand. She smiled as +they entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green’s +face. + +“What is it?” she asked. + +Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by the +window, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willful +disobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusal +to stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished, +she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or an +explanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however—very +quietly. + +“You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did not +understand matters—quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding, +I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know so +little of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. I +am sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fully +described to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I will +talk this matter over with you.” + +Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia, +still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in her +cheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked together +of books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and the +mountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation of +Virginia’s inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak of +horseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than when +she had entered. + +As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watched +the sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful—troubled, +perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to the +desk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight. + +“Harriet has been with me a long time,” she said to herself at last. +“But neither because of her superior Latin instruction, nor for the +sake of our old friendship, can I any longer allow my girls in The +Hermitage to lack a home atmosphere. Perhaps, after all, Athens needs +Harriet. I may be doing the Ancient World a favor, who knows?” And the +little, gray-haired lady smiled to herself in the twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + + +“Dorothy, do you think it’s fair?” + +The black eyes of Lucile Du Bose, ready at any moment to brim over +with discouraged tears, implored her room-mate, who lay upon the +couch, deep in a magazine. + +“Dorothy, do you?” + +Dorothy frowned. Apparently she had no thoughts on the subject, and +did not wish to be disturbed. + +“Do I what, Lucile? What’s the matter, anyway?” + +Her tone was petulant and not conducive to conversation; but poor +Lucile was desperate. + +“Do you think it’s fair for me to have to write an oration on the +Pilgrim Fathers? I don’t know anything about them, Dorothy. Besides, +I’m most all French; and I don’t know how to start an oration, +anyway!” + +“Why, of course, it’s fair enough. The others all have to. Why not +you? No one’s to blame because you’re French.” + +“But the rest don’t all have to,” persisted the injured Lucile, while +Dorothy began again to read. “The Blackmore twins were allowed to take +Ethan Allen, because he’s their ancestor; and Miss Wallace told +Virginia she could write on the Pioneers. Who are the Pioneers, +Dorothy?” + +“Search me!” Dorothy was in a forbidding temper. Of late even her +devotion to Miss Wallace had not made her “angelic” to her room-mate. + +Lucile chewed her pen-stock savagely. Something must be done. Study +hour was nearly over, and Dorothy would be on her way to tennis or the +“Forget-me-not.” She would try once more. + +“Dorothy?” + +“Well!” + +“Dorothy, if you’ll tell me how an oration begins, I’ll do your French +sentences every day for two weeks.” + +Dorothy stopped reading. This was worth considering, since her rank in +French had been B for some time. Of late Dorothy’s resolutions made in +the fall had been considerably bent if not broken. Still it would not +do to accept with too much alacrity. She closed the magazine. + +“I can’t see, Lucile, how you can have been studying orations all the +fall with Miss Wallace, and not know what one is like. Don’t you +listen in class?” + +“Of course I do; but they’re so dry I forgot them. I know Napoleon’s +‘Address to his Troops,’ but I can’t understand Washington and +Webster. If I could just begin this I might go on. It’s got to sound +patriotic, you know, and thrilling, like ‘Soldiers! you have +precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines!’” + +“But you’re not talking to any one. You’re talking about the Pilgrim +Fathers. Now, why don’t you begin like Lincoln? Of course, you can’t +say, ‘Fourscore and seven years ago,’ but you can subtract 1620 from +now, and say—let me see-‘Fourteen score and thirteen years ago.’ Now, +I think that’s original, Lucile.” + +Lucile looked more hopeful, and blew her nose for the last time. Then +she began to write. After a few moments, + +“I’ve done three sentences, Dorothy. They’re landed safely. Now what +shall I say?” + +Dorothy was plainly impatient. Still there were those French +sentences! + +“Well, I should think you’d tell how they overcame all the elements. +Something like this, ‘Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing +high, or a stern and rockbound coast.’ That’s from a poem, you know, +called ‘The Landing of the Pilgrims.’ Then you might say something +about their fortitude being an inspiration to us. Orations are all +about that, you know,—bravery and inspiration and reverence and all +kinds of memories. But for goodness’ sake, Lucile, don’t put my words +down! I just suggest. You must write your own words.” + +“Why, of course I will. I’m just putting it down roughly now, you see. +I’ll do it all over this evening. Oh, dear, here’s Virginia and +Priscilla and we’re not half done. Do you suppose you’ll have any +thoughts this evening?” + +“I can’t tell. Come in!” + +“Walk down to the ‘Forget-me-not’ with us, you two,” said Priscilla. +“My allowance has come, and I’m treating. This is the first hot +chocolate and cake day. Jess Blackmore was down yesterday, and they +told her. What’s the matter, Lucile? You look sad.” + +“I’ll have to change my shoes,” said Dorothy. “Will you wait?” + +“Yes, if you hurry. What’s up, Lucile?” + +Lucile, glad of an audience, returned to her old grievance. + +“I don’t think it’s fair,” she complained. “Virginia, if you had the +Pioneers, why need I have the Pilgrim Fathers?” + +“Why, I’d have soon had the Pilgrim Fathers,” Virginia explained, “but +I think real Americans ought to be just as proud of the Pioneers, +because they were every bit as brave. They crossed the mountains to +find new lands, and made homes in the wilderness, and fought Indians +and wild animals. And no one here in New England seems to care about +them. So I asked if I mightn’t take them myself to give them a +tribute.” + +“Oh, that’s what a Pioneer is,” said Lucile reflectively. “Well, why +couldn’t I take the Storming of the Bastille? My great grandfather +helped. The Blackmores have Ethan Allen.” + +Dorothy sighed very audibly as she laced her boots. She was apparently +dead sick of the Pilgrim Fathers. + +“But, you see, Lucile,” Virginia again explained, “Miss Wallace wants +you to be more American now you’re here at school, because your mother +is American, and that’s why she wants you to take the Pilgrim Fathers, +so you’ll appreciate your country more.” + +Lucile’s black eyes snapped. She pushed her paper away, and went to +the closet, murmuring something in French under her breath that +sounded very much like “Vive la France!” + +Virginia’s eyes fell on the crumpled and dog-eared piece of paper. + +“Why, haven’t you more than that done, Lucile? They have to be given +to Miss Wallace to-morrow!” + +The angry Lucile stamped her foot. This was quite too much to be +borne. She was sick and tired of the Pilgrim Fathers, and all their +patronizing descendants. + +“No, I haven’t,” she cried. “And you needn’t act as though you knew so +much, Virginia Hunter, just because you can write compositions. You’re +out of it easy just because you’ve lived way out in the woods, and +know all about Indians and wild animals. But I’ve lived in Paris, and +there’s a great difference between Wyoming and Paris, I’ll have you to +know!” + +The scorn in Lucile’s voice was not to be mistaken; but Virginia was +equal to the occasion. + +“Yes, of course there is a great difference,” she said. “You see, +Paris is frightfully small compared to Wyoming—I don’t mean in size, +you know, but in the way people look at things. In Paris, for +instance, one thinks about clothes and a good time and gayety; and in +the mountains you’d feel mean thinking about such frivolous things.” + +Dorothy and Priscilla laughed, but Lucile grew angrier as Virginia +continued sweetly, + +“But I really wrote one on the Pilgrim Fathers, too, Lucile. Priscilla +and I both did, and then tried to thrill each other by giving them. +Would you like to hear mine? I have it right here in my blouse +pocket.” + +Lucile’s mind, slow to originate, was quick to grasp, and tenacious to +retain. An idea came to her with Virginia’s question, but she was too +irritated to appear as eager as she really was to hear the oration. +Here might be a way out of her difficulty. She brushed her sweater +leisurely. + +“I’m sure I don’t care. You may if you like,” she said at length. + +“Oh, let’s give those Pilgrim Fathers a rest!” cried the exasperated +Dorothy. “I’m tired to death of them, and there won’t be a cake left. +Come on!” + +Priscilla gave her a warning nudge and a sly wink. “No, let’s hear +Virginia first,” she said. “It won’t take five minutes, and her +oration’s a peach! Go on, Virginia!” + +Virginia mounted the nearest chair, and drawing a crumpled paper from +her blouse pocket, began to read in a voice filled with emotion: + + “How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod were + thrilled when our Pilgrim forefathers first landed on the + stern shores of our vast continent, then unrevealed. + Methinks the ocean eagle himself burst into a paean of + praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise! No trumpet that sings + of fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums + saluted them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon + the naked solitude! + + “They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels + of the earth, nor did they seek king’s wealth or war’s + spoils, but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike + faith. + + “Aye, classmates, let us in sooth call this soil of our + dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and they left + us an unstained freedom to worship the God of our Fathers, + known of old!” + +With a quiver in her voice Virginia finished, bowed to her audience +and descended. Lucile was not blessed with a keen sense of humor. +Still, as eloquent as it sounded, it might be a joke. She glanced at +Virginia’s and Priscilla’s serious faces, and was reassured. + +“Oh, I wish I could do something like that!” she breathed. + +“Isn’t it fine?” Priscilla asked excitedly. “I told Virginia it had a +real Patrick Henry ring. Don’t you think so, Dorothy?” + +“Elegant!” said Dorothy, emerging crimson from the depths of the +closet. “Come on. Let’s hurry!” + +Virginia threw the piece of mangled paper in the waste basket. “I’ve +another copy,” she said carelessly, as they hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors. At the steps Lucile hesitated. + +“I’ll catch up,” she said. “I’ve forgotten something. Go on.” + +She ran up-stairs while the three outside the fir trees laughed. + +“Didn’t she bite easily, though? I never thought she would bite like +that. Poor Mrs. Hemans and Kipling!” + +“It way mean,” admitted Virginia, “but I just couldn’t resist after +that slam she gave Wyoming. I thought sure she’d see through +it—Dorothy was so red; and, of course, I thought she knew ‘The +breaking waves dashed high.’” + +“The best part of it all is,” Dorothy whispered, “she’s gone up to +find that paper. Martha cleans this afternoon, you know, and Lucile +wants to use that oration. I’ll bet I’m not asked for any thoughts +to-night!” + +“Oh, no, she won’t!” cried Virginia. “Dorothy, do you suppose she +will?” + +“You wait and see! Of course she will. Lucile’s queer. She doesn’t +have any thoughts; and she can’t see when a thing is funny. Miss +Wallace doesn’t have them read aloud, does she, Priscilla? Lucile +especially asked that, and I told her she didn’t.” + +“She didn’t last year. Oh, if she did!” + +They laughed again, but tried to calm down as Lucile, looking somewhat +embarrassed, emerged from the fir trees. Then they proceeded to the +“Forget-me-not,” where they found most of St. Helen’s assembled, and +toasted the different classes and cottages in hot chocolate, served by +a sallow youth with eye-glasses and a white duck coat, he evidently +being likewise an innovation, like the chocolate and cakes. + +On the way home Virginia’s conscience pricked a little, and she +confessed a slight mean feeling to Priscilla. + +“You see, if I could be sure Miss Wallace wouldn’t ask us to read them +in class, it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s bad enough, if Lucile really +uses that foolish thing, to have Miss Wallace read it alone; but, +really, ’twould be frightful if Miss Wallace should call on her to +read it. I don’t know what I’d do! And every one would laugh! Oh, it +is mean, Priscilla!” + +“No, it isn’t mean, it’s just funny. You know things are different in +school, Virginia, though I can never make mother see it. Now jokes +aren’t mean! Lucile just bit, and she’ll learn in this way not to bite +so easily. Also, that you get in trouble using other folks’ work. +Besides, if she’s a sport, and takes it right, we’ll all like her +better. It is mean to set traps deliberately to get other girls into +trouble, the way Imogene did to you the other night; and it’s +miserably mean to try to throw blame on some one else for what you’ve +done yourself. Mother can’t seem to see much difference, but dad and +the boys can. Only jokes aren’t mean; and we’d have been too slow for +any use if we hadn’t had some fun out of that oration when the chance +came like that.” + +In study hour that evening, Lucile’s conscience was also active, with +better reason. Dorothy, in her slippers, had stolen along the porch to +Imogene’s room, a way she had of doing lately, though it was quite +against the rules. But Lucile did not need Dorothy’s thoughts, for she +was copying furiously from a piece of yellow paper, which she had +taken from her handkerchief box. After all, she told her conscience, +it was perfectly excusable, for the whole thing had been unfair. To +expect her, whose great-grandfather had stormed the Bastille, to write +an oration on the Pilgrim Fathers! Moreover, Virginia wasn’t going to +use it herself, she reasoned, so it really wasn’t cheating; and she +could help Virginia on her French some day to balance the account. +Besides, Virginia would never know, because Miss Wallace never had +them read in class; and, after all, it was not all Virginia’s work, +because Lucile must add some thoughts of her own to eke out the +required length. Lucile was not a prolific thinker, but with the help +of the Dictionary and “The Essentials of American History,” she was +progressing. By the time Dorothy returned, the oration was completed, +though Lucile was strangely reticent concerning it. On her desk, +Dorothy found a neatly written French exercise. + +“Oh, Lucile, that’s awfully good of you,” she said, herself slightly +conscience stricken. + +“It’s all right. You helped me, you know.” + +“Is the oration all done?” + +“Yes. I—I wish I hadn’t eaten those three cakes. I think I’ll go to +bed early.” + +Sophomore English recited from nine to ten, Miss Wallace desiring +minds as fresh as possible. The morning following Lucile’s desperate +attempt and final accomplishment, a growing pile of manuscript on Miss +Wallace’s desk proved that youthful orators had been busy. Lucile and +Virginia, coming a few moments late to class, deposited their papers +on the top of the pile and took their seats. The recitation began, and +for half an hour Miss Wallace questioned, listened, and explained. +Then she closed her book, and motioned the girls to do the same. + +“I’m going to introduce a custom which I have never introduced +before,” she said with the smile that had made her beloved during her +three years at St. Helen’s. “We have twenty-five minutes remaining. I +am going to ask that two or three of our orations be read before the +class. Virginia, you are on the top of the pile, perhaps a penalty for +being late. We will hear your oration.” + +Virginia crossed the room, conflicting emotions sweeping over her. As +to reading her own composition, she was quite willing, since Miss +Wallace desired it; but she knew that Lucile’s was next in order, and, +as she turned to face the others, she saw Lucile’s agonized face. +Could she do anything to prevent her coming next? She hesitated. There +was nothing except to hope that Miss Wallace would note Lucile’s fear, +and excuse her. Miss Wallace noticed the hesitation. + +“Come, Virginia. We are waiting.” Virginia began to read, and as she +read, she forgot Lucile in the hope that those listening might realize +that the Pioneers of her own dear country were likewise Pilgrim +Fathers. Her voice, sweet and clear, rang out earnestly: + + “At this Thanksgiving season when we, as a nation, give honor + to those brave men and women who founded the New England + States, should we not also grant honor and homage to those + other founders of our country—the children of the Pilgrim + Fathers—the sturdy Pioneers of our Great West? In our praise + of the Pilgrim Fathers, we often forget, I think, that there + were other Pilgrims besides those at Plymouth Rock—other + wanderers, who, perhaps, did not seek freedom to worship God, + but who did seek better homes for their children, and who + tried by their discoveries to show that we had a bigger, + richer country than we knew about. They did not cross the + angry seas of water, but they crossed a sea of land, our great + prairies, where there were even more perils than those of the + Atlantic—perils of Indians, wild animals, cyclones, and + blizzards. They crossed the mountains, cutting their own + trails before them, protecting the tired women and helpless + children from danger; and those who went to the Far West + crossed the great deserts, suffering great hunger and worse + thirst, and sometimes leaving their bones upon the sands.” + +Her voice as she read trembled with eagerness and pride. Into her mind +crept the pictures of “old timers” at home, and the tales of bravery +and endurance which they had told her. She read on, telling of more +hardships, of greater bravery, extolling the lonely lives in the +forests or mountains or on the great prairies. The girls listened +eagerly. Many of them had never considered the Pioneers before. After +all, they were worthy of praise. Virginia was holding her audience—all +save the cowering Lucile, who was miserably knotting her handkerchief. +The young orator closed with an appeal to her listeners: + + “Oh, let us who are so greatly blessed with homes and friends + and safety from the dangers that beset our forefathers, give + thanks to God at this Thanksgiving season! And let us + determine to show in our small lives the bravery and the + perseverance and the honesty and the fear of doing wrong, + which was shown by our Pilgrim forefathers of Massachusetts, + and by the Pilgrim pioneers of our mountain and prairie + States. Then shall we be more fit to be called real, true + Americans!” + +Virginia took her seat amid a burst of genuine applause, the most +precious of which was her beloved teacher’s own commendation and look +of approval. + +“Now, Lucile, you are next,” continued the merciless Miss Wallace; and +the trembling, cowering Lucile managed to cross the room, and take her +own paper from the desk. For a moment Miss Wallace may have been +tempted to withdraw her request. Virginia, whose pleasure in the +reception of her own oration had quite disappeared in her pity for +Lucile, kept hoping that she might reconsider; but she did not. Lucile +must take her chances with the others, she was thinking. Here was an +opportunity for overcoming her diffidence in class. + +Lucile faced her audience, her eyes half angry, half frightened, her +hands shaking. Her low trembling voice was hardly oratorical. + +“Louder, please, Lucile,” commanded Miss Wallace. + +Virginia studiously looked out of the window. Lucile recommenced, and +this time, so absolutely astonished and overcome was Miss Wallace, +that the orator proceeded without interruption to the end. + + “Fourteen score and thirteen years ago,” read the trembling + voice, “our Pilgrim forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The + exact date was the 20th of December in the year of our Lord + 1620. It was Monday when they got there and the women thought + they would wash. All American women have washed ever since. + Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing high, or a stern + and rockbound coast, which is from a poem called ‘The Landing + of the Pilgrims.’ They gave us bravery and inspiration and + reverence and all kinds of memories.” + +The orator at this juncture cleared her throat desperately, and seemed +to gather strength. She proceeded more calmly, and in somewhat louder +tone. + + “How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod, situated + on the eastern coast of Massachusetts, and so named for the + fish that swim around it, were thrilled when our Pilgrim + Fathers first landed on the shores of our vast continent, then + unrevealed—America, named for a poor Italian author, Amerigo + Vespucci. Many persons think the name would be better if it + were Columbia, after the song, ‘Columbia, the gem of the + ocean.’ Methinks the ocean eagle, a bird once inhabitating the + shores of New England, but now extinct, himself burst into a + paean of praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise. No trumpet that sings of + fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums saluted + them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon the naked + solitude! + + “They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels of + the earth, nor did they seek kings’ wealth or war’s spoils, + but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike faith. And + almost the very first building they erected was a church! + + “Aye, Sophomore classmates, I think you ought to call this + soil of your dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and + they have left you an unstained freedom to worship the God of + your Fathers, known of old!” + +The poor orator managed to reach her seat without encountering the +eyes of Virginia; but she could not be unconscious of the postures of +her classmates. Some with crimson cheeks and shaking shoulders were +studiously regarding their textbooks; others, with a complete +disregard either of hygiene or of good manners, were chewing their +handkerchiefs; the Blackmore twins were weeping on each others’ +shoulders. Miss Wallace was fumbling in the drawer of her desk, and +striving hard to control her quivering lips. + +“This class is dismissed,” she managed to say, without looking up, and +the class, unspeakably glad to be dismissed, literally ran from the +room, leaving poor Lucile, upon whom the joke was very slowly dawning, +to come out alone, cut her Latin recitation, and seek her room. Here +she locked the door against her room-mate, and packed her suit-case +for New York where she was to spend Thanksgiving, glad that a telegram +from relatives there had asked for her early departure on the +afternoon train. She did not appear at luncheon. + +“Poor thing! I guess she won’t bite so easy next time,” said +Priscilla, as they left the table, where Miss Wallace, still smiling, +was arranging a tray for the orator. “Let’s be decent enough to play +tennis on the back court till she goes to the station. I know she +doesn’t want to see us, and I don’t blame her a bit. It’ll be +forgotten when she gets back. You don’t feel bad about it, do you, +Virginia?” + +“No, not now, but it was truly awful, Priscilla, when she looked so +scared in class. I felt like a criminal. But I feel better now I’ve +written the note.” + +“What note?” + +“Oh, I forgot to tell you, and I signed your name, too; but I knew +you’d want to. You see, I thought ’twould be too bad to have her go +away for Thanksgiving, thinking we didn’t like her and had been mean +to her, because, you know, I don’t think Lucile is very quick about +seeing through things, and I wanted her to know we liked her all the +same. So I wrote a verse, and slipped it under her door. It said: + + Dear Lucile; + + It was a joke, and now it’s made + We simply can’t unmake it; + But we like you, and hope that you + Will be a sport and take it. + + Happy Thanksgiving! + + P. and V. + + You don’t mind, do you?” + +Priscilla threw her arm over Virginia’s shoulder, and drew her toward +the tennis court. + +“No, of course I don’t mind. I think ’twas mighty sweet of you to do +it. You’re queer, Virginia, but I like you, and I’m glad you’re my +roommate.” + +Virginia’s eyes glowed with happiness. + +“Glad!” she cried. “I’m gladder every day! And I just love you, +Priscilla Winthrop!” + +That evening Virginia added Experience III to the Decorum Chapter of +her ever growing “Thought Book ”: + +“In school it all depends upon how you feel inside when you do a thing +as to whether it’s mean or not. Jokes are not mean, unless you feel +malicious when you conceive them. Also, it doesn’t matter at all if a +joke is played upon you. All it matters is whether you are a good +sport and take it well.” + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + + +Going home for the Thanksgiving holidays, though not forbidden, was +discouraged at St. Helen’s. The time was very short, there being less +than a week’s vacation allowed; and it had long been the custom, +unless urgent demands came from home, for the girls to remain at +school. It was not at all a hardship, for every one had such a royal +good time. Moreover, the fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers and +friends of the girls were always welcome, as far as accommodations in +the village and at the school allowed; and for years Thanksgiving at +St. Helen’s had been a gala season. + +This year it seemed even especially lovely. Indian summer had waited +to come with Thanksgiving, and every day of the vacation was a golden +one. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop came to spend the holidays with Priscilla; +and Mrs. Williams, a sweet, motherly lady, whom Virginia loved at +once, came with Jack to see Mary. Virginia liked Jack, too, and the +four of them dreamed what Mary and Jack called “vain dreams” of a +summer in Wyoming with Donald and Virginia. But the dreams were lovely +anyway, and Mrs. Williams said with a mysterious smile that “perhaps +they were not all in vain,” which remark straightway inspired the +youthful dreamers to build more air-castles. + +Virginia liked Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, also; and her heart beat fast +with happiness when Mrs. Winthrop told her how glad she was to have +her daughter room with Virginia. Mrs. Meredith, a flashily dressed +woman with too many jewels, came for a day to bring the already +over-supplied Imogene some new clothes and candy enough to make her +ill for a week. Vivian’s mother came, too. She had the same wistful, +half-sad expression about her eyes which Vivian had, and Virginia +liked her in spite of her silly clothes, and nervous solicitude over +Vivian’s every step. There was something pathetic about Mrs. Winters. +She might so easily have been so different! And she did truly want +Vivian to be the right kind of a girl. If only she didn’t care so much +for dress and style, Virginia thought to herself, then she might see +that Imogene was not the best roommate for Vivian. + +On Thanksgiving morning, an hour before dinner, Virginia was called to +Miss King’s room. Wonderingly she crossed the campus to the office, +where to her joy she found dear, brisk Aunt Nan, who had run down just +for the day to see how her niece was getting along. Apparently Miss +King had satisfied her before Virginia entered, for she seemed very +proud of the gray-eyed little girl, who was growing taller every week. + +“I really need to stay longer to let your dresses down, dear,” she +said. “But at Christmas time we’ll have a seamstress, and you can’t +grow much in four weeks. Your grandmother and aunt can hardly wait for +Christmas, Virginia.” + +This made Virginia happier than ever, for she had dreaded Christmas in +Vermont without her father. But now it was really something to look +forward to, since even grandmother wanted her so much. She and Aunt +Nan talked with Miss King for a while, and then walked about the +campus until time to dress for dinner. St. Helen’s had changed a good +deal since Aunt Nan’s day. There had been only thirty girls then, she +told Virginia, and two cottages, King and Willow. As they walked +about, the Williamses and Winthrops, together with Anne and Dorothy, +joined them, and Virginia proudly introduced Aunt Nan, who made them +all laugh with the tales of her experiences and escapades at St. +Helen’s years ago. + +Then, the bell on the main building warning them, they hurried in to +dress for dinner, which The Hermitage girls and those of Hathaway +together with their friends were to have at Hathaway. Each year one +cottage was hostess to another. This year Hathaway had bidden The +Hermitage, Overlook was entertaining West, and King and Willow were +celebrating together. It was a merry, happy family that assembled in +Hathaway half an hour later. The tables, arranged in the form of a +hollow square, were gay with centerpieces of yellow chrysanthemums, +and strewn with yellow leaves, gathered weeks before and pressed for +the occasion. There were dainty place-cards upon which the Hathaway +girls with skillful fingers had drawn and painted pumpkins, +log-houses, turkeys, and miniature Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers; and as +each found her place at the table, she discovered also a slip of paper +with an appropriate Thanksgiving verse. This form of Thanksgiving +grace Miss King had originated. “Each one must give thanks for the +day,” she always said; and before the table was seated, each read +aloud her verse or bit of prose. + +Miss King, who, year by year, dined with each cottage in turn, was +this year the guest of the proud Hathaway girls. It was she who gave +first the grace she had given on each Thanksgiving for many years: + + “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. + + “Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence + with singing. + + “Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made + us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep + of His pasture. + + “Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His + courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His + name. + + “For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His + truth endureth to all generations. Praise ye the Lord.” + +The others followed. Virginia’s was her favorite stanza from a new +poem, which Miss Wallace had read to her only the night before. Miss +Wallace must have selected it for her. She looked toward her +gratefully, as she read in her clear voice: + + “A haze on the far horizon, + The infinite, tender sky, + The ripe, rich tint of the corn-fields, + And the wild geese sailing high; + + “And all over upland and lowland + The charm of the goldenrod; + Some of us call it Autumn, + And others call it God.” + +Each having read her selection, they sang all together, as on every +Thanksgiving Day for thirty years the St. Helen’s girls had done, that +old, universal song of praise, which the world will never outgrow: + + “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, + Praise Him all creatures here below, + Praise Him above ye heavenly host, + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” + +Then, with a renewed feeling of thankfulness and happiness, every one +sat down, and the bountiful dinner was served. Virginia sat between +Aunt Nan and Mary, and opposite the Blackmore twins, whose father had +come to spend the day with them. He was the jolliest man imaginable, +“even though he is a minister,” as Jean Blackmore often said, and kept +the entire table laughing over his jokes and funny stories. Virginia +mentally compared him with the Rev. Samuel Baxter, and could not +resist whispering to Aunt Nan: + +“Wouldn’t Dr. Baxter be shocked if he were here?” + +“I wish he were!” Aunt Nan whispered back. “Maybe he’d be so shocked +he couldn’t get back to Webster!” + +They sat for a long time after dinner was over, talking with each +other and enjoying the informal after-dinner speeches. As they left +the dining-room, and passed into the big living-room to listen to some +music, a large automobile stopped at the door, and a tall, +white-haired gentleman in a gray overcoat stepped out and was about to +ring the bell. But, before he had time, he was seized by a gray-eyed +girl in a white dress, who had burst open the door, crying: + +“Oh, Colonel Standish! Have you really, really come to see me?” + +“Why, Miss Virginia,” said the Colonel, pausing to shake hands +cordially with Aunt Nan, “I’ve been having Thanksgiving dinner with +that grandson of mine at the Gordon school; and I told my man he must +drive around this way to give me just a glimpse of you before taking +me back to the city. And how goes everything, my dear? Is the ‘making +of you’ progressing?” And he smiled in remembrance of their journey +together. + +Virginia was so delighted to see him that she could hardly speak. + +“I think so, sir. Everything’s lovely anyway. Oh, Priscilla, come +here!” + +“I wonder if you’re not the girl who knows my grandson?” the Colonel +asked Priscilla. “He was telling me he knew a St. Helen’s girl at +Vineyard Haven this summer named Priscilla Winthrop.” + +“Do you mean Carver Standish, sir? Why, of course, I know him. He +taught me to swim this summer. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him +when Virginia told me that your name was Colonel Standish,” said +Priscilla to Virginia’s delight. To think Priscilla knew Colonel +Standish’s grandson! + +Then the Winthrops must be introduced, and the Williamses and Anne and +Dorothy, together with Miss King and Miss Wallace, until the Colonel +declared that he felt quite at home. It seemed about a minute to +Virginia before he said that he must go, in spite of entreaties and +cordial invitations to share the festivities of the afternoon. But he +should come again, he said, and the next time he would bring his +grandson. Virginia watched the big car as it disappeared below the +hill; and later, as they drove together in the early evening to the +station, she told Aunt Nan that the Colonel’s coming had made her day +complete. + +“Give my love to grandmother, Aunt Nan,” she said, as they told each +other good-by, “and kiss her twice for me, if you think she’d like +it.” + +“I’m sure she would, Virginia,” answered Aunt Nan. “She’s counting the +days until Christmas.” And the train that carried Aunt Nan northward +left a very happy girl on the station platform. + +But of all the happiness which Thanksgiving brought, the loveliest was +the opportunity it gave her to know Miss Wallace better. Miss Green +had gone to Boston for the holidays, and since The Hermitage was +filled to overflowing, Priscilla and Virginia stayed in her room, +giving their own to the Winthrops. Miss Green’s room was next to Miss +Wallace’s; and since Priscilla was constantly with her father and +mother, Virginia, though always asked with Dorothy to join the party, +seized the privilege afforded her of being with Miss Wallace. Miss +Wallace was also glad, for she loved Virginia. Policy, when school was +in session, forbade, with total disregard for a teacher’s preferences, +a greater intimacy with one girl than with another; but in the +vacation days following Thanksgiving, when Virginia was more or less +alone, their friendship grew and ripened into a close understanding +between them. + +Virginia discovered that Miss Wallace loved her best book +friends—“Pollyanna,” Pip in “Great Expectations,” poor Smike in +“Nicholas Nickleby,” David Balfour, Sydney Carton, Sohrab, and dear +Margaret in “The Cloister and the Hearth.” They spent two lovely long +evenings reading together before the open fire in Miss Wallace’s +cheery room, and some hours out-of-doors. Also, to Virginia’s great +delight, Miss Wallace expressed a desire to learn to ride; and +thereupon followed a lesson with Miss Wallace on Napoleon, who, to her +inexperienced eyes, was a veritable war-horse. + +She was doubly glad and thankful for Miss Wallace’s interest and +friendship on the Monday following Thanksgiving. It was the last day +of the vacation, and golden like the others. The Winthrop family and +the Williamses, together with Anne and Dorothy, had motored to +Riverside, twenty miles distant, to take their homeward bound train +from there instead of Hillcrest. Virginia had been asked to join the +party, but had declined, preferring to ride, and secretly hoping that +Miss Wallace might be able to ride also. But Miss Wallace had papers +to correct, sorry as she was, and Virginia tried to be content with +the sunshine, the black horse, and a thick letter from her father, +which the postman gave her as she rode past him down the hill. + +Securing her reins to the horn of her saddle, she tore open her +letter. So motionless did she sit while she read its contents that the +black horse quite forgot he had a rider, and stopped to nibble at the +bare, wayside bushes. A few moments later he must have been surprised +to feel a pair of arms about his neck, and a head against his mane; +but he still nibbled on unconscious that the girl on his back was +sobbing, and saying between her sobs, + +“Oh, if you were Pedro, you might understand, but you haven’t any +heart at all!” + +Still he chewed the alder bushes. It was not often that he was allowed +to take refreshment when this girl rode him, and he intended to make +the best of his advantages. He felt her raise her head after some long +moments; but as yet there was no signal for departure. Virginia was +reading her letter again through blinding tears. + +“I have something to tell you, my clear little daughter, which I know +will grieve you deeply,” her father had written. It was this that had +at first made her heart stand still. “Still, I feel that I should tell +you, for sooner or later you must know. Dear old Jim left us last +night to begin life over again Somewhere Else. He had been gradually +failing for weeks, but he would not give up his work. Yesterday +morning Pedro was taken ill, and Jim refused to leave him, saying over +and over again that you had always trusted Pedro to him. He worked +over him all day, undoubtedly saving Pedro’s life, and refusing to +leave him, even though the other men insisted upon his giving place to +them. At night the men left him to eat supper, for he still would not +leave his post; and when they had finished and went back to the +stable, Pedro was quite himself again, but they found Jim—asleep. + +“I think you will feel as I do, dear, that it was like Jim to go that +way—faithful to the end. We laid him to rest this morning in the side +of the Spruce Ridge, near the great old tree to which you and he used +to climb so often, especially when you were a little girl. You will +remember how he loved the sweep of country from there. The morning was +beautiful and clear—the very kind of day he loved best; and as we +carried him up the hill, and laid him to rest, a meadow-lark sat on +the stump of a quaking-asp and sang over and over again. That was the +only prayer there was—that and our thoughts—but I am sure Jim would +have chosen that for his farewell song.” + +Virginia could read no more. She pulled the head of the startled black +horse away from the alders, and struck him with her spur. He started +furiously down the hill, through the pines, and out into the country +road. On and on they went, mile after mile, but still in Virginia’s +ears rang her father’s words, “Dear old Jim left us last night to +begin life over again Somewhere Else.” Jim, the comrade of her life, +her trusted friend and adviser, whom she would never see again! + +Again she struck the black horse with her spur. But the pounding of +his feet on the hard road could not drown her father’s words. And no +one would understand, she cried to herself—not even Mary and +Priscilla. To them Jim was a dear, interesting old man; to Dorothy a +“character”; to Imogene a “common hired helper”! They would not be +able to comprehend her grief, just as they had never been able to +understand her love for him. + +But riding did not help as she had hoped. She would go back. A half +hour later she left the horse at the stable, and walked homeward, +alone with her grief. She could not bear to see the girls just yet, so +she turned aside and followed the woodsy little path that led to St. +Helen’s Retreat. It was still there—comfortingly still. She pushed +open the door, and entered the little chapel, through whose long and +narrow windows the sunlight fell in golden shafts upon the floor, and +upon the white cloth that covered the little altar. Obeying something +deep within her heart, Virginia knelt by the altar rail; and somehow +in the stillness, the beauty and faithfulness of Jim’s honest life +overcame a little the sadness of his death. + +[Illustration: “Virginia knelt by the altar rail.”] + +How long she knelt there she did not know, but all at once she felt an +arm around her, and heard Miss Wallace’s voice say: + +“Why, my dear child, what is it? Come out into the sunlight and tell +me. You will take cold in here!” + +Together they went out under the pines where the sun was warm and +bright; and sitting there, with Miss Wallace’s arms around her, +Virginia told of her sorrow, and of dear old Jim, of whom Miss Wallace +had already heard. Then she read her father’s letter, and the tears +which stood in Miss Wallace’s eyes quite overflowed when she came to +the part about the meadow-lark. + +“And he loved the meadow-lark so!” sobbed Virginia. “It seems as +though that one must have known!” + +“Perhaps it did,” Miss Wallace said with dear comfort. “I like to +think that birds know many things that we cannot—many of the sweetest +things like that.” + +“Oh, you’re such a help!” breathed Virginia, the burden upon her heart +already lighter. “You see, the others can’t understand why I loved him +so. But you just seem to know some way.” + +“I think I do know, dear,” Miss Wallace told her as they rose to go up +the hill. “I want you always to tell me the things that trouble you, +Virginia, and the things that make you glad, because we’re real +friends now, you know; real friends for always!” + +And even in the midst of her grief, Virginia was happy—happy in the +knowledge that she had gained a friend—a “real friend for always.” In +the hard days that followed, when so few understood why it was that +the merry girl from Wyoming had suddenly grown less merry, that +friendship was a tower of strength to Virginia—giving her courage and +happiness when she most needed both; and proving, as it has proven so +many times, that there is no sweeter, finer influence in life than the +mutual helpfulness born of a friendship between a teacher and one of +“her girls.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + + +“On, of course, Dorothy, do as you like! If you’d rather play tennis +with the Wyoming Novelty than go down to the village with me, go +ahead. Don’t think for a moment that I care!” + +Imogene leaned idly back among the pillows, while Dorothy studied the +rug with a flushed face. + +“You know it isn’t that I’d rather, Imogene; but Virginia and I made +an agreement that I’d teach her some tennis serves, and she’d teach me +to ride. She’s given me two lessons already, and now that the indoor +courts are fixed I thought we’d play this afternoon, that’s all.” + +“Go and play then. Don’t mind me. I’m comfortable!” + +Dorothy was silent for a moment. “I don’t see why you dislike Virginia +so, Imogene,” she said at last. + +“Dislike her? I don’t dislike her, or like her either for that matter. +I don’t care one way or the other. My friends have never been brought +up in the backwoods, and don’t weep over dead cow-boys; but, of +course, you’re at liberty to choose yours wherever you like.” + +The sarcasm in Imogene’s tone was biting. Dorothy struggled with a +strong desire to defend Virginia, and another as strong to keep in +Imogene’s favor. Completely ashamed of herself, she said nothing, and +Imogene mercifully changed the subject. + +“Has our Dutch aristocrat returned your penknife?” + +“Not yet. How about your hammer?” + +“I haven’t seen it since she borrowed it, and I’ve ruined my nail-file +trying to open the box of cake mother sent. She has her nerve! I found +this on my desk this afternoon.” + +She showed Dorothy a slip of paper on which was written in a heavy +black hand: + + “Have borrowed your ink for the afternoon. + + “K. van R.” + +“You don’t mean to say she came in when there was no one here, and +just took it!” gasped Dorothy. + +“Oh, Vivian was here, I guess, but Viv hasn’t the nerve of a rabbit. +If Her Highness had chosen to take the room, Viv would have gone +along. But I’m going to do something very soon. I’m sick of this!” + +An imperious knock sounded on the door, and without waiting to be +bidden, the knocker entered. It was Miss Van Rensaelar herself, who, +late in coming to St. Helen’s, had arrived two weeks before. She was +dressed in dark blue velvet with ermine furs, and looked undeniably +handsome, with her blue eyes and faultless complexion. In one +white-gloved hand she gingerly held an ink-bottle, which she extended. + +“Here is your ink,” she announced somewhat haughtily. “I’m sure I’m +obliged. I forgot the hammer, but you can get it from my room if you +need it. I go to the city for dinner. Good-by.” + +Imogene did not rise. “Good-by,” she said in a tone which quite +matched Miss Van Rensaelar’s. “You might have the goodness to place +the ink on my desk. It belongs there.” + +“Indeed!” Miss Van Rensaelar sniffed the air, but crossed the room +with the ink-bottle, which she deposited upon the desk. Then she +crossed again, her head a trifle higher if possible, and went out the +door, which she left wide open. + +Imogene was furious. She rose from the couch to give vent to her +feelings by slamming the door, but encountered Priscilla and Virginia +just about to enter. Had she not wished to share her rage, she might +not have been so gracious. + +“Come in,” she said, “and hear the latest!” + +“What’s she done now?” Priscilla whispered. “We met her in the hall, +but she didn’t deign to speak. Is she going to town to dine with the +Holland ambassador, or what?” + +“I don’t know or care whom she’s going to see,” stormed Imogene, “but +I know one thing! I’m not going to stand this sort of thing any +longer. Borrowing everything is bad enough; but when it comes to +lording it over the whole house, it’s time to do something! Besides, +she’s a Freshman!” + +“She isn’t exactly a Freshman,” said Virginia, not noting Imogene’s +displeasure. “Miss Wallace says she’s been to several girls’ schools +on the Hudson already, but she doesn’t stay. She’s sort of a special, +I guess. She’s nearly eighteen, you know.” + +“I wasn’t favored with a knowledge of her age,” Imogene continued +frigidly. “But I repeat, it’s time to do something!” + +“But what can we do?” asked Priscilla. “Of course we can refuse to +lend our things, but that—” + +“That isn’t what I mean. I mean we ought to show her that she isn’t +everything in The Hermitage, or in all St. Helen’s. She thinks she is! +But she isn’t! In college she’d be made to black boots, or run +errands. I have a friend at Harvard and he told me all about the +things they make fresh Freshmen do.” + +The thought of the haughty, velvet-clad Miss Van Rensaelar blacking +boots was too much for Virginia and she laughed, thereby increasing +Imogene’s displeasure. Vivian arrived just at this point of the +conversation, falling over the rug as she entered, which awkward +proceeding greatly disturbed her room-mate. + +“For mercy’s sake, Viv, save the furniture, and do close the door! +This isn’t open house!” + +Poor Vivian, a little uncertain as to whether or not she was welcome, +straightened the rug and closed the door. Then she sat beside +Virginia, who had made room for her on the couch. + +“We might ask Mary. Maybe she’d have an idea,” Priscilla suggested a +little timidly, but Imogene did not receive the suggestion very +kindly. + +“Oh, I’m sick of this monitor business! Don’t say a word to Mary. +Whatever is done can be done without her first assistance. I’m going +to think of something before I go to bed to-night.” + +“She makes me think of Dick when he first came to the ranch,” said +Virginia. “He acted as though he were better than the other men, and +knew a lot more, though he was only eighteen. He used to like to dress +up and go to town at night, as though he were above them all. The men +grew tired of his overbearing ways, and Jim and Alex decided he needed +some discipline. So, one night when he had gone to town in his best +clothes, they placed a big bucket of water over the bunk-house door, +and arranged it so that when any one opened the door from the outside +it would fall and drench him. Dick came home about midnight; and the +men all lay in bed, waiting for him to open the door. He opened it, +and down came all the water. Jim told father the next day that Dick +just stood there wet through, and never said a word. But he +understood, and after that he wasn’t snobbish any more, but just one +of the men, and they liked him a great deal better. I know I thought +’twas mean when Jim told father, but father said it was just what Dick +needed to help make a man of him.” + +They had all listened to Virginia’s story. Somehow they always did +listen when Virginia told a story for it was sure to be interesting. +Imogene, though she stared out of the window while Virginia told it, +was really listening most attentively of all; for, as Virginia talked, +into her scheming mind flashed an idea, by the carrying out of which +she might attain a two-fold purpose—namely, the desired disciplining +of Miss Van Rensaelar, and the revenging of certain wrongs for which +she held Virginia responsible. + +Imogene did dislike Virginia, for no other reasons in the world than +that the other girls liked her, and that their friendliness gave +Virginia prominence at St. Helen’s. Virginia did not seek popularity +or influence, therefore she had both; but Imogene for two years had +sought for both, and moreover had used every means to attain them. +This year she saw her popularity waning. Even Dorothy did not seem to +care so much for her. Instead she liked Virginia—a bitter pill for +Imogene to swallow. As for influence, Imogene Meredith did possess a +strong influence over her associates, but its strength did not lie in +its goodness. Moreover, Imogene remembered a certain talk with Miss +Wallace on the occasion of Virginia’s trouble with Miss Green; and the +memory of that talk still rankled bitterly. She _would_ get even with +Virginia, and show St. Helen’s that this Wyoming girl was not such a +wonder after all. So as Virginia told her story and the others +listened, Imogene smiled to herself and planned her revenge, Miss Van +Rensaelar for the moment almost forgotten. + +“Aren’t you going to play tennis, Dorothy?” Virginia asked as she +finished. + +Dorothy hesitated. “Can’t we play to-morrow, Virginia?” she asked, +embarrassed. “I promised Imogene I’d walk to the village with her.” + +“Of course. It doesn’t matter. Come on, Vivian. Priscilla and you and +I’ll play; and if Lucile doesn’t want to make a fourth, we’ll get Bess +Shepard from Overlook. She said this morning that she’d like to play.” + +So while the others crossed the campus toward the gymnasium, Imogene +and Dorothy started for Hillcrest, and upon arriving went to the +“Forget-me-not,” while the sallow-faced youth before mentioned served +them hot chocolate, and lingered unnecessarily in Imogene’s +neighborhood. On the way home, peace having been restored between +them, Imogene divulged her secret plan to Dorothy, or at least the +half of it which she cared to divulge,—namely that upon their arrival +home while every one was preparing for dinner, a pail of water be +suspended over Miss Van Rensaelar’s door, so that upon her return she +might be surprised into a more docile manner toward her housemates. + +Dorothy giggled at the picture of the soaked Katrina, but obstacles +presented themselves to her mind. + +“It will be funny, but I think you’ll get the worst of it instead of +Katrina.” + +“How, I’d like to know?” + +“Well, you’re sure to be found out, because you can’t fib about it, +and there’s so few of us in The Hermitage that all of us will be +asked. Then, besides, it’s funny, but I’m not so sure it’s a joke. I +think it’s sort of mean.” Dorothy said the last somewhat hesitatingly, +noting the expression coming over Imogene’s face. + +“Don’t be such a wet-blanket, Dot! Besides, I don’t see how you’re so +sure I’ll be found out. You certainly won’t tell, and Viv won’t dare +to; and you know how St. Helen’s feels about telling tales anyway. +Besides, it’s not my plan. You know who suggested it just this +afternoon.” And into Imogene’s eyes crept a crafty expression, which +told Dorothy more than her words. + +“Oh, Imogene!” she cried, really indignant. “You know that isn’t true! +Virginia didn’t propose it at all! She was just telling a story! You +don’t mean you’d do it yourself, and then lay the blame on Virginia!” + +Imogene saw that she had made a mistake. + +“Who’s talking about blaming anybody? I guess I’m willing to take the +blame for my own actions. Don’t get so excited! I didn’t exactly mean +she proposed it. I just meant that I’d never have thought of such a +good plan if it hadn’t been for her.” + +Dorothy was not convinced. She never felt quite sure of Imogene, +though she couldn’t seem to help being fascinated by her. + +“You see,” she said hesitatingly, “if you had meant that Virginia +suggested it, I’d think—” + +“Well, think what?” + +“I’d think that—? that maybe you laughed on purpose that night +down-stairs.” + +Imogene shrugged her shoulders, and looked, for her, rather +uncomfortable. + +“Isn’t any one allowed to laugh, if anything strikes her funny? You’re +suspicious, Dorothy!” + +But quarreling would not do if Dorothy’s help were to be relied upon. +Besides, the subject was distasteful, not to say dangerous. Imogene +changed it hurriedly, and, by the time they reached The Hermitage, the +plan had once more assumed at least an honest aspect, and Dorothy was +once more laughing at the thought of the drenched Katrina. + +Meanwhile Miss Van Rensaelar was being entertained in the city, and +regaling her friends with tales of the hopelessness of St. Helen’s in +general, and The Hermitage in particular. Such regulations as to +hours! Such babyish girls! No style! No callers! No amusements, except +tennis and basketball, and riding on impossible horses! + +The truth was the trouble lay in Katrina Van Rensaelar, and not in St. +Helen’s. Katrina, “on account of having been detained by illness at a +Long Island house-party,” had not arrived at St. Helen’s until after +Thanksgiving. She was too late to enter any of the regular classes, +and had been ranked as a “Special.” The term really suited Katrina, +for she was a special type of girl to which St. Helen’s had not often +been accustomed. She had too little desire for study and too much +money—too little friendliness and too many ancestors. + +Now, the possession of too many ancestors is difficult property to +handle, especially in boarding-school, unless you are very expert in +concealing your ownership. Katrina was not expert. On the contrary, +disdaining concealment, she openly avowed her ownership, and on the +few occasions in which she had been known to engage in conversation, +had announced that she was of the only original Dutch patroon stock of +New York. There were girls at St. Helen’s who were every bit as +snobbish as Katrina with perhaps less to be snobbish about—Imogene was +one—but somehow they had learned that if one wished to be popular, she +concealed as far as possible her personal prejudices toward family and +fortune. + +Katrina, glad to be away from St. Helen’s and to see some “life,” as +she termed it, accepted with thanks an invitation to remain over night +in the city. Her friends telegraphed her intention to Miss King, +promising to bring her in by machine early in the morning. Miss Green +and Miss Wallace were accordingly informed of the fact that she would +not return, but, as such irregularities were not encouraged, said +nothing of her absence to the girls. + +That night Vivian was a trifle late for supper, for truth to tell it +had been Vivian whom Imogene had delegated to creep up-stairs with the +water-filled pail, and hang it on a nail already provided above the +door. + +“You’re lighter on your feet than I am, Viv,” she had explained, “and +no one will hear you. Just because you hang it there doesn’t mean that +you’re to blame at all. And remember, if to-night Miss Green questions +you, you’re to say, ‘That’s the way they discipline snobbish cow-boys +in Wyoming.’” + +Poor, short-sighted little Vivian, glad to be again in the favor of +her adored Imogene, obediently hung the pail upon the nail, and +descended to the dining-room, looking embarrassed as she took her +seat. Miss Wallace’s keen eyes noted the embarrassment, and caught +also a shade of disapproval cross Imogene’s face. + +“You must have washed in a hurry, Vivian,” whispered the unconscious +Virginia, who sat next her. “There are drops all over your collar.” + +Vivian, more embarrassed than ever, raised her napkin to wipe the +drops. Supper proceeded, but Miss Wallace had her clew. + +All through study-hours, while the others worked, unconscious of any +excitement, Dorothy, Imogene, and Vivian waited with bated breath for +the return of Miss Van Rensaelar. But she did not come. At nine-thirty +she had not returned, and there was nothing to do but go to bed and +lie awake listening. The clock struck ten, and stealthy steps were +heard in the corridor. Could that be Katrina returning? No, for she +would never soften her tread for fear of disturbing the sleepers. Who +could it be? Whoever it was was going up the stairs, for they creaked +a little. The girls held their breaths for one long moment. Then—a +frightful splash, followed immediately by a crash and an unearthly +shriek, rent The Hermitage. Those awake and those who had been +sleeping rushed into the hall, in which the light was still burning. +Down the-stairs came a person in a gray flannel wrapper, which clung +in wet folds about her shivering figure, and from every fold of which +ran rivulets of water. The person’s scant locks were plastered to her +head, save in front, where from every curl-paper dripped drops as from +an icicle. It was Miss Green! Frightened, furious, forbidding Miss +Green! + +Simultaneously the girls laughed—innocent and guilty alike. No one +could have helped it—at least not they, who were, for the most part, +completely surprised. And Miss Green, it must be admitted, was +excruciatingly funny. She stood in the middle of the hall, dripped and +glared. When she could command her trembling voice: + +“Mary Williams, you are a Senior monitor, and do you laugh at such +outrageous conduct?” + +“I—I beg your pardon, Miss Green,” stammered Mary. “I really couldn’t +help it. I’m sorry.” + +“Will you explain this occurrence?” + +“I really can’t, Miss Green. I don’t know anything about it.” + +At this juncture, hurried steps were heard on the stairs, and Miss +Wallace mercifully appeared. When she saw Miss Green, her own lips +quivered, but she restrained them. The shivering Miss Green explained +the situation in a voice quivering with cold and anger. Then, as if +her own conduct needed explanation: + +“I went up-stairs merely to—to see if the windows were lowered, and +this is what I received. Let us probe this disgusting matter to the +bottom, Miss Wallace.” + +“I think you should first get into dry things,” Miss Wallace suggested +gently. “Then we will talk matters over. Girls, please go to your +rooms.” + +The girls obeyed. + +“One moment, please,” Miss Green called imperiously. “Vivian, you were +late at supper. Can you explain this matter. Answer me, can you?” + +Poor frightened Vivian tried to look into Miss Green’s glaring eyes, +but failed miserably. She stammered, hesitated, was silent. + +“Answer me, Vivian. What sort of a method of procedure is this?” + +“Please—please, Miss Green, it’s—it’s—” + +“Well, it’s what?” + +“It’s the way they discipline sn-snobbish c-cow-boys in Wyoming.” + +Utter silence reigned for a few long seconds. Miss Green stared at +each of the mystified girls, until her eye fell upon Virginia, most +mystified of all. + +“For the present, Virginia,” she said in measured tones, each one +distinct, “I will inform you that methods which are in vogue upon a +Wyoming ranch are not suitable in a young ladies’ boarding-school. I +will see you later.” + +She turned to go with Miss Wallace, still dripping, still glaring. +Miss Wallace’s face had become stern. + +“Go to your rooms, girls. There will be no talking to-night. Please +remember, Mary.” + +“Yes, Miss Wallace,” promised the Senior monitor. + +But the mystified Virginia and her wholly indignant room-mate could +not resist some whispers. + +“It’s Imogene,” whispered Priscilla, on Virginia’s bed. “She made +Vivian do it; and now she means to put the blame on you, just because +you told that story about Dick.” + +“Oh, she couldn’t be so mean, Priscilla!” + +“Yes, she could. She’s just that kind. And if Miss Green blames you, +I’m going to tell. I am!” + +This, and much more, went on in whispers in their room, and, for that +matter, in every other. No one could sleep, and a half hour later +every girl heard Miss Wallace’s voice at Imogene’s door. + +“Imogene, you are to come to my room at once. No, I don’t wish you, +Vivian. At once, please, Imogene.” + +It was fully an hour later when they heard Imogene reenter her room, +but no one ventured either that night or in the morning to ask any +questions. As for Virginia, she was summoned to no interview, and +suffered no unjust reprimand, save Miss Green’s piercing words, which +she wrote, with a half-smile, in the chapter, “Pertaining Especially +to Decorum”: + +“I will inform you that methods in vogue upon a Wyoming ranch are not +suitable in a young ladies’ boarding-school.” + +Miss Van Rensaelar, who returned the next morning, never knew what +deluge she escaped. Imogene’s manner forbade any interferences, but +apparently Vivian’s life with her room-mate for the next few days was +anything but a happy one. Secret discussions were held in The +Hermitage, and likewise in the other cottages, for the news had +spread; but Imogene and Vivian never attended, and Dorothy, if +present, was silent and strangely embarrassed. + +A week later when the newness of the affair had passed away, and when +other topics occasionally came up for conversation, some news +announced by Miss Green to her classes swept through St. Helen’s like +wild-fire. In recognition of years of faithful service, St. Helen’s +had presented Miss Green with a fund, with the request that she go to +Athens for two years’ study at the Classical School. + +“Another vocation thrust upon her! Horrors! What will she do?” +exclaimed Dorothy, at a meeting held in The Hermitage to discuss this +unexpected, and, I am forced to say, welcome piece of information. + +“Three cheers for St. Helen’s!” cried one Blackmore twin. + +“And groans for Athens!” cried the other. + +So just before Christmas, Miss Green departed for Athens; and at the +same time, Katrina Van Rensaelar, deciding to seek education +elsewhere, left for a place in which her ancestors would be more +appreciated. + +“And to be perfectly frank, daddy dear,” wrote Virginia, “it’s a +welcome exodus!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE VIGILANTES + + +The weeks immediately following the Christmas holidays were always +hard ones at St. Helen’s. This year was no exception to the experience +of every other year. The weather was cold and snowy, the girls were +homesick, or, as was too often the case, half ill and listless from +too many sweets and too much gayety during the vacation. Lessons were +often poorly learned or not learned at all. In short, the St. Helen’s +faculty dreaded January, and the St. Helen’s girls hated it. + +“It’s the worst month in the whole year,” remarked Priscilla, standing +by her window one Saturday afternoon, and watching a cold northeast +storm whirl the snow-flakes from a gray, forbidding sky. “January’s +the out-of-sorts month, and every one in this whole school is +out-of-sorts, too. I wish it were Christmas over again!” + +“So do I,” said Virginia from the other window. + +Virginia had just caught the out-of-sorts epidemic. For a week at +least after her return from Vermont, the memory of her own joyous +Christmas had kept her happy. It had been such a lovely two weeks! She +and her grandmother had grown to be such good friends. Virginia +actually dared believe that her grandmother did not now disapprove of +her in the least. She and Aunt Nan had had such a happy, jolly +vacation; and even the Rev. Samuel Baxter had been most gracious, not +once mentioning Korean missions or the sale of Bibles. But even +memories were not proof against a general atmosphere of discontent, +and she was beginning to be infected. + +“There goes Dorothy in all this snow,” announced Priscilla a moment +later. “She’s carrying books, too. Where’s she going, I wonder?” + +She rapped on the window. Dorothy either did not hear or did not +choose to. The latter would be more thoroughly in keeping with her +January disposition. + +“I know. She’s failed in geometry every day since we came back, and +has to take private lessons with Miss Wells. Of course she didn’t tell +me, but I know she’s failed because she’s in my division. Bess Shepard +told me yesterday that Dorothy was going to take lessons with her of +Miss Wells in the afternoon. Bess was sick, you know, and she’s making +up lost time. That’s how I know.” + +Priscilla turned suddenly from the window and sat down on the couch. + +“Virginia,” she said, “I’m desperately worried about Dorothy. It isn’t +being untrue to her to talk with you about her, because you are her +friend, too. She isn’t a bit the way she was last year. She doesn’t +seem to care about lots of things the way she did then and when she +was at our house this summer. Don’t you think she’s different from +what she was even in September?” + +Virginia left the window and sat beside her roommate. + +“Yes,” she said, “she is different. She laughs at things now that she +didn’t then; and she seems to be afraid of taking sides about things. +I mean, whether anything’s fair or not. She never likes to say what +she thinks any more, like she used to.” + +“That’s Imogene. I think it’s almost all Imogene.” Priscilla’s voice +was lowered to a whisper. “Dorothy likes Imogene because she has such +a don’t-care way about things, and because she has so much money, and +dresses better than any girl in school, though _I_ think her clothes +are a sight! Mother thought Dorothy was different when she was here +Thanksgiving. She noticed it. I wish Imogene Meredith had never come +here!” + +Virginia’s voice was also lowered. “She doesn’t give Vivian a chance +either. I think Vivian’s dear and sweet; but Imogene makes her do +everything she says, and poor Vivian’s so easily influenced, she does +it. You know what I’m thinking about especially?” + +Priscilla nodded. She knew. They were both thinking of the “Flood,” as +St. Helen’s now termed it, and of how Imogene had tried to shift the +blame from her own shoulders on those of poor Vivian and unconscious +Virginia. + +“Of course I know. I told you then ’twas just like her. And Dorothy +knew about that, too. I’m sure she did! She’s so quiet whenever it’s +mentioned, and looks ashamed. And lately Dorothy’s even been teasing +Vivian, just as Imogene does, about that silly Leslie, who always +gives Vivian extra large cakes at the ‘Forget-me-not.’ Oh, dear! I +don’t suppose there’s anything I can do, but it worries me. Dorothy’s +my best friend along with you, and I don’t want her to grow like +Imogene. Can you keep a secret if I tell you one?” + +“Of course, I can.” + +“Well, Dorothy visited Imogene at Christmas time. Not the whole +vacation, because she spent most of it with her aunt in New York. You +know, her mother is dead, and her father is in California most of the +time, so she spends vacations with her aunt. She was there for a week +and a half, and then she went to Albany and visited Imogene, and that +is why they came back together. They were late, too, because they +stayed for a party Imogene gave. And the thing I mind most is that +Dorothy never told she’d been there at all, just as though it were a +secret. Only Vivian was at the party, and she mentioned it just as +though I knew. Mother asked Dorothy to come home with me—mother feels +sorry that she hasn’t really any family like ours—but Dorothy said her +aunt wasn’t going to let her go anywhere this vacation. It isn’t that +I minded her not coming to us, you know, but I don’t like to have her +so much with Imogene, and, besides, I can’t see why they keep it so +secret.” + +Priscilla finished, troubled. Virginia was troubled, too, for she +loved Dorothy, even though of late Dorothy had not seemed to care so +much for her. She remembered the day she had first seen Priscilla and +Dorothy at the station, and Dorothy’s resolutions in regard to grades. + +“Dorothy hasn’t gotten all _A’s_ the way she planned in September, has +she?” + +“I think she had _B’s_ on her fall card, because she was ashamed of +it, and wouldn’t show it to mother at Thanksgiving. I know she hasn’t +done so well in class as she did last year. Miss Wallace and Miss +Allan have reproved her more than once. And you know the house-meeting +we had when Mary said The Hermitage couldn’t win the scholarship cup +away from Hathaway unless some of us who were getting _B’s_, got _A’s_ +for a change? Well, Dorothy just cut Mary for two days after that, and +she isn’t nice to her now. It does seem too bad when we’ve decided to +try extra hard for the cup that Imogene and Dorothy pull us down. Even +Vivian’s been getting _A’s_, and Lucile’s doing better all the time, +isn’t she?” + +“Yes, she is. Even in English she’s really trying; and she’s fine in +French and Latin and geometry. Do you think Dorothy likes Miss Wallace +as much as she used?” + +“That’s Imogene again. She called Miss Wallace Dorothy’s ‘idol’ all +the fall in that sneering way she has, and now Dorothy acts ashamed to +show she loves Miss Wallace. She doesn’t go to see her the way she did +last year. Last year, if she were troubled about anything, she went +right to Miss Wallace. Oh, dear, what shall we do?” + +Virginia did not answer for a moment. She was thinking. + +“Isn’t life queer?” she said at last thoughtfully. “It all goes +crooked when you most want it to go straight. But I have an idea, +Priscilla. Let’s be Vigilantes!” + +“Vi-gi-lan-tes! What’s that?” + +“Why, don’t you know about the Vigilantes? No, I don’t suppose you do. +Even Miss Wallace didn’t till I told her. Why, the Vigilantes were +brave men in the early days when the Pioneers were just going into +Montana and Wyoming and the other States out there. You see, when they +discovered that those States had such rich lands for wheat, and hills +for cattle, and gold mines—especially the gold—people just flocked +there by thousands. And, of course, there were many thieves and +cutthroats and lawless men who went, too, and they just became the +terror of the country. + +“They rode swift horses, and they knew all the passes in the +mountains. When they heard a train of men and horses was coming from +the mines, they would lie in wait in the mountains and come down upon +them, steal their gold and horses and murder any who resisted. It +wasn’t safe to take any journeys in those days.” + +“Well, but why did the people allow it? Why weren’t they arrested?” +Priscilla in her interest had forgotten all about being out-of-sorts. + +“Why, you see the people couldn’t help it at first. The country was so +very new that law hadn’t been made. The government did send judges out +there; but there were so many lawless men that they threatened even +the judges; and, besides, these robbers were perfectly wonderful +shots, and they would scare the people so terribly that they were glad +to get away with their lives. + +“But by and by things grew so bad, and so many innocent persons who +dared oppose the robbers were shot down, that some men banded +together, and called themselves the Vigilantes. They pledged +themselves to watch out for evil-doers, to stand for fair play, and to +put a stop to robbery and murder. Of course, it was very hard at +first, and many of the Vigilantes lost their lives; but pretty soon +other bands were formed in the other towns, and they kept on, no +matter how discouraged they were at times. They used to post signs on +the roads that led to towns; and sometimes they would draw in red +chalk on a cliff or even on the paving in town, warning the robbers +and murderers that if they came into that place they would be +captured.” + +“What did they do if they captured them?” + +“They most usually hung them to a tree. The big tall cottonwoods out +there are called ‘gallows trees,’ because they used to hang so many to +their branches. It seems wicked now, of course,” Virginia explained, +seeing the horror on Priscilla’s face, “to kill them like +that—sometimes even without a trial. But really, Priscilla, they +couldn’t do anything else in order to save the good people from +danger.” + +“No, of course, they couldn’t. Mustn’t it have been exciting?” + +“Exciting? I rather think it was exciting! Jim used to tell me about +it. There was one place in Montana named Virginia City where there +were many of the Vigilantes. You see, there were very rich gold mines +there, and that meant there were lawless men, too. Jim was there once, +and he could remember some of the Vigilantes. He said there was one +awful man who had killed scores of persons, and who was the terror of +the whole country. And the strangest part of it was, he was +nice-looking and talked like a gentleman. The Vigilantes watched for +him for ten years before they got him.” + +“Did they hang him from a cottonwood, too?” + +“Yes; and Jim said when they had put the rope around his neck, and +were just going to lead his horse from under him he burst out laughing +at them all, and said, ‘Good-by, boys. I’m mighty sorry I can’t tell +you by and by how it feels to be hung. It’s the only Western +experience I’ve never enjoyed.’” + +“After all he certainly was brave to die like that, laughing. He had +Margaret of Salisbury’s spirit. I always loved her, especially when +she said if they wanted her head they must take it with her standing. +Virginia, you know more thrilling stories than any one I ever knew. It +just makes me wild to go away out there and visit you. Do you suppose +I ever shall?” + +“Yes, I just know you’re coming. I shouldn’t wonder if this very next +summer. I feel it inside me. We can be Vigilantes for sure out there. +That’s just where they belong. But don’t you think we could be sort of +Vigilantes here—standing as they did for fair play and ”—she lowered +her voice “watching out for evil-doers?” + +Priscilla was enthusiastic over the idea. It seemed so different and +original. Besides, it really did mean something to try to stand for +fair play, and to watch out for anything—any evil influence, for +example—that might harm those you loved. + +“We’ll especially try to see that Vivian isn’t so easily influenced,” +Virginia whispered, “and we’ll try our best to help Dorothy to be like +she used to be. Only they mustn’t know we’re trying. That would spoil +it all.” + +“Shall we ask any one else to join?” asked Priscilla. + +“We might ask Mary. She’s really a Vigilante anyway, being a monitor.” + +“Suppose we tell her about it, and ask her to be adviser. You see, +where she’s monitor, she can’t take sides just as we can, and maybe +she’d think she’d better not join. It’s going to be a Secret +Organization, isn’t it?” + +“Oh, of course. Secret things always seem more important. Let’s draw +up the constitution this minute. I like to feel settled.” + +Pen and ink were found, and within fifteen minutes the composition of +the organization was complete, Virginia being the Thomas Jefferson of +the occasion. + +“I’ll read it aloud,” said the author, “so that we can tell if it +sounds right. + + “‘We, the undersigned, on this 20th day of a sad January, do + hereby announce in the sacred presence of each other, that we + are Vigilantes of St. Helen’s. We are bound by our honor as + friends and room-mates to secrecy, and to an earnest + performance of our work as true Vigilantes. We deplore the + evil influence of —— ——, and we promise to strive to off-set + that influence especially in regard to —— —— and —— ——. We are + going to try to stand at all times for fair play, and real + friendship. We appoint —— —— as our trusted adviser. At + present we are the sole members of the Vigilante Order. + + “‘Signed + “‘Priscilla Alden Winthrop. + ”‘Virginia Webster Hunter.’ + +“I put blanks instead of names,” explained Virginia, signing her name +after Priscilla. “It seems more like an organization some way, and, +besides, we understand. Now, we are real Vigilantes, Priscilla.” + +They shook hands solemnly. The paper was sealed with an extravagant +amount of sealing wax, and stuffed with much secrecy into a rent of +Virginia’s mattress. Then the two Vigilantes, feeling much revived in +spirits, invited the disconsolate Vivian to join them, and went for a +walk in the snow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + + +“Don’t they hurt a bit, Jean?” + +“No, of course not.” + +“Don’t you feel at all sick either?” + +“No, just mad! What’s in that bag, Virginia?” + +“Pop-corn. Can you eat it?” + +“I should say I can. Haven’t had anything but disgusting cream toast +for four days. Put it under the letters so no one will see. What’s +that in the box, Priscilla?” + +“Peggy Norris’ white mice she bought down town. They’re only a loan +for to-day. Open the box right off or they’ll smother.” + +“What do you do all day, Jean?” + +“Oh, learn things by heart mostly. Miss Wood won’t let me read, so I +just glance and then recite. It’s a comfort. I’ve learned the +Ninety-first Psalm and ‘Annabel Lee’ and ‘Drink to Me Only with Thine +Eyes’ and the ‘Address at Gettysburg’ and ‘One Thought of Marcus +Aurelius.’ I call that quite good.” + +“How do you know you’re going to have them anyway, Jean?” + +“Oh, you hate everybody for two days, and your eyes water the third. +Is it all ready? Shall I pull? Be sure the mice are right side up. +Here goes then!” + +The taller Blackmore twin in a red wrapper and a bandaged throat +leaned out of her window and pulled on a rope, at the end of which +dangled a waste-basket filled with bags, envelopes, and boxes. Below, +in the snow, stood half a dozen sympathizers who had brought the +“morning post” to their comrade, confined to her room with the German +Measles. + +Judging from the patient’s alacrity in securing the basket she was not +suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the +morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom +in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the +basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice, +leaned farther out of the window. + +“Don’t go. I’ll look my mail over later. It’s fine of you to come. Any +more caught?” + +“Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore +throat.” + +“Then she’s probably just starting out.” + +“My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason.” This from Vivian. + +“Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too.” + +“Are you all over speckles, Jean?” + +“Pretty much so!” + +The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. +All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of +danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one +accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the +closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed +therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean’s door. Then +Jean’s voice, pathetically lowered, + +“Come in.” + +The door opened. + +“Jeannette,” said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees +recognized as Miss Wood’s. “Jeannette, don’t you feel the draught from +that open window?” + +“No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air.” + +“Didn’t I hear you talking a moment since?” + +“Perhaps,” said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. “I recite a +great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words +to some of the girls who came beneath the window.” + +“You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel +better this morning?” + +“Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you.” + +Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient’s head. + +“You seem very cool—a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste? +It’s nourishing, and won’t hurt your throat.” + +“Oh, it would be delicious, I’m sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really +believe I’m a little hungry.” + +Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly +recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that +cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she +once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood’s +reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across +the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly “tidying” +of their rooms. + +“Virginia,” said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some +letters, “I just know I’m going to have them. I was with Jean all one +afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you’ll have them +when I do!” + +“So do I. ’Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one. +And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth +the regular measles, not to mention German. You don’t feel +out-of-sorts yet, do you?” + +“No, I’ll tell you when I do, or you’ll probably know anyway. Isn’t +Jean a scream? Probably she was in bed when Miss Wood got there.” + +“She’s dear. Why don’t she and Jess room together?” + +“My dear, the whole faculty rose up in arms this year when they +suggested it. They tried it exactly three weeks last year, and Miss +Wood nearly resigned. One is bad enough, but the two are awful! They +think up the most fearful things to do. Why, the summer before last, +they’d been in England all summer, and had seen all kinds of new +things. Well, the first thing they did when they got back to St. +Helen’s was to play chimney-sweep. Jess had seen them in London and +she couldn’t rest to see how it felt to be in a chimney. So, one day, +she put on some black tights and an old Jersey of her brother’s, and +made a tall hat out of paste-board. Then they went up on the roof of +Hathaway, and Jean helped her get up on the chimney, and she dropped +down. The chimney’s wide, you know, and she dropped straight down, +making an awful noise and loosening all the soot, right into the +living-room fire-place. Miss King and Bishop Hughes were calling on +Miss Wood just then, though, of course, Jess didn’t know that. Down +she came, feet first, into the grate, and scared Miss King and Miss +Wood and the Bishop all but to death. She was all over soot, and was a +sight! The Bishop laughs about it every time he comes.” + +Virginia laughed and laughed. As long as she had been at St. Helen’s +she had never heard that story. + +“The thing that Jean’s crossest about,” Priscilla continued, “is the +Gordon dance on Washington’s Birthday. Her cousin asked her to come, +and she’s afraid Miss Wood won’t let her go.” + +“Why, she’ll be all right by then, won’t she? The speckles are most +gone already, and the dance is two weeks off.” + +“I know, but Miss Wood is very careful, and, besides, Jess told her +that Jean was subject to tonsillitis. Oh, dear, I was sort of hoping +that Carver Standish would invite me! You see, I’ve never been to a +really big dance in the evening in my life. But I guess he’s not going +to. Jean got her invitation yesterday.” + +But when they reached The Hermitage and their own room, Priscilla +found the coveted envelope, with a card bearing the name “Carver +Standish III,” and a note saying it would be “downright rotten,” if +anything prevented her coming. Priscilla ran at once to ask for Miss +Wallace’s chaperonage, but, when she returned, a worried expression +had replaced the joyous one on her face. + +“Won’t she go with you?” + +“Yes, she’ll go; but, Virginia, I just remembered the German Measles. +They don’t look so much like a blessing as they did a few minutes ago. +What if I do get them? Oh, Virginia, what if I do? If I’m going to +have them, I wish I’d get them right away, and then I’d be all over +them in a week. Isn’t there some way they can be hurried up if they’re +inside of you?” + +Virginia was for a few moments lost in contemplation. Then apparently +she remembered. + +“Why, of course, there is,” she said. “I remember all about it now. If +they’re really inside of you, hot things will bring them out. When +they thought I had the mumps once, Hannah said ‘Steam them out, dear. +If they’re there, they’ll come.’ And they did come out. I’ve heard +Hannah say that over and over again. Don’t you worry, Priscilla. We’ll +use all the hot things we know, and try to bring them out, and, if +they don’t come, you can be reasonably sure they’re not inside of you. +If I were you, I’d begin right off. I’d put on a sweater, and sit over +the register. I’d just bake! To-night we’ll get extra blankets and hot +water bottles, and in a day or two I believe we’ll have them out. It’s +lucky to-morrow is Sunday.” + +“I just know they’re inside,” wailed Priscilla, buttoning her sweater, +as she sat over the register. “My! It’s hot here! Would you think of +hot things, too? You know we said we believed that thoughts were +powerful.” + +“I certainly do believe it. Yes, I believe I’d let my mind dwell on +Vesuvius and the burning of Rome, and things like—like crematories and +bonfires and the Equator. If there’s anything in thought suggestion +that certainly will help. It won’t harm anyway. Are you awfully +uncomfortable?” + +“Very hot. Would you really stay here all the afternoon?” + +“Yes, I would, and most of to-morrow. If, by to-morrow night, there +aren’t any signs, I’ll believe the danger’s past Let’s not tell +anybody what we’re doing. If Miss Wallace thought you expected them, +she might think you ought not to go.” + +“Does Hannah know all about sickness?” + +“She certainly does. Why, everybody for miles around comes to her for +advice, and trusts her just as though she were a doctor. Really, +Priscilla, I know she’d do just this way if she were here.” + +The reassured Priscilla sweltered over the register most of the +afternoon. When evening came, she was somewhat out-of-sorts. “Maybe +the hating everybody has begun,” thought her room-mate as she filled +hot water-bottles. They had borrowed all in The Hermitage, except Miss +Wallace’s and Miss Baxter’s (Miss Baxter was Miss Green’s more popular +successor)—much to the unsatisfied wonder of the household. Priscilla +turned uneasily all night in a nest of hot water-bottles and extra +blankets. In the morning there were no signs of measles, except +perhaps a somewhat peevish disposition. + +“And that’s not measles, Virginia, I’ll have you to know!” the owner +of the disposition announced fretfully. “It’s just from being burned +alive! Now, I’m not going to do another thing, so you might just as +well put away those two suits of underwear. One’s enough!” + +“Well,” said Virginia a little doubtfully, as she folded the extra +suit and replaced it in the drawer; “well, it does seem as though if +they’d been coming they would have come after all that steaming. I +wish Hannah were here! She’d know. But, if I were you, Priscilla, I’d +just keep thinking I wasn’t going to have them. That will probably +help.” + +This prescription compared to the preceding one was easy to follow, +and all through the next two weeks Priscilla, when she remembered it, +maintained that she was not to have the German Measles! For the rest +of the time, which was by far the larger portion, she was perfectly +oblivious as to even the possibility of her having them, so elated was +she over her preparation for the Gordon dance. She and Miss Wallace +and Jean Blackmore, who was really to be allowed to go after all, were +to make the journey, a distance of twenty-five miles, by automobile. +The two weeks dragged their days slowly along, but at last Thursday +night arrived, and Priscilla, with a happy heart, surveyed for the +last time that day her new dress, which her mother had sent from home. + +“Just one more night to wait,” she said, as she got into bed. “Oh, +Virginia, I wish you were a Junior! I don’t see why Miss King won’t +let new girls go. Carver said if you only could, he would have asked +you, because his grandfather had told him so much about you, and his +room-mate, Robert Stuart, whom I’ve met, would have asked me. Then we +could have gone together.” + +“I don’t mind. It’s been such fun getting you ready. Maybe next year +we’ll both go. Isn’t it the luckiest thing you haven’t had them at +all?” + +“It certainly is! It just shows how powerful thought is! Really, I +have more faith in it than ever. You see, if they were inside of me, +they didn’t get any attention, and probably decided not to come out.” + +“Well, if they’d been there, they would have come out with all that +heat, I’m sure,” said Virginia, still faithful to Hannah. “But it +doesn’t matter whether they were there or not, just so long as they’re +not here. Good-night.” + +In the gray early morning Virginia was rudely awakened by some one +shaking her. She sat up in bed to find Priscilla desperately shaking +her with one hand and the witch-hazel bottle with the other. Priscilla +was apparently in trouble. What could be the matter? She sat up, +dazed, half-asleep. + +“Why, what is it? What’s the matter? Was the dance lovely? Did you +have a good time?” + +At these last remarks Priscilla wept. + +“Oh, wake up!” she cried. “It’s only Friday. I haven’t been to the +dance at all, and probably I can’t go, because I’ve got them; yes, I +have! My head aches, and my throat’s sore, and I’m hot, and my eyes +run, and I hate everybody, and I’ll be lumpy and speckled right away—I +_know_ I shall! Oh, what shall I do?” + +The last sentence ended in a long, heart-broken wail, which brought +the still dazed Virginia thoroughly to her senses. She sprang from +bed, turned on the light, and scrutinized the disconsolate Priscilla. +Yes, her cheeks were most assuredly flushed, and her eyes were +watery—from tears. Virginia was mistress of the situation. + +“Now, Priscilla,” she commanded, “you go back to bed. You’re _going_ +to that dance. Remember that! I’ve got an idea. If heat will bring the +things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We’ll fill the hot +water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you’ll feel +better. See if you don’t. And you won’t get speckled to-day anyway, +because Jean Blackmore didn’t till two days after they started; and +even if you do behind your ears it won’t matter. Stop crying, or +somebody’ll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you’re sick.” + +This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to +the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By +breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and +she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after +each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for +the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia +tacked an “Asleep” sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous +treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time +filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An +ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room, +adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes. +The poor child’s thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward +Eskimos and the Alps, and “such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and +icebergs.” For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read “Snowbound” +to her. + +But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable +speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere. +Priscilla’s cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her +head ached; but her spirit was undaunted. + +“My dear, you don’t look well,” Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they +left the dining-room, and went to dress. “Are you sure you’re well?” + +“Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I’m just hot because I’m excited. My cheeks +always get red then What time does the machine come?” + +“In an hour, I think. You’re sure you’re all right, Priscilla?” + +“Oh, yes, thank you!” Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before +Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. “Come +on, Virginia, and help me dress.” + +Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she +did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to +St. Helen’s relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to +three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little +over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There +was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began +to dress. + +Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was +dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further +speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into +bed, where she most assuredly belonged. + +“Don’t you feel a single bit better, dear?” + +“Oh, yes, I guess so—I don’t know. I feel sort of loose inside, as +though I weren’t connected. But I’ll feel better driving over. Oh, +Virginia, talcum powder my ears. They’re perfect danger signals. _Is_ +that a speckle on my neck? Oh, say it isn’t!” + +“Of course, it isn’t! It’s only a wee pimple. I’ll talcum powder it, +too. There! You look just lovely! Shan’t I let the others in now? +They’re cross as hops, because we’ve both been so secret, and we don’t +want to rouse suspicion.” + +Priscilla assented, and Virginia unlocked the door to the house in +general. + +“Too bad you’re so exclusive!” + +“Even if we’re not asked, we might see the fun of getting ready.” + +“You look perfectly heavenly, Priscilla!” + +“It’s a love of a dress!” + +“Mercy, Priscilla, what makes your ears so red?” + +“I’ll bet you’ve gotten them frost-bitten!” + +“They certainly look it!” + +“Your cheeks are red, too, but it’s becoming!” + +“What makes your eyes shine so?” + +Here the uneasy Virginia felt as though a reply were necessary. + +“Why, because she’s happy, of course. You act just like Red Riding +Hood talking to the wolf, Dorothy.” + +Fortunately, just when inquiries were becoming too personal, Jean +Blackmore entered, and claimed attention. + +“Jean, you’re actually pretty!” + +“You really are, Jean.” + +“Thank you. I’m sure that’s nice of you.” + +“That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an +apple-blossom.” + +“You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here’s the machine now, and +Miss Wallace is calling.” + +They went down-stairs, the house following. + +“Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!” + +The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old +blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla’s gift, at her +waist. + +“Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!” + +“You’re just beautiful, Miss Wallace!” + +“No one will think you’re a chaperon.” + +“They’ll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace.” + +“Oh, girls, you’ll quite spoil me,” said the chaperon, and looked more +charming than ever. “Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat +collar. I’m afraid you’ve caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that +scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter’s out. But I know +you will. Good-night.” + +The car rolled away into the darkness, and the girls went up-stairs, +talking things over as they went. + +“Isn’t Miss Wallace the sweetest thing?” + +“Something’s the matter with Priscilla. She wasn’t talking. What is +it, Virginia?” + +“Oh, she’s excited, and perhaps—perhaps, she doesn’t feel exactly +well.” Virginia felt more free, now that Priscilla was safely on her +way. + + * * * * * + +At the Gordon school all was excitement. Boys in white trousers waited +impatiently at the gates, as the automobiles and carriages approached, +to greet their friends and conduct them to the brilliantly lighted and +beautifully decorated gymnasium. This annual dance on Washington’s +Birthday was the one real social function, outside Commencement, +allowed at Gordon, and its importance was greatly felt by the young +hosts. + +Priscilla, strangely shivery, tried to reply easily to Carver’s +remarks, as they went up the walk toward the gymnasium. + +“Isn’t it lucky you didn’t catch those things? I was dead scared you +would when you wrote me.” + +“Yes, it’s—it is lucky.” + +“My! Your cheeks are red, Priscilla. Just the way they used to be +after swimming. Say, but you’re looking great!” + +“Am I?” + +“Isn’t Bob Stuart a corker? He decorated the whole gym. Never saw +flags look any better, did you?” + +“No, it’s awfully pretty. I—I think I’ll sit down, Carver, till +dancing begins.” + +“Sure. Of course. I’ll run and get Bob. He has three with you. Excuse +me just a moment.” + +How Priscilla ever managed to dance the ten dances before +intermission, she never knew. Her cheeks grew redder, her eyes +brighter, her poor head spun as though never-ending wheels, eternally +wound up, were to whirl around forever. Sometimes the lights of the +gymnasium blurred, and something sang in her ears; but still she +smiled and moved her feet. At the end of each dance when her charge +was returned to her to await the arrival of her partner for the next, +Miss Wallace grew more and more anxious. + +“Priscilla dear, I’m sure you’re ill. What is it?” + +“Really, Miss Wallace, I’ve just a headache. Oh, don’t make me stop, +please!” + +But at intermission—that blessed time when one could rest and close +her eyes when nobody looked her way—at intermission while they sat in +Carver’s study and ate ice-cream and cake, Priscilla all at once gave +a little worn-out sigh, and fainted quite away. Poor Carver Standish +III was all consternation. Had he tired her out? Hadn’t there been +enough air in the room? Had he done anything he shouldn’t? He plied +Miss Wallace with anxious questionings while a guest, who by good +fortune happened to be a doctor, bent over Priscilla. + +But Priscilla, coming to herself just then, answered his questions. + +“No, you haven’t done a thing, Carver. It’s the German Measles. They +wouldn’t stay frozen in!” + +Then, to the greatly amused doctor, and to the greatly disturbed Miss +Wallace, and the greatly relieved Carver, the patient told in a weak +little voice of how they had tried two weeks ago to steam them out; +and how, when they had unexpectedly come that morning, they had, with +doubtful logic, striven to freeze them in. The doctor, though he +looked grave, laughed as though he never could stop; and it all ended +by his taking her and Miss Wallace home in his own machine, leaving +Jean to be chaperoned by her aunt, and a sympathetic but indignant +host, who thought they ought to let him go along. + +Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called +upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven +o’clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was +unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried +in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress—a figure, who cried in a +muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her: + +“Oh, Virginia, ’twas no use. They came out all the same!” + +“So this is the other member of the new medical school,” announced the +gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. “Miss Virginia, I’m +honored to meet you!” + +The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace’s +room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady +returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be +much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour +later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen’s nurse, in +charge. + +But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had +been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate. + +“Oh, Priscilla,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry! I thought ’twas just the +right thing to do.” + +“It was,” said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to +steaming had been prescribed. “It was, Virginia! Else I never could +have gone, and I wouldn’t have missed the one half I had for the +world. Only I’ve just thought of the awful result! I’ve probably given +them to Carver and all the others; and he’ll never invite me again! +Oh, why didn’t we think?” + +Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss +Wallace’s room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the +awful consequences to Colonel Standish’s grandson. But both she and +Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the +solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers +and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had +ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note: + + “Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19—. + + “Dear Priscilla: + + “I’ve got them, and so has Bob, and the four other + fellows you danced with. Don’t mind, because we’re + all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort, + let us out of the February exams and we’re some happy, + I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of + new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you + were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob + and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom + grandfather’s always cracking up to me. + + “Your speckled friend, + “Carver Standish.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + + +The March days came hurrying on—gray and wind-blown and showery—but +rather merry for all that. All signs bore tokens of an early spring. A +flock of geese had already gone over, crows were flapping across St. +Helen’s snow-freed meadow, and robins and song-sparrows felt quite at +home. There was a misty, indistinct blur in the tops of the maple +trees, quite as though wet buds were swelling. Under the pine trees by +the Retreat, tiny, furry heads were peeping above the needles, +hepaticas just awakening. The waters of the brook, freed from ice, +tore boisterously through the meadow; and along its weedy edges the +water-rats, having left their tunnels in the banks, scurried on +secret, silent errands. Everywhere there was a strange fragrance of +freshly-washed things—soft brown earth, buds ready to burst, tender +shoots of plants. Yes, spring was unmistakably near, and the St. +Helen’s girls were ready for its coming. + +It was on a Saturday afternoon, the last in March, that Virginia +walked alone down the hill, through the pine woods, and across the +road to the pastures and woodlands opposite. She would have loved +company, but Priscilla, Lucile, and the Blackmore twins were playing +tennis finals in the gym, the Seniors were enjoying an afternoon tea, +Vivian was nowhere to be found, and, in the hope of persuading Dorothy +to go with her, she had again interrupted a secret conference between +Dorothy and Imogene, which conferences, to the watchful and troubled +Vigilantes, were becoming more and more frequent. The whole campus +seemed deserted, she thought, as she started from The Hermitage. +Perhaps, the opening of the “Forget-me-not” soda fountain—another sign +of spring—accounted for that. + +It was wet underfoot and gray overhead, but she did not mind. She was +bound for the pastures on the other side of the road leading to +Hillcrest, for there Miss Wallace had said she might even this early +find the mayflowers of which her mother had so often told her. As she +went along, jumping over the little spring brooks and pools in the +hollows, she thought of how spring was also coming to her own dear +country. Her father’s letter that morning had told her of budding +quaking-asps, of red catkins on the cottonwoods, of green foot-hills, +and of tiny yellow butter-cups and the little lavender pasque-flowers, +which came first of all the spring blossoms. In a few weeks more those +foot-hills would be gay with violets and spring beauties, anemones and +shooting-stars. + +She crawled between the gray, moss-covered bars of a fence which +separated the two pastures, and went toward some deeper woodland where +pines and firs grew. Here, Miss Wallace said, she would be likely to +find them. She looked sharply for brown, clustered leaves, which +always deceived one as to the wealth beneath them. At last on a little +mossy knoll, in a clearing among the pines, she found what she sought. +Kneeling eagerly on the damp ground, she searched with careful fingers +through the brown leaves. Green leaves revealed themselves. She +smelled the sweetest fragrance imaginable—the fragrance of flowers and +brown earth and fresh leaves all in one. She looked beneath the green +leaves; and there, with their pale pink faces almost buried in the +moss, she found the first mayflowers of the spring. + +Tenderly she raised the tendrils from the moss and grass, and examined +the tiny blossoms, in whose centers the hoar frost of winter seemed to +linger. These then were the flowers her New England mother had so +loved. Years before, perhaps in this very spot, her mother had come to +search for them. She almost hated to pluck them—they looked so cozy +lying there against the brown earth, but she wanted to send them to +her grandmother for her mother’s birthday. On other knolls and around +the gray pasture rocks, even at the foot of the fir trees, she found +more buds and a few opened blossoms. Her mother had long ago taught +her Whittier’s “Song to the Mayflowers,” and she said some of the +verses which she still remembered, as she sat beneath the trees, and +pulled away the dead leaves from the flowers’ trailing stems. + + “O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine dark glen. + + “Behind the sea-wall’s rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + “So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers.” + +For an hour she roamed about the woods, finding evergreen to line her +box for the flowers, and some cheery partridge vine, whose green +leaves and red berries seemed quite untouched by the winter’s snow. It +was quiet in among the trees. She was glad after all that she had come +alone. At school one needed to be away from the girls once in a while +just to get acquainted with oneself. + +She climbed upon a great gray rock in the open pasture, and sat there +thinking of the months at St. Helen’s—remembering it all from the day +she had left her father. She was glad that she had come—glad that in +her father’s last letter he had said she was to return after a summer +at home. Priscilla was to return, too, a Senior—perhaps, she would be +monitor like Mary—and they were to room together as they had this +year. The Blackmore twins had petitioned for Mary and Anne’s room, +promising upon their sacred honor to be models of behavior; and Miss +King and Miss Wallace were considering their request. Virginia did +hope it would be granted, for she loved Jess and Jean clearly. Dorothy +would return. Would Imogene, too, she wondered? It might be mean to +hope that she would not, but she did hope that. + +From the rock where she sat a portion of the Hillcrest road was +visible. She was still thinking of Imogene and Dorothy, when a red and +a white sweater appeared on the distant road moving in the direction +of St. Helen’s. “Dorothy and Imogene on the way home from Hillcrest,” +she thought to herself. They were walking very close together, +apparently reading something, for Virginia could see something white +held between them. All at once they stopped, looked up and down the +road, and then disappeared among the bushes that edged the roadside. +Virginia was about to call them, thinking perhaps they had seen her, +and were coming through the pastures to where she was; but before she +had time even to call, they reappeared, and walked more hurriedly +toward the school. This time they were not close together, and the +paper had disappeared. + +The founder of the Vigilantes, perplexed by this strange behavior, did +not move until the two girls had turned into the driveway of St. +Helen’s. Then she jumped from the rock. She would go back across the +pastures to the gate which she had entered, then turn down the road +and investigate. She felt like a true Vigilante, indeed! Something was +in the air! She had felt it the moment she discovered Imogene and +Dorothy in secret conference. Perhaps, in the roadside bushes she +would find the solution. Had the girls been Mary and Anne, Virginia +would never have questioned. Moreover, she would have felt like a spy +in suspecting their behavior. But Imogene had long given good cause +for righteous suspicion; and were not the Vigilantes pledged to guard +against evil-doers? + +She hurried across the pastures. The sun, which had been out of sight +all day, now at time of setting shone out clear and bright and was +reflected in every little pool. She reached the gate, closed it behind +her, and was about to turn down the road, when she saw sitting on a +rock by St. Helen’s gate a weary, worn-looking woman with a child. +Something in the woman’s expression made Virginia forget the errand +upon which she was bent. She looked more than discouraged—almost +desperate. The little girl by her side sat upon a shabby satchel, and +regarded her mother with sad, questioning eyes. There was something +about them so lonely and pathetic that Virginia’s eyes filled with +quick tears. She crossed the road and went up to them. + +“Are—are you in any trouble?” she asked hesitatingly. “Can I help +you?” + +The woman in turn hesitated before she answered. But this young lady +was apparently not like the two who had passed her but a moment +before. She looked at her little girl, whose tired eyes were red from +crying. Then she answered Virginia. + +“I’m in a deal of trouble,” she said slowly. “I’ve been sick, and +we’ve spent our money; and because we were three months back on the +rent, we were turned out this morning. I’m looking for work—any kind +will do—and I came to Hillcrest because I was hoping to get it at the +school there. I’ve heard tell of how Miss King is very kind; but the +two young ladies, who passed here just a few minutes ago, said there +was no work there at all. I guess they didn’t have much time for the +likes of me. Do you go there, too?” + +“Yes,” said Virginia. “But they don’t know whether there’s any work or +not at St. Helen’s. I don’t know either; but I know Miss King would +like to find some for you if she could. Anyway, I want you to come to +our cottage to supper with me. You are my guests—you and—what is the +little girl’s name?” + +“Mary. And I’m Mrs. Michael Murphy. But, miss, you don’t mean come to +supper with you? You see, we ain’t fit.” + +“Yes, you are perfectly fit. Saturday night no one dresses up. Please +come, and then you can see Miss King after supper. You’d like to come, +wouldn’t you, Mary?” + +Poor little Mary cared not for etiquette. Besides, she was plainly +hungry. She pulled her mother’s dress. + +“Please go, mother. Please!” + +Virginia smiled at her eagerness. “Of course you’ll come, Mrs. Murphy. +My name’s Virginia—Virginia Hunter. Let me help with your satchel, +please. Come on, Mary.” + +With one hand she helped Mrs. Murphy with the satchel, while she gave +the other to Mary, and they started up the hill—Virginia never once +thinking that her new friends would not be as welcome guests as those +who were often bidden to The Hermitage, Mary, untroubled by +conventions and happy at the thought of supper, Mrs. Michael Murphy, +secretly troubled, but compelled to snatch at any hope of work. + +“You’re not from these parts, I take it from your talk,” Mrs. Murphy +remarked as they neared the campus. + +“No, I’m from Wyoming. It’s a long way from here.” + +“You’re sure—I’m afraid—the ladies at your cottage mightn’t like Mary +and me coming this way.” + +“Please don’t think that, Mrs. Murphy,” Virginia reassured her. “We’re +always allowed to invite guests to supper. It’s quite all right, +truly.” + +But Mrs. Murphy in her secret heart was not assured. She looked really +frightened as they neared The Hermitage; but Virginia, talking with +Mary, did not notice, nor did she heed the astonished and somewhat +amused looks of the girls whom they passed. + +The supper-bell was ringing just as they opened the door, and stepped +into the living-room. Mary and Anne were at the piano, and Virginia +beckoned to them, and introduced her new friends. The surprised Mary +and Anne managed to bow and smile; and were frantically searching for +topics of conversation, when the girls began to come down-stairs, just +as Miss Wallace, with Miss King, who was staying to supper, opened the +door of Miss Wallace’s room. + +Poor Mrs. Michael Murphy was perhaps the most uncomfortable of them +all, for the others were mainly surprised. The girls stared, Imogene +and Dorothy giggled audibly, Miss King looked puzzled, Miss Wallace +sympathetic. Virginia could not understand the manifest surprise, +mingled with disapproval, on the faces around her. Could she have done +anything wrong? They certainly would not think so, if they knew. + +“Mary,” she said, “will you please introduce my friends to the girls, +while I speak a moment with Miss King and Miss Wallace?” + +Mary, who began to see through the situation, managed to introduce the +painfully embarrassed Mrs. Murphy and shy little Mary to girls who, +with the exception of Imogene, responded civilly enough. Cordiality +certainly was lacking, but that was largely due to surprise. +Meanwhile, Virginia had explained matters to Miss King and Miss +Wallace, who, when they heard the story, lost their momentary +astonishment in sympathy. Of course such a proceeding was slightly out +of the course of ordinary events at The Hermitage; but Virginia’s +thoughtfulness, though perhaps indiscreet, was not at the present to +be criticised. They came forward and shook hands heartily with the +guests, much to Virginia’s comfort. It must be all right after all, +she concluded. + +Mrs. Murphy laid off her hat and shawl, Virginia took Mary’s coat and +hood, and the family and guests passed to the supper table. +Conversation languished that evening. The girls talked among +themselves, but only infrequently. Even Miss Wallace and Miss King +apparently found it difficult to think of topics for general +conversation. But Virginia, true to her duties as hostess, chatted +with Mrs. Michael Murphy until the embarrassed, troubled little woman +partially regained her composure. As for little Mary, she was fully +occupied in devouring the first square meal she had had for days. + +But Virginia was not unconscious of the atmosphere. Something was +wrong. Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Murphy had been right when she said +the ladies of The Hermitage mightn’t like to have her and Mary coming +this way. She could not understand it. At home in Wyoming the stranger +was always made a friend, and the unfortunate a guest. Hospitality was +the unwritten law of the land. + +She was rather glad when supper was over. The girls immediately went +up-stairs, only Mary, Anne, and Priscilla lingering to say good-night +to her guests. Virginia stayed upon Miss King’s invitation, for she +and Miss Wallace were to talk with Mrs. Murphy concerning work at St. +Helen’s. Little Mary, tired out but satisfied, fell asleep, her head +in Virginia’s lap. To Virginia’s joy, and to the unspeakable gratitude +of Mrs. Michael Murphy, whom the world had used none too kindly, Miss +King decided that St. Helen’s needed just such a person to do +repairing and mending; and Mrs. Murphy, her face bright with +thankfulness, was installed that very evening in her new and +comfortable quarters. + +An hour later, Virginia, the supper table atmosphere almost forgotten +in her glad relief over Mrs. Murphy’s immediate future, ran up-stairs +and down the hall to her own room. The door opposite opened a little, +and some one said in a biting voice: + +“I suppose, Miss Hunter, we entertain Wyoming cow-boys before long?” + +In Virginia’s eyes gleamed a dangerous light, but she answered +quietly: + +“I’m afraid not, Miss Meredith. The Wyoming cow-boys whom I know are +accustomed to eat with ladies.” + +Still, her delight over Mrs. Murphy’s freedom from care could not +quite banish the feeling of puzzled sadness with which she wrote these +words in her “Thought Book”: + +“The world is a very strange place. God may be no respecter of +persons, but people are. It is a very sad thing to be obliged to +believe, but I am afraid it is true.” + +The next morning the two Vigilantes, obtaining permission to walk to +church a little earlier than the others, stopped by the roadside at +the spot where yesterday Virginia had noted suspicious behavior, and +thoroughly investigated. A rough path had apparently been recently +broken through the alders. At the end of the path by the fence stood a +big, white birch, and on the smooth side of the birch farthest from +the road were many pin-pricks. One pin remained in the tree, and it +still held a tiny scrap of white paper, apparently the corner of a +sheet, the rest of which had been hurriedly torn away. The Vigilantes, +thinking busily, went on to church. It is needless to say that they +found it difficult to listen to the morning’s sermon. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +VESPER SERVICE + + +The Sunday following the Vigilantes’ mysterious discovery by the +roadside, and immediately preceding the Easter holidays, was Palm +Sunday. It dawned beautiful—warm and sunny as a late spring clay—and +as the hours followed one another, each seemed more lovely than the +last. Song sparrows sang from budding alder bushes, and robins flew +hither and thither among the elms and maples, seeking suitable notches +in which to begin their homes. As if by magic, purple and golden +crocuses lifted their tiny faces on the southern sides of the cottage +lawns; and the buds of the lilac trees, warmed and encouraged by +yesterday’s showers, burst into leaf before one’s very eyes. + +The world seemed especially joyous to the girls, as they roamed the +woods in search of wild flowers, or sought about the campus for fresh +evidences of spring. The long winter months had gone; Easter +home-going was but five days away; and when they returned after two +weeks at home, spring would have really come, bringing with it all the +joys and festivities and sadnesses of the Commencement season. + +At four o’clock, as the westward-moving sun gleamed through the pines, +and fell in wavering lights and shadows on the brown needles beneath, +they gathered for their vesper service, coming from all directions, +their hands filled with pussy-willows, hepaticas, and mayflowers, +their faces glowing with health and happiness, in their eyes the old +miracle of the spring. To Virginia, as to many of the others, this +Sunday afternoon hour was the dearest of the week. She loved the +gray-stone, vine-covered Retreat, and its little chapel within; she +loved the sound of its organ, and the voices of the girls singing; and +most of all, she loved the little talks which Miss King gave on Sunday +afternoons—dear, close, helpful talks of things which she had learned, +and by which she hoped to make life sweeter for her girls. + +To-day the chapel was especially lovely, for the altar rail was banked +with palms, Easter lilies stood upon the white-covered altar, and the +sun, shining through the high, narrow windows, flooded all with golden +light. Virginia sat between Dorothy and Priscilla, holding a hand of +each. It was so lovely to be there together! In her secret heart she +was glad that Imogene’s mother had sent for her to come home the day +before, for when Imogene was away Dorothy seemed to belong again to +them. + +Since St. Helen’s held no Easter service, as the girls were always at +home, Miss King spoke to-day of Easter—how it had always seemed to her +the real beginning of the New Year; how it signified the leaving off +of the old and the putting on of the new; how it meant the awakening +of new thoughts, and the renewed striving after better things. + +“So, if we could only understand,” she said in closing, while +the girls listened earnestly, “that Easter is far more than a +commemoration, that it is a condition of our hearts, then we should, +I think, reverence the day rightly. For as beautiful as is the story +of the risen Christ, we do not keep Easter sacred merely by the +remembrance of that story. The risen Christ is as nothing to us +unless in our own hearts the Christ spirit rises—the spirit of love +and service, of unselfishness and goodness. When that spirit awakens +within us, then comes our Easter day. It may be many days throughout +the year; it might be—if we could only rightly appreciate our +lives—it might be every day. For every day is a fresh beginning, an +Easter day, when we may decide to cast off the old and to put on the +new, the old habits of selfishness and jealousy, of insincerity and +thoughtlessness—all those petty, little things that mar our lives; and +to put on our new and whiter robes of unselfishness and simple +sincerity. If the thousands who next Sunday morning will sing of the +risen Christ, might all experience within themselves their own Easter +mornings, then this world of ours would have realized its +resurrection. + +“Let the hepaticas which you hold in your hands give you the only +Easter lesson worth the learning—the lesson which your pagan +forefathers in the forests of Germany taught their children centuries +ago on their own Easter festival. You know how each spring the +clusters beneath the pines are larger, if you are careful as you pick +the blossoms not to disturb the roots. The long months of fall and +winter are not months of sleep and rest for the hepaticas. Beneath the +snow in the winter silence they are at work, sending out their +rootlets through the brown earth, avoiding the rocks and sandy places, +but taking firm hold upon that which will nourish them best. Thus do +they grow year by year, at each Easter time showing themselves larger +and more beautiful than the spring before. + +“This is the Easter lesson which I wish you girls might all take to +yourselves. As in the winter silence of the earth, the hepaticas send +out their rootlets toward the best soil, so in the silence of your own +inner lives are you here and now also sending out rootlets, either +toward the soil which will give you a healthful, wholesome growth, or +toward the barren places where you must cease to grow. Avoid the rocks +of indolence and evil influence, the waste places of selfishness; but +reach far out for the good, wholesome soil of good books, of a love +and knowledge of the out-of-doors, of friends who make you better, of +study which will enrich your lives. And as the flowers find themselves +more firmly rooted year by year, so will you find yourselves growing +in strength and self-control, in sincerity and firmness of purpose. +Then, and only then, will you experience the real Easter—the awakening +to the realization in your hearts that you, through your own seeking, +have found that better part, which can never be taken away from you.” + +In the silence that followed, while the organ played softly, Virginia +touched with gentle fingers the tiny hepaticas in her lap. Was she +sending out rootlets toward the right soil, she wondered? In the years +to come would people seek her, as she sought the hepaticas in the +spring, because she had found that “better part”? “That is why we go +to Miss King and Miss Wallace,” she thought to herself, “because they +have found the best soil, and have grown sweeter every year.” And, +deep in her heart, she resolved to try harder than ever to avoid the +rocks and the sand, and to send her rootlets deep down into the soil +which Miss King had described. + +Then she heard Dorothy by her side ask if they might sing the hymn of +her choosing, and they rose to sing words which somehow held to-day a +new and deeper meaning: + + “Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our feverish ways; + Re-clothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise.” + +Silently they all passed out of the little chapel, and turned +homeward. The sun, sinking lower, cast long shadows among the pines, +and gilded with a farewell glow the chapel windows. Virginia, +Priscilla, and Dorothy took the woodsy path that led to the campus. No +one cared to talk very much. When they reached The Hermitage Dorothy +went with them to their room; and as they filled bowls of water for +the tired little hepaticas, and arranged them thoughtfully, for they +some way seemed more like persons than ever before, she said all at +once—looking out of the window to hide her embarrassment: + +“I just thought I’d tell you that I know I haven’t been growing in +very good soil this year; but I’m going to put out new roots now, and +I’m not going to send them into sand either.” + +The two Vigilantes dropped the hepaticas and hugged Dorothy hard +without saying a word. Then, with their arms around one another’s +shoulders, they stood by the western window, and watched the sun set +behind the hills—happier than they had been for weeks. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + + +“You don’t mean you’re going to back out now, Vivian, when we’ve made +all arrangements, and you’ve promised to go?” + +“I—I didn’t say I was going to back out, Imogene. I just said I wished +I hadn’t promised. It doesn’t seem nearly so much fun as it did, and, +besides, I know I’ll get caught!” + +“Of course you will, if you lose your nerve like that. But if you do +as we’ve planned, there isn’t a chance in a thousand. No one will +wonder why you’re not at supper, because you’re absent so often; and +it will be easy enough to slip out while we’re eating. Then by the +time you’re driving off, we’ll all be at that Art lecture; and with +the lights off and only the stereopticon, no one will miss you. And by +the time we get home, you’ll be here in bed. Why, it’s as smooth as a +whistle, and you ought to be everlastingly grateful to Dot and me for +fixing it up for you. No other girl in St. Helen’s has ever gone out +driving with a man, and you’ll have the story to tell your children.” + +Poor Vivian looked for a moment as though she doubted her future +children’s pride in their mother’s achievement; but she had long ago +put her hand to the plow, and there seemed no turning back. + +“Of course I’m going now that it’s gone so far, and I’ve promised,” +she said desperately. “But I don’t believe Dorothy thinks it’s so much +as she did. She said to-day she sort of wished we hadn’t done it.” + +Imogene looked uncomfortable. Dorothy’s strange disloyalty during the +weeks since the Easter holidays had greatly disturbed her. + +“Dot needn’t act so righteous all of a sudden,” she said bitterly. +“I’d like to know who planned this whole thing if she didn’t. I’d +certainly never have thought of the birch tree post-office; and she’s +been mail-carrier more than half the time. It’s a late day to back out +now.” + +“She isn’t backing out, Imogene. She only said she wished we hadn’t +planned it in the first place; but since we had, of course we’d have +to see it through. I don’t think you and she need worry anyway. It’s I +that’s going to get the blame; and I shan’t tell on you even if I am +caught.” + +“Tell on us!” Imogene’s tone was more biting than ever. “Well, I +should hope you wouldn’t! Who’s superintended this thing, I’d like to +know? Who’s been bringing boxes of candy from him all the way up here +to you, and running the risk of being caught? Who’s been posting your +notes for you all winter long?” + +After listening to this exoneration, Vivian was on the point of tears, +and Imogene, feeling that her room-mate’s courage must be kept up at +any cost, changed her tone. + +“To-morrow you’ll be laughing up your sleeve, and saying what a +splendid time you had. Besides, think what fun it’s been all along. +We’ve fooled every one in school. No one has suspected a thing! And +think of all the candy you’ve had. Of course, he’ll have another box +to-night.” + +The unhappy Vivian dried her tears, but her face did not brighten. In +fact, she did not look at all like a person who was about to enjoy a +long-anticipated evening drive. + +“Imogene,” she said, and there was an unusual tone of self-assertion +in her voice, which surprised her room-mate, “Imogene, I want you to +know that a hundred boxes of candy don’t make one feel right inside.” + +While this conversation was taking place behind a closed door in The +Hermitage, there was another person in the woods by the Retreat, who +likewise did not feel right inside. The other person was Dorothy. She +had declined Virginia’s and Priscilla’s invitation to go after +violets, much as she would have liked to accept, in the hope of easing +her conscience; curtly refused to walk with Imogene; and studiously +sought to evade the accusing eyes of Vivian. Seizing her opportunity, +she had run away from them all, and now sat alone under the pines by +the Retreat, trying to think of a way out of her difficulty—a way that +would save Vivian from the consequences of an act for which she was +really not to blame. + +Ever since September Dorothy had sent her rootlets into the waste +places of indolence and poor companionship; and now that she had truly +resolved to change it seemed to her discouraged heart almost too late. +She and Imogene were to blame for the situation which confronted +her—not Vivian. Ever since the sallow, white-coated Leslie had entered +the employ of the “Forget-me-not,” she and Imogene had directed +susceptible Vivian’s attention toward his evident admiration. It was +they who had all through the winter and early spring transported his +gifts to Vivian; they, who, weary of the monotony which through +idleness they made themselves, had seized upon Dorothy’s idea of a +secret post-office; and finally, they who had proposed through the +means of the post-office that the enamored Leslie take Vivian for an +evening drive. Now the crisis was at hand, and what could she do to +avert it? + +She sat in a wretched little heap beneath the pines, and thoroughly +despised Dorothy Richards. She had made a failure of the whole year—in +grades, in conduct, in character. The first was bad enough, for she +knew that Mary was right. It was she who was helping The Hermitage +lose the cup—the scholarship cup which it had determined to win from +Hathaway. The second was worse, for she had forfeited Miss Wallace’s +confidence, and had aroused the righteous suspicion of the girls. But +the last was worst of all! She had allowed herself to be weakly +influenced by Imogene, had been disloyal to Priscilla and Virginia, +had been very nearly dishonest, if not quite so, and had pitiably lost +her own self-respect. And now, even though she was tired of it all, +even though she desired deep in her heart to turn her rootlets into +better soil, perhaps it was too late. Perhaps, after all, she was not +strong enough. + +A brown thrasher, who sat on her newly-made nest in a near-by thicket +and watched the girl beneath the pines, wondered perhaps at the +strange ways of mortals. For even though the sun was bright and the +whole world filled with joy, this girl all at once burst into tears, +and cried between her sobs: + +“Oh, dear, what shall I do? I’ll never be any different—never! And +Priscilla and Virginia will never like me again when they know about +tonight!” + +But remorse, though quite appropriate under the circumstances, and +doubtless likely to bear fruit in the future, was useless just at +present. Dorothy soon realized that, and sat up again, much to the +relief of the brown thrasher, who felt safer now that this strange +person sobbed no more. A situation confronted her and must be met. Was +there any way to save Vivian, and at the same time not implicate +Imogene? Were Dorothy alone to blame, she would go to Miss Wallace and +tell the whole story; but she knew that Miss Wallace had previously +suspected Imogene with good cause, and she did not wish to run the +risk of getting Imogene into further trouble, even though she might +richly deserve it. Of course, Vivian might be easily persuaded to stay +at home and not meet her knight-errant of the soda-fountain, who was +to find her at seven o’clock by the birch tree; but that meant anger +and certain revenge on the part of Imogene, besides the probability of +the disappointed Leslie communicating his disappointment in such a way +as would eventually reach the ears of some member of St. Helen’s +faculty. + +The five-thirty warning bell found the question unsolved, and a sadly +troubled Dorothy walked slowly homeward. She was purposely late to +supper, for she did not wish to encounter Imogene or Vivian. As she +left the wood-path and came out upon the campus, she saw hurrying down +the hill a short, plump figure in a red sweater. Vivian, on the way to +meet her knight! + +At supper Dorothy tried in vain to eat the food upon her plate. +Impossible schemes, each vetoed as soon as concocted, were born but to +die. It was only when Priscilla and Virginia, excused early for +tennis, left the table, that an inspiration seized her. Almost without +waiting for Miss Wallace’s nod of permission, she ran from the +dining-room, flew up the stairs, and burst into Priscilla’s and +Virginia’s room, where they, surprised, paused in the act of lacing +their tennis shoes. + +“Oh, Virginia,” she cried, “go quick! Vivian will listen to you, and +she won’t to me, because I’ve been so mean. Oh, lace your shoes +quickly! She is down by the birch tree, just beyond the gates on the +road to Hillcrest, waiting for—for that silly Leslie, who’s coming to +take her to drive. And it’s not her fault, because we—I mean I—put her +up to do it. And you can hate and despise and detest me, if you want +to, only hurry, and make him go away!” + +The founder of the Vigilantes needed no further explanation. So this +was the meaning of her discovery a month ago! She sprang to her feet, +raced through the hall, down the stairs, and across the campus toward +the road, while the contrite Dorothy remained to confess the whole +miserable story to Priscilla. It was Friday evening and there was no +study hour after supper, so that Virginia could leave The Hermitage +without exciting surprise. Moreover, the girls in the cottages were +all at supper, and there was no one to note her hurried flight down +the hill. Dorothy had not said at what hour Vivian’s cavalier would +arrive, and there was no time to be lost. Even then they might be +driving away. Almost out of breath she raced down the hill, through +the pine woods, out the stone gates, and into the main road. A quarter +of a mile away, coming from the direction of Hillcrest, she saw a +runabout, in which sat a solitary figure, who seeing her at that +distance waved his hand as a signal. + +“It’s that silly thing!” breathed Virginia to herself. “He thinks I’m +Vivian. Oh, I’m glad I’m not too late!” + +She dashed down the road and into the rude path through the alders to +the birch tree. There, at its base, hidden by the alders from the view +of those who passed, crouched poor, trembling Vivian. She had half +risen, as Virginia crashed through the bushes, thinking that her +cavalier was approaching; but at the sight of the panting Virginia, +she shrank back against the tree. + +“Why—why, Virginia,” she stammered. “Why—why, what do you want?” + +Virginia was almost too breathless to answer. + +“I’ve—come—to meet—your friend, Vivian,” she managed to gasp. “He’s +coming now. He’ll be here in a moment.” + +“I—I think I’m scared,” gasped Vivian in her turn, shrinking farther +back against the tree. “Aren’t you, Virginia?” + +“No,” said her deliverer, gaining breath at every moment, “no, Vivian, +I certainly am not scared. I feel as brave as Theseus, though Leslie +isn’t much of a Minotaur, I must say!” + +The sound of a horse’s feet-came nearer and nearer, then stopped. A +carriage creaked as some one jumped from it; twigs snapped as some one +came crashing through them. Vivian hugged the old tree for support, +and turned her face toward the pasture. Virginia braced herself for +the attack, her back against the tree, her arms folded Napoleon-wise, +her head high, her eyes flashing. As the bushes parted and the +soda-fountain clerk emerged and stepped into the trysting-place, a +more surprised youth could not have been found in the State of +Massachusetts. + +Arrayed in a new and gallantly worn linen duster, his hat on the side +of his head, a box of candy under one arm, he stood as though rooted +to the spot, an amazed and sickly smile playing over his more sickly +countenance. What had happened? Was he to escort two ladies instead of +one? His eye-glasses, attached by a gold chain to his ear, trembled as +his pale gaze, expressionless save for surprise, tried to encompass +the figure who still embraced the tree. But all in vain, for ever he +encountered a pair of flashing gray eyes, which, steady and +disdainful, never once left his own. + +“You may go now,” said the owner of the eyes, after what seemed long +minutes to the faithful Leslie, “and don’t you ever come here again! +This isn’t a post-office any longer. You’re too unspeakably silly for +any use, and Vivian thinks so just the same as the rest of us. You +belong to a soda-fountain, for you’re just as sickish as vanilla +ice-cream, and as senseless as soda-water. Now go!” + +The subdued Leslie needed no second bidding. He went. They heard his +hurrying feet crash through the roadside thicket, the creaking of his +carriage as with one bound he leaped into it, and the crack of the +whip, as he warned his steed to do no tarrying in that locality. Then +Virginia turned her attention to Vivian who by this time was in an +hysterical little heap at the foot of the big old tree. + +“It’s all right, Vivian,” she said, with her arms around Vivian’s +shaking shoulders. “He’s gone and he won’t come back. He’ll be in New +York by midnight, if he keeps on going. Please don’t cry any more.” + +But Vivian could not stop just then. To be sure, the result of her +foolishness had been checked before it was too late; but nothing could +blot out the foolishness itself; and it was that which was breaking +her heart. + +“Oh, I’m not crying about him!” she said between her sobs. “I despise +him! I’m crying because I’ve been so silly, and nobody’ll ever forget +it. I don’t care what Dorothy and Imogene say. It’s what’s inside of +me that hurts! And everybody’ll know how silly I’ve been! Oh, why +can’t I be different than I am?” + +“Everybody won’t know, Vivian. Oh, please don’t cry so! Nobody’ll know +except Priscilla and me, and we’ll think all the more of you. And +Dorothy feels worse than you, because she’s been even more to blame. +’Twas she that told me, and made me come to help you.” + +Vivian stopped crying from sheer surprise. So Dorothy felt bad inside +too, and had tried to help her. That was comforting. + +“And as for Imogene,” Virginia continued, “if she once dares to tease +you for trying not to be foolish any more,—if she dares,—well. I +shouldn’t want to say what might happen!” + +The distant sound of a bell rang through the still air. + +“Now, Vivian, there’s the lecture bell, and if we don’t go, somebody +will suspect. You’ll feel better inside, if you just make up your mind +that you’re not going to be silly any longer. I’m your true friend, +and so is Priscilla; and, if you’ll let us, we’ll try to help you +to—to find better soil for your roots, just the way we’re trying to +do.” + +So the world looked a little brighter to Vivian as she left the hated +post-office and walked back toward St. Helen’s with her “true +friend’s” arm around her. Perhaps, after all, if she tried hard, she +might, some day, be a little different. As they turned into St. +Helen’s gateway, they met Dorothy and the Senior monitor, walking arm +in arm. Dorothy’s eyes were red from crying, and the face of the +Senior monitor was stern, though it grew kind again as she came up to +Vivian and Virginia. + +“It’s going to be all right, Vivian,” she said, “and we’re every one +your friends. Don’t you feel bad any more.” + +“And I’m going to begin all over again and be your friend, Vivian,” +said Dorothy, tears very near the surface again, “if you’ll forgive +me, and let me try. But if you won’t, I’ll never blame you, because +I’ve been so frightfully miserable to you!” + +But Vivian, feeling undeservedly rich, put her arm close around +Dorothy, while Mary went to Virginia’s side, and the four of them +climbed the hill toward St. Helen’s together. There were yet fifteen +minutes before the lecture, and those fifteen minutes were spent, with +the addition of Priscilla, in Imogene Meredith’s room. The Senior +monitor spoke more plainly than they had ever heard her speak before +during that secret and never-to-be-forgotten session, and Imogene, for +at least once in her life, felt with the fabulous barnyard fowls in +the old tale, quite as though her “sky were falling.” A week later, to +the surprise of all St. Helen’s, except perhaps the faculty, Mrs. +Meredith arrived. She had decided to take Imogene to the mountains, +she said, for the remainder of the year. Her health seemed failing, +and she feared a nervous breakdown. + +As for the chivalrous Leslie, the “Forget-me-not” knew him no more; +for on the very day after his sudden departure from the +trysting-place, when the girls went to Hillcrest to indulge in the +inevitable Saturday afternoon sundae, they were served by a +gray-haired stranger, who wore Leslie’s coat with ease, but who looked +unromantic in the extreme. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + + +“Ad, ante, con, de, in, inter,—” recited Virginia. “Priscilla, do you +always remember the difference between gerunds and gerundives now +you’re a Junior?” + +“Always remember! Why, I _never_ do! I think it’s a point of ignorance +to be proud of. It’s depressing to remember so many unvital things. +That’s one.” + +Ten minutes’ silence, punctuated by Priscilla’s sighs over Cicero, and +Virginia’s whispered prepositions. + +“The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been +very inhuman.” + +“She was! ’Twas Greenie! We’re studying now in blessed memory of her!” + +“I wonder where she is.” + +“Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the +Acropolis! I’m glad it’s the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I +can’t study another second, and it isn’t three o’clock for fifteen +minutes. You haven’t shown me how you’ve changed the Constitution yet, +and we’re going to start at three. I don’t see but that we both have +to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We’ve just about +time to read it over.” + +Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the +afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes +until she found what she sought—a somewhat rumpled piece of paper. + +“This is the original, you know,” she said. “I’m keeping it for my +Memory Book, and I’ll make a copy for yours. I made the new one +different as we planned. I took out the ‘evil influence’ part, because +there isn’t any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those +we were especially guarding. I don’t think Dorothy and Vivian had best +know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to +know we’d been watching them especially.” + +“No, we won’t say anything about that part. They’re going to be one of +us now, and trying for the same thing. We’ll keep the real reason for +the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. +I’ll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have +come out the way they have. Isn’t it splendid about Dorothy’s grades? +Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets _A’s_ in everything all the +quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps +up as well, we’ll really have a chance of winning the cup from +Hathaway.” + +“Vivian’s doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class +to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She’s so +quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. +Priscilla, do you really suppose that—?” Virginia’s voice was +mysteriously lowered. + +“Yes, I do,” answered Priscilla in a whisper. “Of course, no one will +ever know; but I’m sure Imogene didn’t know her mother was coming, and +we all know Imogene wasn’t sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or +maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen’s +always does things quietly; but I’ll always think that Imogene +was—expelled!” + +“Maybe Vivian knows, and that’s why she feels so bad. And, besides, +it’s lonesome rooming all alone. I’ll read you the new Constitution, +and then we’ll go and get them both. Where shall we go?” + +“Let’s choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. +No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our +meeting-place. Read on. It’s five minutes to three now.” + +Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read: + + “We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby + announce that we are the sole members of the Order of + Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of + January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia + Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of + the West—those brave men, who in the early days of our + Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor + to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. + Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all + times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one + another in every way we can to live up to the principles + of our order. As stated above, we are the only real + Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to + Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance.” + +“Now, we’ll sign our names, Priscilla, and I’ll take my fountain pen +so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It’s after three now.” + +They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep +the mysterious appointment with them at three o’clock, and together +they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking. + +“That’s queer. She can’t be asleep. She said she’d be ready.” + +They knocked again—louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then +they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked. + +“Why, where can she be? You don’t suppose she’s sick or something, do +you?” asked Priscilla. “She wouldn’t lock the door if she went out. +Let’s go around the porch and look in the windows.” + +They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the +porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian’s room, they found +the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a +good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, +and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another +in amazement. Vivian’s trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the +middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall +decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the +dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its +afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, “For any +one who wants it.” + +“Why, why, she’s gone!” gasped Virginia, the first to speak. “Oh, we +must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think—quick!” + +But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an +utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one +another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla’s +eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an +envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk. + +“It’s for you, Virginia,” she cried, passing the envelope to her +room-mate. “Oh, read it, quick!” + +Virginia lost no time in tearing open the envelope and unfolding the +paper within. + + ‘Dear Virginia,’ she read in a trembling voice to those who + listened, ‘I know you’ll all think I’m sillier than ever, but + I can’t stand being miserable any longer. You’ve all been good + to me, especially you, and I’ll never, _never_, _never_ forget + it, so long as I live! You’re the best friend I ever had. (A + sob from Dorothy.) But it is very hard to hate yourself every + minute; and, besides, I can’t forget what Imogene said to me + when she went away. So I’m going home, and maybe next year + when people have forgotten my silliness, Miss King will let me + come back. Perhaps, I’ll be different then, but I can’t + promise; and maybe, after all, she won’t let me come back, + when she knows I’ve run away. + + “Vivian. + + “‘P. S. Please tell Miss Wallace I’m sorry I deceived her + by telling her I had a headache, and asking if I could + study in the woods. I did have a headache; and there wasn’t + any other way I could get the train without somebody finding + out.’—V. E. W.’” + +Still they stood in poor, discouraged Vivian’s deserted room, and +looked at one another. Virginia’s face was sad from sympathy, +Priscilla looked puzzled and thoughtful, Dorothy was crying. + +“Oh, it’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I ought to have gone away along with +Imogene! I haven’t been a friend to Vivian, and now I’ll never have a +chance!” + +“Yes, you will, too,” cried Priscilla, coming out of her reverie, +“because she can’t take the train after all. There isn’t any three +o’clock. It’s been taken off. Miss Wallace told me so yesterday, when +she was thinking of going away for over Sunday. The next one doesn’t +go till five, and if Vivian’s anywhere around, we’ll find her and +bring her back. Let’s not say a word to any one, but just hunt till we +find her. The door’s locked and we can draw the curtains, and no one +will ever know.” + +Without wasting any precious moments they hurried out the way they had +entered, drawing the curtains before closing the windows and screens, +ran down-stairs and across the campus to the road, running the +gauntlet of all who called to them by maintaining a discreet and +somewhat exclusive silence. At the top of the hill, Priscilla reviewed +her forces. + +“Let’s each take a different direction. She’s around the woods +somewhere, because she wouldn’t dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of +meeting the girls, and there aren’t any woods the other side of the +village. I’ll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the +Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go +through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, +though she’s not likely to be there. And let’s all remember that if +any girl tries to join us, we’re to treat her abominably, so she’ll +know she isn’t wanted. It’s mean, but there’s no other way to do, +because Vivian’ll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. +Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick +succession; and if by any chance we don’t any of us find her, we’re +all to meet at the station for the five o’clock. But I know we’ll be +successful.” + +They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried +through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever +found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had +passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of +the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees +hid her quite from sight. + +When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no +train before five o’clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She +could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of +the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and +to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from +there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to +retrace her steps toward St. Helen’s, and hide in the woods until time +for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of +meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was +fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would +be through with study hour and out-of-doors. + +She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, +still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless +be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as +she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be +surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity +Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at +her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It +would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them +understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. +Helen’s with the remembrance of Imogene’s words in her ears. + +Out of breath, she sat down by the roadside to rest for a few minutes. +No, she could never forget Imogene’s words! She saw her dressed ready +to go, remembered how she had risen to kiss her, and how, instead of +kissing her, Imogene had said, “Of course, you realize, Vivian, if you +hadn’t been such a little fool, and Dorothy such a coward, I wouldn’t +be going away like this!” + +So they had really sent Imogene away—_expelled_ her! And Imogene had +said that she was to blame, had gone without kissing her, had never +written her in all that long week! No, it was all too much to be +borne! Besides, it did not matter how good the girls had been to her +since the evening when Virginia had rescued her from the carrying out +of her foolish plan, she felt sure that in their hearts they despised +her for having been so weak and so easily influenced. And now she +could never show them that she meant to be different! Even Virginia +and Priscilla whom she so dearly loved would never know! But she saw +no other way. + +Rising, she hurried on. The school clock struck three. She dashed +through the gates and into the woods by the Retreat. In a few minutes +the girls would be passing along the road, and she was in danger of +being seen. Looking around for a hiding-place, she espied the big rock +back of the Retreat, the very rock which the Vigilantes had chosen for +their initiation ceremonies. A great pine which grew close by overhung +it with wide-spreading, feathery branches. Vivian hastily climbed upon +the rock, and, crawling in among the pine branches, was quite +concealed from the sight of all except the most careful observer. + +It was but a few moments before she heard voices—on the meadow, in the +road, even in the very woods about her. Study hour was over, and the +girls were free. Well, if by any chance they drew near her place of +concealment, she could take her Caesar from her pocket and begin to +study. That would tend to dispel suspicion. How jolly and merry they +sounded! She could hear Bess Shepard’s laugh, and some lusty shouts, +which, of course, came from the Blackmore twins. She had had lovely +times at St. Helen’s. Of course even now, she might—but no, it was too +late! Without doubt, by now some one had discovered her room, and +everybody would know! + +A loud crackling of twigs sounded to the right. Some one was coming in +her direction—yes, some one in a red sweater, for she could +distinguish that color through the thicket. She crouched lower under +the pine branches. Then, seeing that it was of no use to hide, for the +sweater was unmistakably coming through the bushes, she sat up-right +with a beating heart and drew Caesar from her pocket—just as Dorothy +broke through the last blackberry bush and saw her on the rock. And +though she tried her utmost to gaze at Caesar, she just couldn’t help +seeing the joy and gladness that swept over Dorothy’s anxious face. + +“Oh, Vivian!” she cried. “Oh, Vivian! I’ve found you, and I’m so glad! +And you’re going to forgive me, and give me another chance to be your +friend, aren’t you? Oh, say you’re not going away!” + +In another moment Dorothy was on the rock beside her, and poor Caesar +had fallen into a rose-bush, where he lay forgotten. The five o’clock +train was forgotten, too; for as Vivian sat there with Dorothy’s arms +around her, she knew she wouldn’t do anything else in the world but go +back and begin all over again. + +“My!” said Dorothy, after they had talked everything over for the +third time at least. “My! I forgot to give the signal, and Priscilla +and Virginia are very likely half-dead from fright by now!” + +She gave the three short calls agreed upon, which were immediately +answered; and in less than five minutes the two Vigilantes, very much +alive and very, very happy, were also sitting on the very rock chosen +but two hours before. Then, after all the crooked things had been made +straight, after the world seemed beautiful again, and friendship +sweeter than before—then, with the ceremony befitting its importance, +the Vigilante Order was explained in full to the chosen initiates, and +its purpose made plain. With serious faces they signed their names, + + Vivian Evelyn Winters + Dorothy Richards + +below the signatures of the charter members. + +“Everything’s over now,” said the real originator of the order with a +happy little sigh, as she folded the Constitution and placed it in her +pocket. “Everything’s over, and in another way, everything nicest is +just beginning. There’s certainly strength in numbers, and we’ll all +help one another to be real Vigilantes.” + +“We ought to have a watchword,” proposed Priscilla. “I was thinking of +one when I heard Dorothy call. Do you think ‘Ever Vigilant’ is any +good?” + +They all thought it just the thing. + +“And I’ve been, wondering just this minute,” said Dorothy, “about +something else; but I’m a new member, and if you don’t like my plan, I +hope you’ll say so. I was thinking about having an emblem. Most orders +do, you know. Don’t you think it-would be rather nice to have the +hepatica, and have it stand for what Miss King said—sending our +rootlets into good soil? You see, I thought of it because—well, +because I’ve felt so ashamed of—of the way my rootlets have been +growing, and lately I’ve—I’ve been trying—” She hesitated, +embarrassed. + +Virginia had listened, her eyes growing brighter every moment. + +“I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea, Dorothy,” she said, while +Priscilla and Vivian nodded their approval. “And I’ve a secret just +born—a lovely, lovely one—and it’s going to happen before very long! +It just came with your thought of the hepatica!” + +The others were properly mystified, but the owner of the secret would +divulge nothing; and half an hour later, Caesar, having been rescued +from the rose-bush, the four Vigilantes went home to help Vivian +unpack. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + + +“Lucile, are you sure?” + +“Virginia, if you ask me that again, I’ll believe you think I fib. Of +course I’m sure!” + +“Did you see him more than once, Lucile?” + +“Priscilla, I’ve told you a dozen times that I saw him one whole +afternoon long at Versailles. Isn’t that long enough to remember him, +I’d like to know?” + +“And Miss Wallace said when she introduced him—just what did she say, +anyhow?” + +“Vivian Winters, you make me sick! You really do! She said—and this is +the twentieth time I’ve told you—she said, ‘Lucile, I want you to meet +my dear friend, Mr. Taylor.’” + +“And what did he say?” + +“Will you please listen this time, Dorothy, for it’s positively the +last time I shall tell you. He said, ‘Any friend of Miss Wallace’s is +my friend, too.’ And he gazed at her with his very soul. You forgot he +had eyes at all!” + +The exasperated Lucile leaned back among her pillows, and munched the +candy with which she had generously supplied herself. + +“You really all do make me tired,” she said between her bites. “I’ve +told you over and over again that any one could see that he loved her +from the way he gazed at her; that the picture she’s had all the year +up to six weeks ago on her dresser was his; and that I know her heart +is broken. Now, what more can I say?” + +“It isn’t that we don’t believe you, Lucile,” Virginia hastened to +explain. “It’s just—well, you see you do have a very romantic +tendency, and—” + +“Of course, I do. It’s my temperament. I’ve heard father say so a +dozen times. Besides, I’ve lived in Paris, and the very stones of +Paris breathe romance!” + +“Well, I really think Lucile is right, sad as it seems. Miss Wallace +hasn’t been herself since Easter; and it was just then that the +picture disappeared from her dresser. Of course Lucile couldn’t have +been with him a whole afternoon and not know his face; and, naturally, +she would know how he treated her.” This announcement from Priscilla +was not without effect. + +“Of course I would,” reiterated the encouraged Lucile. “Didn’t I see +him gaze at her, and call her ‘Margaret,’ and her, when she called him +‘Bob’?” + +“Did you see him do anything but gaze?” asked Dorothy, still a little +incredulous. “He seems to have gazed all the time.” + +“Why, of course, right at Versailles, he wouldn’t have taken her hand, +or anything like that. A gaze can speak volumes, I’ll have you to +know. But when we sailed from Havre, and he stayed to study at the +Sorbonne, he put his arms around her and kissed her. It was +thrilling!” + +This new piece of information was indisputable proof, which, placed by +the side of the strange disappearance of the said Mr. Taylor’s +picture, and the strange and unwonted sadness of Miss Wallace, formed +a bulk of evidence, to disbelieve which was folly. + +“Oh, I’m afraid it’s true,” said Virginia, echoing the misgivings of +her room-mate. “She looks so quiet and sad, it just breaks my heart. I +actually know she’d been crying the other day when I saw her coming +out of the Retreat. Probably she went there for comfort. Poor thing! +How could he have been so cruel?” + +“Why, maybe it wasn’t he. Maybe he’s suffering, and pacing the streets +of Paris this moment, preferring death to life.” Lucile’s imagination, +so fruitless in the channels of academic thought, was certainly +prolific in the flowery paths of Romance. “Perhaps Miss Wallace felt +the call to service, broke her engagement, and has decided to give her +very life to help others.” + +“I don’t think Miss Wallace would do that,” Virginia said +thoughtfully. “Not that it isn’t a wonderful thing to do; but I feel +some way as though she’d rather be a mother. One evening last +Thanksgiving I was in her room, and we were talking about the things +girls could do in the world. I asked her what she thought was the +noblest thing; and she said in the sweetest voice, ‘A real mother, +Virginia.’” + +“And she is just a born mother,” added Priscilla. “Mother said so at +Thanksgiving. Oh, dear! Why did it have to happen?” + +No one pretended to know. Lucile was inclined to attribute it to Fate; +while Dorothy advanced the thought that it might be a trial sent to +prove Miss Wallace’s strength. + +“And it’s wonderful how strong she is,” she said. “She’s usually so +jolly at table; and last night she was the very life of the party. One +would never have known.” + +“Yes, and she probably went home to a sleepless night,” suggested +Lucile, “and tossed about till morning.” + +“It seems to me she’s been happier lately.” + +“She’s probably learning to bear it better—that’s all.” + +“She’s never worn an engagement ring, has she?” asked the practical +Vivian. + +“No, but of course she wouldn’t wear it here. It would excite too much +comment,” Priscilla explained. + +“Without doubt she had one, and wore it around her neck, before it +happened,” Lucile again suggested. + +“Oh, if we could only show her in some way that we’re sorry for her! +That would, perhaps, help a little,” said Virginia. “Do you suppose +she’d feel we were interfering if we sent her some flowers? We needn’t +say a thing, but just write ‘With sympathy’ or ‘With love’ on a card, +and she’d understand. Do you think she’d like it, Priscilla?” + +“Why, yes, I think she would. And ’twould relieve our minds. We’d know +we’d done all we could. I suppose time will make it easier for her to +bear.” + +“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding, and they’ll come together again, +when they see they can’t live without each other,” said Vivian +hopefully. + +“Maybe, but I feel that it’s the end! And oh, if you girls could only +have seen them together and known that they were made for each other! +Fate is cruel!” wailed Lucile tragically. + +“Well, are we going to send the flowers?” asked Virginia. She was +aching for Miss Wallace, but Lucile’s romantic ravings were a little +tiring. “If we do, let’s not say a word to any one. Miss Wallace, +being in The Hermitage, belongs to us more anyway; and I think we +ought to love her enough to guard her secret. I know she wouldn’t wish +it known. Of course, as things have happened, we can’t help knowing, +but we can help talking about it to others. You haven’t told any one +else, have you, Lucile?” + +“Of course not. Don’t you suppose I know better than all of you that +life would be simply impossible to her if she thought the world knew. +Remember, _I’ve_ seen them together!” + +“What kind of flowers do you think we’d better send?” + +“Pink carnations.” + +“Oh, no, carnations are too common!” + +“Violets then.” + +“Oh, spare her that! He gave her violets that afternoon at +Versailles!” + +“Roses, why not?” + +“Anything but red roses. They mean undying love, and hers is dead.” + +“Why not send her daffodils?” proposed Virginia. “They’re so cheery +and hopeful, and look like spring.” + +Every one seemed agreed that, under the circumstances, Virginia’s +choice was the most appropriate. It was thereupon decided that +daffodils be sent to Miss Wallace; but that, to save her possible +embarrassment, the names of the donors be kept secret. Dorothy and +Vivian were delegated to go to Hillcrest and make the purchase, while +the others tried to enliven their sympathetic hearts by tennis. + +Meanwhile, during this session of sympathy in her behalf, Miss Wallace +sat in her school-room, correcting an avalanche of themes, which +seemed to have no end. “Dear me!” she sighed to herself, “no girl in +this whole school will be so glad of vacation as I. I’ve never taught +through such a year.” + +It certainly had been a hard and trying year. In the fall Miss Green’s +tactlessness had required an extra amount of discretion on the part of +Miss Wallace; in the winter the German Measles had broken into the +regularity necessary for good work; and all through the year she had +been required to watch, which occupation she found harder than any +other—watch a girl, to whom she had never been able to come close, and +whom she had failed to influence toward better things. She could not +really blame herself for her failure in helping Imogene, but she felt +sorry, because, knowing Imogene, she feared that life would never hold +what it might for her. Altogether, it had been a hard year; and she +would not have been human had she not at times looked tired, +thoughtful, and even sad. + +“You need a rest, my dear,” said the old Hillcrest doctor, meeting her +one day in the village. “You’re quite tired out, working for those +nice girls up there.” But that pile of themes did not look like +immediate rest; and, sharpening her red pencil, she went to work +again. + +She left the school-room just as the warning-bell was ringing and +crossed the campus to The Hermitage, longing for letters. On her desk +she found a package and a telegram, which, when she had read it, made +her tired face glow with happiness. “Dear Bob!” she said to herself. +“He deserves it all. I’m so glad!” + +“His picture has come back, too,” she added, untying the package, +“just in time for the good news. You dear old fellow! You deserve a +silver frame, and the nicest girl in the world.” + +There came a knock at her door just then, and the maid passed her a +long box from the florist’s. Surprised, she opened it to find dozens +of yellow daffodils, and a card, which said in carefully disguised +handwriting, “With deepest love, and tenderest sympathy.” + +“Why, what can it mean?” she thought mystified. “I always need the +love, but I certainly don’t need sympathy. I never was so happy in my +life!” + +The supper-bell rang just then, and put a stop to her wonderings. She +dressed hurriedly, placed some daffodils at her waist, and descended +to the dining-room, a trifle late, but wholly radiant. + +“She surely doesn’t look sad to-night,” mused more than one at the +table. “Could the flowers have made her happier so soon, or what is +it?” + +Half an hour before study hour, Miss Wallace called Virginia to her +room. + +“I know you love daffodils, Virginia,” she said, “and I want you to +see this gorgeous quantity which some mysterious person has sent me. +And the strangest part about it is that they come with ‘tenderest +sympathy.’ It’s especially funny to-night, because I’m so happy. I +think I really must tell you about it.” + +Virginia’s heart beat fast with excitement. Was this beloved teacher +of hers really going to confide in her? Her eyes followed Miss +Wallace’s to the dresser, and there, reclothed in a shining silver +frame, was Mr. Taylor—Miss Wallace’s own Mr. Taylor! So it had been +only a misunderstanding after all! The dream of Miss Wallace’s life +was not dead, but living, and she was happy! One glance at her face +was proof of that! Virginia was so happy herself that she longed to +tell her so; but perhaps she had best not just now. Besides, what was +Miss Wallace saying? + +“I don’t know that I’ve ever told you about my cousin, Robert Taylor, +Virginia. You’ve seen his picture of course—that is till recently when +I sent it away to have it framed. To-night I had a cable from him, +telling me that he’s actually engaged to the dearest girl I know. +We’ve both been hoping for it for months—I almost as much as he—and +Mary’s just decided that she can’t get along without him. I’m so +delighted!” + +It seemed impossible that Virginia’s heart could have undergone such a +metamorphosis as it had in the last minute. + +“Is—? is—he your cousin?” she asked in a queer, strained little voice. +But Miss Wallace was so happy that she did not notice it. + +“Why, yes, he’s really my cousin, but he seems like my brother, for +his mother died when he was a baby, and my mother brought him up. So +we’ve always lived together, just like brother and sister, and I never +think of any difference. Why, my dear, where are you going? The bell +hasn’t rung.” For Virginia was half way out of the door. + +“I—must go,” she stammered. “The girls are waiting for me up-stairs.” + +Four more crestfallen and unromantic girls never existed than those +which looked at one another at the conclusion of Virginia’s story. + +“I never felt so silly in my life!” she added, after the last +rainbow-colored bubble had been burst. + +“Nor I!” cried Priscilla. + +“Let’s be everlastingly grateful we didn’t sign our names,” said +Dorothy. + +“And he was just away being framed!” moaned Vivian. + +“Where’s Lucile?” + +“Oh, she’s probably moaning in her room over Fate!” + +“She needs a tonic!” said Priscilla. “Let’s go and tell her so.” + +“It won’t do a bit of good,” Virginia observed, as they started down +the hall to employ the remaining five minutes in disciplining Lucile. +“It’s her temperament, you know; and, besides, the very stones of +Paris breathe Romance!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SENIOR PAGEANT + + +Commencement came with hurrying feet, showing little regard for +Seniors, who daily visited the old haunts, grown so dear to them, and +hourly hated worse the thought of leaving St. Helen’s. Every spot +seemed dearer than ever before—the cottages, which had been their +homes, the Retreat, filled with the memories of chapel and vespers, +every path in the woods, every spot where certain flowers grew. It +would be hard to leave them all; but far harder to say good-by to one +another, and to the teachers and girls who were to return; for, as +Anne said on every possible occasion, “There’s no use talking! It +never will seem the same again!” So in all the festivities of the +closing days there was a sadness—a strange hollow feeling in one’s +body, a lump which often came unexpectedly into one’s throat. + +To Virginia, this season of her first Commencement was one of +conflicting emotions. She was torn between a joy in the perfect June +days, and a sorrow that they must soon come to an end; between the +happy anticipation of seeing her father, who, with her grandmother and +Aunt Nan, was to be at St. Helen’s for the closing week, and the sad +realization that St. Helen’s would never seem the same without the +Seniors, and that The Hermitage would be a sadly different place +without Mary and Anne. + +She found studying during those last few weeks the most difficult +thing in the world; and had it not been for the cup competition +between Hathaway and The Hermitage, which was daily growing more +close, she, like many of the others, would have been sorely tempted to +take a vacation. It would be so much more “vital,” she said to +herself, and ten times more appropriate, to close her geometry and +walk through the woods with Priscilla, or sit in Mary’s room, and plan +for the wonderful days to come; for Mrs. Williams had “found a way,” +and Jack and Mary were actually to spend the month of August in +Wyoming with Virginia and Donald. The trip was to be their +Commencement gift, for Jack was likewise graduating that year from the +Stanford School. “It’s too good to be true,” Virginia kept saying to +herself, “it’s too good to be true,” and deep in her heart she hoped +and hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop might consent to Priscilla’s +going also. They had said they would “think about it,” and that, so +Priscilla said, was a hopeful sign. + +As she bent over her geometry, preparing for the final examination, +there would come before her eyes in place of circles and triangles and +parallelograms, visions of sunny August days riding over the +foothills, and starlit August nights about a camp-fire in the canyon. +It would be such fun for her and Don to show Mary and Jack all the +loveliest places in their country. And she would teach Mary to +shoot—Mary, who had never in her life held a rifle! Oh, if only the +other Vigilantes might come! But she knew that Dorothy was to be in +California with her father; and as to Vivian, Virginia could somehow +easily picture the horror on timid Mrs. Winter’s face at the thought +of Vivian shooting and camping in a canyon! But this was not mastering +geometry, and there was the cup! The Hermitage must win it from +Hathaway, and the winning or the losing depended upon the success or +failure of each one. So, banishing dreams, she went to work again. + +There were but ten days more. Already it was examination week; already +many of the traditional ceremonies and closing occasions had taken +place. The Juniors had “picnicked” the Seniors, and the Seniors the +Juniors; the cottage tennis finals had been played off, Overlook +winning the doubles, and Bess Shepard being proclaimed the champion in +the ensuing singles; the Senior ivy had been planted against the wall +of the Retreat, and the old trowel presented with fitting remarks to +the Junior president. By the cottages the Senior occupants had each +planted her own slip of ivy, her name placed in a securely corked +bottle, and buried beneath the roots of her plant. Thus in our own +minds do we become immortal! + +But the occasion upon which all thoughts were centered, and toward +which all energies were bent, was the Senior Pageant, to be held on +Tuesday afternoon of the closing week. On preceding Commencements, an +out-of-door play had been the choice of the graduating class; but this +year the Seniors, who had been throughout their four years unusually +interested in History, had determined to give in place of the play a +Historical Pageant. Each was to represent some character of History, +legendary or ancient, mediaeval or modern, design and make her own +costume, and dramatize the certain scene or scenes which she had +chosen to portray. The Juniors and members of the lower classes, +though not of importance as prominent characters, were yet of +indispensable value as retainers, henchmen, pages, and the like. + +“In fact,” said the Blackmore twins, who were the blindfolded +headsmen, leading the procession of the doomed Mary Stuart to the +block; “in fact, we may not seem very important, but we’re the setting +and they couldn’t do without us!” + +For weeks, even for months, they had been making preparations and +holding rehearsals. The place chosen for the pageant was the level +strip of meadow south of the campus. Directly back of it lay the +Retreat woods, which were very convenient for the disappearance of the +characters when their parts were finished, and especially so for +Martin Luther, who had to nail his ninety-five theses on the door of +the Retreat. On the left the road led to St. Helen’s; on the right +stretched more woodland; while immediately in front of the ground +chosen for the performance, a gently sloping hillside formed a +splendid amphitheater from which the audience was to view the pageant. +Nature had surely done her best to provide an ideal situation; and the +girls were going to try to do as well. + +Virginia had found her services in great demand, and she was glad and +proud to give them. Anne had determined to be her beloved Joan of Arc, +and had planned to appear in three scenes—in the forest of Domremy, +where she listened to the voices; in the company of the old village +priest, with whom she talked of her visions; and finally on the +journey toward the Dauphin, whom she was to recognize among his +courtiers. In the last scene a horse was necessary, for Joan, clad in +armor, rode, accompanied by the old priest and two knights. Also, the +Black Prince clamored for a war-horse; Augustus said he never could be +august without one; and Roland refused to die in the Pass of +Roncesvalles, unless he could first fall from his panting steed! +Matters early in the spring having come to a halt over the horse +problem, Miss King was consulted, and upon Virginia’s assurance, ably +seconded by that of Mr. Hanly, that Napoleon would be a perfectly safe +addition to the troupe, his services were engaged for rehearsals and +final performance alike, and he was installed in St. Helen’s stable, +so as to be on hand whenever desired. + +Joan, never having been on a horse before, though born and bred in the +South, needed considerable instruction, as did the other equestrian +actresses; and Virginia found herself installed as riding-mistress for +a good many hours each week. Napoleon did not seem averse to his part +in the pageant, though sometimes he shook his head disdainfully when +the Black Prince strapped some armor over it, and objected slightly to +the trappings which Augustus felt necessary for his successful entry +into Rome. Virginia’s saddle, bedecked for the occasion, was found +adequate for all the riders; and after many, many attempts, followed +by very frank criticisms from the riding-mistress, most of the +performers could mount and dismount with something resembling ease. +Virginia, knowing well Napoleon’s variety of gaits, did not hope for +equestrianism on the part of the riders. If they could only get on +safely, sit fairly straight, and get off without catching their feet +or clothing, she would rest content; and though Roland and the Black +Prince were determined to use their spurs and come out from the forest +on the gallop, Virginia, having raised them from the ground after two +of these disastrous attempts, urged them with all her might to allow +Napoleon to walk, which he was very glad to do. + +But Joan, it must be admitted, found her last act a trying one. Though +she mounted in the recesses of the forest, and could have all the +assistance she needed, to ride before the audience, holding her spear +aloft in one hand, and driving with the other was well-nigh +impossible, especially when she longed to grasp the saddle-horn; and +lastly, to dismount safely, without catching on some part of that +fearful saddle and irretrievably loosening her armor, was an act she +feared and dreaded day and night. + +“Oh, why did I choose to be Joan!” she cried, as Virginia, at a +private rehearsal, raised her from the ground after at least the +twentieth attempt to dismount. “I just can’t do it!” + +“Yes, you can,” encouraged her instructor, who, when occasion +demanded, coached the dramatic appearance as well as the equestrian. +“You’re beautiful when you hear the voices in the forest, and when you +talk with the old priest, you’re thrilling! Only, I do wish Lucile +would be more priestly. Of course, she speaks French wonderfully, but +she isn’t one bit like a priest. It’s too bad, when you’re so +wonderful in that scene.” + +“Well, you see, she didn’t want to be the priest, anyway. She wanted +to be the Black Prince’s sweetheart.” + +“He didn’t have a sweetheart, did he?” + +“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem as though he would at seventeen. But +she wanted him to, anyway, and say farewell to her in England.” + +“She does make me sick! Now, Anne, I’ve just one criticism. You’re +going to learn to dismount all right; but if you’d only look less +scared when you ride toward the Dauphin! You know you ought to look +soulful, as though you were seeing a distant vision, but you don’t. +You look frightened to death.” + +“Then I look just the way I feel, Virginia. I’d rather ride an +elephant than that Napoleon. I am scared of him, and I may as well +admit it. He’s the most terrorizing animal I’ve ever known!” And +nothing that Napoleon’s trainer could say as to his harmlessness and +even amicability of disposition, could convince the trembling Joan, +who, in perseverance and fear, still continued to make herself +dismount. + +But when the last Saturday came, all difficulties seemed overcome. +Joan had actually dismounted successfully half a dozen times; the +Black Prince had, after all, decided that he was more impressive when +his charger walked; and Queen Elizabeth had ridden three times in her +carriage, borne by eight staggering retainers, without its once +breaking down. No more rehearsals were to be held until the final one +on Tuesday morning; and costumes were packed away, while Napoleon +gratefully munched his oats in St. Helen’s stable, and wondered at the +unaccustomed respite he was enjoying. + +On that Saturday came Virginia’s father with her Grandmother Webster +and Aunt Nan. She had never been so happy in her life, she thought, as +she walked excitedly up and down the platform, and waited for the +train. Would her father find her much changed, she wondered, and would +he look the same? Never before in their lives had they been separated, +and nine months seemed a very long time. His letter of yesterday had +been written from Vermont where he had visited a week, and where, he +told her, he had been very happy. And her grandmother had also +written, saying how much they were enjoying him. She was so glad, she +said to herself, as the train whistled in the distance—so thankful +that at last Grandmother Webster was beginning to appreciate her +father. If it were really true, she simply couldn’t be any happier. + +It was really true! Of that she was assured. For after her father had +jumped from the train to hold his little daughter close in his arms +for a moment, he had turned to help her grandmother, who was just +alighting, and whom, to Virginia’s great joy, he called “Mother.” Then +her grandmother kissed her, and said to her father, “John, hasn’t she +grown?”; and jolly Aunt Nan, who came up in the rear, hugged her hard, +and said in the most understanding kind of way, “Now this whole family +is together at last!” Finally, as if to add the finishing touch and +make everything complete, Grandmother Webster, after she and Aunt Nan +had greeted Miss King, who stood on the platform, said, “And I think, +years ago, you met my son, Virginia’s father.” + +The next three days were like the perfect realization of a dream. “The +whole family” roamed together about the campus; listened to the +farewell sermon, which the white-haired bishop gave on Sunday morning +in the chapel, and the last vesper service, at which every one cried; +heard the Senior essays on Monday afternoon; and attended Miss King’s +reception on Monday evening. It seemed like a great family reunion +with all the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters; and it took no +time at all for everybody to become acquainted with everybody else. +Virginia proudly introduced her father to all the girls; and it was +not long before the four Vigilantes and their adviser were listening +to tales of the real Vigilante days. + +“And I hope you’ll every one come to Wyoming for August,” he said +genially, “You’ll be well-chaperoned, for Virginia’s Aunt Nan is +coming, and there’s room and a welcome for all.” + +That night Priscilla, before they went to sleep, confided her hopes to +Virginia. + +“I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, +when we were helping serve,” she whispered, “and I know they were +talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I’ll be there?” + +“I’m thinking on it every minute I have,” came back the whispered +answer. “Aunt Nan’s going will make a big difference; and some way I +just know you’re coming, Priscilla!” + +Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which +had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to +study the heavens. At ten o’clock a strictly private dress rehearsal +was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s +pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode +Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin +Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon +the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration +denounced the sale of “Indulgences ”; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was +led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had +invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History +teacher, declared herself delighted. + +“It’s perfect!” she said enthusiastically. “Now you may go where you +like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try +that dismounting again, Anne, and don’t let your voice tremble when +you address the Dauphin.” + +“My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever,” +thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on +the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who +kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon’s heels. She drew +near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and +prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell +to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved +it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking +on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan +released Anne’s foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized. + +Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That +was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second +acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene +with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the +circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be +found, must be omitted. + +Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan +rubbed her aching ankle. + +“I think it’s really providential,” she said, “because I’d have been +sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. +My costume will fit her all right, and I’m quite content with hearing +the voices and talking with the priest. You’ll do it, won’t you, +Virginia?” + +“Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn’t +like yours, Anne. Oh, I’m so sorry it happened!” + +“Well, it’s fortunate we have you, Virginia,” said Miss Allan. “You +know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. +Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it.” + +Joan was lifted on Napoleon, where, having no spear to carry and both +hands free to clutch the saddle, she felt quite fearless, especially +since Virginia led her steed; and, followed by a train of sympathetic +courtiers, was carried to The Hermitage, where her ankle, which was +not badly hurt, was carefully bandaged. Meanwhile, Virginia, raised +all at once to the dignity of a Senior, rehearsed her lines, and tried +with the help of Lucile to pronounce the impossible French syllables. + +By three o’clock that afternoon the hillside amphitheater was crowded +with guests, the number of relatives and friends being increased by +many Hillcrest residents, who never failed to enjoy the Commencement +“doings.” Prominent among those who awaited appearance of the pageant, +was a tall, soldierly-looking gentleman, who sat beside Virginia’s +father, and seemed to enjoy talking of a certain little girl, with +whom he had journeyed East nine months before. Every now and then he +bestowed proud glances upon his grandson, who had accompanied him, and +who had already found in Jack Williams a pleasant companion. + +“I couldn’t resist bringing my grandson to meet Miss Virginia,” the +old gentleman explained, “and I’m doubly glad I did come, for I’m +delighted to meet her father.” + +Virginia’s father evidently enjoyed Colonel Standish, for they found +many subjects of conversation, and talked until a herald, clad in +crimson and white, the Senior colors, appeared from the forest, and +blowing a trumpet, announced in quaint language that the pageant was +about to begin: + + “Lords and ladies, passing fair, + I would now to you declare + That before your very eyes + Those from out the past arise.” + +The first to arise from out the shadowy past were Hector and +Andromache, clad in Trojan costumes. In Homer’s tongue they bade each +other farewell, while Andromache lifted her infant son (the janitor’s +baby, borrowed for the occasion) to kiss his fierce father, armed with +helmet, shield, and spear, before he should go out to fight the great +Achilles. True to the Homeric legend, the baby cried in fright, and +was hurriedly returned to the janitor’s wife, who waited in the shadow +of the trees. Demosthenes hurled in good Greek a “philippic” against +the Macedonian King, and Cicero cursed Cataline in fiery Latin. Then +followed the great Augustus, who sat upon the much-bedecked Napoleon +and gloried in his triumph; Roland, who fell gallantly from his steed +in the Pass of Roncesvalles, blowing his horn with his last breath to +warn the soldiers of Charlemagne of his disaster; and the Black +Prince, who, on his way to Crecy, paused to give an oration on the +valor of the English. + +Now it was time for Joan of Arc, who, her peasant robes covering her +bandaged ankle, sat in the forests of Domremy, and with sweet, +up-turned face listened to the voices of angels. Convinced that she +had a mission to perform, she sought the old priest as he walked one +day in the forest, and told him of her visions; but he, in perfect +though rather halfhearted French, discouraged her, and sent her home +to help her mother in the kitchen. A year passed, and Joan having at +last convinced the priest and the governor of Domremy, was allowed to +proceed to the Dauphin, and declare her message from God. + +In the last scene, a new Joan, clad in a shining helmet, a suit of +armor, and bearing a shield and spear, rode from the wood into the +meadow. She sat her horse like a knight of old, holding her reins in +her left hand, on which arm she bore her shield, and in her right hand +bearing her spear aloft. In her gray eyes was the memory of the +Domremy visions; on her face the determination to save her country. +Before her walked the little priest, who could not resist glancing +back every now and then to be sure Napoleon was not too near his +heels. Behind her on either side came two armed retainers. + +As the Maid of Orleans neared the audience, she was greeted by +applause, which pleased her even less than it pleased a certain little +group in the center of the gathering. She rode on toward the end of +the meadow, where next the woods stood the disguised Dauphin and his +courtiers. As she reached the first of the Dauphin’s men-at-arms, she +halted her steed, swung her armor-clad body lightly to the ground, and +advanced with intent gaze toward him, whom she knew to be Charles, the +future king. + +[Illustration: “She sat her horse like a knight of old.”] + +Meanwhile, Napoleon, weary of this pomp and pageantry, and feeling his +back free at last from knights and emperors, moved slowly to a near-by +birch tree, and began to nibble at its fresh new leaves. Joan’s +retainers had followed her, and as there was no one to forbid him to +take refreshment, he ate on undisturbed. Suddenly at his very nose +sounded a blare of trumpets. They proclaimed the Domremy peasant girl +to be what she had declared herself—the deliverer of her country. But +Napoleon knew nothing of proclamations or deliverers. All he knew was +that he had been rudely disturbed and needlessly startled—he, who had +uncomplainingly worn trappings of every description and borne Augustus +and Roland, the Black Prince and Joan! + +The trumpets sounded again in his ears. This time he answered with a +terrifying snort, kicked up his heels and started down the meadow, his +tasseled blanket, for with this new Joan he wore no saddle, dragging +on the ground. Joan, in the act of receiving the homage of the Dauphin +and his court, saw him go. She sprang to her feet, mediaeval manners +forgotten, threw aside her spear and shield, and started in pursuit. +She forgot that she was to save France; but she knew she was to save +the Earl of Leicester embarrassment from having no steed to ride, when +he should advance in the next act to greet Queen Elizabeth. + +The progress of Napoleon was somewhat lessened by his robes in which +he became often entangled, and by his desire for more fresh birch +leaves. Within five minutes Joan was near him, her helmet long since +gone, her armor more or less depleted, her hair streaming in the wind. +She was no longer the gentle maid of Domremy; she was a Wyoming girl +who was catching her horse. + +“Oh, John!” cried Grandmother Webster, who with frightened eyes +watched her granddaughter in this somewhat strange proceeding. “Oh, +John, how can you laugh! She’ll be hurt!” + +“No, she won’t, mother,” her father answered. “She’s used to that sort +of thing. Don’t worry.” + +“She’s the pluckiest girl I ever saw in my life!” cried the Colonel, +slapping his knee. “Joan of Arc wasn’t in it!” And his grandson, who +had risen to his feet and was cheering as though he were at a +foot-ball game, kept shouting between his cheers: + +“Say, but she’s a corker!” + +Now she was running beside Napoleon. Suddenly she grasped his reins, +and stopped him just as he was nearing the road, and thinking without +doubt that he would escape to his Hillcrest stable where pageantry was +unknown. She straightened his bedraggled robes as well as she could, +then with one hand on his neck, sprang to his back with as much ease +as though he had been a Shetland pony, and, amid the cheers of the +audience, rode back to receive the homage, not only of the Dauphin, +but of the gathering at large. + +The pageant proceeded. Queen Elizabeth, borne by her eight retainers, +was received by a somewhat trembling Earl of Leicester, who did not +seem at all sure of his steed; Mary Stuart was dignity and courage +itself as she marched to the scaffold, led by two perfectly serious +headsmen; and Martin Luther eclipsed even his rehearsal of the +morning. But none like the second Joan was prompted by necessity to +forget the bonds of History, and establish a new tradition to add to +the hundreds already clustering about St. Helen’s. + +“For,” said the white-haired bishop, shaking hands with her, as she +stood in her page’s costume of doublet and hose, surrounded by an +admiring group, “St. Helen’s girls will never forget this Joan, though +their memory may be hazy as to her of Domremy; just as they’ll always +remember St. Helen’s champion chimney-sweep, and probably forget all +about Charles Kingsley’s. Isn’t that so, my dear?” And he turned with +a quizzical smile toward the Blackmore twin, who had dropped into the +grate before his astonished eyes the year before. + +“Well,” said Carver Standish III, as bearing Joan’s spear and shield, +he accompanied her across the campus, “well, all I’ve got to say is, +Miss Hunter, you surely are a winner! And I’m some glad grandfather +brought me over to meet you!” + +“I’m glad, too,” answered the happy Joan, “but I’m not Miss Hunter, +I’m just Virginia. You see I’m especially anxious not to be a young +lady when I get back home.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE VIGILANTES’ LAST MEETING + + +“It’s absolutely unbelievable!” cried Priscilla. + +“It’s a fairy-tale!” said Vivian. + +“I’ll just count the minutes till August!” declared Virginia. + +“Mine is a reward for getting all _A’s_,” said Priscilla. “My! but I’m +glad I worked!” + +“I’m thankful papa came for Commencement,” said Vivian. “Mamma would +never have said ‘Yes.’ She still thinks I’m going to be killed. Are +you sure you have room for us all, Virginia? Is a ranch large?” + +“Of course we have room. Besides, I sleep in a tent summers.” + +“Oh, may we, too?” + +“Why, yes, if you like. Mary wants to. It’s lovely out-of-doors.” + +“Aren’t there any rattle-snakes around?” + +“Only on the hills, and in rocky and sandy places. Oh, Dorothy, we’re +selfish talking like this when you can’t come!” + +“No, you’re not. I dote on hearing about it. I wish I could come, but +I’m glad I’m going to be with father. It makes me frightfully proud to +think he wants me to keep house for him; and we’re going to have a +heavenly little bungalow right by the ocean. It will be lovely, I +think; and we haven’t been together for so long, it will be like +getting acquainted over again.” + +“I think it’s splendid, Dorothy,” said Priscilla, “and I’m so proud of +you! Mother is too—she said so. And being all Vigilantes, we’ll be +together in thought, anyway. Oh, Virginia, I think your father was +perfectly lovely to give us our pins!” + +“Wonderful!” cried Dorothy. + +“They’re the sweetest things!” said Vivian. + +“Wasn’t that your secret when we held our first meeting in May?” asked +Dorothy. + +“Yes, that was it. When you mentioned the hepatica, I thought how +lovely it would be to have little hepatica pins. I wrote father all +about it, and he said he’d love to have them made for us as a gift +from him. They are sweet! I love them!” + +She lifted hers from her blouse and examined it, while the other +Vigilantes did the same. They were little hepaticas in dull gold. In +the heart of each glowed three small pearls; and in a circle around +the pearls were engraved in tiny letters the words, “Ever Vigilant.” + +“They’ll be such a help to us this summer, I think,” said Dorothy. “I +know mine will. It will help me remember—lots of things.” + +They were sitting on their rock back of the Retreat. It was afternoon +of the day following the pageant, and this was their last Vigilante +meeting. + +“Doesn’t it seem as though everything had come out just right?” asked +Priscilla after a little pause. “This morning in chapel when Miss King +announced that we’d won the cup, I could have screamed, I was so glad! +And that’s due to you, Dorothy, more than to any one else. Just think +of your Latin examination! Miss Baxter has put it in the exhibit of +class work. I’m so glad!” + +“I can’t help feeling glad, too. But then it isn’t any more than I +ought to have done toward my share of winning the cup. I helped toward +losing it the first of the year.” + +“Oh, don’t let’s talk about that part—ever again!” cried the founder +of the Vigilantes. “It’s never going to happen any more, and that’s +what makes me so happy, because now we understand each other, and next +year we’ll all be working for the same thing! Oh, I get happier every +minute!” + +“Won’t it be lovely to have the Blackmores in The Hermitage?” + +“Has Miss King really said they could come?” + +“Yes, Jess told me this morning after chapel. At least, she’s going to +try them for three months.” + +“They’re going to Germany this summer. I wonder what they’ll learn to +do over there!” + +“You can depend upon it they’ll learn something! You’ll have enough to +do to keep them straight, Priscilla.” + +“Oh, dear,” said Priscilla. “Why did you ever choose me monitor? I’ll +probably get into more scrapes than any one else, especially with the +Blackmores around. I’ll try to be like Mary, but I know I can’t.” + +“Oh, won’t we miss Mary and Anne?” + +“Anne’s going abroad, too, with her mother; and then she’s going to +college in the fall with Mary.” + +“College seems so far away, and so big some way. I’m glad we’re going +to be at St. Helen’s.” + +A bell sounded across the campus. + +“It’s time for the Senior song,” said Priscilla. “We must go in a +minute. I’m going to take a piece of pine for my Memory Book to +remember the last meeting.” + +They all followed her example. Then, standing on the big rock with +their arms around one another’s shoulders, they repeated earnestly +their Vigilante principles: + +“We stand for fair play and true friendship.” + +“And for taking care of our roots,” added Virginia, as a postscript. + +Then they scrambled down from the rock, and ran through the wood path +to the campus, where the lower classes were gathering for the annual +Senior song, which was held the last day of Commencement. From the +woods north of the campus came the twenty Seniors in white dresses. +They marched two by two between long lines of crimson ribbon, which +they held. As they drew near the campus where the other classes +awaited them, they sang their Senior song. + + “We’re the St. Helen’s Seniors, + The crimson and the white, + We stand for fun and friendship, + For loyalty and right, + We’ll ever praise St. Helen’s, + Her wisdom and her fame, + The only school in all this land + Our loyalty can claim.” + +Cheers from Juniors, Sophomores, and Freshmen greeted them. They +marched to all the buildings, before each one singing farewell songs, +written by Senior poets; and then back again to the gathering-place of +the admiring lower classes, who, as they approached, rose, and with +greater volume, but no greater feeling, saluted them with a song, also +written expressly for the occasion. + + “Farewell to the Seniors, + We’ll surely miss you sore + When we come back again next fall, + And find you here no more. + We’ll try to follow in your steps, + Of loyalty and right, + And never, never will forget + The crimson and the white.” + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +HOME ONCE MORE + + +“Oh, father, it looks just the same! There are our mountains that +Colonel Standish and I said good-by to. Oh, daddy, I’ve missed the +mountains so! And there are the foot-hills! Aren’t they green? And see +the flowers on them! Oh, there’s a shooting star! I saw it in the +hollow as we passed. And aren’t the grain fields lovely with the wind +sweeping over them? Oh, father, won’t the girls just love it? And +won’t it be perfectly lovely to have them? I never saw any one so +happy as Carver Standish when he said you had asked him. The Colonel +was smiling all over, too. It will be a regular house-party, won’t it? +And isn’t it wonderful that Aunt Nan’s coming with all of them? Oh, +father, weren’t we happy in Vermont, and isn’t it just the loveliest +thing in all the world that we have grandmother and Aunt Nan for our +very own? I know mother would be happy, don’t you?” + +“I’m sure she would be very happy, dear. It’s what we used to hope for +years ago. And I’m the happiest man in all Wyoming to have my little +daughter back, and I’m more glad than ever that I sent her away to +school.” + +“Oh, I’m so glad that I can’t help thinking about it. Just think if +I’d never gone, I’d never have known Priscilla—isn’t she dear, +father—or Dorothy, or Mary and Anne, or those dear, funny Blackmore +twins, or Vivian—Vivian seems silly, father, but she isn’t really, +she’s fine underneath, you’ll see—or Miss King, or darling Miss +Wallace—oh, daddy, wasn’t she too dear for anything when she said +good-by? She kissed me twice. It’s selfish to notice, but I couldn’t +help it. She’s one of my very dearest friends. Didn’t you like her +especially?” + +“Very much, dear. See, we’re coming nearer. We’ve crossed the creek +bridge. Better put on your hat.” + +Fifteen minutes later they had left the dingy little station and were +driving along the country road between fields of waving grain, the +proud Dick being holder of the reins. Virginia plied him with eager +questions. + +“Oh, Dick, how is the colt?” + +“Fine, Miss Virginia. We put him on the range last month.” + +[Illustration: “The road lay at the very base of the green +foot-hills.”] + +“And how’s Pedro?” + +“He’s fine, too.” + +“Have the little collies grown much?” + +Dick laughed. “They’re not little any more, Miss Virginia.” + +“And how are Alec and Joe and Hannah and Mr. Weeks and William?” + +“They’re first-rate, and all anxious to see you.” + +Virginia clung closer to her father’s hand. “It seems strange, doesn’t +it, father,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “and—and sad not to +have Jim drive us home?” + +For miles they drove across the broad prairies, past grain fields and +through barren, unirrigated stretches. Then at last they turned a bend +in the road, and there before them lay the nearer foot-hills, with the +higher ranges above, and far above all the mountains—still +snow-covered. + +“They look really friendly this morning with the sun on them,” said +Virginia, “and they ought to when I love them so, and am coming back +to them.” + +They turned again. This time the road lay at the very base of the +green foot-hills, upon which cattle and horses were feeding. On the +side of one of the hills rose a great spruce, and on the ground near +it, Virginia’s quick eyes caught a glow of color. + +“Is that—?” she whispered to her father. + +“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s where Jim lies. We fenced in the range +for a good distance all around the tree so the cattle couldn’t go +there; and William tended some plants all winter so that he could put +them there early in the spring. They’re all in blossom now, you see.” + +Virginia could not speak. She watched the great spruce and the color +beneath it, until they rounded the hill and both were hidden from +sight. Then she put her head against her father’s shoulder, while he, +understanding, held her close. Jim’s absence was the only shadow upon +her home-coming. Nothing would seem the same without him; and now that +he was gone, the girls would never understand why it was that she had +loved him so. If they could only have seen him, then they would have +known! + +“You can see home now, little girl,” said her father. + +She raised her head eagerly. Yes, there it was—the green wheat fields, +the avenue of tall cottonwoods whose leaves were fluttering in the +wind, the long white ranch-house, from the window of which some one +was waving a red handkerchief. + +“Hannah!” cried Virginia, as she waved her own handkerchief in answer. + +A few minutes more and they were driving beneath the cottonwoods. +Around the corner of the house bounded the collie dogs, the pups +indistinguishable from their mother, to give them welcome; in the +doorway stood Hannah, her face bright with joy; and by Virginia’s +flower-bed, in which spikes of blue larkspur, reaching to her window, +were brave with bloom, stood William—a new William, with the sadness +and the failures quite gone from his face. + +“Oh, William,” cried Virginia, jumping from the carriage, and running +up to him; “Oh, William, it’s next best to having Jim to have you—like +this!” + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Elk Creek Valley lay bathed in June sunshine. It had +never seemed so beautiful—at least to a certain boy and girl, who +rested their horses on the brow of the Mine, and looked off across a +creek bordered by cottonwoods and merry, laughing quaking-asps, across +a blue-green sea of waving grain, to the distant, snow-furrowed +mountain peaks. Some magpies flew chattering over the prairie and +among the quaking-asps; a meadow lark sang from a near-by tree-stump; +and two cotton-tail rabbits chased each other across the open space +between the creek and the foot-hills, and played hide-and-seek behind +the sage-brush. + +“Isn’t it the loveliest place in all the world, Don?” the girl almost +whispered. “I know I’ll not be any happier when I get to Heaven. And +some way the mountains are friendlier than ever. Perhaps because I +love them better now I’m home again.” + +“It is lovely,” the boy answered. “The finest country anywhere! I’m +mighty glad you’re home again, Virginia; but the thing I’m most glad +about is, that you aren’t a young lady after all!” + + THE END + + + + + SIX STAR RANCH + + Another success by the author of the wonderful GLAD Books + + “Pollyanna: The GLAD Book” + “Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second GLAD Book” + +With frontispiece in full color from a painting by R. Farrington +Elwell and six spirited drawings by Frank J. Murch. Bound uniform with +the POLLYANNA books in silk cloth, with a corresponding color jacket, +net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The year we published POLLYANNA, THE GLAD BOOK, we published another +book by the same author, but as it is contrary to our policy to issue +two books by one writer in a year, we published the second book under +the pseudonym “Eleanor Stuart.” + +As we are not going to publish a new book of Mrs. Porter’s this year, +we have decided to announce the publication of SIX STAR RANCH under +the name of its real author. The success of her previous books is +practically unparalleled in the history of American publishing, +POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK, having already sold 300,000 copies—an +average of more than 100,000 copies for three consecutive years—and +POLLYANNA GROWS UP: THE SECOND GLAD BOOK, having sold nearly 150,000 +copies in nine months. + +SIX STAR RANCH is a charming story, in the author’s best vein, of a +dear little Texas girl, who plays “the glad game” made famous by +POLLYANNA, and plays it with a charm which will put her on the same +pinnacle, side by side with POLLYANNA. + + + + + SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP + + A Sequel to “Sylvia’s Experiment, The Cheerful Book” + + By Margaret R. Piper + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, decorative +jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +In THE CHEERFUL BOOK Sylvia Arden proved herself a messenger of joy +and cheerfulness to thousands of readers. In this new story she plays +the same rôle on Arden Hill during her summer vacation and is the same +wholesome, generous, cheerful young lady who made such a success of +the Christmas Party. She befriends sick neighbors, helps “run” a +tea-room, brings together two lovers who have had differences, serves +as the convenient bridesmaid here and the good Samaritan there, and +generally acquits herself in a manner which made of her such a popular +heroine in the former story. There is, of course, a Prince Charming in +the background. + +“The SYLVIA books should be read by all the exponents of POLLYANNA of +THE GLAD BOOKS,” says Mr. H. V. Meyer of the American Baptist +Publication Society. + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + By Mary Ellen Chase + +12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +At the beginning of the story, Virginia Hunter, a bright, breezy, +frank-hearted “girl of the Golden West,” comes out of the Big Horn +country of Wyoming to the old Bay State. Then “things begin,” when +Virginia,—who feels the joyous, exhilarating call of the Big Horn +wilderness and the outdoor life,—attempts to become acclimated and +adopt good old New England “ways.” + +Few stories reveal a more attractive heroine, and the joyous spirit of +youth and its happy adventures give the story an unusual charm. + +“The book has natural characters, fresh incidents, and a general +atmosphere of sincerity and wholesome understanding of girl nature. +Virginia may well become as popular as ‘Miss Billy’ or irresistible +Anne.”—_New York Sun_. + + + + + THE VIOLIN LADY + + A Sequel to “The Fiddling Girl” and “The Proving of Virginia” + + By Daisy Rhodes Campbell + +Frontispiece in full color from a painting by F. W. Read, and six +black and white illustrations by John Goss, decorative jacket, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +This new story continues the adventures of the once little Fiddling +Girl and tells of her triumphs and hardships abroad, of her friends, +her love affairs, and finally of Virginia’s wedding bells and return +to America. The previous two books in this series have been pronounced +excellent and uplift stories, but “The Violin Lady” is far ahead of +both in interest and charm. + +The press has commented on the author’s previous stories as follows: + + “A delightful story told in a charming manner. The Page + Company does a real service indeed in the publication of so + many of these excellent stories.”—_Zion’s Herald, Boston_. + + “A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of + sympathetic comprehension.”—_Boston Herald_. + + + + + MAN PROPOSES + + Or, The Romance of John Alden Shaw + + By Elliot H. Robinson + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color and other +illustrations by William Van Dresser, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The story of John Alden Shaw is in many respects unique. Containing an +enigma of an unusual nature, an odd legal tangle and a deep moral +problem, the plot holds the reader’s attention to the very end. Quite +as interesting as the major theme of the story are the minor +incidents, for the greater part of the action occurs in gay Newport +during “tennis week” and one somewhat unusual feature of the book is +the introduction of several real and widely known characters—chiefly +tennis stars of international reputation—and actual happenings, which +give the tale peculiar realism. As the author is recognized as one of +our leading writers on tennis, the scenes at the famous Casino during +one of the national championships are particularly well drawn. + +While primarily a problem love story, Man Proposes is essentially a +book “with a difference.” The heroine is a charming Southern girl, +decidedly American in her ideas, while John is himself a very real +sort of young man, and though possessed of sterling qualities which +bring him victoriously through his great test, is no paragon of +virtues. + +“Man proposes, but God disposes!”—Thomas a Kempis. + +“Prithee, why don’t you speak for yourself, John?”—_Longfellow_. + +As the story unfolds the reader will appreciate the significance of +the above lines. + + + + + ANNE’S WEDDING + + A Blossom Shop Romance + + A Sequel to “The Blossom Shop” and “Anne of the Blossom Shop” + + By Isla May Mullins + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a +fainting by Gene Pressler, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + + This new book continues the story of a delightful Southern family of +unique combinations, which have been introduced to thousands of +interested readers through the two preceding volumes, _The Blossom +Shop_ and _Anne of the Blossom Shop_. The new volume promises to be by +far the most popular of the three—which is saying a good deal—for +these stories, sweet and clean, with their picturesque Southern +setting, have charmed both old and young. In the new volume Anne, May +and Gene, three girls of varying types from lovely Mrs. Carter’s +garden of girls, touch life in new and vital ways which develop +sterling character and set promising and full-blown romance to +stirring. + + “There is so much of sunshine in its pages that it sheds its +cheerfulness upon the reader, making life seem brighter and convincing +us that this world is a pleasant place to live in and full of +delightful, kind-hearted people.”—_Boston Times_. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY*** + + +******* This file should be named 42287-0.txt or 42287-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/2/8/42287 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/42287-0.zip b/42287-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6bdf03 --- /dev/null +++ b/42287-0.zip diff --git a/42287-8.txt b/42287-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..115be3f --- /dev/null +++ b/42287-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8127 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Girl from the Big Horn Country, by Mary +Ellen Chase, Illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Girl from the Big Horn Country + + +Author: Mary Ellen Chase + + + +Release Date: March 9, 2013 [eBook #42287] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN +COUNTRY*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 42287-h.htm or 42287-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h/42287-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration: "Rode down the hill into the valley."] + + +THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + +by + +MARY ELLEN CHASE + +Illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell + + + + + + + +The Page Company +Boston--MDCCCCXVI + +Copyright, 1916, +by the Page Company + +All rights reserved + +First Impression, January, 1916 +Second Impression, March, 1916 +Third Impression, May, 1916 +Fourth Impression, June, 1916 +Fifth Impression, August, 1916 + +Presswork by +The Colonial Press + +C. H. Simonds Company, Boston, U. S. A. + + + + + TO THE MEMORY + OF MY FATHER + WHO, PERHAPS, KNOWS, AND IS GLAD + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I--VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY + CHAPTER II--THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + CHAPTER III--THE JOURNEY EAST + CHAPTER IV--VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + CHAPTER V--THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS + CHAPTER VI--ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE + CHAPTER VII--"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM" + CHAPTER VIII--THE LAST STRAW + CHAPTER IX--THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + CHAPTER X--THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XI--THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + CHAPTER XII--THE VIGILANTES + CHAPTER XIII--THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + CHAPTER XIV--WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + CHAPTER XV--VESPER SERVICE + CHAPTER XVI--A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + CHAPTER XVII--THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + CHAPTER XVIII--THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XIX--THE SENIOR PAGEANT + CHAPTER XX--THE VIGILANTES' LAST MEETING + CHAPTER XXI--HOME ONCE MORE + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + "Rode down the hill into the valley." + "Forded the creek in a mad splash of water." + "Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair and stood + facing his audience." + "Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a gray shawl." + "Virginia knelt by the altar rail." + "She sat her horse like a knight of old." + "The road lay at the very base of the green foot-hills." + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY + + +A September afternoon in the Big Horn mountains! The air crystal +clear; the sky cloudless; the outlines of the hills distinct! Elk +Creek Valley lay golden in the sunshine, silent save for the incessant +hum of locust and cricket, the hurrying of the creek waters, and the +occasional bellowing of steers on the range beyond the foot-hills; +deserted except for the distant cattle, a coyote stealing across the +hills, a pheasant scurrying through the buck-brush by the creek, and +some cotton-tail rabbits and prairie dogs, who, sure of safety, meant +to enjoy the sunshine while they might. + +The foot-hills more than half-encircled the Valley. North, east, and +south they tumbled, their brown, closely-cropped sides glowing here +and there with the yellow of the quaking-asps, the red of hawthorn, +and the bronze of service-berry. Above them rose the higher ranges, +clothed in gray-green sagebrush and scant timber, and cut by +canyon-forming mountain storms, invisible from the Valley; and far +above all, seemingly near, but in reality miles away, the mountains +extended their blue, snow-furrowed summits toward a bluer sky. Peak +above peak they rose--some isolated and alone, others leaning upon the +shoulders of the higher--all silent, majestic, mysterious, as though +they held in their great hearts the secrets of the world--secrets of +which Elk Creek Valley could never know. Yet the Valley looked very +happy and content. Perhaps it had lain so long beneath their +protection that it knew no fear. + +The creek, rushing madly from the northern foothills, and fed by +melting snow from the higher mountains, had cut a canyon for itself in +its tumultuous journey from the hills; but as the land became more +level, it slackened its pace, content to make but a slight depression +through the Valley. Across it toward the west, beyond a great gap in +the foothills, stretched an open plateau, which rose in undulations, +and extended as far as one could see toward other far distant +mountains, on less clear days dim and hazy of outline, to-day almost +as blue and distinct as the nearer ranges, though sixty miles away. +This great sea of open prairie rolling westward was cut in as many +pieces and bore as many colors as a patchwork quilt. Golden +wheat-fields, the wheat shocked and piled in wigwams on the plain, met +acres of black, freshly-plowed soil, which, in turn, bordered upon the +tender green of alfalfa and of newly grown winter grain. Scattered +over the prairie stretches, at intervals of a mile, perhaps of +several, were homes--here, large ranch houses with out-lying +buildings--there, the rough shack of a lone homesteader. + +Yes, it was a golden land--smiling and peaceful in the September +sunshine. Save for horses and cattle dotted here and there, the +prairie seemed almost as deserted as Elk Creek Valley, though its +homes promised inhabitants, and a blue line of distant smoke showed +where the threshers were at work. Moreover, on the barely visible +brown road that threaded its way across the prairie, two specks were +moving rapidly in the direction of the Gap. The specks took form, +became two riders, a boy and a girl, on wildly galloping horses, +which, neck to neck, tore at last through the Gap, forded the creek in +a mad splash of water, stirrup-high, and dashed away up the Valley. +Reaching the foot-hills a trifle in advance of his companion, the boy +pulled in his restive horse, and called over his shoulder to the girl +just behind. + +"Are Pedro's feet all right, Virginia?" + +"Yes, Don. Jim fixed them yesterday." + +"Let's take the Mine then, shall we?" + +"Yes, let's!" + +And away they went, allowing the sure-footed horses to have their way +up one of the foot-hills, called the "Mine," because some lone +prospector, dreaming of a fortune, had dug from its side some poor +coal; and then, perhaps discouraged, had abandoned the fruit of his +labors, leaving the black heap as a monument to his zeal, and a +testimony to the vanity of mere dreams. + +They reached the hill-top almost at the same instant, their good +steeds panting; they quite undisturbed, and, turning their horses' +heads, drew rein and looked across the Valley. They were a +robust-looking pair, red-cheeked and khaki-clad, and as good riders as +Wyoming could produce. The boy was seventeen, or thereabouts, +well-knit and tall for his years, with dark, heavy hair and clear, +blue eyes that looked bluer through his coat of tan. His features were +cleanly-cut and strong, and his mouth had a laugh in the corners. A +merry, honest, manly-looking lad--Donald Keith by name, and the son of +a ranchman on the other side of the Valley. + +[Illustration: "Forded the creek in a mad splash of water."] + +She--Virginia Hunter--was a year younger, and for sixteen as tall and +strong as he for seventeen. She was not pretty, but there was +something singularly attractive about her clear, fresh skin, brown +now, except for the red of her cheeks, her even white teeth, and her +earnest gray eyes, at times merry, but often thoughtful, which looked +so straight at you from under brows and lashes of black. Her +golden-brown hair curled about her temples, but it was brushed back +quite simply and braided down her back where it was well out of her +way. A person riding could not bother about her hair. She sat her +horse as though he were a part of her, holding her reins loosely in +her brown left hand, her right hanging idly at her side. The wind blew +back the loosened hair about her face, and the ends of the red +handkerchief, knotted cow-boy fashion, under the collar of her khaki +shirt. She, like the boy, seemed a part of the country--free, natural, +wholesome--and she shared its charm. + +They had been comrades for years--these two--for, in the ranch country, +homes are often widely separated, and the frequent society of many +persons rare. Virginia's home lay up the Valley, beyond the first +range of the foot-hills, while the Keith ranch was situated on the +prairie, west beyond the Gap. Three miles apart across country, four +by the road; but three or four miles in Wyoming are like so many +squares in Boston, and the Keiths and Hunters considered themselves +near neighbors. This afternoon Virginia had ridden over to say good-by +to all the dear Keiths--Mr. David, Mother Mary, Donald's older brother +Malcolm, and his younger, Kenneth, the farm-hands busy with the +threshing, and the men in from the range to help with the wheat; for +they were all her friends, and now that she was going so far away to +school, they seemed nearer and dearer--indeed, next to her father and +those upon their own ranch, the dearest of her world. + +They had been quite as sad as she to say good-by. "The country won't +be the same without you, my lass," Mr. David had said in his genial +Scotch way; and Donald's mother, whom Virginia had called "Mother +Mary," since the death of her own dear mother six years ago, had +kissed her quite as though she were her own daughter. Even Malcolm had +come in from the wheat field to shake her by the hand and wish her +good luck, and little Kenneth's feelings had been quite wounded +because Virginia felt she must decline to carry one of his pet foxes +away with her to boarding-school. Then Donald's father had granted the +request in the boy's eyes that he might be excused from threshing to +ride up the Valley and home with Virginia. So now their horses, good +friends, too, stood side by side on the brow of the Mine, while their +riders looked down the Valley, beyond the cottonwood-bordered creek, +and across the wide, rolling prairie to the far away mountains; and +then, turning in their saddles, to those ranges and peaks towering +above them. + +Virginia drew a long breath. + +"We're like Moses on Mount Nebo, looking away into the Promised Land, +aren't we, Don?" Then, as he laughed, "Do you suppose there's any +country so lovely as ours? Is there anything in the East like this? Do +you think I'll be homesick, Don?" + +He laughed again, used to her questions. + +"I suppose every fellow thinks his own State is the best, Virginia, +but I don't believe there can be any lovelier than this. You know I +told you about spending a vacation when I was at school last year with +Jack Williams in the Berkshires. Some of those hills aren't higher +than the Mine, you know, and he called them mountains. It seemed like +a mighty small country to me, but he thought there was no place like +it. I wish he could get this sweep of country from here. No, the East +isn't like this,--not a bit--and maybe you won't like it, but you're too +plucky to be homesick, Virginia." + +Little did Virginia realize how often those words would ring in her +ears through the months that were to follow. She drew another long +breath--almost a sigh this time. + +"Oh, I wish you were going East again, Don, instead of to Colorado! +'Twould be such fun traveling together, and you could tell me all +about the states as we went through them. But, instead, I'm going all +alone, and Aunt Louise has warned me a dozen times about talking to +strangers. Four days without talking, Don! I shall die! Is it very bad +taste to talk to good, oldish-looking people, do you think?" + +"_I_ think your aunt's mighty particular, if you ask me," the boy said +bluntly. "You'll have to talk to some one, Virginia. You'll never last +four days without it, and I don't think it's any harm. But, you see, +your aunt's from the East, and they're not so sociable as we are out +here. I thought she was going East with you." + +"No, she decided not to, and went to Los Angeles this morning; but I'm +bursting with watch-words that she left. All the way to your house I +said them over, and I nearly ran Pedro into a prairie dog's hole, I +was thinking so hard. I. _It is very bad form to talk to strangers._ +II. _Try to be as neat in appearance on the train as you are at home._ +(Aunt Lou really means neater, Don.) III. _Don't forget to tip the +waiter after each meal in the dining-car._ IV. _Be polite to your +traveling companions, but not familiar._ That's all for the journey, +but I've heaps more for Vermont and for school. Oh, why did you choose +Colorado, Don?" + +"Oh, I don't know, except that it's nearer home, and since I'm going +there to college in another year, I may as well get used to it. The +East is all right, Virginia, but some way I like it out here better. +I'm a rank cow-boy, I guess. That's what they used to call me at +school. Then, besides, the Colorado fellows ride a lot, and they don't +in the East--that is, so much, you know," he added hastily, as he saw +the dismay on her face. + +"Don't ride, Don! Why, I can't stand it not to ride! Don't they have +horses? Don't they--know how to ride?" + +Her genuine distress disturbed him, and he hastened to reassure her as +best he could. + +"You'll find something to ride, I'm sure," he said. "Don't worry. +Maybe the horses won't be like Pedro, but they'll do. You see, your +school's in a larger town than mine. You'll write me all about it, +won't you, Virginia?" + +"Of course, I will--every little thing. If the boys thought you were a +cow-boy, the girls will probably think I'm very queer, too." + +"Oh, no, they won't! You're--you're different some way. And, anyway, +they won't be as nice as you," he finished awkwardly. + +Virginia, full of questions, did not heed the honest compliment. + +"What are Eastern girls like, Don? Have you seen many? You see, I've +never known one, except in books. Margaret Montfort certainly was +different. Besides, you know what a time Peggy had when she went East +to school, and she was only from Ohio." + +Donald knew nothing of Margaret or Peggy, and felt incompetent to +remark upon them; but he answered Virginia's questions. + +"I used to see them last year at school," he said, "at the dances and +at Commencement. And in the Berkshires, I knew Jack's sister, Mary. +She's great, Virginia. I hope there are some like her. She's at some +school, but I forget where. Oh, I guess they're nice. You see, at +parties, when they're all dressed up, you can't get real +well-acquainted." + +"Dressed up!" cried Virginia. "Don, you ought to see the clothes I've +got! And trunks like closets?--two of them! Aunt Lou bought my things +in Chicago for father. He told her to get what I'd need, and when all +the boxes came, he grew more and more surprised. He thought they had +sent a lot for us to choose from; and when Aunt Lou told him it was +only my 'necessary wardrobe,' he just sat down and laughed. Then I had +to try them all on--six pairs of shoes, and sailor-suits, and coats and +sweaters and dinner dresses, and goodness knows what all! It took the +whole afternoon. That was the one last week, you know, when I didn't +get to go hunting prairie chickens with you. And Aunt Lou made me walk +back and forth in the dinner dresses until I could 'act natural,' she +said." She paused laughing, and the boy looked at her, his face +troubled. + +"I hope all those things and going away off there won't make you +different, Virginia," he said, a little wistfully. + +"Of course, they won't!" she told him. "I couldn't be any different, +Don. If it weren't for the fun of wondering about things, I'd never +want to go even a little, but it will be new and interesting. Besides, +you know Aunt Lou says it's 'imperative' that I go. I heard her say +that to father one night this summer. 'It's imperative that Virginia +go,' she said. 'She's getting really wild out here with just you men, +and that woman in the kitchen.' 'That woman' means old Hannah, who's +been so good to us ever since mother died!" + +Donald looked angry for a moment. Apparently he did not care a great +deal for Virginia's Aunt Louise. + +"What did your father say?" + +"He didn't say anything, like he doesn't when he's thinking or +troubled; but, next morning, he told me he was going to send me East +to mother's old school. He said he guessed I needed to see different +things. Aunt Lou was there when he told me, and she said, 'It will be +the making of you, Virginia,--a very broadening experience!'" + +"I don't think I'd like your aunt very well," Donald announced +bluntly. + +Virginia was not surprised. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't, and I don't +think she'd like you either. That is, she _ought_ to like you, and +maybe she would, but she probably wouldn't approve. She's a person +that doesn't often approve of things. She doesn't approve of my +shooting, or of Jim teaching me to lasso the steers in the corral; and +that afternoon when I wanted to go rabbit hunting with you instead of +trying on dresses, I heard her tell father that I was getting to be +rather too much of a young lady to ride the country over with you. But +father laughed and laughed, and said he'd as soon have me with you as +with himself." + +Donald looked pleased. Then-- + +"I hope you won't get to be too much of a young lady while you're +gone, Virginia," he said, "so you won't care for hunting and--and +things like that, next summer." + +"Don't worry," she said. "I won't be a young lady for years. I hate to +even think of it! But we must go down, Don. The sun says five o'clock, +and it's my last evening with father." + +Her gray eyes, thoughtful and almost sad, swept the country before +her. + +"I hate to leave you all," she said softly, a little catch in her +voice. "The valley and the creek and the cottonwoods and the +prairie--all of you. And, most of all, the foot-hills. You know, Don," +she continued, turning toward him, "I think I like the foot-hills +best. They're so sort of friendly, and they don't make you feel little +like the mountains. You know what I mean!" + +He nodded with quick understanding. They turned their horses to look +at the peaks towering above them. + +"Sometimes they really scare me," she said almost in a whisper. +"They're so big, and look as though they knew so many things. +Sometimes I wish they'd talk, and then I know if they did, I'd run and +hide, I'd be so frightened at what they were going to say." Her eyes +left the mountains and swept across the nearer hills. Suddenly she +grasped his arm, all excitement. "Hst, Don!" she whispered, her eyes +gleaming. "There! Behind that clump of pine on the range! Not a +quarter of a mile away! Bess and the new colt! I know the way she +holds her head. Wait a minute! There she is! She's seen us, and there +she goes!" + +With a wild snort, which they could hear distinctly in the clear air, +and a mad kick of the heels, the horse tore away across the range, her +colt trying manfully with his long ungainly legs to keep near his +mother. Months on the range had transformed Bess from a corral pet to +a wild steed, suspicious even of her mistress, and mindful only of her +safety and that of her colt. + +"A nice colt," said Don, "and now she's down this far she won't go far +away. Doesn't your father brand this week? They'll probably mark the +little fellow with the rest." + +"Yes, I suppose they will. That's one thing I can't bear to see--the +branding. Father and Jim will be so glad to know about the colt. You +can break it for me, Don, when it's two years old." + +"All right, I'll not forget," he promised. + +Then they turned again, and rode down the hill into the valley. This +time they did not ford the creek, but turned north, following an old +trail up the valley and through another gap in the hills a mile above. +This brought them again to the open, where Virginia's home lay--a long, +rambling house with its back against the foot-hills and its front +looking westward across the prairie. Tall cottonwoods shaded the brown +road that led to it; and down this road, beneath the trees, they rode, +more slowly now. + +A tall man, reading on the broad front porch, rose as they drew rein +under the cottonwoods. + +"Come in to supper, Don," he called cordially. "It's all ready, and +we're glad to have you." + +"Thank you, Mr. Hunter, but I can't. I've got to be making for home. +Good-by, Virginia," he said, jumping from his horse to shake hands +with her, as she stood beside her father. "I'm going to be lonesome +without you. Don't forget us, will you?" + +"Good-by, Don." She had the same little catch in her voice as upon the +hills, and her eyes were grave again. "I'll miss you, and, of course, +I won't forget. And, Don," she called, as he swung himself into his +saddle and galloped away, "remember, I'll not be a young lady when I +come back!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + + +In the mountain country the twilights are longer and the sunset colors +lovelier than anywhere else. Long after Virginia and her father, +supper over, had come out upon the porch to sit together, the golden +light lingered in the western sky, making more blue the far distant +mountains, throwing the prairie into shadow, and casting upon the +nearer eastern foot-hills a strange, almost violet glow. Slowly the +gold changed to the deep, almost transparent blue of the mountain sky +at night. The sunset light faded to give place to the stars, which, +when the twilight was almost gone, seemed to shine out all at once, as +if fearful of the sunset's lingering too long. + +It was very still everywhere. Virginia sat in her favorite way--on a +low stool by her father's chair, her head upon his knees, his hand in +hers. Together they watched the light fade and the stars come out, as +they had done for so many nights. No sound anywhere, except Hannah's +steps in the kitchen, an occasional distant laugh or song from the men +in the bunk-house, and the night noises--the stirring of the +cottonwoods and the singing of the insects. + +For a long time neither of them spoke, and the realization coming +closer every moment that this evening would be their last chance to +talk together for many months, did not seem to make conversation +easier. The big man in his chair was reviewing the years--thinking of +the time, twenty-five years back, when he had first come to this +country--then wild and unbroken like its own animals and roaming +horses. He had come like countless other young men, seeking a new +life, adventure, fortune; and he had stayed, having found an abundance +of the first two, and enough of the last. In the darkness he saw the +distant, widely separated lights of the homes on the prairie--that +prairie which he as a young man had ridden across, then +sagebrush-covered, the home of the antelope, the prairie dog, and the +rattler; now, intersected with irrigation ditches, covered with wheat +fields, dotted with homes. Yet the land possessed its old charm for +him. It was still a big country. The mountains had not changed; the +plains, though different in feature, stretched as wide; the sky was as +vast. He loved this land, so much that it had become a part of him; +but his little daughter at his feet he was sending away that she might +know another life. + +He looked down at her. She was thinking, too--filled with a great +desire to stay in her own dear, Western country, and with another as +great to experience all the new things which this year was to bring +her. Homesickness and anticipation were fighting hard. She looked up +at her father, and even in the darkness saw the sadness in his face. +Lost in her own thoughts, she had left him out--him, whose loneliness +would be far greater than her own. She sprang up from her stool and +into his lap, as she had always done before the years had made her +such a big girl; and he held her close in his strong arms, while she +cried softly against his shoulder. + +"Daddy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Daddy, dear, do you +suppose people often want two different things so much that they can't +tell which they want the most? Did you ever?" + +He held her closer. "Yes, little girl. I expect many people do that +very thing when it comes to deciding. And your dad is doing that very +thing this minute. He thinks he wants to keep you right here with him, +but he knows away down deep that he wouldn't let you stay if he could. +He knows he wants his little daughter to go away to her mother's +school, and to have everything this big world can give her." + +"But it's going to be so lonely for you, father. I'm so selfish, just +thinking of me, and never of you. I can't leave you all alone!" And +the tears came again. + +Silently he smoothed her hair, until with a choking little laugh she +raised her head. + +"Don would call me a quitter, I guess," she said. "I'm homesick +already, and he said to-day of course I'd be too plucky to be +homesick." She laughed again. "I'm not going to cry another tear. And +there are so many things I want to ask you. Father, tell me truly, do +you like the folks in Vermont? Will I like them, do you think?" + +She waited for what seemed to her long minutes before he answered her. + +"Virginia," he said at last, "your mother's people are not like us +away out here. They are of New England stock and know nothing of our +life here, and it naturally seems rough to them. Your mother seemed to +have a different strain in her, else she had never come to Wyoming, +and stayed to marry a ranchman like me. But they are your mother's +people, and as such I honor and respect them. And I want you to like +them, Virginia, for your mother's sake." + +"I will, father," she whispered, clinging to him. "I promise I will!" +A minute later she laughed again. + +"I've written down all of Aunt Lou's warnings, and I'll learn them all +on the train. Are grandmother and Aunt Nan like Aunt Lou, father?" + +"I don't quite remember. Your grandmother is a lady, and looks it. +Your Aunt Nan was but a little girl of your age when I saw her, but I +think she's--well, a little less particular than your Aunt Lou, judging +from her letters. I have been wrong," he continued after a pause, "in +not sending you on to them in the summers, but I could not go, and it +seemed a long way to have you go without me. And though we've always +asked them, none of them has ever come here, until your Aunt Lou came +this summer." + +"Why didn't mother go oftener?" + +He hesitated a moment. "Some way she didn't want to leave for so long. +She loved this Big Horn country as much as you and I. We went together +once before you came; and then the summer you were five years old she +took you and went again. But that was the last time. Do you remember +it?" + +"I remember the tall clock on the stairs. I held the pendulum one day +and stopped it, and grandmother said it had not stopped for +seventy-five years. Then she scolded me, and told mother I was a +little wild thing--not a bit like my mother--and mother cried and said +she wished we were back home with you." + +They were silent again, listening to the wind in the cottonwoods. A +long silence, then her father said quietly, + +"Your grandmother was wrong. You are very like your mother. But I am +sorry you had to look like your dad. It will disappoint them in +Vermont." + +Virginia's eyes in the darkness sparkled dangerously. She sat up very +straight. + +"If they don't like the way I look," she announced deliberately, "I'll +go on to school, and not trouble them. I'm proud of looking like my +father, and I shall tell them so!" + +Her father watched her proudly. Back through the years he heard her +mother's voice: + +"If they don't like the man I've married, we'll come back to the +mountains, and not torment them!" + +A creaking sound, occurring regularly at intervals of a few seconds, +came from the road back of the house leading to the ranch buildings, +and gradually grew more distinct. + +"Jim's coming," said Virginia. "He isn't going on the round-up +to-morrow, is he, father? Don't let him go, please!" + +The creaking drew nearer, accompanied by hard, exhausted breathing. + +"No," her father told her, his voice low. "I'm not going to let him +go. He's too worn out and old for that work, though it's wonderful how +he rides with that wooden leg; but I can't tell him he shan't take +charge of the branding. He couldn't stand that disappointment. Come +on, Jim," he called cheerily. "We're on the porch." + +Virginia echoed her father. "Come and talk with us, Jim." + +"I'm a-comin'," came from the corner of the porch, "fast as this old +stick'll bring me. Ain't much the way I used to come, is it, sir? But +stick or leg, I'm good for years yet. Lord, Miss Virginia, I'm a-goin' +to teach your boys and girls how to throw the rope!" And talking as he +wheezed and creaked, Jim reached the porch and laboriously stumped up +the steps. + +Jim was an old man, fifty of whose seventy years had been spent on the +ranges and ranches of the Great West. He had grown with the country, +moving westward as the tide moved, from Iowa to Kansas and Nebraska, +Nebraska to the Dakotas, and from the Dakotas to Montana and Wyoming. +No phase of the life West had escaped Jim. He had fought Indians and +cattle-thieves, punched cattle and homesteaded, prospected and mined. +Twenty years before, seeking more adventure, he had made his way on +horseback through the mountains to Arizona. Whether he found what he +sought, he never told, but five years later, he appeared again in +Wyoming, and since that time he had been with Mr. Hunter, whom he had +known when the country was new. Had his education equaled his honesty +and foresight, Mr. Hunter would long ago have made him foreman, for he +had no man whom he so fully trusted; but Jim's limited knowledge of +letters and figures prohibited that distinction, and he remained in +one sense an ordinary ranch-hand, apparently content. Still, in +another sense, there was something unique about his position. The +younger men looked up to him, because of his wide experience and fund +of practical knowledge; Mr. Hunter relied implicitly upon his honesty, +and consulted him upon many matters of ranch management; and, next to +her father, there was no one in all Wyoming whom Virginia so loved. + +Jim had taught her to ride when her short legs could hardly reach the +stirrups; had told her the names of every tree, bush, and flower of +the hills and plains; and had been her guard and companion on +expeditions far and wide. As she grew older, he gave and taught her +how to use her small rifle; and of late had even given her lessons in +swinging the lasso in the corral, in which art he was dexterity +itself. And last winter Virginia had been able to repay him,--though +all through the years she had given him far more than she knew,--for in +the autumn round-up, Jim, galloping over the range, had been thrown +from his horse, when the animal stumbled into a prairie dog's hole, +and the fall had broken his leg. + +The chagrin of the old cow-puncher was more pitiable to witness than +his pain, when the boys brought him in to the ranch. That he, the +veteran of the range, should have behaved thus--"like the rankest +tenderfoot"--was almost more than his proud spirit could withstand; and +later, when the doctor said the leg below the knee must be sacrificed, +the pain and loss, even the necessity of stumping about the rest of +his days, seemed as nothing to him compared with the shame he felt +over his "tenderfoot foolishness." + +The winter days would have been endless, indeed, had not Virginia been +there to cheer him. Mr. Hunter would not hear of his staying in the +bunk-house, but brought him to the ranch,--and there, under Hannah's +faithful nursing, and Virginia's companionship, the old man forgot a +little of his chagrin and humiliation. Virginia read to him by the +hour, nearly everything she had, and her books were many. Seventy is a +strange age to receive a long-deferred education, but Jim profited by +every chapter, even from "David Copperfield," who, he privately +thought, was "a white-livered kind of fool" and his patience in +listening to David, Virginia rewarded by the convict scene in her own +dear "Great Expectations," or by "Treasure Island," both of which he +never tired. + +Then, when he was able to sit up, even to stump about a little, +Virginia, having reviewed the venture in her own mind, suggested +bravely one day that he learn to read, for he barely knew his letters, +so that while she was at school the hours might not drag so wearily +for him. A little to her surprise, the old man assented eagerly, and +took his first lesson that very hour, He learned rapidly, to write as +well as read, and now that his labors on the ranch were so impaired he +had found it a blessing, indeed. + +Of Jim's early life no one knew. He was always reticent concerning it, +and no one safely tried to penetrate his reserve. His accent betokened +Scotch ancestry, but his birth-place, his parents, and his name were +alike a mystery. He was known to miles of country as "Jim." That was +all. Enough, he said. + +As he stood there in the open doorway, the light falling upon his bent +figure, and bronzed, bearded face, Virginia realized with a quick pang +of how much of her life Jim had been the center. She realized, too, +how worn he looked, and how out of breath he was, and she sprang from +her father's lap. + +"Come in, Jim," she said, taking his hand in hers. "It's cold out +here. Come, father." + +They went into the big, low-storied living-room, where Hannah had +lighted a fire in the great stone fire-place. The spruce logs were +burning brightly, and Virginia drew her father's big arm-chair toward +the fire. + +"Sit here, Jim, where it's warm, and rest." + +Jim about to sit down, hesitated. "You see, sir, I come up on an +errand with a message from the boys. If it's all well and pleasin' to +you both, they'd like to beg permission to come up for a minute. You +see, they're leavin' early in the mornin' for the round-up, and they +want to wish Miss Virginia good luck. If they was to come, I wasn't to +go back." + +"Why, of course, they're to come!" cried Virginia, while her father +nodded his approval. "I'd forgotten they go so early on the range, and +I wouldn't go for the world without seeing them all. Sit down, Jim. +Do! Will they be right up?" + +Jim sank gratefully into the big chair, placed his broad-brimmed hat +on his knee, and gave a final twist to his clean bandanna. + +"They was a-sprucin' up when I left the bunk-house, kind o' reckonin' +on your sayin' to come along. Beats all how walkin' with a stick takes +your wind." He was still breathing hard. Virginia watched him +anxiously. + +"Jim," said Mr. Hunter, after a pause, "I wish you'd look out for the +place to-morrow. I've some matters in town to attend to after taking +Virginia in for the train, and it may be late when I get back. A man +from Willow Creek thought he'd be around this week to look at some +sheep. I'm thinking of selling one hundred or so of that last year +lot, and I'll leave the choice and price to your judgment." + +"All right, sir." This helped matters considerably. Jim himself had +decided that he could not go upon the range, but here was afforded a +valid excuse to give the boys. His tired face brightened. + +"And, Jim," continued Virginia, eagerly, "I almost forgot to tell you. +Don and I spied Bess and the colt to-day on the lower range, not two +miles from the corral. The colt's black like Bess, and a darling! +Don't hurt it any more than you can help when you brand it, will you, +Jim? Does it hurt much, do you suppose?" + +"Sho' now, don't you worry, Miss Virginia. You see, brandin's like +most other things that don't hurt nearly so much as you think they're +goin' to. It ain't bad after a minute. I'll be careful of the little +fellow. Here come the boys." + +Five stalwart forms passed the window and came to the porch, cleaning +their feet carefully upon the iron mud-scraper screwed to the side of +the lowest step for that very purpose. Then, a little embarrassed, +they filed up the steps and into the house, the two last bearing +between them a large box which they placed near the door. They were +hardy men, used to a rough life, of ages varying from young Dick +Norton, who was eighteen and a newcomer, to John Weeks, the foreman, a +man of fifty. Roughly dressed though they were, in flannel shirts and +knee-boots, they were clean, having, as Jim said, "spruced up" for the +occasion. For a moment they stood ill at ease, sombreros in their +hands, but only for a moment, for Mr. Hunter found them chairs, +talking meanwhile of the round-up, and Virginia ran to the kitchen to +ask Hannah for cider and gingerbread. + +"Come in yourself, Hannah," she said to the kind soul, who sat by the +spotless pine table, knitting busily; and she begged until Hannah +changed her apron and joined the circle about the fire. + +"Joe," said Virginia to a big man of thirty, whose feet worried him +because they demanded so much room. "Joe, you'll keep an eye on the +littlest pup, won't you? He has a lump in his throat, and the others +pick on him. I wish you'd rub the lump with liniment; and don't forget +to tell me how he is." + +Joe promised. If the service had been for the Queen, he could not have +been more honored. + +"And, Alec," to a tall Scotchman, who had a wife and family in the +nearest town, "I'm leaving my black Sampson and all his clothes to +little David. You'll take them when you go in Saturday night?" + +Alec beamed his thanks. + +"I wish you'd use Pedro all you can, Dick." This to the young lad, who +colored and smiled. "He gets sore if he isn't used; and give him some +sugar now and then for me. He'll miss me at first." + +She turned toward the farthest corner of the room where a man sat +apart from the others--a man with a kind, almost sad face, upon the +features of which the town saloon had left its mark. This was William, +one of the best cattle hands in the county when he could keep away +from town. To every one but Virginia he was "Bill," but Virginia said +he needed to be called William. + +"William," she said, "if you kill any snakes, I wish you'd save me the +rattles. I'm collecting them. And, if you have any time, I wish you'd +plant some perennial things in the bed under my window, so they'll +bloom early in June. You choose whatever you like. It'll be more fun +not to know, and then see them all in blossom when I get home. Don't +you think it would be a good plan?" + +William's tired face, on which were written the records of many hopes +and failures, grew so bright with interest that he did not look like +"Bill" at all. Moreover, he loved flowers. + +"Just the thing, Miss Virginia," he said. "I'll have it ready for you +in June, and I won't forget them rattles, either." + +She thanked him. "And oh, Mr. Weeks," she said, for she dignified the +foreman by a title, "you won't let father work too hard, will you? +Because I shall worry if you don't promise me." + +So the delighted Mr. Weeks promised, while they all laughed. Then the +men looked from one another to Jim with shy, embarrassed glances, as +though they were waiting for something. Jim was equal to the occasion. + +"You, Joe and Dick, bring that box in front of the fire while I get +up." + +Joe and Dick, glad of something to do, obeyed, lifting the big box +before the fire, while Virginia stared in surprise, and her father +smiled, watching her. Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his +chair and stood facing his audience, but his eyes were on Virginia. + +"Miss Virginia," he began, while the boys fumbled with their hats, +"none of us ain't forgot what you've been to us while you've been +a-growin' up. Some of us have been here a good while, and some ain't +been so long, but we've all been long enough to think a deal o' you. +You've always treated us like gentlemen, and we ain't them that +forget. This old ranch ain't goin' to seem the same without you, but +we're glad you're goin' to be educated in that school your mother went +to, for those of us who knowed her, knowed a lady. + +"Now there ain't a better rider in all this country than yourself, +Miss Virginia, and I can just see how you'll make them Easterners' +eyes stick out. And we boys don't want you to have to ride on any o' +them flat-seated English saddles, that ain't fit for any one but a +tenderfoot. So we've just took the liberty of gettin' you a little +remembrance of us. Joe and Dick, suppose you lift the cover, and show +Miss Virginia her present." + +[Illustration: "Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair +and stood facing his audience."] + +Joe and Dick raised the cover of the box, and lifted from it before +Virginia's shining eyes a new Western saddle. It was made from russet +leather with trappings complete, and could not be surpassed in design +and workmanship. On its brass-topped saddle-horn were engraved the +letters "V. H."; the same monogram was embroidered on the four corners +of the heavy brown saddle blanket; and the brass of the bridle, +suspended from the saddle-horn, was cunningly engraved with the same +design. + +Virginia gazed at the saddle, at her father, at the men, one by one, +at Hannah, who was wiping her eyes; and then suddenly the tears came +into her own eyes, and her voice, when she tried to thank them, broke +at every word. + +"Oh, I--just--can't--thank--you--" she managed to say, while the men's +rough faces twitched, and tears filled the furrows of Jim's cheeks, +"but I'll--never forget you, never, because you're my very best +friends!" And she went from one to the other, shaking hands with each, +while her father followed her example, for he was quite as touched and +delighted as she. + +Then, after she had examined all over again every part of the saddle; +after Jim had explained how they were to pack and ship it so that it +would reach school by the time she arrived; after gingerbread and +cider had helped them all to regain composure, Virginia went to her +room and returned with a tiny box, and her fountain pen. + +"Aunt Lou says that every girl who goes away to school must have +calling cards," she explained, "and I'm going to use mine for the very +first time to-night to write my address for each one of you. And every +time you look at it, please remember how much I thank you every one, +and how much I'm missing you." + +So when the men went back to the bunk-house, after an hour they would +always remember, each carried in the pocket of his flannel shirt a +calling-card, given by a "lady" to a "gentleman." + +"Oh, daddy," cried Virginia, as the last faint creak of Jim's stick +died away on the road to the bunk-house. "Oh, daddy, why did they ever +do it for me? And I've never done a thing for them, except perhaps +reading to Jim!" + +Her father gathered her in his lap for the last few minutes before the +fire. + +"Virginia," he said, "I learned long ago that we often help others +most by just being ourselves. When you grow older, perhaps you'll +understand what the men mean." They sat silently for a while, neither +wanting to leave the fire and each other. From the bunk-house came the +sound of voices singing some lusty song of the range. The boys +apparently were happy, too. "And now, little girl, it's a long drive +to-morrow, and we must be off early. Kiss your father, and run to +bed." + +Closely she clung to him, and kissed him again and again; but when the +lump in her throat threatened to burst with bigness, she ran to her +own room, leaving her father to watch the fire die away and to think +of many things. Pinned to her pillow, she found a brown paper parcel, +with "From Hannah" written in ungainly characters upon it. Inside were +red mittens, knitted by the same rough fingers that had penned the +words. The lump in Virginia's throat swelled bigger. She ran across +the hall to the little room where Hannah, muffled in flannel gown and +night-cap, lay in bed, and kissed her gratefully. + +"Run to bed, dearie," muttered the old servant. "It's cold these +nights in the mountains." + +But Virginia's mind was too full of thoughts for sleep. She reviewed +her ride with Donald, her talk with her father, all the dear events of +the evening with its crowning joy. It seemed hours when she heard her +father go to his room, and yet she could not sleep. At last she sat up +in bed, bundling the covers about her, for the air was cold, and +looked out of her window. At night the mountains seemed nearer still, +and more friendly--more protecting, less strange and secretive. She +looked at them wondering. Did they really know all things? Were they +millions of years old, as she had read? Did they care at all for +people who looked at them, and wondered, and wanted to be like them? + +"To-night I half believe you do care," she whispered. "Anyway, I'm not +frightened of you at all. And oh, do take care of those I love till I +come back again!" + +Then she lay down again, and soon was fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE JOURNEY EAST + + +As the great Puget Sound Limited was about to pull out of the little +Wyoming way-station to which Virginia and her father had driven in the +early morning, a white-haired, soldierly looking gentleman in gray +overcoat and traveling cap watched with amused interest a gray-eyed +girl in a blue suit, who, leaning over the railing of the observation +car, gave hurried and excited requests to her father who stood alone +on the station platform. + +"Father, dear," she begged, "don't work too hard or read too late at +night; and don't forget to take the indigestion tablets. And, father, +I think it would be fine if Jim could have my room when it gets cold. +The bunk-house is bad for his rheumatism. And I do hope you can keep +William away from town. You'll try hard, won't you?" The train slowly +began to move, but she must say one thing more. "Daddy," she called, +beckoning him nearer, and making a trumpet of her hands; "daddy, you +trust me, don't you, to use my judgment about talking on the journey?" + +The man on the platform smiled and nodded. Then, taking his +handkerchief from his pocket, he waved to his little daughter, who, +waving her own, watched him until the now rapidly moving train quite +hid his lonely figure from sight. Then she sighed, tucked her +handkerchief in her coat pocket, and sat down beside the old +gentleman, who was apparently still amused and interested, perhaps +also touched. + +"Well," he heard her say to herself with a little break in her voice, +"it's all over and it's just begun." Then she settled herself back in +her chair, while her neighbor wondered at this somewhat puzzling +remark. + +"How can it be all over and at the same time just begun, my dear?" he +ventured to ask, his kind blue eyes studying her face. + +Virginia looked at him. They two were quite alone on the platform. The +old gentleman, having heard her last request of her father, concluded +that she was using her judgment and deciding whether or not she had +best talk to him. His conclusion was quite right. "He certainly is +oldish, and very kind looking," Virginia was thinking. "I guess it +wouldn't be familiar." + +"Why, you see, sir," she answered, having in her own mind satisfied +herself and her father, and allowing herself to forget all about Aunt +Lou, "it's all over because I've said good-by to father, and it's just +begun--that is, the making of me is just begun--because I'm on my way +East to school." + +"So going East to school is going to be the making of you, is it?" + +"That's what Aunt Lou says; and, besides, 'a very broadening +experience.'" + +"I see; and who is Aunt Lou?" + +"She's my mother's sister from Vermont. You see, my mother lived in +Vermont when she was a girl, and went to St. Helen's, too; but when +she got older, she came to Wyoming to teach school and married my +father. My mother is dead, sir," she finished softly. + +His eyes grew kinder than ever. "I'm sorry for that," he said softly, +too. + +She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly even +Aunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped he +was going all the way East. + +The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was no +station near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentleman +followed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a dark +object was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near it +slowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia's +quick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder was +branded a horseshoe with a "C" in the center. + +"My!" she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companion +in the gray coat. "That's a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range. +Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He'll +say there's rustlers around Elk Creek." She laughed. + +"How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what's a +rustler?" + +Virginia laughed again. "You're like me," she said frankly. "I ask +questions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman who +lives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to him +because I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a +'C' in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. There +used to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their own +brands on young cattle and colts. But there aren't any more now, you +see, because the range isn't open like it used to be. There are too +many people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattle +which are branded already. You see," she went on, "Mr. Cunningham's +mean, though he's very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattle +ever so many times even when they're not branding or shipping, so he +can tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, because +people in our country think it's very small to make such a fuss over +one steer when you have hundreds." + +"I should think so. And how many cattle have you?" + +"Oh, not so many now as we used to have," she explained, while he +listened interested. "You see, sir, the range isn't so open any more, +because people are taking up the land from the government every year; +and so there isn't so much room for the cattle. Besides, we've been +irrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and by +almost all the cattle land that's good for grain will be gone. The +boys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps a +thousand. Does that seem many to you?" she added, because the old +gentleman looked go surprised. + +Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he was +accustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New England +pasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the land +about, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wished +he were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived in +Boston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his married +daughter, and was now returning home. "Then he will go all the way," +thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that he +looked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in the +Civil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel Carver +Standish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one of +her new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, she +concluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quite +simply: + +"And my name is Virginia Hunter," which pleased the old Colonel far +better than a calling card would have done. + +"And now, Miss Virginia," he said, "if you will pardon me for what +looks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? I +couldn't exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hope +you'll excuse me?" + +Virginia smiled. She did enjoy being treated like a young lady. +"Certainly," she said. And she told him all about poor old Jim, his +wooden leg, the accident that necessitated it, his learning to read, +which greatly interested the old Colonel, and his kindness to her ever +since she was a little girl. Then, seeing that he really liked to +know, she told him of the evening before, and the new saddle which the +boys had given her. + +"Capital!" cried the Colonel, slapping his knee in his excitement, +quite to the amusement of a little boy, who had come out-of-doors and +who sat with his mother on the other side of the platform. "Capital! +Just what they should have done, too! They must be fine fellows. I'd +like to know them." + +"Oh, you would like them!" she told him. "I know you would! I love +them all, but Jim the best. And this morning, Colonel Standish" (for +if he called her by name she must return the courtesy), "this morning +when the other men had all gone to the round-up, Jim harnessed the +horses for father to drive me to the station. But he felt so bad to +have me go away that he couldn't bear to bring the horses up to the +door, so he tied them and called to father; and when we drove away and +I looked back, he was leaning all alone against the bunk-house. And, +some way, I think he was crying." + +She looked up at the Colonel, her eyes filled with tears. The Colonel +slapped his knee again, and blew his nose vigorously. + +"I shouldn't wonder a bit if that's what he was doing, Miss Virginia," +he said. "Fine old man! And what about William?" he asked after a few +moments. + +"Oh, William," said Virginia. "You'd like William; and I'm sure you +wouldn't call him 'Bill' like some do. It makes such a difference to +him! If you call him 'Bill' most of the time, he's just Bill, and it's +a lot easier for him to stay around the saloon. But if you say +'William,' it makes it easier for him to keep away--he told me so one +day. And in his spare time, he loves to take care of flowers, and +plant vines and trees." + +The Colonel liked William. Indeed, he liked him so thoroughly that he +asked question after question concerning him; and then about Alec and +Joe and Dick. It was amazing how the time flew! Another hour passed +before either of them imagined it. The country was changing. Already +it was becoming more open, less mountainous. Some peaks towered in the +distance--blue and hazy and snow-covered. + +"We can see those from home," Virginia told the Colonel. "They're the +highest in all the country round. They're the last landmark of home +I'll see, I suppose," she finished wistfully, and was sorry when a +bend of the road hid them from sight. + +"You love the mountains?" he said, half-questioning. + +"Oh, yes," she cried, "better than anything!" And then they talked of +the mountains, and of how different they were at different times, like +persons with joys and disappointments and ideals. How on some days +they seemed silent and reserved and solemn, and on others sunny and +joyous and almost friendly; and how at night one somehow felt better +acquainted with them than in the day-time. + +"But the foot-hills are always friendly," Virginia told him. "And +they're really more like people, because you can get acquainted with +them more easily. The mountains, after all, seem more like God. Don't +you think so?" + +The Colonel did think so, most decidedly, now that he thought at all +about it. He admitted to himself that perhaps in his long journeys +across the mountains and through the foot-hills on his visits West, he +had not thought much about them, especially as related to himself. He +wished he had had this gray-eyed girl with him for she breathed the +very spirit of the country. It had been rare good fortune for him that +by chance he was standing on the platform when she said "Good-by" to +her father, else he had missed much. It was dinner time before either +of them realized how quickly the morning had passed; and Virginia ran +to wash her hands, after the Colonel had raised his cap with a +soldierly bow, saying that he hoped to see her again in the afternoon. + +He did see her again in the afternoon, for they discovered that their +sections were in the same car, in fact, directly opposite; and again +the next morning, until by the time they reached Omaha they were old +friends. They talked more about the country, which, after leaving the +mountains, was new to Virginia's interested eyes; and then about +books; and after that about the war, the old soldier telling a most +flattering listener story after story of his experiences. + +The conductor, coming through the car with telegrams at Omaha, found +them both so interested that he was obliged to call her name twice +before her astonished ears rightly understood him. + +"Aren't you Miss Virginia Hunter?" he asked amused. + +"Yes, sir," she managed to say. "But it can't be for me, is it? I +never had a telegram in my life." + +"It's for you," he said, more amused than ever, while the Colonel +smiled, too, at her surprise, and left the yellow envelope in her lap. + +"Whom can it be from?" she asked herself, puzzled. "The spell of +having a real telegram is so nice that I almost hate to break it by +finding out. But I guess I'd best." + +She tore open the envelope, and drew out the slip inside. When she had +read it, she gazed perplexed at the Colonel. She was half-troubled, +half-amused, but at length she laughed. + +"I'll read it to you, I think," she said, "because in a way it's about +you." The Colonel in his turn looked amazed. "You see," she went on, +"it's from my Aunt Lou, and she warned me about talking to strangers +on the way. I suppose she thought I'd forget, and so she sent this." +She again unfolded the telegram, and read to him: + + "Los Angeles, Cal., Sept. 15. + + "I hope you are remembering instructions, and + having a pleasant journey. + + "Aunt Louise." + +"But I'm sure she would approve of you," she assured him; "and I've +talked with almost no one else, except the baby in the end of the car +and his mother; and babies certainly would be exempt, don't you think? +No one could help talking to a baby." + +He agreed with her. "Aren't you going to send her a wire in return?" +he asked. + +"Why, I never thought of that. Could I? Is there time? What can I tell +her?" + +"Of course, you could, and there's plenty of time. Ten minutes yet. +I'll get you a blank, and you can be thinking what you'll tell her." + +While he was gone, Virginia studied her aunt's message, and decided +upon her own. She was ready when he returned. + +"Don't go away, Colonel Standish, please," she said, when he would +have left her to complete her message. "I never sent a telegram +before, and besides I want you to tell me if you think this is all +right. I've said: + + "Delightful journey. No talking except with + baby, mother, and oldish gentleman." + +The Colonel slapped his knee, and laughed. "Capital!" he said. +"Capital! You've got us all in." He laughed again, but stopped as he +noted her puzzled expression. "Not satisfied, Miss Virginia?" + +"Not quite," she admitted. "You see it doesn't sound exactly honest. +I've said, 'No talking ex-cept--' Now that sounds as though I'd talked +only occasionally with the three of you, and most of the time sat by +myself, when really I've talked hours with you. I think I'll change +the 'No talking,' and say, 'Have talked with baby, mother, and oldish +gentleman.' I'd feel better about it." She paused, waiting his +approval. + +"If I'd feel better about it, Miss Virginia, I'd surely make the +change," he said approvingly. "That queer thing inside of us that +tells us how to make ourselves most comfortable, is a pretty safe +guide to follow." + +So she rewrote the message, while he waited, and while he went to +attend to its dispatch, wondered how Aunt Lou would feel when she +received it. + + * * * * * + +At Chicago, Miss Cobb, a friend of Aunt Louise, met her and took her +across the city to the station from which she was to take the Eastern +train; and though Virginia had said "Good-by" to the Colonel until +they should again meet two hours later, it so happened that he was in +the very bus which took them with others across the city. Virginia +introduced him to Miss Cobb, and under her breath, while the Colonel +was looking out of the window, asked if Aunt Lou could possibly object +to her talking with such an evident gentleman. Miss Cobb, who, +perhaps, fortunately for herself, was not quite so particular as +Virginia's aunt, felt very sure there could not be the slightest +objection, of which she was more than ever convinced after a half +hour's talk with the gentleman in question. + +So Virginia with a clear conscience continued her journey from Chicago +on, and enjoyed the Colonel more than ever. As they went through the +Berkshires on the last day of the journey, she told him more about +Donald, his experience at school, and how he couldn't seem to feel at +home. + +"I wish my grandson knew that fellow," said the old gentleman. "Just +what he needs. Too much fol-de-rol in bringing up boys now-a-days, +Miss Virginia. The world's made too easy for them, altogether too +easy!" And he slapped his knee vigorously to emphasize his remark. "By +the way, what's the name of that school of yours?" + +"St. Helen's at Hillcrest, sir." + +"Exactly. Just what I thought you told me the first day I saw you. If +I'm not mistaken, that's in the neighborhood of the very school that +grandson of mine attends. And if you'll allow me, Miss Virginia, some +day when I'm there I'm going to bring that boy of mine over to see +you. You'd do him good; and I want him to see a girl who thinks of +something besides furbelows." + +Virginia smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing the Colonel again. + +"I'd love to have you come to see me," she said, "and bring him, too, +if he'd like to come. What is his name, and how old is he?" + +"Why, he has my name, the third one of the family, Carver Standish, +and he's just turned seventeen. He has two more years at school, and +then he goes up to Williams where his father and I were educated. He's +a good lad, Miss Virginia, if they don't spoil him with too much +attention and too much society. I tell you these boys of to-day get +too much attention and too few hard knocks. I want this fellow to be a +man. He's the only grandson I've got." + +So they talked while the train bore them nearer and nearer Springfield +where Virginia's grandmother and aunt were to meet her. At last there +were but a few minutes left, and she ran to wash and brush her hair, +so that she might carry out the first of Aunt Lou's instructions: "Be +sure you are tidy when you meet your grandmother." + +She was very "tidy," at least so the Colonel thought, when, with +freshly brushed suit and hat, new gloves and little silk umbrella, she +stood with beating heart and wide-open, half-frightened eyes on the +platform of the slowly moving train. The Colonel was behind her with +her bag. + +"You see," she told him, a little tremulously, "I'm so anxious for +them to approve of me." + +"Well, if they don't--" he ejaculated almost angry, and perhaps it was +just as well that the train stopped that moment. + +Virginia's eyes were searching the faces about her for those who might +be her grandmother and aunt; and, at the same time, farther up the +platform, the eyes of a stately, white-haired lady in black and of a +fresh-faced younger woman in blue were searching for a certain little +girl whom they had not seen for years. + +"There she is, mother," cried the younger woman at last, quickening +her steps, "there in the blue suit. She walks with her head high just +as Mary did." + +Tears came into the eyes of the white-haired lady. "But there's a +gentleman with her, Nan. Who can he be?" + +"Oh, probably just some one she's met. If she's like her mother, she'd +be sure to meet some one." + +She hurried forward, and so sure was she that the girl in the blue +suit was Virginia, that she put both arms around her, and kissed her +at once without saying a word. + +"Oh, Aunt Nan," breathed Virginia, her heart beating less fast. She +knew that moment that she should love Aunt Nan. But her heart beat +fast again, as Aunt Nan drew her forward to meet her grandmother, who +was drawing near more slowly. + +"And this is Virginia," said that lady, extending her perfectly gloved +hand, and kissing Virginia's cheek. "I am glad to see you, my dear. +Mary's little girl!" she murmured to herself, and at that tears came +again to her eyes. + +Virginia liked her for the tears, but could somehow find nothing to +say in response to her grandmother's greeting. She stood embarrassed; +and then all at once she remembered the Colonel. He stood, hat in +hand, with her bag--a soldierly, dignified figure, who must impress her +grandmother. + +"I--I beg your pardon, grandmother," she stammered. "This is my friend, +Colonel Standish, who has been kind to me on the way." + +Her grandmother acknowledged the introduction, her Aunt Nan also. The +Colonel shook hands with Virginia, and reiterated his intention to +call upon her at school. "With your permission, my dear madam," he +added, by his cultured manner quite convincing Mrs. Webster that he +was a gentleman. Then he hurried aboard his train, and left a +gray-eyed girl with a heart beating tumultuously inside a blue suit to +go on a waiting northbound train toward Vermont. As his train pulled +out from the station, the Colonel completed his sentence. + +"If they don't approve of that little girl," he said to himself, with +an emphatic slap upon his knee; "if they don't approve of her, then +they're-they're hopeless, as that grandson of mine says, and I +shouldn't care to make their acquaintance further." + +Meanwhile Virginia was fixedly gazing out of the window, as the train, +leaving Springfield, carried them northward. She tried to be +interested in the strange, new country about her; but some way, +instead of the crimson maples and yellow goldenrod, there would come +before her eyes a cottonwood bordered creek, a gap between brown +foothills, a stretch of rolling prairie land, black and green and +gold, and in the distance the hazy, snow-covered summits of far away +mountains. But with the picture came again Donald's words--words that +made her swallow the lump in her throat, and smile at her grandmother +and Aunt Nan. + +"No, the East isn't like this--not a bit, and maybe you won't like it; +but you're too plucky to be homesick, Virginia!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + + +It was not until the afternoon of the second day in Vermont that +Virginia wrote her father. The evening before she had said +"Good-night" as early as she thought polite to her grandmother, Aunt +Nan, and the minister who had come to call, and, upon being asked, +willingly stayed to tea, and had gone up-stairs to the room which had +been her mother's to write her father about everything. But somehow +the words would not come, though she sat for an hour at the quaint +little mahogany desk and tried to write; and it all ended by her going +to bed, holding close her mother's old copy of "Scottish Chiefs," +which Aunt Nan had placed in her room, and forgetting in sleep the +thoughts that would come in spite of her. + +But now that the hardest first night was over, and the first forenoon, +which she had spent walking with Aunt Nan, had gone, she must write +him all about it. She sat down again at the quaint little desk, over +which hung the picture of a girl of sixteen with clear, frank eyes, +and began: + + "Webster, Vermont, Sept. 18, 19-- + + "Father dearest: + + "Do you remember how the poor queen in the fairy tale dreaded + to meet the dwarf because she knew she didn't know his name? + Well, that was just like me when the train was near + Springfield. If it hadn't been for the dear Colonel, whom I + told you about in my train letter, I don't believe I could + ever have been as calm as I truly _outwardly_ was; because, + daddy, I felt as though I didn't know grandmother at all, any + more than the poor queen, and I did dread seeing her. But I + was tidy, and my heart didn't beat on the outside, for which + blessings I could well be thankful. The Colonel carried my bag + for me, and that made it easier, for, of course, family pride + forbade my allowing him to see that my grandmother and I + weren't really well acquainted. + + "And, after all, it wasn't so bad. Aunt Nan is dear, father, + like mother, I know, and I love her already. She is not so + _proper_ as grandmother. _I_ kissed Aunt Nan, and + _grandmother_ kissed me. That explains the way they made me + feel, Grandmother _is_ handsome, isn't she? And stately, like + an old portrait. But when you talk with her you feel as though + there were some one else inside your skin. + + "I do hope they don't disapprove of me now, and will by and by + care for me for mother's sake and yours. Aunt Nan likes me + now, I am sure, and grandmother, I am reasonably sure, doesn't + dislike me, though I think she considers me somewhat puzzling. + She looks at me sometimes like we used to look at the tame + foxes, when we weren't sure what they were going to do next. + + "Do you remember how the country looked coming from + Springfield to Webster, when you came with mother? It was in + September when you came, you said, and I remembered it. The + creeks, which they call 'brooks' here, are lovely, though not + so swift as ours, and the oaks and maples are a wonderful + color in among the fir trees. I know you remember the + goldenrod and asters, because mother always told about them. + Didn't you miss the quaking-asps, father? I did the first + thing, and asked grandmother about them,--if none grew in + Vermont. She didn't know what I was talking about. She had no + idea it was a tree, and thought I meant a bug, like that which + killed poor Cleopatra. But I missed them, and I think the fall + is sadder without them, because they are always so merry. I + missed the cottonwoods, too. Aunt Nan said there were a few of + those in New England, but they called them Carolina poplars. + + "The little villages in among the hills are pretty, aren't + they?--so clean and white--but they don't seem to care about the + rest of the world at all, it seems to me. Webster is like + that, too, I think, though it is lovely. If you remember how + it looked when you were here, then I don't need to describe + it, for Aunt Nan says it hasn't changed any. When we reached + here, and were driving up towards the house, grandmother asked + me how I liked Webster, and I said it was beautiful, but it + seemed very small. She couldn't understand me at all, and said + she didn't see how it could seem small to me when we didn't + live in a town at all in Wyoming. I was afraid I had been + impolite, and I was just trying to explain that I meant it + seemed shut in because you couldn't see the country all around + like you could at home, when we stopped at the house, and saw + a gentleman coming toward us with a black suit and a cane. + Grandmother looked at Aunt Nan, and Aunt Nan at grandmother, + and they both said at once, 'Dr. Baxter!' + + "'We must invite him to tea,' said grandmother. 'It would + never do not to!' + + "'Nonsense!' said Aunt Nan. 'I don't see why.' + + "Well, he came up to the carriage just as grandmother finished + whispering, 'Our pastor, Virginia,' and handed grandmother + out, and then Aunt Nan, and lastly me. I tried to be + especially polite when grandmother introduced me, remembering + how she had warned me that he was the minister; but somehow + all I could think of was the parson in the 'Birds of + Killingworth,' because, when I first saw him coming down the + street, he was hitting the goldenrod with his cane, and some + way I just know he preaches about the 'wrath of God,' too, + just like the Killingworth parson. He did stay to tea, though + I'm sure Aunt Nan didn't want him, and I, not being used to + ministers, didn't want him either; but I put on one of my new + dresses, as grandmother said, and tried to be an asset and not + a liability. But, father, I know grandmother was troubled, + and, in a way, displeased, because of the following incident: + + "Dr. Baxter is bald and wears eye-glasses on a string, and the + end of his nose quivers like a rabbit's, and he rubs his + hands, which are rather plump, together a great deal. Some + way, father, you just feel as though he didn't care away down + deep about you at all, but was just curious. I am sorry if I + am wrong about him, but I can't help feeling that way. All + through tea he talked about the Christianizing of Korea, and + the increased sale of the Bible, and how terrible it was that + China wasn't going to make Christianity the state religion. He + didn't pay much attention to me, and I thought he had + forgotten all about me, when all at once he looked at me + across the table and said: + + "'And to what church do you belong, Miss Virginia?' + + "Poor grandmother looked so uncomfortable that I felt sorry + for her, and after I had said, 'I don't belong to any, Dr. + Baxter,' she tried to explain about our living on a 'large + farm' (I don't believe grandmother thinks ranches are real + _proper_) and not being near a church. + + "Aunt Nan tried to change the subject, but Dr. Baxter just + wouldn't have it changed, and after looking at me thoughtfully + for a few moments, he said: + + "'I wonder that our Home Mission Board does not send + candidates to that needy field. Do you have no traveling + preachers, Miss Virginia?' + + "Grandmother looked so uneasy that I did try to say just the + right thing, father, but I guess I made a mistake, because I + told him that we did have traveling preachers sometimes, only + we didn't feel that we needed just the kind of preaching they + gave. His nose quivered more than ever, and grandmother tried + to explain again only she didn't know how, and at last he + said: + + "'If the Word is not appreciated in Wyoming, it is elsewhere, + thank God!'--just as though Wyoming were a wilderness where + 'heathen in their blindness bow down to wood and stone.' + Grandmother looked more mortified than ever, and the silence + grew so heavy that you could hear it whirring in your ears. By + and by we did leave the table, and then I excused myself to + write to you, but I couldn't seem to write at all, I felt so + troubled about mortifying poor grandmother. This morning I + thought she would speak of it, but she didn't, and perhaps, if + I make no more slips, she will forget about it. It is very + difficult to be a constant credit to one's family, especially + when it requires so much forethought. + + "Grandmother feels very bad because she has no son to carry on + the family name. When she and Aunt Nan and Aunt Lou die, she + says 'the name will vanish from this town where it has been + looked up to for two hundred years.' + + "It makes a great difference in Webster _how_ one does + things--even more than _what_ one does. This morning, when Aunt + Nan and I were going to walk, Aunt Nan said, 'I think we'll + run in to see Mrs. Dexter, mother. She'll want to see + Virginia.' And grandmother said, 'Not in the morning, Nan. It + would never do!' So we have to go in the afternoon. I told + Aunt Nan when we were walking that at home we called on our + friends any time, and she said she wished she lived in + Wyoming! _She_ could 'belong' to us, father, but I'm afraid + grandmother never could enjoy Jim and William and the others. + She is too Websterized. + + "Wasn't it thoughtful of Aunt Nan to put mother's old + 'Scottish Chiefs' on my table? It has all her markings in it. + Last night--but I won't tell you, because you will think I am + homesick, and I'm not! Please tell Don. + + "Do you remember the view of the Green Mountains from the + window in mother's room? I can see them now as I write you. + They are beautiful, but so dressed up with trees that they + don't seem so friendly and honest as our little brown + foot-hills. Oh, daddy, I do miss the mountains so, and our + great big country! Last night when I tried to write you and + couldn't, I stood by the window and watched the moon come up + over the hills; and I couldn't think of anything but a poem + that kept running through my head like this: + + To gaze on the mountains with those you love + Inspires you to do right; + But the hills of Vermont without those you love + Are but a sorry sight! + + "Aunt Nan is waiting for me down-stairs. I can hear her and + grandmother talking together. Oh, I wonder if they do approve + of me! + + "Father, dear, give my love to Jim and Hannah and Mr. Weeks + and Alec and William and Joe and Dick and all the Keiths, and + tell them I think of them every day. Give Pedro sugar as often + as you remember, won't you?--and if the lump in the littlest + collie's throat doesn't go away soon, please kill him, because + I don't want him to suffer. + + "I do love you so much, father dearest, that if I tell you any + more about it, I'll quite break my promise to myself. + + "Virginia. + + "P. S. Just think, daddy, Aunt Nan says you must come East + in June to get me and visit them. She said also when we + were walking that you were a fine-looking man; and I told + her that you were not only that, but that you were fine + all the way through, and that every one in Sheridan County + knew it!--V. W. H." + +And while Virginia wrote her letter to her father in the room which +had been her mother's, downstairs, in the library, her grandmother and +Aunt Nan talked together. + +"I must admit, Nan, she isn't nearly so wild as I expected after +having been brought up in that wilderness." + +"Wild, mother? She's a dear, that's what she is! And Wyoming isn't a +wilderness. You must remember the country has grown." + +"I know, but it can hardly afford the advantages of New England. I +mean in a cultural way, my dear." + +Aunt Nan actually sniffed. "Maybe not, mother. I'm sick of culture! I +like something more genuine. And as to good manners, I'm sure Virginia +has them." + +"Yes," her mother assented. "And I must say I'm surprised after what +Louise wrote as to the ranch life. Mary's husband has done well by +Virginia, I must grant that." + +"Lou is too particular for any use, mother. I've always said so. And +as for Virginia's father, you've never half appreciated him!" + +Virginia's grandmother felt rebuked--perhaps, a little justly. + +"Of course," she said, a little deprecatingly, "there are crudities. +Now as to that matter last evening with Dr. Baxter. I fear he was +rather--" + +"Shocked!" finished Aunt Nan. "And I'm glad he was! Virginia only told +the truth. If he knew more about Wyoming geography and less about +Korean idolatry, he'd appear to better advantage! He needs shocking!" + +"My dear Nan!" interposed her mother. + +"Well, he does, mother, and I hope he's so shocked that he won't come +to tea again for a month!" + +And with that Aunt Nan, leaving her mother somewhat disturbed in mind, +went to call her niece. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS + + +"I'm afraid it will look as though we didn't show proper interest, +Nan. Besides, I never did like the idea of a child starting out alone +for boarding-school. None of my children ever did. But what can we +do?" It was Virginia's grandmother who spoke. + +"Now, mother dear, don't worry about 'proper interest.' I've written +Miss King all about it, so that she understands. And since I was +careless enough to sprain my ankle, and you unfortunate enough to have +to entertain the Mission Circle, we can't do anything but let Virginia +go alone." This from Aunt Nan, who lay on the couch with a bandaged +ankle, the result of a bad wrench the day before. + +Virginia spoke next. "Don't worry at all, please, grandmother. It +isn't as though I hadn't traveled way from Wyoming. I'll be very +careful--truly, I will--and try to do everything just as you would +wish." + +"Oh, I don't suppose it's absolutely necessary that one of us go. It's +just that I have always considered it very essential that a young and +inexperienced girl should be accompanied by some member of her family +when she enters upon such an important step. But circumstances +certainly dictate the course of events, and it looks as though you +must go alone, Virginia. Miss King remembers your mother, and will +welcome you for her sake; and she assures me you are to room with a +wholly desirable girl of excellent family. My dear, you will try, I +know, to be a credit to the Websters!" + +Away back in Virginia's eyes gleamed a flash of light, but she +answered quietly: + +"Certainly, grandmother, and to the Hunters, too, because father is +just as anxious that I should do well as you and Aunt Nan and Aunt +Lou. Please don't forget how anxious he is," she finished, a little +wistfully. + +Aunt Nan gave her hand a friendly little squeeze. "Of course, he's the +most interested of us all," she said. "We mustn't be selfish, mother. +They'll send the carriage to meet you, Virginia, and Miss King will +understand about everything. It will seem strange at first, but you'll +soon get acquainted, and love it, I know you will." + +So it happened that on account of a sprained ankle and the Mission +Circle, Virginia again boarded the train after five days in Vermont, +and started with a heart filled with dreams and hopes to discover +whether school were really as dear and delightful as Peggy Montfort +had found it. + +Hillcrest was a five hours' journey from Webster, and to-day Virginia +could look at the countrysides which they passed with a less perturbed +spirit than that with which she had so unsuccessfully tried to watch +them nearly a week before. The visit in Vermont was over, and after +all it had not been so hard. She really loved dear, frank, funny Aunt +Nan very dearly, and she somehow felt sure that Aunt Nan loved her. As +for Grandmother Webster, perhaps she did not love her Wyoming +granddaughter just yet; but, Virginia assured herself, remembering her +grandmother's warm kiss at parting, she at least did not entirely +disapprove of her. After all, it was hard to have one's only +granddaughter from Wyoming--especially hard when one could not +understand that Wyoming was not a wilderness. + +But as she reviewed the five days, she could not find any glaring +improprieties or mistakes, except perhaps shocking poor Dr. Baxter. +But even then, she had only told the truth. After all, manners are +quite the same in Wyoming as in Vermont, she thought. To be sure her +_a's_ were hardly broad to suit Grandmother Webster, and her _r's_ +quite too prominent. In Vermont there were no _r's_--that is, where +they belonged. If used at all, they were hinged in the funniest sort +of way to the ends of words. Virginia laughed as she remembered how +grandmother had called her "Virginiar" and the maid "Emmar," but +pronounced Webster, which possessed a real _r_ at the end "Websta." +She wondered if the girls at St. Helen's would all speak like that. If +so, they would find her funny, indeed; but she did not mind. + +New England was lovely. She did not wonder that her mother had always +talked so much of its fir-covered hills, its rocky, sunny pastures, +its little white-churched villages nestling in the hollows, its +crimson maples, its goldenrod and asters. And this very journey to St. +Helen's, which she was now taking, her own mother years before had +taken many, many times in going back and forth to school before and +after vacations Quick tears filled her eyes as she remembered. Her +mother would be glad if she knew her little daughter was on her way to +her mother's old school. Perhaps she did know after all. And with this +thought came a resolve to be an honor and a credit to them all. + +At one of the larger stations where the train stopped longer than +usual was gathered on the platform a merry group of persons, saying +good-by to two girls, who were apparently going to take the train. +Perhaps they also were going to St. Helen's, thought Virginia, and she +studied the group as closely as politeness would allow. + +"Now, Priscilla, do be careful, and don't get into any more scrapes +this year," she heard a sweet-voiced, motherly-looking woman say, as +she kissed one of the girls good-by. + +"Mother dear, I'm going to be the model of the school, wait and see," +the girl cried, laughing. "Dorothy is, too, aren't you, Dot?" + +"Of course, I am, Mrs. Winthrop. Dad's going to cut down my allowance +if I don't get all A's. Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, I've had such a heavenly +time! Thank you so much for everything." + +"You must come again," said a tall gentleman in white flannels, +evidently Priscilla's father, as he shook hands, while his invitation +was echoed heartily by two jolly-looking boys--one of about Donald's +age, though not nearly so nice-looking, Virginia thought, and the +other younger. The train gave a warning whistle. + +"Priscilla, are you sure you haven't forgotten something?" + +"First time in her life if she hasn't!" + +"Have you your ticket and purse, daughter?" + +"And did you put your rubbers in your suitcase?" + +"Yes, mother, yes, daddy, I've got everything. Come on, Dot. The +conductor's purple with rage at us! Good-by." + +They hurried on board the train, and into the car in which Virginia +sat. Then the one they had called Priscilla apparently remembered +something, for she flew to the platform. Already the train was moving, +but she frantically shouted to her mother: + +"Oh, mother, my 'Thought Book' is under my pillow! I'd die without it! +Send it right away, please, and don't read a word on pain of death!" + +The younger boy on the station platform executed a kind of improvised +war-dance as he heard the words, meaning apparently to convey to his +troubled sister his intention of reading as soon as possible her +recorded thoughts. Priscilla returned to the car and took her seat, +directly opposite the interested Virginia. + +"If Alden Winthrop reads that 'Thought Book,' Dot, I'll never speak to +him again. 'Twould be just like him to make a bee line for my room, +and capture it, and then repeat my thoughts for years afterward!" + +"That's just the trouble with keeping a diary. I never do. My cousin +would be sure to find it. Besides, half the time I'm ashamed of my +thoughts after I write them down." + +Virginia, sitting opposite, could not resist stealing shy and hurried +glances at the two girls, because she felt sure that they also were +bound for St. Helen's. She liked them both, she told herself. They +were apparently about the same age--probably sixteen or thereabouts. +The one who had been so solicitous about the "Thought Book," and whom +they had called Priscilla, had brown eyes and unruly brown hair, which +would fall about her face. She was very much tanned, wore a blue suit, +and little white felt hat, and looked merry, Virginia thought, though +she could hardly be called pretty. The other, whose name evidently was +Dorothy, was very pretty. Virginia thought she had never seen a +prettier girl. Her complexion was very fair, her eyes a deep, lovely +blue, her hair golden and fluffy about her face, her features even, +and her teeth perfect. She was dressed in dark green, and to +Virginia's admiring eyes looked just like an apple-blossom. +Undeniably, she was lovely; but, as Virginia shyly studied the two +faces, she found herself liking Priscilla's the better. The other some +way did not look so contented, so frank, or so merry. Still, Virginia +liked Dorothy--Dorothy what--she wondered. + +As they continued talking, she became convinced that they were going +to St. Helen's, that they had been there a year already, and that +Dorothy had been visiting Priscilla for a month before school opened. +She longed to speak to them, but, remembering what Donald had said +about Easterners not being so sociable with strangers, she checked the +impulse, not knowing how they would regard it, and not wishing to +intrude. Still, she could not resist listening to the conversation, +which she could hardly have helped hearing, had she wished not to do +so. + +"Dear me! I wish now we hadn't been so silly, Dorothy, and done all +those crazy things. Then we could have roomed together this year." + +"I know. Maybe 'twas foolish, but I'll never forget them. Especially +the time when we dropped the pumpkin pie before Miss Green's door." +They both laughed. "And, anyway, Priscilla, with Greenie in The +Hermitage, if we'd been saints, we couldn't have roomed together. She +thinks we're both heathen, and I worse than you; and just because she +does think I'm so bad, I feel like being just as bad as I can be. I +wish Miss Wallace would have the cottage alone this year. She's such a +darling! I just adore her! I'd scrub floors for her! My dear, she +wrote me the most divine letter this summer! It absolutely thrilled +me, and I was good for a week afterward!" + +Virginia looked out of the window amused. What queer ways of saying +things! She had never heard a letter called "divine" before; nor had +she realized that scrubbing floors and adoring some one were +harmonious occupations. She listened again. Priscilla was talking this +time. + +"I adore Miss Wallace, too," she said. "She makes you want to be fine +just by never talking about it. I wish I could like poor Miss +Green--she seems so sort of left out some way--but she just goes at you +the wrong way. Mother and daddy think she must be splendid because she +enforces rules, and they say we're prejudiced; but I don't think they +understand. It isn't enforcing the rules; it's the way she has of +doing it." + +Dorothy acquiesced. "I suppose we'll have to make the best of her if +she's there. Miss Wallace's being there, too, will make it better. I'm +wondering whom I'll draw for a room-mate. Do you know who's yours?" + +"No, Miss King wrote mother and said she'd selected a wholly desirable +one for me. I do hope she doesn't chew gum, or want fish-nets up, or +like to borrow." + +Virginia recalled Miss King's words to her grandmother--"a wholly +desirable girl "--but then that was just a form of expression. There +was no reason to believe, much as she would like to hope, that +Priscilla was to be her room-mate. At all events, if such a thing by +any possibility should come to pass, she was glad she did not chew +gum. As to fish-nets, she had never heard of one in a room, and as for +borrowing, she had never had any one in her life from whom she might +borrow. + +At that moment she saw the girls looking at her. Perhaps they had +suspected that she, too, was a St. Helen's girl. They whispered one to +the other and exchanged glances, while Virginia, a little embarrassed, +looked out of the window. She only hoped they liked her half as much +as she liked them. They began to talk again. + +"My dear," this from the extravagant Dorothy, "when you see my Navajo +rug, your eyes will leave your head for a week! It's positively +heavenly! Daddy had it sent from California. Whoever my room-mate is, +she ought to be grateful for having that on the floor. It makes up for +me." + +"I won't hope for a Navajo just so long as I get some one I'll like." + +Virginia thought of her two Navajos in her trunk--one a gift from her +father, the other made and given her by a New Mexican Indian, whom she +had known from her babyhood. Oh, if only Priscilla might be the one! + +"Do you suppose Imogene and Vivian will be back?" Priscilla continued. + +"Imogene wrote me she was coming." Somehow Virginia detected +embarrassment in Dorothy's answer. Who was Imogene? she wondered. "You +know, Priscilla, Imogene's lots of fun. Of course, she isn't like you +or Mary Williams or Anne, but you can't help liking her all the same." + +"I know she's fun, Dot, but I don't think her fun is a very good kind; +and I don't like the way she influences Vivian. Vivian's a dear when +Imogene's not around; but the minute they're together she follows +Imogene's lead in everything." + +Somehow Virginia knew she should not care for Imogene. But where +before had she heard the name Mary Williams? Just then they passed a +tiny village surrounded by elm trees. + +"There's Riverside now," cried the girls opposite, "and Hillcrest is +the next." + +They hurriedly gathered together their belongings, and put on their +hats. Virginia did the same, and as they noticed her preparing to +leave the train, Priscilla smiled, and Dorothy looked at her with +interest. But there was little time for exchange of greetings, for the +train was already stopping. As they went with their suit-cases toward +the door, Virginia, following, heard Priscilla say, + +"Probably Mary Williams will be at the station. Senior officers +usually meet new girls." + +Then it all came back to her. Mary Williams was Jack Williams' sister, +the girl in the Berkshires whom Don had liked so much. Her heart beat +fast with excitement. Could she be the very same Mary Williams? + +A moment more and they were all on the platform; and while Virginia +stood a little shyly by her suit-case, she saw running down the +platform toward them a tall, golden-haired girl in a white sweater. +Priscilla and Dorothy dropped their luggage, and ran to meet her. + +"Oh, Mary, you darling!" they both cried at once, and embraced her +until the tall girl was quite smothered. + +"I knew you'd be down. I just told Dorothy." + +"How is every one?" + +"Is Greenie in The Hermitage?" + +"Is Miss Wallace back?" + +"Where's Anne?" + +"Oh, let me go, please, a minute!" begged the tall girl, looking at +Virginia. "I came down to meet a new girl. She must have come with you +on your train. Wait and see her." + +"I told you she was coming to St. Helen's," Priscilla whispered to +Dorothy, while the tall girl went up to Virginia. + +"You're Virginia Hunter, aren't you?" they heard her say cordially, +"from that wonderful Big Horn country I've heard so much about! Miss +King couldn't come down to-day, and the teachers in our cottage were +away, so she sent me. I'm Mary Williams." And she put out her hand, +which Virginia grasped heartily. + +"Oh," she cried, her eyes shining, "aren't you Jack Williams' sister, +and don't you live in the Berkshires, and don't you know Donald Keith. +He's my best friend. Oh, I do hope you're the one!" + +Mary's first surprise had turned to pleasure. She shook hands with +Virginia again, and more heartily. + +"Why, of course, I know Donald Keith! He's the most interesting boy I +ever met in my life. Why, now I remember, of course! When Miss King +told me your name I tried to think where I'd heard it before. Why, +you're the girl Donald talked about so much, who could ride so +wonderfully and shoot and lasso cattle and kill rattle-snakes!" + +Virginia blushed, a little embarrassed. She did not know how such +accomplishments would be regarded by Eastern girls. Mary apparently +admired them; but Virginia was not so sure of Priscilla and Dorothy. +They stood a little apart and listened, certainly with interest, but +whether with approval Virginia was not sure. However, she had little +time for wondering, for Mary drew her forward to where they stood. + +"Isn't it wonderful to have a girl way from Wyoming?" she said. "And +isn't it lovely that I know all about her? Her best friend is my +brother's best friend, too. This is Virginia Hunter, and these are +Priscilla Winthrop and Dorothy Richards. Why, I almost forgot! You and +Priscilla are room-mates. Miss King just told me." + +So the longed-for joy was to become a reality! Virginia was radiant. +She wondered if Priscilla were really glad. The handshake with which +she greeted her was surely cordial. Mary and Dorothy walked on ahead +toward the waiting carriage, and left the new room-mates to follow. + +"It's ever so interesting to room with a girl way from Wyoming," +Priscilla said sweetly. "You'll have to tell me all about it. I don't +know a thing!" + +"I will," said Virginia. Then she laughed. "And I really don't chew +gum, or borrow things. And what is a fish-net?" + +Priscilla laughed, too. "Oh, did you hear those silly things I said? +Why, a fish-net is a hideous thing to put pictures in. I loathe them!" + +"Besides, I have two Navajo rugs," Virginia continued. "I hope I +wasn't rude! I couldn't help hearing, really, and I was so +interested." + +"You weren't rude at all, and I'm wild over Navajos. Dorothy will be +plain peeved, because we have two in our room." + +Virginia gathered from the tone that "plain peeved" must mean +something akin to jealous. But she was so happy that she forgot all +about Navajos. + +"I'm so glad I'm going to room with you," she couldn't help saying. "I +knew I'd like you the moment you got on the train, and I like you +better every minute!" + +Priscilla in her turn was embarrassed. She was not used to such +frankness of speech, especially on first acquaintance. But very likely +the manner of speaking in Wyoming, just as Virginia's speech, so full +of _r's_ was different from her own. And she was ready to go half-way +at least. + +"Why," she stammered, "I--I'm--sure I'm glad, and I--I--know I'll like +you, too." Which was quite an admission for a member of the +conservative Winthrop family to make to a stranger! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE + + +St. Helen's lay a mile west of the station, and half a mile from the +village itself, through whose quiet, elm-shaded streets they were soon +driving in the big, open carriage. The girls pointed out to Virginia +the places of especial interest--the little white church which they +attended on Sundays; Mrs. Brown's cottage, where pumpkin pies and +"heavenly chocolate cake" might be purchased, if not too frequently; +and, chief of attractions, the "Forget-me-not," whose sundaes, once +eaten, were never forgotten. + +At the little post-office, another girl joined them, and was in turn +embraced quite as rapturously by Priscilla and Dorothy as Mary had +been. She was introduced to Virginia as Anne Hill, Mary's roommate, +and another Senior. + +"The two sharks and faculty pets of St. Helen's," observed Dorothy, +supplementing the introduction, and including Mary and Anne with a +wave of her pretty hand, + +Virginia had not the vaguest idea of what a shark might be. Most +apparently, not a fish; but she saw that Dorothy's remark embarrassed +both Mary and Anne. She liked Anne at once. She was rather short and +plump, with a sweet face and soft Southern accent. + +"She comes from Virginia," Priscilla said in a whisper to her new +room-mate, as they drove along. + +Virginia divided her attention between her great interest in the +country and her absorbing eagerness to hear all that the girls had to +say, for Mary and Anne were kept busy answering Priscilla's and +Dorothy's questions. Yes, Imogene Meredith had returned, and she and +Vivian Winters were rooming together as they did last year. Miss Green +was to be in The Hermitage--(a long sigh from Priscilla and +Dorothy)--but the adorable Miss Wallace was to be there likewise. The +fortunate girl, who was to be blessed with Dorothy's Navajo rug, and, +incidentally, with Dorothy herself, was new, and a protge of Miss +Wallace's. (Sighs of envy from all.) Her name was Lucile Du Bose, and +Miss Wallace had become acquainted with her in France through mutual +friends. She was doubtless very nice, but a little shy and apparently +lonely, and Miss Wallace had asked as a special favor to herself that +the girls try to make her feel at home. Moreover, Miss Wallace had +proposed Dorothy as a room-mate. + +"That settles it," announced Dorothy. "I shall be angelic to Lucile, +even if she's positively hopeless; since I'm doing Miss Wallace a +favor!" + +"Who has the big up-stairs room?" asked Priscilla. + +Mary and Anne laughed. "Somebody very important," said Anne in her +pretty Southern accent. "She hasn't come herself, but she has trunks +and bags enough for the whole family, and they keep on coming. Up to +this noon there were three trunks, two bags, a shawl strap, and four +express packages. And the trunks and bags are all marked 'K. Van R.-- +New York' in big letters. Mary and I were so wild with curiosity that +we had the impoliteness to turn over one of the express packages to +see the name on it, and 'twas 'Miss Katrina Van Rensaelar.' We asked +Miss Green about her, but gleaned no information except that she would +be here in a few days, and was to room alone, as her guardian had +especially requested it." + +"Dear me! How select!" observed Dorothy. + +"She ought to be Katrina Van Tassel, like Katrina in 'The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow,'" said Virginia, whereupon every one laughed, and Mary +said that "Sleepy Hollow" would be a very appropriate name for the +room, as the girls who had it last year never heard the rising bell, +and were invariably late for breakfast. + +"We're getting very near now, Virginia," said her new room-mate. And, +a moment later, they drove through some stone gate-posts and up a +lovely curving road bordered by pines, which edged the woodland on +either side. + +"There are always hepaticas here in the spring the first of any +place," they told her. + +Then they crossed a rustic bridge over a little brook, after which the +pines gave way to maples and oaks, on either side of which were open +fields and meadows. They snow-shoed here, they told her; and in the +spring the ground was fairly blue with violets. Now the roadsides, as +well as the land near the brook, were yellow with goldenrod and purple +with asters, her mother's flowers. The road commenced to be more hilly +above the meadow, and as the horses walked slowly along, Virginia +noticed with interest the shrubs and trees which grew in tangled +masses on either side. She knew the sumac, now in its autumn scarlet, +and the birches; but there were many which she had never seen, and she +missed the service-berry and the buck-brush, which bordered the +Wyoming roads, the cottonwoods and her own dear quaking-asps, which +always seemed so merry and friendly in the fall. What a lovely place +for a school, she kept thinking to herself, as they climbed the hill, +and, suddenly leaving the wood road behind, came out upon an open +campus, dotted here and there with fine old elms and maples. + +"And this is St. Helen's," the girls told her, as they followed the +elm-shaded driveway, while her delighted eyes wandered across the +lawns to the gray stone buildings, upon which the ivy was already +turning red. + +"It's lovely," she said softly, "just as lovely as mother used to tell +me. You see, years ago my mother came here to school, too." + +Perhaps the softness of her voice told the girls more than she herself +had done, for they were silent for a moment. Then Mary said, + +"Miss King wanted me to bring Virginia over to the office as soon as +she came, so you girls can go on to The Hermitage. You might as well +leave your bag in the carriage, Virginia. They'll put it in your +room." + +Miss King's office was in the largest of the gray stone buildings, +which, Mary told Virginia, held the gymnasium, the big assembly hall, +some recitation rooms, and the offices of the principal and other +important personages. + +"You'll love Miss King," Mary reassured her, perhaps guessing that +Virginia felt a little shy. "You see, she doesn't teach any more, and +she leaves most of the care of the girls to the younger teachers; but +she always conducts chapel, and arranges with each girl separately +about her studies. It's wonderful how she knows every girl in St. +Helen's, and she's interested in every little thing that concerns us. +We just love her!" + +They went up the steps, and into a large, open hall, at the end of +which a fire blazed in a big stone fire-place. + +"We don't really need a fire now," Mary explained, "but Miss King says +it seems more homelike and cheerful when the girls come in." + +From the hall many doors led to different rooms, and through two big +central ones they passed into a large office. A young woman at the +desk rose to greet them. + +"You're to take the young lady to Miss King's private office, Miss +Williams," she said. + +Mary thanked her, and crossing the room, rapped upon the door of an +inner office. A sweet, cheery voice said, "Come in," and they entered +a large sunny room, by the western window of which sat a gray-haired +lady, who rose with girlish eagerness to greet them. + +"I have been waiting for you, my dears," she said, and Virginia +thought she had never heard such a sweet voice. "And I have been +waiting years for you, Virginia," she continued. "Come to the window. +I want to look at my dear Mary Webster's little girl." + +She took them by either hand, and drew them to the window. Then she +took off Virginia's hat, and with tears in her sweet, almost sad blue +eyes studied the girl's face. + +"My dear," she said at last, "you don't look like your mother, and yet +you do. Your eyes are gray, while hers were blue, but the light in +them is just the same, and your mouth is hers. But it is only fair +that you should look also like that fine father of yours whom your +mother brought to see me eighteen years ago. It was twenty years ago +that Mary Webster left St. Helen's the sadder for her leaving; and now +the same St. Helen's is gladder for her coming again in her little +daughter. Oh, my dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!" + +With that her blue eyes quite brimmed over with tears, and she held +Virginia close a moment and kissed her. + +A lump rose in Virginia's throat and she could not speak. The dear +memory of her mother, and more than all else, the genuine praise and +appreciation of her father, the first she had heard since she came +East, with the exception of Aunt Nan's compliment, quite overcame her. +Tears filled her eyes, and her chin quivered, when she tried to thank +Miss King. But the dear lady understood, and, still holding her hand, +turned to talk with Mary until Virginia should be herself again. + +"And, now," she said gayly, a few moments later, "you're both to have +tea with me, for I've told Miss Weston I'm not to be interrupted on +any condition. We don't have girls from Wyoming every day, do we, +Mary? You like my room, Virginia?" For Virginia's eyes were wandering +about the room, charmed with everything. + +"I just love it, Miss King," she said, in her natural, unaffected way. +"It makes me think of a sunny autumn afternoon at home. The walls are +just the color of our brown foot-hills, and the yellow curtains +against them are like the sunlight on the hills. And I love the +marigolds on the table, I always have them in mother's garden at home. +She loved them so." + +"I'm so glad it seems like that to you," Miss King told her, "because +it always makes me think of October, my favorite month." And she +looked about contentedly at the soft brown walls, the pale yellow silk +curtains, the darker furniture, and the bowl of yellow and brown +marigolds which saw their reflection in the polished table. The +pictures were largely soft landscapes in sepia, Corot's and Millet's; +but here and there was hung a water color in a sunny, golden frame. + +"I wanted a restful room with soft colors, and soothing pictures--not +profound, energy-inspiring ones--for in this room I rest and read and +talk with my girls. And some way it satisfies me--the way I have +furnished and arranged it. Now, Virginia, I want to know about that +wonderful country of yours. You must tell us while we drink our tea." + +Then followed one of the most memorable hours of Virginia's school +life. Years afterward the remembrance of it was to stay with her--a +sweet and helpful influence. They sat in the brown and gold room, +which the sun setting made more golden, and talked of school plans, of +the new girls, of the summer just passed, and most of all of +Virginia's country, which neither Miss King nor Mary had seen. The +subjects of their conversation were simple enough, but in some way the +gray-haired woman by the window made everything said doubly memorable +and precious; and when they left, as the school clock was striking +five, they felt, as many before them had felt, strangely helped and +strengthened. + +"Isn't she wonderful?" breathed Virginia, as they went down the steps +together. + +"Yes, she is," Mary said thoughtfully. "And after I've been with her I +wonder what it is about her that helps one so. She doesn't say very +much--she always makes you talk; but there's just something beautiful +about her that you always feel. I guess that's why St. Helen's is such +a fine school." + +They took the long way around the campus so that Virginia might see +the buildings. In addition to the large main one, there were two +others, also of gray stone--one for recitations and the other +containing the laboratories and Domestic Science rooms. There was +also, Mary told her, in the pine woods below the hill, a little gray +stone chapel, called St. Helen's Retreat, where they held their vesper +services, and where the girls were free to go when they wished. It was +the quietest, dearest place, Mary said. She did not see how she had +happened to forget to show Virginia the woodsy path that led to it, as +they came up the driveway. The cottages for the girls were scattered +about the campus. There were six of them,--King Cottage, West, +Overlook, Hathaway, Willow, and The Hermitage. Each accommodated +fifteen girls, with the exception of The Hermitage, which was smaller +than the others and held but nine. Miss King did not like dormitories, +Mary explained, as they went along. She thought they lacked a home +feeling, and so St. Helen's had never built dormitories for its girls. +Moreover, in spite of many requests, Miss King limited her number of +girls to eighty-five--a large enough family, she said, since she wished +to know each member of it. The cottages did look homelike certainly, +Virginia thought, with their wide porches, well-kept lawns, shrubs, +and garden flowers. The Hermitage was the tiniest of them all, and +stood quite apart from the others behind a clump of fir trees, through +which a gravel path led to the cottage itself. + +"Really, The Hermitage isn't a very appropriate name for a house full +of girls," Mary said, as they drew nearer the little cottage; "but one +of the older graduates gave the money for it and asked the privilege +of naming it herself. So she selected that name on account of the +location, forgetting that girls aren't a bit like hermits." + +Virginia thought the name and location alike lovely; and as they +passed through the fir trees and reached the porch which surrounded +the house, her satisfaction was complete. Inside, The Hermitage was +quite as attractive as its brown-shingled exterior. On the first floor +were the living-room, with a wide stone fire-place and book-lined +walls, the sunny, homelike dining-room, and the rooms of the two +teachers. Up-stairs were the four rooms of the girls, each large and +sunny, and opening upon a porch, and away up on the third floor was +one large room, which was this year to be occupied by the mysterious +Katrina Van Rensaelar. + +All was hurry and bustle on the second floor of The Hermitage as Mary +and Virginia went up the stairs. Five girls were frantically and +unsystematically unpacking--pausing every other minute to go the rounds +for the sake of exhibiting some new possession acquired during the +summer. Two of the girls Virginia had not seen, and her new room-mate +promptly introduced them. + +"These are our next door neighbors, Virginia," she said, "Imogene +Meredith and Vivian Winters. And this is Virginia Hunter from the Big +Horn Mountains in Wyoming." + +"Indeed?" remarked the one called Imogene, raising her eyebrows and +extending a rather languid hand. "Quite off the map, n'est-ce pas?" +and she laughed. + +She was tall with dark, extremely-dressed hair, and eyes that did not +meet your own. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and she wore +several pieces of expensive jewelry. Virginia was embarrassed by her +easy, uninterested manner, and her strange laugh. Vivian Winters she +liked better. Vivian was short with a sweet, childish face, and +wistful blue eyes. She, too, was dressed far too lavishly for school, +Virginia felt, but she liked her all the same, and did not feel at all +embarrassed in replying to her pleasant little welcome. As she looked +at them, she recalled the conversation she had heard between Priscilla +and Dorothy in the train, and she thought she understood Priscilla's +feeling toward Imogene. But, perhaps, they were both mistaken, and she +wouldn't begin by being prejudiced. Just then Dorothy called Imogene +to her room at the other end of the hall, and Priscilla took Virginia +to their own room. + +"There's a huge box here for you," she said, as they went down the +hall. "It nearly fills the room." + +"Oh, it's my saddle here already!" cried Virginia. "It is a huge box, +isn't it?" + +"Your--what?" asked the amazed Priscilla, and listened open-mouthed +while Virginia explained, and told her about Jim and the others. So +interested did she become that before they realized it, the +supper-bell had rung, and found them sitting side by side on the big +box, friends already. + +"I never heard anything so interesting in all my life," exclaimed +Priscilla, as they searched for hairbrushes and towels among their +confused luggage. "And will you really teach me to ride?" + +"Why, of course, I will. You'll love it! Oh, I'm sorry to be late the +very first night!" + +"That's the best time of all, because they expect it then. Besides, +Miss Green's dining out, and Miss Wallace--you'll love her!--took Lucile +Du Bose to town to see the oculist. Mary's in charge tonight, and +she'll excuse us." + +"Is Mary part teacher?" Virginia asked, puzzled. + +No, not that exactly, Priscilla explained; but each year the girls of +the different cottages elected one of their number who would be a +Senior the next year to be a kind of cottage monitor, to take charge +of the table and study hours when the teachers were out. + +It was an honor to be elected, because it meant that the girls +considered you trustworthy; and every one at St. Helen's knew and +trusted Mary Williams. + +Virginia admired Mary more than ever. It must be wonderful, she +thought as she tied her hair-ribbon and searched for a clean +handkerchief, to be trusted by every one in school. Could they say +that of her when she became a Senior? + +"What are you, Priscilla?" she asked as they went down-stairs. + +"I'm a Junior," said Priscilla, "and so are Dorothy and Imogene. Anne +is a Senior like Mary. Vivian's a Sophomore, and Lucile Du Bose, too, +they say. As for Miss Van Rensaelar, no one knows. Maybe she's a +post-grad. She sounds very grand." + +That evening they finished unpacking, and by nine o'clock their room +was quite settled. The Navajo rugs were on the floor--the envy of the +house. The saddle-box they had covered, and with pillows it made quite +a picturesque divan. Of course, the effect was lessened in the mind of +any one who might attempt to sink down upon it, but it looked well, +and there were chairs enough without it. Each cot was covered with +afghan and pillows. Even the pictures were hung, and their few +treasured books, of which Virginia discovered to her joy Priscilla was +as fond as she, were placed in the little wall book-case from +Virginia's room at home. Altogether the big room had a cheery, +homelike atmosphere, and they both felt very happy. + +Before going to bed they visited their neighbors. Mary and Anne's room +they found not unlike their own, only there were even more books +about, and an adorable tea-table with brass kettle and little alcohol +lamp, for Seniors were allowed to serve tea on Saturday afternoons. +Dorothy's room was in a sad state of upheaval, the Navajo rug, +carefully spread on the floor, being the only sign of an attempt at +settlement. Dorothy herself was curled up on the couch, deep in a +magazine. Her room-mate had not returned she said, so why arrange +things? Their ideas might not harmonize. + +The room opposite their own, occupied by Imogene and Vivian, was +settled in a most unsettled manner. Virginia thought as she entered +that never in her life had she seen so many things in one room. One +entire wall was festooned with a dreaded fish-net, in which were +caught literally hundreds of relatives, friends, and acquaintances; +the other walls were covered with pennants. The couches were so piled +with pillows that one could not find room to sit down; the dressers +were loaded with costly silver toilet articles, and more friends in +silver frames; even the curtains were heavy with souvenirs, which were +pinned to them. There were no books, except a few school-books, tucked +under the desk, and no pictures, save highly decorated posters, wedged +among the pennants, where a few inches of bare space had not been +allowed to remain uncovered. It all gave Virginia a kind of stifled +sensation, and she was glad to return to their own room when the +nine-thirty bell had rung. + +It was strange to crawl into her cot-bed opposite Priscilla; strange +to talk in whispers for a few moments, and then to say "Good-night." +For a few more moments she wondered with a wave of homesickness, more +for her father than for herself, what they were all doing at home. +Were they sleeping while the mountains kept their silent night watch? +No, that could not be, for the time was different. Colonel Standish +had explained that to her on the journey East. Dear Colonel Standish! +What was that difference? Was it two hours earlier at Hillcrest? Then +it would be only eight o'clock at home. Or was it--? But her tired +head, so weary from the day's excitement, refused to reckon +differences in time, and Virginia fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM" + + +The first two weeks of Virginia's life at St. Helen's passed without a +cloud. The hours were as golden as the October days themselves. She +and Priscilla liked each other better every day. She had already +become acquainted with many of the girls at the other cottages, and +she found them as jolly and merry as those at The Hermitage. She liked +them--almost every one--and although at first her frank way of speaking, +and the strangeness of her accent had puzzled and surprised them, they +liked Virginia. Of course, all things accepted, they might have +preferred being born in Massachusetts to Wyoming, for to many of them, +as to Grandmother Webster, Wyoming seemed more or less of a +wilderness, and a ranch rather a queer kind of home, but they had the +good sense, and better manners, not to announce their preferences to +Virginia; and as the days went by they liked her more and more. +Wyoming might be a wilderness, they said to themselves; but this +ranch-bred girl certainly was as cultured as any girl at St. Helen's. +So the letters which Virginia wrote almost daily to her father were +very happy ones, and she almost began to doubt the possibility of +being homesick in this beautiful place. Still, there were many weeks +yet to come! + +Her studies, with Miss King's help, had been pleasantly arranged; and, +thanks to her book of compositions she had brought, her wide reading, +and her year of Algebra in the country school, she found herself, to +her great joy, ranked as a Sophomore, and in classes with Lucile and +Vivian. She liked Vivian very much, and tried hard to like Imogene for +Vivian's sake. As for Lucile, she found her interesting in a queer +foreign kind of way, for Lucile's French father, and her years in +Paris and Lausanne, had given her ways hardly American. Besides, +Virginia agreed with Dorothy, she would like Lucile for Miss Wallace's +sake alone; for Virginia, as the prophets had foretold, already loved +Miss Wallace with unswerving loyalty. + +Two more different persons than Miss Margaret Wallace and Miss Harriet +Green would have been hard to find, especially housed beneath one +roof, and presumably dedicated to the same ideals. Miss Wallace was +young, enthusiastic, and attractive in appearance and personality; +Miss Green was middle-aged, languid, and unattractive, certainly in +appearance, and, as far as one could judge, in personality. Both were +scrupulously conscientious, but Miss Wallace enforced the rules +because she loved the girls, and Miss Green because it was her duty. +Moreover, Margaret Wallace, remembering her own recent college days, +trusted the girls before she suspected them; whereas Miss Green +reversed the proceedings, and watched them closely before she decided +to trust. The result of these different methods may be imagined. The +girls obeyed Miss Wallace, because she never expected them to do +otherwise. If they obeyed Miss Green, it was done unwillingly to save +trouble. + +Be it said to Miss Green's credit that she was an excellent teacher. +The colleges which the St. Helen's girls entered, expected and +received girls whose training in Latin and Greek was unexcelled. She +had been ten years at St. Helen's. Perhaps her superior teaching and +her unshaken faithfulness to duty, more than offset her failure, which +she herself did not perceive, as a disciplinarian. However that might +be, the girls at St. Helen's did not love Miss Green. + +Virginia, being a new-comer, resolved to like her; and to that end she +really strove, being the one girl in The Hermitage and often the only +one in school, who defended the teacher, whose strict adherence to her +own interpretation of duty brought with it sad mishaps, often for the +girls and sometimes for herself. Even Mary, who was Miss Green's +helper, though she did not say much at the indignation meetings of the +other girls, quite clearly did not like Miss Green. + +"I think it's sweet of you, Virginia, to stand up for her," Priscilla +announced one evening, as they wrestled with extra hard Latin lessons, +"but your time hasn't come yet. I hope you'll always be able to like +Greenie, but I have my doubts." + +"Well, I'm going to try hard, anyway. Of course, I shan't love her--I +don't hope for that--but she seems so left out with us all loving Miss +Wallace so much, that I'm going to try." + +"That's just what I thought when I came last year," observed the +experienced Priscilla. "But after she just the same as accused me of +borrowing the down-stairs ink-bottle and never returning it, I +couldn't like her any longer." + +Whether Miss Green liked the gray-eyed Western girl, who was trying so +hard in the face of so many odds to like her was not as yet known. +Perhaps she was slowly deciding whether or not Virginia might be +trusted; and very soon events were to come to pass requiring that +decision to be made. + +The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days began +to grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; and +the girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supper +around the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the third +week of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight to +nine o'clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of various +subjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among other +things they spoke of their "vocations" in life--each painting in +glowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach, +and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to look +toward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who sat +opposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as "doctoring" the girls +when they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer and +consolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning's "Court Lady," +though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go on +the stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, and +never take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have a +villa outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had come +to Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. She +had seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would give +them encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a little +embarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she must +admit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books that +should inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at once +squeezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also. +Imogene "hadn't decided," and Vivian made them all laugh by saying she +wanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies and +take care of them every one herself. + +Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, the +other with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls had +finished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty to +declare that dreams were fleeting, said, + +"You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen's 'Master Builder,' +you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I have +lived long enough to discover that one's vocation in life is usually +thrust upon her." + +"Horrors!" cried Dorothy. "Then I won't have any!" + +The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm. +Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, being +honestly interested in Miss Green's observation, and feeling +intuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence. + +"Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?" she asked politely. + +"It was," returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, but +Virginia mistook the tone for one of regret. + +"I'm so sorry," she said. "You can't be half so interested in it as +you would be if you could have chosen it. If I were you, I would +change, and choose another." + +An inadvertent giggle from Imogene broke the embarrassed silence which +followed Virginia's remark; and led Miss Green to mistake Virginia's +honest interest for ill-bred sarcasm. She gathered the gray knit +shawl, which she often wore, more closely about her shoulders, rose +from her chair and left the room, saying in a frigid tone as she went: + +"Will you come to my room, Virginia, immediately upon the ringing of +the study-bell?" + +"Why--certainly--Miss Green," stammered poor surprised Virginia. + +"Mean old thing!" muttered Dorothy, as a slam of Miss Green's door +announced her complete departure. "Virginia didn't--" + +"Dorothy," warned Miss Wallace quietly. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace. I forgot." + +Then Miss Wallace tactfully turned the conversation into other +channels, but Virginia could not enter into it with any interest. She +could not think how she had been impolite. Such a thought had never +entered her mind. Why had Imogene laughed? She caught Priscilla and +Mary looking reproachfully at Imogene. Even Dorothy seemed annoyed. +The study-bell put an end to the forced conversation, and as Virginia +went slowly toward Miss Green's room, after encouraging pats and +squeezes from the girls, who left her to go up-stairs, Miss Wallace +asked Imogene to remain a few moments with her. + +Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy and +forbidding than when she had hurried from the room. + +"Sit down, Virginia." Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch. + +"I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely." + +Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat. + +"I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry to +be obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school. +I cannot understand your rudeness of--" + +"But, Miss Green," Virginia interrupted, because she could not help +it, "really I--" + +"Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish." + +Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyes +bright, her heart rebellious. + +"Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation? +Will you attempt to justify Imogene's giggle? It all looks to me like +a contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak." + +But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all to +blame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it all +made her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears which +were blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. +Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginia +spoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school long +enough to know the meaning of diplomacy. + +"Miss Green," she said, "I think you are very unjust. I felt sorry for +you when you said your vocation had been thrust upon you. That is why +I said I thought you would be happier if you changed. I don't know why +Imogene laughed; but I think you are suspicious to think of a +conspiracy. I don't know what you mean." + +"Do not add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanors, Virginia." +Miss Green was becoming angry--calmly so, perhaps, but angry. + +"I do not mean to be impertinent, Miss Green. I--I--have been trying +hard to like you"--her voice quavered and broke--"but I think you are +unfair to me." + +Miss Green's eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. She had never +dreamed of such frankness in a pupil brought before her for a +reprimand! She fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps, this +interview had been long enough. It did not seem fruitful. + +"Do not try to like me, I beg of you, Virginia. You seem to find it +hard work. But I tell you, as I tell all my pupils, the day will come +when you will be deeply grateful to me for my correction." + +In her tumultuous heart Virginia doubted the arrival of that day of +gratitude. She waited for Miss Green to finish. + +"We will grant, perhaps, that you may not have meant rudeness. I will +give you the benefit of the doubt. But we must admit that you were +hardly decorous in your remarks. Have you anything to say?" + +Suddenly into Virginia's' mind there came an idea--so quickly that she +smiled a little, greatly to Miss Green's discomfiture. + +"Yes, please," she answered in reply to the question asked her. "I +can't seem to think. What is the noun for 'decorous'?" + +Miss Green's eyes and mouth again widened, this time in greater +astonishment. Evidently, this interview was not producing the desired +change of heart. It would far better be ended. She cleared her throat +again. + +"The noun for 'decorous' is 'decorum.' I am sorry my words have had no +greater effect. Goodnight." + +"Of course, it's decorum" said Virginia, as she went toward the door. +"How foolish of me to forget! You've really given me a brand new idea, +Miss Green. Good-night." And she went upstairs, leaving behind her a +puzzled and almost angry woman, whose knowledge of having done her +duty was in some way quite eclipsed by a strange, yet indisputable, +sense of having been badly beaten. + +Study hour was in session when Virginia hurried through the hall +toward her room; but two doors noiselessly opened as she passed, and +four hands extended notes, which she took wonderingly. The door +opposite her own did not open. In her room, Priscilla, instead of +studying, was writing furiously in her "Thought Book," which, +apparently unread, had been sent two weeks before. As Virginia came +in, she jumped up from the desk, and threw her arms around her. + +"You poor, dear thing!" she cried. "We're all furious! You didn't do +one thing but be polite. We're more furious at Imogene for giggling! +That only aroused Greenie's suspicions. What did she say? Was she +awful? I'm so glad you're not crying. You got the notes, didn't you?" + +"Yes," said Virginia, returning the embrace. She read the notes. All +expressed a mixture of fury, loyalty, and sympathy. Then she took down +her own "Thought Book," for she had also begun to keep one, and placed +the notes carefully between its pages. Priscilla watched her, puzzled. +Most of the girls were crying with rage when they came from Miss +Green's room. Virginia opened the back part of her "Thought Book," and +separated some thirty pages from those before. Then she dipped her pen +in the ink, but before writing, turned to Priscilla. + +"Priscilla," she said slowly, "she is a very unjust woman. I think she +is very nearly a cruel one. I shall _never_ try to like her again!" + +While Priscilla watched her, more puzzled than ever, she began to +write in large letters on the first of the pages thus separated. + + "'ALL TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED ONLY + THROUGH EXPERIENCE.'" + + "These pages will contain accounts of wisdom-giving + experiences, and will pertain especially to matters + of Decorum." + +"Experience I. Oct. 18. I have learned that the most careful +politeness may be called rudeness. Also that Pity is _not_ akin to +Love, even though the Bible says it is. Also, that remarks, intended +to be polite, about one's vocation, had best be avoided, especially +when it is previously known that one's vocation has been thrust upon +her. + + "Why these things are so, + I don't pretend to know." + +She closed the book, and replaced it in her desk. Afterward she sat +for a long moment watching a crescent moon sink below the horizon. + +"Are you going to study to-night, Priscilla?" she asked at last. + +Priscilla turned almost fiercely upon her. "I shall fail in Latin on +Monday and Tuesday, _anyway_," she said, with unreasoning loyalty, +"and maybe on Wednesday, and I'm not exactly sure about Thursday. I +know it will hurt _me_ and not _her_, but it doesn't seem as though I +could ever get a good lesson for her again." + +At nine there was an indignation meeting in their room, which every +one attended, except Imogene and Vivian, and at which Virginia, though +the center of attraction, said little. She appreciated their loyalty, +but somehow she could not talk. It had all surprised her too much. But +the others could talk. The room hummed with their vehement +whisperings. + +"It just shows how suspicious she is!" + +"Never mind, Virginia. It's no disgrace to you." + +"It's really Imogene's fault. Why did she giggle like that?" + +"Do you suppose it could have been on purpose?" Courageous Anne +ventured to give voice to a suspicion which, except for Dorothy, +seemed general enough. + +But Dorothy, though annoyed at Imogene's thoughtlessness, which had +caused trouble for Virginia, was loath to believe that it had arisen +from anything but thoughtlessness. To speak truly, Dorothy was +fascinated by Imogene--her wit, money, clothes, and, above all, by her +air of wisdom, and her "don't care" ways. Therefore she defended her +hotly. + +"Of course it wasn't on purpose, Anne!" she said indignantly. "Imogene +wouldn't do such a thing!" But the silence which followed seemed to +show that all did not share Dorothy's confidence; and Anne, growing +more courageous, said: + +"I'm not so sure about that." + +"I'd like to know what Miss Wallace said to her." + +"So should I." + +"She was plain mad when she came up-stairs, for she slammed the door +like anything." + +"Yes, and I heard her give Vivian fits for having the window open." + +But Imogene kept her own counsel, and no one knew what Miss Wallace +had said. Neither did they learn that night from Virginia of her +interview with Miss Green. Her strange silence during the conference +quelled the curiosity which prompted them to ask; and, when the +nine-thirty bell rang, they went home, feeling that she was queer some +way but that they liked her more than ever. + +The world had suddenly lost its brightness for Virginia. She undressed +in silence, and was in bed before Priscilla, who sat on the edge of +her cot a moment before going to her own, and hugged her room-mate +sympathetically. Virginia returned the hug with a bear-like one of her +own, and kissed Priscilla good-night, but still she could not talk. +Neither could she go to sleep. Long after Priscilla's breathing showed +that she had forgotten indignation and all else, Virginia lay awake, +choking back a great, obstinate lump of homesickness, which would rise +in her throat. She longed for her father. He would understand as no +one else could. She longed for Don, who would call Miss Green "an old +prune." Most of all she longed for her own big country, where, her +poor injured heart told her, people didn't look for impoliteness. And +just this morning she had been so happy! + +Then the tears came, and she sobbed into her pillow. "I'm not plucky +at all," she thought, "because I _am_ homesick, and I don't care if I +am!" She felt better after a good cry, and thought she could go to +sleep, but the room seemed warm and close, though the windows were +open. She got out of bed, put on her kimono, and went to the French +windows which opened upon the porch. The moon had set, but the sky was +clear and star-filled. Unhesitatingly she opened the doors and stepped +out. From where she stood no trees obstructed her view of the campus. +The buildings stood dark and dim among the trees. It was so still that +she could hear the brook falling over the stones, half a mile away. +She felt better out there under the sky--somewhat as she felt among the +mountains at home. + +All at once she heard steps on the gravel walk. Who could be out so +late. A bulky form emerging from the firs and coming along the walk +below where she stood answered her question. It was Michael, the old +night watchman. Were it not for fear of disturbing some one she would +call to him, for she liked his funny Irish ways, and already they had +become good friends. She went nearer the railing to watch him as he +walked slowly toward West Cottage, and as she moved a board in the +floor of the porch creaked. + +Michael looked up hastily, and descried her figure. He had been too +long at St. Helen's not to know that young ladies on porches at +midnight usually meant mischief, and he hurriedly retraced his steps +toward The Hermitage, rounded the cottage, and--truly Fate was +unkind!--rapped on Miss Green's instead of Miss Wallace's window. + +So perfectly innocent was Virginia that she did not for one moment +connect Michael's return with herself. Miss Green's room was on the +other side of the cottage from her own, and she could not hear +Michael's quiet warning. Therefore, she was surprised and not a little +startled when she found herself five minutes later enveloped in a +strange light. She turned around quickly to see in the doorway Miss +Green, clothed in a gray flannel wrapper, and armed with a miniature +search-light, which always accompanied her on her night journeyings. +Virginia felt a strange desire to laugh. Miss Green's scant locks were +arranged in curl-papers about her forehead; she still wore her +spectacles; and the combination gave the sinister effect of a beetle. +But the look on Miss Green's countenance checked the unborn laugh. + +"What are you doing here on the porch at midnight?" Miss Green's words +were punctuated with pauses of horror. + +"Something inside of me said I'd feel happier out here, Miss Green." + +Virginia's honest eyes looked into Miss Green's shrinking ones. Miss +Green apparently felt uncomfortable. She wrestled again with that +disagreeable sense of having been beaten. Slow as she was to perceive +honesty, she could not doubt this girl who faced her with flushed +cheeks and tear-swollen eyes. She stood aside, shivering in the night +air, to let Virginia enter her room. Then she followed her. Once +inside, she hesitated a moment, then locked the French windows, and +slipped the key into her capacious pocket. Virginia's unwavering eyes +watched her. She cleared her throat nervously. + +"I need hardly remind you, Virginia, that it is highly indecorous for +a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono! Moreover, +let us ever avoid all appearance of evil." + +Then she went. Virginia heard her padded footsteps stealing down the +stairs. Priscilla had, fortunately, not awakened. Virginia was too +surprised to be angry. Had it really happened, or was it just a dream? +She tried the French windows to make sure. They were securely locked. +Then she laughed as she remembered Miss Green's curlpapers and +spectacles and horrified expression. + +She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go to +sleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her "Thought Book." This +evening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turn +on the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling by +the window, she traced these words by the dim light: + +"Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highly +indecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a +kimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!" + +Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE LAST STRAW + + +No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green, +clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resist +relating such an experience as that of the night before to her +roommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she told +Priscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing her +to eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealed +whether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair. +They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a little +worry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in the +small hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case for +report. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicit +trust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. She +was still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled the +events of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would "bear +watching." + +Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. To +begin with, every one was late; and Miss Green's frigid manner really +did not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed upon +late comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse, +and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Mary +and Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the +"Continental Breakfast," and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, who +hoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogene +was not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in good +spirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green's curl-papers. +However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivened +by Miss Wallace's futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Green +felt Virginia's gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, and +apparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve. + +Poor Virginia, who upon awaking had decided to try to forget all the +discomfort of the evening before and be happy again, felt her +resolution impossible of fulfillment in this atmosphere; and by the +time breakfast was over (be assured it was a short repast) was as +discouraged and homesick as the night before. She declined Mary's and +Anne's invitation to walk with them and the sad-eyed Vivian to the +village after Saturday morning's house-cleaning; refused to play +tennis with Priscilla and the Blackmore twins (two jolly girls from +Hathaway); quite enraged Dorothy by discovering her and Imogene in +secret conversation, when she went to find her sweater which Lucile +had borrowed; and at last, completely discouraged, and sick of +everything, wandered off down the hill by herself, pretending not to +hear some girls from King Cottage, who called to her to wait. + +On the way she met the postman, who handed her three letters. She +stuffed them in her pocket; and then, for fear of being followed by +the King girls, hurried into the woods by a short cut she had already +discovered, and found her way to the little gray stone chapel. She +opened the door and went in, but it seemed cold and damp inside, and +she came out again into the sunshine. + +Here she was practically sure of being undisturbed, for the girls did +not often visit St. Helen's Retreat on Saturday morning. She sat down +on the stone steps and listened to the wind in the pine trees, which +completely surrounded the little chapel. Shafts of sunlight fell +through the branches upon the brown needles beneath. In among the +tangled thickets beyond the trees, the birds were gathering to go +southward. They seemed in a great bustle of preparation. Virginia +spied thrushes and tow-hees, brown thrashers and robins in great +numbers; also many bluebirds, whose color was not so brilliant as that +of their mountain bluebird at home. The English sparrows, however, +were undisturbed by thoughts of moving, and chattered about the eaves +of the Retreat, quite lazy and content. + +At any other time Virginia would have watched the birds with eager +interest, creeping through the thickets to observe them, for she was a +real little student of their ways, and loved them dearly. But to-day +the world was wrong, and birds were just birds, she told +herself,--nothing more! Besides, she had been treated unjustly and +unfairly, and she had a good cause for feeling blue. No one could +blame her--not even Donald, whose words kept coming to her. She wished +Don had never said them--they bothered her! + +She drew her letters from her pocket. In a way, she hated to read +them, she said to herself, because they would make her more homesick. +But in a very short time curiosity overcame her, and she began to open +them eagerly. Two were from her father and Don, the other from Aunt +Lou in California. She read Aunt Lou's first--saving the best for the +last. Aunt Lou was glad to hear such pleasing reports both from those +in Vermont, and from Miss King. From Grandmother Webster she had been +convinced that Colonel Standish was a gentleman though she would again +warn Virginia that one could not be too careful. She knew that St. +Helen's and her experiences there would surely be the making of +Virginia, etc., etc. + +Virginia folded the letter. In a way she could not help feeling glad +that her grandmother and Aunt Nan, and especially Miss King, were +pleased with her. Still, if Miss Green told, would Miss King +understand? But it was of no use to worry, and it was in a little +better humor that she opened Donald's letter. + +He had missed her, he said. Everything had seemed lost without her. It +was no fun riding alone, and he had been glad when October came, and +he had gone to Colorado. He liked it much better than the East. The +fellows were more his sort, and they rode a lot; but not one of them +could ride better than she. + +"I'm mighty glad," the letter ended, "that Mary Williams is in your +cottage. She's a peach, isn't she? Jack's all right, too. He wrote me +the other day that maybe he would come to Wyoming another summer. +Wouldn't it be great if Mary could visit you then? I'm glad you've got +a good room-mate. Don't forget though, you promised not to be a young +lady in June!" + +Before she opened her father's letter, Virginia felt decidedly better. +Wouldn't it be wonderful if Mary could go to Wyoming with Jack? +Maybe--of course, not probably, but maybe--Priscilla's father might let +her go, too. Dreams of glorious days in the mountains made her eyes +shine. She was almost happy again. + +Her father's dear fat letter was supplemented by a laboriously written +one from Jim, and a note--yes, actually a note from William. And +William could write a good hand, without misspelling a word! Jim's +letter told her that the little colt was growing beautifully, and was +the image of his mother; that he hadn't much minded the branding; and +that Joe sent his best regards and wished to say that the lump in the +littlest collie's throat had quite disappeared. His rheumatism got +worse, he said, with the colder weather, and he read her books a lot +for company. He closed by saying they all missed her worse every day, +and by asking her for them all how she liked the saddle, and "how it +set"? + +William's note told her that he should send by the next mail two sets +of rattles, whose former owners he had killed the week before; and +that he had already planted her garden with some perennials which he +knew she would like. He would not tell her what they were, as he +wanted to surprise her. + +She read her father's letter over and over again. It was filled with +pride, for he, too, had received a letter from Miss King, and--what was +stranger yet!--actually one from Grandmother Webster, telling of their +pleasure in Virginia. He was glad every day that she was so happy at +St. Helen's. Were she often homesick, he would be troubled; but her +happiness made his loneliness the less. + +The fall threshing was over, he said, and the round-up and branding +completed. The men were having a much-needed rest. William had not +gone to town once since she left, and if he continued in his +determination, she would not know him when she came home. Jim, he was +sorry to tell her, seemed far from well. The Keiths were also finished +with the hardest of the fall labor; and they had all decided to ride +up the canyon the next Saturday "To-day," thought Virginia--and camp +for over Sunday, just for a change. How they wished she and Don were +there to go along! + +Virginia folded the letter and jumped to her feet. An idea had seized +her, dispelling the few remaining blues, for to a nature like her own +a new idea is often a cure-all. Why had she not thought of it before? +She would ride to-day, just as they were doing at home. Not yet had +she used her new saddle, but really there had been little opportunity. +The days had been too filled with lessons and getting acquainted to +allow much time for riding; and they had now become so short that it +was impossible after supper. The first two Saturdays had been taken +up--one by a tennis tournament, the other by the Senior and Junior +basket-ball game--and this was only the third. + +But to-day she would ride. She would hurry home, learn her +lessons--yes, she even thought she might learn her Latin--and then after +luncheon have the man from the village stable bring up the horse he +had recommended at a previous interview. + +The atmosphere at luncheon was less chilled. Mary, Anne, and Vivian +brought from the village the glad tidings that the "Forget-me-not" +would be open all winter, and serve hot chocolate and cakes instead of +sundaes; Priscilla and Lucile had won four sets from the Blackmore +twins; and Virginia's spirits were certainly improved. Only Imogene +and Dorothy, who had been together all the morning, preserved, the one +a haughty, the other an embarrassed, silence. + +Virginia's announcement that she was to ride brought forth great +interest on the part of the girls, and solicitude on the part of Miss +Green. + +"You have permission, I presume, Virginia?" + +"Oh, certainly, Miss Green. I've talked with Miss King all about it," +answered Virginia, striving to be polite. Later, when she heard Miss +Green supplementing over the telephone her own directions to the +stable-man, and cautioning him to bring the safest horse in the +stable, she tried not to mind. + +The horse arrived. To The Hermitage girls, and several from Hathaway, +who had come over to watch the proceedings, and who, if they had +ridden at all, had mounted nothing larger than ponies, he was a huge +beast. They watched with great interest while Virginia herself threw +across his broad back her shining new saddle, and tightened the +girths. + +"What a queer saddle!" + +"What's that thing in front, Virginia?" + +"The saddle-horn." + +"Aren't you afraid you'll fall against it and hurt you?" + +Virginia laughed. "Oh, no!" + +"See the 'V. H.' on the brass, Anne. Some style to you, Virginia!" + +"What's the horse's name, Mr. Hanly?" asked Virginia, preparing to +mount. + +"Napoleon Bonaparte." + +The girls laughed. Virginia swung herself into the saddle. To the +admiring girls it seemed as though she had not touched the stirrup at +all. She gathered her reins in one hand. + +"Remember, you're to try him, Priscilla, when I get back," she called, +riding away. + +From one of the lower windows of the Hermitage, some, one cleared her +throat. + +"Use extreme caution, Virginia," some one called, but Virginia was +already out of hearing. + +She had intended to ride down to the gate-posts, and then farther out +into the country on the road which led away from Hillcrest. But by the +time she came in sight of the stone posts she had quite decidedly +changed her mind. Napoleon Bonaparte was hopeless! If he had not so +annoyed her she might have laughed at his combination of gaits. His +trot was torture; and it was only by the utmost urging that one could +prevail upon him to canter. This urging, Virginia discovered to her +surprise, was most effective when accomplished by yanking upon the +reins, a proceeding which a Western horse would not have borne at all. +His periods of willingness to canter were of short duration, for which +the rider at the end of the period usually felt thankful. Moreover, he +invariably stumbled when going down hill; and, to cap the climax, and +add the finishing touch, he had the asthma, and, after a few moments +of speed, sounded like a freight train. + +The gate-posts reached, Virginia was resolved upon one thing! She +could not ride Napoleon! She would ride to the village stable and see +if a change were possible. She turned Napoleon's heavy head, and rode +on, wondering what Donald would say if he could see her steed, and +greatly hoping that the village stable contained some improvement. + +Mr. Hanly, who had driven down with the mail-carrier just ahead of +her, met her at the stable door. + +"Anything the trouble, miss?" + +Virginia for the moment ignored his question. + +"Mr. Hanly, how old is Napoleon?" + +Mr. Hanly calculated. "About eighteen, miss." + +"Eighteen!" cried Virginia. "Then I don't wonder! Why, Mr. Hanly, he +can't go at all. He hasn't a gait to his name! Besides, he wheezes +terribly. Has he the asthma?" + +Mr. Hanly explained that for years Napoleon had been afflicted with a +chronic cold; but that he had been in his day a good saddle-horse, and +safe. + +"Oh, he's perfectly safe, Mr. Hanly! He's too safe! But, you see, I've +ridden all my life, and I can't ride him. I really can't! Haven't you +something else?" + +Mr. Hanly considered. Yes, he had a saddle-horse belonging to a +Hillcrest gentleman, who was away at present, but who had left word +that his horse might be exercised. Still, he would hardly venture to +saddle him for Virginia. He was safe enough, but inclined to take the +bit in his teeth. No, he would not dare to allow her to have him. +Still, she might look at him if she liked. + +Virginia swung herself off Napoleon, and went in the stable to view +the horse described. He was assuredly not in the same class as +Napoleon. She knew by his build that he was a good saddle-horse. She +must have him, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes later, the +persuaded, if not convinced, Mr. Hanly was somewhat dubiously removing +the saddle from poor, perspiring Napoleon, and strapping it, with +Virginia's help, on the back of the black horse. + +In another moment Virginia was up and away, leaving Mr. Hanly, who was +watching her, somewhat reassured in the doorway. + +This was something like riding, she told herself, as she cantered +along the country road. The black horse, though nothing like her own +Pedro, was still a good horse. He could even singlefoot, and did not +have the asthma. + +She rode miles into the country beyond St. Helen's. The afternoon was +perfect--one of those autumn afternoons when the summer lingers, loath +to go; when the leaves drift slowly down, and the air is filled with +an unseen chorus; and when all about an Unseen Presence makes itself +felt, and causes one to feel in harmony with the God of the +Out-of-doors. + +Virginia's cheeks were rosy red; her hair was flying in the wind, for +she had lost her ribbon, and had long since stuffed her cap in her +pocket; her eyes were glowing with happiness. She reached the Five +Mile Crossways and turned back toward home. Then the black horse +showed his paces. He fairly flew over the road, Virginia delighting in +his every motion. One mile--two--three--he galloped furiously. They were +within a mile of St. Helen's. Virginia sought to quiet him, but he was +on the homeward way, and he knew it. They rounded a curve, still on +the gallop, when some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl. It was Miss Green. Virginia strove with all her might to +pull the black horse into a walk so that she might speak, but he did +not choose to walk; and it was with a considerably lessened, but, to +the startled Miss Green, furious gallop that they passed, Virginia +waving her hand as her only means of salutation. She heard Miss +Green's peremptory and horrified command for her to stop, but she +could not heed it. Her mind was at that time completely occupied with +wondering if the horse would willingly turn into the avenue leading to +St. Helen's. Fortunately he did, perhaps imagining it for a new +entrance to his stable, and Virginia disappeared from sight among the +pines. + +[Illustration: "Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl."] + +It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended the +hill leading to St. Helen's in such a short space of time. When she +arrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was just +preparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interested +audience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease until +she might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throat +vigorously: + +"Priscilla," she said, "dismount immediately. Virginia, tie that +dangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly to +come at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me to +Miss King's office!" + +The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, more +dazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stony +silence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King's gold and brown room. +Miss King sat by the western window, a book in her hand. She smiled as +they entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green's +face. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by the +window, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willful +disobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusal +to stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished, +she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or an +explanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however--very +quietly. + +"You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did not +understand matters--quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding, +I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know so +little of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. I +am sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fully +described to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I will +talk this matter over with you." + +Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia, +still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in her +cheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked together +of books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and the +mountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation of +Virginia's inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak of +horseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than when +she had entered. + +As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watched +the sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful--troubled, +perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to the +desk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight. + +"Harriet has been with me a long time," she said to herself at last. +"But neither because of her superior Latin instruction, nor for the +sake of our old friendship, can I any longer allow my girls in The +Hermitage to lack a home atmosphere. Perhaps, after all, Athens needs +Harriet. I may be doing the Ancient World a favor, who knows?" And the +little, gray-haired lady smiled to herself in the twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + + +"Dorothy, do you think it's fair?" + +The black eyes of Lucile Du Bose, ready at any moment to brim over +with discouraged tears, implored her room-mate, who lay upon the +couch, deep in a magazine. + +"Dorothy, do you?" + +Dorothy frowned. Apparently she had no thoughts on the subject, and +did not wish to be disturbed. + +"Do I what, Lucile? What's the matter, anyway?" + +Her tone was petulant and not conducive to conversation; but poor +Lucile was desperate. + +"Do you think it's fair for me to have to write an oration on the +Pilgrim Fathers? I don't know anything about them, Dorothy. Besides, +I'm most all French; and I don't know how to start an oration, +anyway!" + +"Why, of course, it's fair enough. The others all have to. Why not +you? No one's to blame because you're French." + +"But the rest don't all have to," persisted the injured Lucile, while +Dorothy began again to read. "The Blackmore twins were allowed to take +Ethan Allen, because he's their ancestor; and Miss Wallace told +Virginia she could write on the Pioneers. Who are the Pioneers, +Dorothy?" + +"Search me!" Dorothy was in a forbidding temper. Of late even her +devotion to Miss Wallace had not made her "angelic" to her room-mate. + +Lucile chewed her pen-stock savagely. Something must be done. Study +hour was nearly over, and Dorothy would be on her way to tennis or the +"Forget-me-not." She would try once more. + +"Dorothy?" + +"Well!" + +"Dorothy, if you'll tell me how an oration begins, I'll do your French +sentences every day for two weeks." + +Dorothy stopped reading. This was worth considering, since her rank in +French had been B for some time. Of late Dorothy's resolutions made in +the fall had been considerably bent if not broken. Still it would not +do to accept with too much alacrity. She closed the magazine. + +"I can't see, Lucile, how you can have been studying orations all the +fall with Miss Wallace, and not know what one is like. Don't you +listen in class?" + +"Of course I do; but they're so dry I forgot them. I know Napoleon's +'Address to his Troops,' but I can't understand Washington and +Webster. If I could just begin this I might go on. It's got to sound +patriotic, you know, and thrilling, like 'Soldiers! you have +precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines!'" + +"But you're not talking to any one. You're talking about the Pilgrim +Fathers. Now, why don't you begin like Lincoln? Of course, you can't +say, 'Fourscore and seven years ago,' but you can subtract 1620 from +now, and say--let me see-'Fourteen score and thirteen years ago.' Now, +I think that's original, Lucile." + +Lucile looked more hopeful, and blew her nose for the last time. Then +she began to write. After a few moments, + +"I've done three sentences, Dorothy. They're landed safely. Now what +shall I say?" + +Dorothy was plainly impatient. Still there were those French +sentences! + +"Well, I should think you'd tell how they overcame all the elements. +Something like this, 'Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing +high, or a stern and rockbound coast.' That's from a poem, you know, +called 'The Landing of the Pilgrims.' Then you might say something +about their fortitude being an inspiration to us. Orations are all +about that, you know,--bravery and inspiration and reverence and all +kinds of memories. But for goodness' sake, Lucile, don't put my words +down! I just suggest. You must write your own words." + +"Why, of course I will. I'm just putting it down roughly now, you see. +I'll do it all over this evening. Oh, dear, here's Virginia and +Priscilla and we're not half done. Do you suppose you'll have any +thoughts this evening?" + +"I can't tell. Come in!" + +"Walk down to the 'Forget-me-not' with us, you two," said Priscilla. +"My allowance has come, and I'm treating. This is the first hot +chocolate and cake day. Jess Blackmore was down yesterday, and they +told her. What's the matter, Lucile? You look sad." + +"I'll have to change my shoes," said Dorothy. "Will you wait?" + +"Yes, if you hurry. What's up, Lucile?" + +Lucile, glad of an audience, returned to her old grievance. + +"I don't think it's fair," she complained. "Virginia, if you had the +Pioneers, why need I have the Pilgrim Fathers?" + +"Why, I'd have soon had the Pilgrim Fathers," Virginia explained, "but +I think real Americans ought to be just as proud of the Pioneers, +because they were every bit as brave. They crossed the mountains to +find new lands, and made homes in the wilderness, and fought Indians +and wild animals. And no one here in New England seems to care about +them. So I asked if I mightn't take them myself to give them a +tribute." + +"Oh, that's what a Pioneer is," said Lucile reflectively. "Well, why +couldn't I take the Storming of the Bastille? My great grandfather +helped. The Blackmores have Ethan Allen." + +Dorothy sighed very audibly as she laced her boots. She was apparently +dead sick of the Pilgrim Fathers. + +"But, you see, Lucile," Virginia again explained, "Miss Wallace wants +you to be more American now you're here at school, because your mother +is American, and that's why she wants you to take the Pilgrim Fathers, +so you'll appreciate your country more." + +Lucile's black eyes snapped. She pushed her paper away, and went to +the closet, murmuring something in French under her breath that +sounded very much like "Vive la France!" + +Virginia's eyes fell on the crumpled and dog-eared piece of paper. + +"Why, haven't you more than that done, Lucile? They have to be given +to Miss Wallace to-morrow!" + +The angry Lucile stamped her foot. This was quite too much to be +borne. She was sick and tired of the Pilgrim Fathers, and all their +patronizing descendants. + +"No, I haven't," she cried. "And you needn't act as though you knew so +much, Virginia Hunter, just because you can write compositions. You're +out of it easy just because you've lived way out in the woods, and +know all about Indians and wild animals. But I've lived in Paris, and +there's a great difference between Wyoming and Paris, I'll have you to +know!" + +The scorn in Lucile's voice was not to be mistaken; but Virginia was +equal to the occasion. + +"Yes, of course there is a great difference," she said. "You see, +Paris is frightfully small compared to Wyoming--I don't mean in size, +you know, but in the way people look at things. In Paris, for +instance, one thinks about clothes and a good time and gayety; and in +the mountains you'd feel mean thinking about such frivolous things." + +Dorothy and Priscilla laughed, but Lucile grew angrier as Virginia +continued sweetly, + +"But I really wrote one on the Pilgrim Fathers, too, Lucile. Priscilla +and I both did, and then tried to thrill each other by giving them. +Would you like to hear mine? I have it right here in my blouse +pocket." + +Lucile's mind, slow to originate, was quick to grasp, and tenacious to +retain. An idea came to her with Virginia's question, but she was too +irritated to appear as eager as she really was to hear the oration. +Here might be a way out of her difficulty. She brushed her sweater +leisurely. + +"I'm sure I don't care. You may if you like," she said at length. + +"Oh, let's give those Pilgrim Fathers a rest!" cried the exasperated +Dorothy. "I'm tired to death of them, and there won't be a cake left. +Come on!" + +Priscilla gave her a warning nudge and a sly wink. "No, let's hear +Virginia first," she said. "It won't take five minutes, and her +oration's a peach! Go on, Virginia!" + +Virginia mounted the nearest chair, and drawing a crumpled paper from +her blouse pocket, began to read in a voice filled with emotion: + + "How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod were + thrilled when our Pilgrim forefathers first landed on the + stern shores of our vast continent, then unrevealed. + Methinks the ocean eagle himself burst into a paean of + praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise! No trumpet that sings + of fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums + saluted them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon + the naked solitude! + + "They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels + of the earth, nor did they seek king's wealth or war's + spoils, but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike + faith. + + "Aye, classmates, let us in sooth call this soil of our + dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and they left + us an unstained freedom to worship the God of our Fathers, + known of old!" + +With a quiver in her voice Virginia finished, bowed to her audience +and descended. Lucile was not blessed with a keen sense of humor. +Still, as eloquent as it sounded, it might be a joke. She glanced at +Virginia's and Priscilla's serious faces, and was reassured. + +"Oh, I wish I could do something like that!" she breathed. + +"Isn't it fine?" Priscilla asked excitedly. "I told Virginia it had a +real Patrick Henry ring. Don't you think so, Dorothy?" + +"Elegant!" said Dorothy, emerging crimson from the depths of the +closet. "Come on. Let's hurry!" + +Virginia threw the piece of mangled paper in the waste basket. "I've +another copy," she said carelessly, as they hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors. At the steps Lucile hesitated. + +"I'll catch up," she said. "I've forgotten something. Go on." + +She ran up-stairs while the three outside the fir trees laughed. + +"Didn't she bite easily, though? I never thought she would bite like +that. Poor Mrs. Hemans and Kipling!" + +"It way mean," admitted Virginia, "but I just couldn't resist after +that slam she gave Wyoming. I thought sure she'd see through +it--Dorothy was so red; and, of course, I thought she knew 'The +breaking waves dashed high.'" + +"The best part of it all is," Dorothy whispered, "she's gone up to +find that paper. Martha cleans this afternoon, you know, and Lucile +wants to use that oration. I'll bet I'm not asked for any thoughts +to-night!" + +"Oh, no, she won't!" cried Virginia. "Dorothy, do you suppose she +will?" + +"You wait and see! Of course she will. Lucile's queer. She doesn't +have any thoughts; and she can't see when a thing is funny. Miss +Wallace doesn't have them read aloud, does she, Priscilla? Lucile +especially asked that, and I told her she didn't." + +"She didn't last year. Oh, if she did!" + +They laughed again, but tried to calm down as Lucile, looking somewhat +embarrassed, emerged from the fir trees. Then they proceeded to the +"Forget-me-not," where they found most of St. Helen's assembled, and +toasted the different classes and cottages in hot chocolate, served by +a sallow youth with eye-glasses and a white duck coat, he evidently +being likewise an innovation, like the chocolate and cakes. + +On the way home Virginia's conscience pricked a little, and she +confessed a slight mean feeling to Priscilla. + +"You see, if I could be sure Miss Wallace wouldn't ask us to read them +in class, it wouldn't be so bad. It's bad enough, if Lucile really +uses that foolish thing, to have Miss Wallace read it alone; but, +really, 'twould be frightful if Miss Wallace should call on her to +read it. I don't know what I'd do! And every one would laugh! Oh, it +is mean, Priscilla!" + +"No, it isn't mean, it's just funny. You know things are different in +school, Virginia, though I can never make mother see it. Now jokes +aren't mean! Lucile just bit, and she'll learn in this way not to bite +so easily. Also, that you get in trouble using other folks' work. +Besides, if she's a sport, and takes it right, we'll all like her +better. It is mean to set traps deliberately to get other girls into +trouble, the way Imogene did to you the other night; and it's +miserably mean to try to throw blame on some one else for what you've +done yourself. Mother can't seem to see much difference, but dad and +the boys can. Only jokes aren't mean; and we'd have been too slow for +any use if we hadn't had some fun out of that oration when the chance +came like that." + +In study hour that evening, Lucile's conscience was also active, with +better reason. Dorothy, in her slippers, had stolen along the porch to +Imogene's room, a way she had of doing lately, though it was quite +against the rules. But Lucile did not need Dorothy's thoughts, for she +was copying furiously from a piece of yellow paper, which she had +taken from her handkerchief box. After all, she told her conscience, +it was perfectly excusable, for the whole thing had been unfair. To +expect her, whose great-grandfather had stormed the Bastille, to write +an oration on the Pilgrim Fathers! Moreover, Virginia wasn't going to +use it herself, she reasoned, so it really wasn't cheating; and she +could help Virginia on her French some day to balance the account. +Besides, Virginia would never know, because Miss Wallace never had +them read in class; and, after all, it was not all Virginia's work, +because Lucile must add some thoughts of her own to eke out the +required length. Lucile was not a prolific thinker, but with the help +of the Dictionary and "The Essentials of American History," she was +progressing. By the time Dorothy returned, the oration was completed, +though Lucile was strangely reticent concerning it. On her desk, +Dorothy found a neatly written French exercise. + +"Oh, Lucile, that's awfully good of you," she said, herself slightly +conscience stricken. + +"It's all right. You helped me, you know." + +"Is the oration all done?" + +"Yes. I--I wish I hadn't eaten those three cakes. I think I'll go to +bed early." + +Sophomore English recited from nine to ten, Miss Wallace desiring +minds as fresh as possible. The morning following Lucile's desperate +attempt and final accomplishment, a growing pile of manuscript on Miss +Wallace's desk proved that youthful orators had been busy. Lucile and +Virginia, coming a few moments late to class, deposited their papers +on the top of the pile and took their seats. The recitation began, and +for half an hour Miss Wallace questioned, listened, and explained. +Then she closed her book, and motioned the girls to do the same. + +"I'm going to introduce a custom which I have never introduced +before," she said with the smile that had made her beloved during her +three years at St. Helen's. "We have twenty-five minutes remaining. I +am going to ask that two or three of our orations be read before the +class. Virginia, you are on the top of the pile, perhaps a penalty for +being late. We will hear your oration." + +Virginia crossed the room, conflicting emotions sweeping over her. As +to reading her own composition, she was quite willing, since Miss +Wallace desired it; but she knew that Lucile's was next in order, and, +as she turned to face the others, she saw Lucile's agonized face. +Could she do anything to prevent her coming next? She hesitated. There +was nothing except to hope that Miss Wallace would note Lucile's fear, +and excuse her. Miss Wallace noticed the hesitation. + +"Come, Virginia. We are waiting." Virginia began to read, and as she +read, she forgot Lucile in the hope that those listening might realize +that the Pioneers of her own dear country were likewise Pilgrim +Fathers. Her voice, sweet and clear, rang out earnestly: + + "At this Thanksgiving season when we, as a nation, give honor + to those brave men and women who founded the New England + States, should we not also grant honor and homage to those + other founders of our country--the children of the Pilgrim + Fathers--the sturdy Pioneers of our Great West? In our praise + of the Pilgrim Fathers, we often forget, I think, that there + were other Pilgrims besides those at Plymouth Rock--other + wanderers, who, perhaps, did not seek freedom to worship God, + but who did seek better homes for their children, and who + tried by their discoveries to show that we had a bigger, + richer country than we knew about. They did not cross the + angry seas of water, but they crossed a sea of land, our great + prairies, where there were even more perils than those of the + Atlantic--perils of Indians, wild animals, cyclones, and + blizzards. They crossed the mountains, cutting their own + trails before them, protecting the tired women and helpless + children from danger; and those who went to the Far West + crossed the great deserts, suffering great hunger and worse + thirst, and sometimes leaving their bones upon the sands." + +Her voice as she read trembled with eagerness and pride. Into her mind +crept the pictures of "old timers" at home, and the tales of bravery +and endurance which they had told her. She read on, telling of more +hardships, of greater bravery, extolling the lonely lives in the +forests or mountains or on the great prairies. The girls listened +eagerly. Many of them had never considered the Pioneers before. After +all, they were worthy of praise. Virginia was holding her audience--all +save the cowering Lucile, who was miserably knotting her handkerchief. +The young orator closed with an appeal to her listeners: + + "Oh, let us who are so greatly blessed with homes and friends + and safety from the dangers that beset our forefathers, give + thanks to God at this Thanksgiving season! And let us + determine to show in our small lives the bravery and the + perseverance and the honesty and the fear of doing wrong, + which was shown by our Pilgrim forefathers of Massachusetts, + and by the Pilgrim pioneers of our mountain and prairie + States. Then shall we be more fit to be called real, true + Americans!" + +Virginia took her seat amid a burst of genuine applause, the most +precious of which was her beloved teacher's own commendation and look +of approval. + +"Now, Lucile, you are next," continued the merciless Miss Wallace; and +the trembling, cowering Lucile managed to cross the room, and take her +own paper from the desk. For a moment Miss Wallace may have been +tempted to withdraw her request. Virginia, whose pleasure in the +reception of her own oration had quite disappeared in her pity for +Lucile, kept hoping that she might reconsider; but she did not. Lucile +must take her chances with the others, she was thinking. Here was an +opportunity for overcoming her diffidence in class. + +Lucile faced her audience, her eyes half angry, half frightened, her +hands shaking. Her low trembling voice was hardly oratorical. + +"Louder, please, Lucile," commanded Miss Wallace. + +Virginia studiously looked out of the window. Lucile recommenced, and +this time, so absolutely astonished and overcome was Miss Wallace, +that the orator proceeded without interruption to the end. + + "Fourteen score and thirteen years ago," read the trembling + voice, "our Pilgrim forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The + exact date was the 20th of December in the year of our Lord + 1620. It was Monday when they got there and the women thought + they would wash. All American women have washed ever since. + Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing high, or a stern + and rockbound coast, which is from a poem called 'The Landing + of the Pilgrims.' They gave us bravery and inspiration and + reverence and all kinds of memories." + +The orator at this juncture cleared her throat desperately, and seemed +to gather strength. She proceeded more calmly, and in somewhat louder +tone. + + "How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod, situated + on the eastern coast of Massachusetts, and so named for the + fish that swim around it, were thrilled when our Pilgrim + Fathers first landed on the shores of our vast continent, then + unrevealed--America, named for a poor Italian author, Amerigo + Vespucci. Many persons think the name would be better if it + were Columbia, after the song, 'Columbia, the gem of the + ocean.' Methinks the ocean eagle, a bird once inhabitating the + shores of New England, but now extinct, himself burst into a + paean of praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise. No trumpet that sings of + fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums saluted + them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon the naked + solitude! + + "They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels of + the earth, nor did they seek kings' wealth or war's spoils, + but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike faith. And + almost the very first building they erected was a church! + + "Aye, Sophomore classmates, I think you ought to call this + soil of your dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and + they have left you an unstained freedom to worship the God of + your Fathers, known of old!" + +The poor orator managed to reach her seat without encountering the +eyes of Virginia; but she could not be unconscious of the postures of +her classmates. Some with crimson cheeks and shaking shoulders were +studiously regarding their textbooks; others, with a complete +disregard either of hygiene or of good manners, were chewing their +handkerchiefs; the Blackmore twins were weeping on each others' +shoulders. Miss Wallace was fumbling in the drawer of her desk, and +striving hard to control her quivering lips. + +"This class is dismissed," she managed to say, without looking up, and +the class, unspeakably glad to be dismissed, literally ran from the +room, leaving poor Lucile, upon whom the joke was very slowly dawning, +to come out alone, cut her Latin recitation, and seek her room. Here +she locked the door against her room-mate, and packed her suit-case +for New York where she was to spend Thanksgiving, glad that a telegram +from relatives there had asked for her early departure on the +afternoon train. She did not appear at luncheon. + +"Poor thing! I guess she won't bite so easy next time," said +Priscilla, as they left the table, where Miss Wallace, still smiling, +was arranging a tray for the orator. "Let's be decent enough to play +tennis on the back court till she goes to the station. I know she +doesn't want to see us, and I don't blame her a bit. It'll be +forgotten when she gets back. You don't feel bad about it, do you, +Virginia?" + +"No, not now, but it was truly awful, Priscilla, when she looked so +scared in class. I felt like a criminal. But I feel better now I've +written the note." + +"What note?" + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you, and I signed your name, too; but I knew +you'd want to. You see, I thought 'twould be too bad to have her go +away for Thanksgiving, thinking we didn't like her and had been mean +to her, because, you know, I don't think Lucile is very quick about +seeing through things, and I wanted her to know we liked her all the +same. So I wrote a verse, and slipped it under her door. It said: + + Dear Lucile; + + It was a joke, and now it's made + We simply can't unmake it; + But we like you, and hope that you + Will be a sport and take it. + + Happy Thanksgiving! + + P. and V. + + You don't mind, do you?" + +Priscilla threw her arm over Virginia's shoulder, and drew her toward +the tennis court. + +"No, of course I don't mind. I think 'twas mighty sweet of you to do +it. You're queer, Virginia, but I like you, and I'm glad you're my +roommate." + +Virginia's eyes glowed with happiness. + +"Glad!" she cried. "I'm gladder every day! And I just love you, +Priscilla Winthrop!" + +That evening Virginia added Experience III to the Decorum Chapter of +her ever growing "Thought Book ": + +"In school it all depends upon how you feel inside when you do a thing +as to whether it's mean or not. Jokes are not mean, unless you feel +malicious when you conceive them. Also, it doesn't matter at all if a +joke is played upon you. All it matters is whether you are a good +sport and take it well." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + + +Going home for the Thanksgiving holidays, though not forbidden, was +discouraged at St. Helen's. The time was very short, there being less +than a week's vacation allowed; and it had long been the custom, +unless urgent demands came from home, for the girls to remain at +school. It was not at all a hardship, for every one had such a royal +good time. Moreover, the fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers and +friends of the girls were always welcome, as far as accommodations in +the village and at the school allowed; and for years Thanksgiving at +St. Helen's had been a gala season. + +This year it seemed even especially lovely. Indian summer had waited +to come with Thanksgiving, and every day of the vacation was a golden +one. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop came to spend the holidays with Priscilla; +and Mrs. Williams, a sweet, motherly lady, whom Virginia loved at +once, came with Jack to see Mary. Virginia liked Jack, too, and the +four of them dreamed what Mary and Jack called "vain dreams" of a +summer in Wyoming with Donald and Virginia. But the dreams were lovely +anyway, and Mrs. Williams said with a mysterious smile that "perhaps +they were not all in vain," which remark straightway inspired the +youthful dreamers to build more air-castles. + +Virginia liked Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, also; and her heart beat fast +with happiness when Mrs. Winthrop told her how glad she was to have +her daughter room with Virginia. Mrs. Meredith, a flashily dressed +woman with too many jewels, came for a day to bring the already +over-supplied Imogene some new clothes and candy enough to make her +ill for a week. Vivian's mother came, too. She had the same wistful, +half-sad expression about her eyes which Vivian had, and Virginia +liked her in spite of her silly clothes, and nervous solicitude over +Vivian's every step. There was something pathetic about Mrs. Winters. +She might so easily have been so different! And she did truly want +Vivian to be the right kind of a girl. If only she didn't care so much +for dress and style, Virginia thought to herself, then she might see +that Imogene was not the best roommate for Vivian. + +On Thanksgiving morning, an hour before dinner, Virginia was called to +Miss King's room. Wonderingly she crossed the campus to the office, +where to her joy she found dear, brisk Aunt Nan, who had run down just +for the day to see how her niece was getting along. Apparently Miss +King had satisfied her before Virginia entered, for she seemed very +proud of the gray-eyed little girl, who was growing taller every week. + +"I really need to stay longer to let your dresses down, dear," she +said. "But at Christmas time we'll have a seamstress, and you can't +grow much in four weeks. Your grandmother and aunt can hardly wait for +Christmas, Virginia." + +This made Virginia happier than ever, for she had dreaded Christmas in +Vermont without her father. But now it was really something to look +forward to, since even grandmother wanted her so much. She and Aunt +Nan talked with Miss King for a while, and then walked about the +campus until time to dress for dinner. St. Helen's had changed a good +deal since Aunt Nan's day. There had been only thirty girls then, she +told Virginia, and two cottages, King and Willow. As they walked +about, the Williamses and Winthrops, together with Anne and Dorothy, +joined them, and Virginia proudly introduced Aunt Nan, who made them +all laugh with the tales of her experiences and escapades at St. +Helen's years ago. + +Then, the bell on the main building warning them, they hurried in to +dress for dinner, which The Hermitage girls and those of Hathaway +together with their friends were to have at Hathaway. Each year one +cottage was hostess to another. This year Hathaway had bidden The +Hermitage, Overlook was entertaining West, and King and Willow were +celebrating together. It was a merry, happy family that assembled in +Hathaway half an hour later. The tables, arranged in the form of a +hollow square, were gay with centerpieces of yellow chrysanthemums, +and strewn with yellow leaves, gathered weeks before and pressed for +the occasion. There were dainty place-cards upon which the Hathaway +girls with skillful fingers had drawn and painted pumpkins, +log-houses, turkeys, and miniature Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers; and as +each found her place at the table, she discovered also a slip of paper +with an appropriate Thanksgiving verse. This form of Thanksgiving +grace Miss King had originated. "Each one must give thanks for the +day," she always said; and before the table was seated, each read +aloud her verse or bit of prose. + +Miss King, who, year by year, dined with each cottage in turn, was +this year the guest of the proud Hathaway girls. It was she who gave +first the grace she had given on each Thanksgiving for many years: + + "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. + + "Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence + with singing. + + "Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made + us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep + of His pasture. + + "Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His + courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His + name. + + "For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His + truth endureth to all generations. Praise ye the Lord." + +The others followed. Virginia's was her favorite stanza from a new +poem, which Miss Wallace had read to her only the night before. Miss +Wallace must have selected it for her. She looked toward her +gratefully, as she read in her clear voice: + + "A haze on the far horizon, + The infinite, tender sky, + The ripe, rich tint of the corn-fields, + And the wild geese sailing high; + + "And all over upland and lowland + The charm of the goldenrod; + Some of us call it Autumn, + And others call it God." + +Each having read her selection, they sang all together, as on every +Thanksgiving Day for thirty years the St. Helen's girls had done, that +old, universal song of praise, which the world will never outgrow: + + "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, + Praise Him all creatures here below, + Praise Him above ye heavenly host, + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." + +Then, with a renewed feeling of thankfulness and happiness, every one +sat down, and the bountiful dinner was served. Virginia sat between +Aunt Nan and Mary, and opposite the Blackmore twins, whose father had +come to spend the day with them. He was the jolliest man imaginable, +"even though he is a minister," as Jean Blackmore often said, and kept +the entire table laughing over his jokes and funny stories. Virginia +mentally compared him with the Rev. Samuel Baxter, and could not +resist whispering to Aunt Nan: + +"Wouldn't Dr. Baxter be shocked if he were here?" + +"I wish he were!" Aunt Nan whispered back. "Maybe he'd be so shocked +he couldn't get back to Webster!" + +They sat for a long time after dinner was over, talking with each +other and enjoying the informal after-dinner speeches. As they left +the dining-room, and passed into the big living-room to listen to some +music, a large automobile stopped at the door, and a tall, +white-haired gentleman in a gray overcoat stepped out and was about to +ring the bell. But, before he had time, he was seized by a gray-eyed +girl in a white dress, who had burst open the door, crying: + +"Oh, Colonel Standish! Have you really, really come to see me?" + +"Why, Miss Virginia," said the Colonel, pausing to shake hands +cordially with Aunt Nan, "I've been having Thanksgiving dinner with +that grandson of mine at the Gordon school; and I told my man he must +drive around this way to give me just a glimpse of you before taking +me back to the city. And how goes everything, my dear? Is the 'making +of you' progressing?" And he smiled in remembrance of their journey +together. + +Virginia was so delighted to see him that she could hardly speak. + +"I think so, sir. Everything's lovely anyway. Oh, Priscilla, come +here!" + +"I wonder if you're not the girl who knows my grandson?" the Colonel +asked Priscilla. "He was telling me he knew a St. Helen's girl at +Vineyard Haven this summer named Priscilla Winthrop." + +"Do you mean Carver Standish, sir? Why, of course, I know him. He +taught me to swim this summer. I don't know why I didn't think of him +when Virginia told me that your name was Colonel Standish," said +Priscilla to Virginia's delight. To think Priscilla knew Colonel +Standish's grandson! + +Then the Winthrops must be introduced, and the Williamses and Anne and +Dorothy, together with Miss King and Miss Wallace, until the Colonel +declared that he felt quite at home. It seemed about a minute to +Virginia before he said that he must go, in spite of entreaties and +cordial invitations to share the festivities of the afternoon. But he +should come again, he said, and the next time he would bring his +grandson. Virginia watched the big car as it disappeared below the +hill; and later, as they drove together in the early evening to the +station, she told Aunt Nan that the Colonel's coming had made her day +complete. + +"Give my love to grandmother, Aunt Nan," she said, as they told each +other good-by, "and kiss her twice for me, if you think she'd like +it." + +"I'm sure she would, Virginia," answered Aunt Nan. "She's counting the +days until Christmas." And the train that carried Aunt Nan northward +left a very happy girl on the station platform. + +But of all the happiness which Thanksgiving brought, the loveliest was +the opportunity it gave her to know Miss Wallace better. Miss Green +had gone to Boston for the holidays, and since The Hermitage was +filled to overflowing, Priscilla and Virginia stayed in her room, +giving their own to the Winthrops. Miss Green's room was next to Miss +Wallace's; and since Priscilla was constantly with her father and +mother, Virginia, though always asked with Dorothy to join the party, +seized the privilege afforded her of being with Miss Wallace. Miss +Wallace was also glad, for she loved Virginia. Policy, when school was +in session, forbade, with total disregard for a teacher's preferences, +a greater intimacy with one girl than with another; but in the +vacation days following Thanksgiving, when Virginia was more or less +alone, their friendship grew and ripened into a close understanding +between them. + +Virginia discovered that Miss Wallace loved her best book +friends--"Pollyanna," Pip in "Great Expectations," poor Smike in +"Nicholas Nickleby," David Balfour, Sydney Carton, Sohrab, and dear +Margaret in "The Cloister and the Hearth." They spent two lovely long +evenings reading together before the open fire in Miss Wallace's +cheery room, and some hours out-of-doors. Also, to Virginia's great +delight, Miss Wallace expressed a desire to learn to ride; and +thereupon followed a lesson with Miss Wallace on Napoleon, who, to her +inexperienced eyes, was a veritable war-horse. + +She was doubly glad and thankful for Miss Wallace's interest and +friendship on the Monday following Thanksgiving. It was the last day +of the vacation, and golden like the others. The Winthrop family and +the Williamses, together with Anne and Dorothy, had motored to +Riverside, twenty miles distant, to take their homeward bound train +from there instead of Hillcrest. Virginia had been asked to join the +party, but had declined, preferring to ride, and secretly hoping that +Miss Wallace might be able to ride also. But Miss Wallace had papers +to correct, sorry as she was, and Virginia tried to be content with +the sunshine, the black horse, and a thick letter from her father, +which the postman gave her as she rode past him down the hill. + +Securing her reins to the horn of her saddle, she tore open her +letter. So motionless did she sit while she read its contents that the +black horse quite forgot he had a rider, and stopped to nibble at the +bare, wayside bushes. A few moments later he must have been surprised +to feel a pair of arms about his neck, and a head against his mane; +but he still nibbled on unconscious that the girl on his back was +sobbing, and saying between her sobs, + +"Oh, if you were Pedro, you might understand, but you haven't any +heart at all!" + +Still he chewed the alder bushes. It was not often that he was allowed +to take refreshment when this girl rode him, and he intended to make +the best of his advantages. He felt her raise her head after some long +moments; but as yet there was no signal for departure. Virginia was +reading her letter again through blinding tears. + +"I have something to tell you, my clear little daughter, which I know +will grieve you deeply," her father had written. It was this that had +at first made her heart stand still. "Still, I feel that I should tell +you, for sooner or later you must know. Dear old Jim left us last +night to begin life over again Somewhere Else. He had been gradually +failing for weeks, but he would not give up his work. Yesterday +morning Pedro was taken ill, and Jim refused to leave him, saying over +and over again that you had always trusted Pedro to him. He worked +over him all day, undoubtedly saving Pedro's life, and refusing to +leave him, even though the other men insisted upon his giving place to +them. At night the men left him to eat supper, for he still would not +leave his post; and when they had finished and went back to the +stable, Pedro was quite himself again, but they found Jim--asleep. + +"I think you will feel as I do, dear, that it was like Jim to go that +way--faithful to the end. We laid him to rest this morning in the side +of the Spruce Ridge, near the great old tree to which you and he used +to climb so often, especially when you were a little girl. You will +remember how he loved the sweep of country from there. The morning was +beautiful and clear--the very kind of day he loved best; and as we +carried him up the hill, and laid him to rest, a meadow-lark sat on +the stump of a quaking-asp and sang over and over again. That was the +only prayer there was--that and our thoughts--but I am sure Jim would +have chosen that for his farewell song." + +Virginia could read no more. She pulled the head of the startled black +horse away from the alders, and struck him with her spur. He started +furiously down the hill, through the pines, and out into the country +road. On and on they went, mile after mile, but still in Virginia's +ears rang her father's words, "Dear old Jim left us last night to +begin life over again Somewhere Else." Jim, the comrade of her life, +her trusted friend and adviser, whom she would never see again! + +Again she struck the black horse with her spur. But the pounding of +his feet on the hard road could not drown her father's words. And no +one would understand, she cried to herself--not even Mary and +Priscilla. To them Jim was a dear, interesting old man; to Dorothy a +"character"; to Imogene a "common hired helper"! They would not be +able to comprehend her grief, just as they had never been able to +understand her love for him. + +But riding did not help as she had hoped. She would go back. A half +hour later she left the horse at the stable, and walked homeward, +alone with her grief. She could not bear to see the girls just yet, so +she turned aside and followed the woodsy little path that led to St. +Helen's Retreat. It was still there--comfortingly still. She pushed +open the door, and entered the little chapel, through whose long and +narrow windows the sunlight fell in golden shafts upon the floor, and +upon the white cloth that covered the little altar. Obeying something +deep within her heart, Virginia knelt by the altar rail; and somehow +in the stillness, the beauty and faithfulness of Jim's honest life +overcame a little the sadness of his death. + +[Illustration: "Virginia knelt by the altar rail."] + +How long she knelt there she did not know, but all at once she felt an +arm around her, and heard Miss Wallace's voice say: + +"Why, my dear child, what is it? Come out into the sunlight and tell +me. You will take cold in here!" + +Together they went out under the pines where the sun was warm and +bright; and sitting there, with Miss Wallace's arms around her, +Virginia told of her sorrow, and of dear old Jim, of whom Miss Wallace +had already heard. Then she read her father's letter, and the tears +which stood in Miss Wallace's eyes quite overflowed when she came to +the part about the meadow-lark. + +"And he loved the meadow-lark so!" sobbed Virginia. "It seems as +though that one must have known!" + +"Perhaps it did," Miss Wallace said with dear comfort. "I like to +think that birds know many things that we cannot--many of the sweetest +things like that." + +"Oh, you're such a help!" breathed Virginia, the burden upon her heart +already lighter. "You see, the others can't understand why I loved him +so. But you just seem to know some way." + +"I think I do know, dear," Miss Wallace told her as they rose to go up +the hill. "I want you always to tell me the things that trouble you, +Virginia, and the things that make you glad, because we're real +friends now, you know; real friends for always!" + +And even in the midst of her grief, Virginia was happy--happy in the +knowledge that she had gained a friend--a "real friend for always." In +the hard days that followed, when so few understood why it was that +the merry girl from Wyoming had suddenly grown less merry, that +friendship was a tower of strength to Virginia--giving her courage and +happiness when she most needed both; and proving, as it has proven so +many times, that there is no sweeter, finer influence in life than the +mutual helpfulness born of a friendship between a teacher and one of +"her girls." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + + +"On, of course, Dorothy, do as you like! If you'd rather play tennis +with the Wyoming Novelty than go down to the village with me, go +ahead. Don't think for a moment that I care!" + +Imogene leaned idly back among the pillows, while Dorothy studied the +rug with a flushed face. + +"You know it isn't that I'd rather, Imogene; but Virginia and I made +an agreement that I'd teach her some tennis serves, and she'd teach me +to ride. She's given me two lessons already, and now that the indoor +courts are fixed I thought we'd play this afternoon, that's all." + +"Go and play then. Don't mind me. I'm comfortable!" + +Dorothy was silent for a moment. "I don't see why you dislike Virginia +so, Imogene," she said at last. + +"Dislike her? I don't dislike her, or like her either for that matter. +I don't care one way or the other. My friends have never been brought +up in the backwoods, and don't weep over dead cow-boys; but, of +course, you're at liberty to choose yours wherever you like." + +The sarcasm in Imogene's tone was biting. Dorothy struggled with a +strong desire to defend Virginia, and another as strong to keep in +Imogene's favor. Completely ashamed of herself, she said nothing, and +Imogene mercifully changed the subject. + +"Has our Dutch aristocrat returned your penknife?" + +"Not yet. How about your hammer?" + +"I haven't seen it since she borrowed it, and I've ruined my nail-file +trying to open the box of cake mother sent. She has her nerve! I found +this on my desk this afternoon." + +She showed Dorothy a slip of paper on which was written in a heavy +black hand: + + "Have borrowed your ink for the afternoon. + + "K. van R." + +"You don't mean to say she came in when there was no one here, and +just took it!" gasped Dorothy. + +"Oh, Vivian was here, I guess, but Viv hasn't the nerve of a rabbit. +If Her Highness had chosen to take the room, Viv would have gone +along. But I'm going to do something very soon. I'm sick of this!" + +An imperious knock sounded on the door, and without waiting to be +bidden, the knocker entered. It was Miss Van Rensaelar herself, who, +late in coming to St. Helen's, had arrived two weeks before. She was +dressed in dark blue velvet with ermine furs, and looked undeniably +handsome, with her blue eyes and faultless complexion. In one +white-gloved hand she gingerly held an ink-bottle, which she extended. + +"Here is your ink," she announced somewhat haughtily. "I'm sure I'm +obliged. I forgot the hammer, but you can get it from my room if you +need it. I go to the city for dinner. Good-by." + +Imogene did not rise. "Good-by," she said in a tone which quite +matched Miss Van Rensaelar's. "You might have the goodness to place +the ink on my desk. It belongs there." + +"Indeed!" Miss Van Rensaelar sniffed the air, but crossed the room +with the ink-bottle, which she deposited upon the desk. Then she +crossed again, her head a trifle higher if possible, and went out the +door, which she left wide open. + +Imogene was furious. She rose from the couch to give vent to her +feelings by slamming the door, but encountered Priscilla and Virginia +just about to enter. Had she not wished to share her rage, she might +not have been so gracious. + +"Come in," she said, "and hear the latest!" + +"What's she done now?" Priscilla whispered. "We met her in the hall, +but she didn't deign to speak. Is she going to town to dine with the +Holland ambassador, or what?" + +"I don't know or care whom she's going to see," stormed Imogene, "but +I know one thing! I'm not going to stand this sort of thing any +longer. Borrowing everything is bad enough; but when it comes to +lording it over the whole house, it's time to do something! Besides, +she's a Freshman!" + +"She isn't exactly a Freshman," said Virginia, not noting Imogene's +displeasure. "Miss Wallace says she's been to several girls' schools +on the Hudson already, but she doesn't stay. She's sort of a special, +I guess. She's nearly eighteen, you know." + +"I wasn't favored with a knowledge of her age," Imogene continued +frigidly. "But I repeat, it's time to do something!" + +"But what can we do?" asked Priscilla. "Of course we can refuse to +lend our things, but that--" + +"That isn't what I mean. I mean we ought to show her that she isn't +everything in The Hermitage, or in all St. Helen's. She thinks she is! +But she isn't! In college she'd be made to black boots, or run +errands. I have a friend at Harvard and he told me all about the +things they make fresh Freshmen do." + +The thought of the haughty, velvet-clad Miss Van Rensaelar blacking +boots was too much for Virginia and she laughed, thereby increasing +Imogene's displeasure. Vivian arrived just at this point of the +conversation, falling over the rug as she entered, which awkward +proceeding greatly disturbed her room-mate. + +"For mercy's sake, Viv, save the furniture, and do close the door! +This isn't open house!" + +Poor Vivian, a little uncertain as to whether or not she was welcome, +straightened the rug and closed the door. Then she sat beside +Virginia, who had made room for her on the couch. + +"We might ask Mary. Maybe she'd have an idea," Priscilla suggested a +little timidly, but Imogene did not receive the suggestion very +kindly. + +"Oh, I'm sick of this monitor business! Don't say a word to Mary. +Whatever is done can be done without her first assistance. I'm going +to think of something before I go to bed to-night." + +"She makes me think of Dick when he first came to the ranch," said +Virginia. "He acted as though he were better than the other men, and +knew a lot more, though he was only eighteen. He used to like to dress +up and go to town at night, as though he were above them all. The men +grew tired of his overbearing ways, and Jim and Alex decided he needed +some discipline. So, one night when he had gone to town in his best +clothes, they placed a big bucket of water over the bunk-house door, +and arranged it so that when any one opened the door from the outside +it would fall and drench him. Dick came home about midnight; and the +men all lay in bed, waiting for him to open the door. He opened it, +and down came all the water. Jim told father the next day that Dick +just stood there wet through, and never said a word. But he +understood, and after that he wasn't snobbish any more, but just one +of the men, and they liked him a great deal better. I know I thought +'twas mean when Jim told father, but father said it was just what Dick +needed to help make a man of him." + +They had all listened to Virginia's story. Somehow they always did +listen when Virginia told a story for it was sure to be interesting. +Imogene, though she stared out of the window while Virginia told it, +was really listening most attentively of all; for, as Virginia talked, +into her scheming mind flashed an idea, by the carrying out of which +she might attain a two-fold purpose--namely, the desired disciplining +of Miss Van Rensaelar, and the revenging of certain wrongs for which +she held Virginia responsible. + +Imogene did dislike Virginia, for no other reasons in the world than +that the other girls liked her, and that their friendliness gave +Virginia prominence at St. Helen's. Virginia did not seek popularity +or influence, therefore she had both; but Imogene for two years had +sought for both, and moreover had used every means to attain them. +This year she saw her popularity waning. Even Dorothy did not seem to +care so much for her. Instead she liked Virginia--a bitter pill for +Imogene to swallow. As for influence, Imogene Meredith did possess a +strong influence over her associates, but its strength did not lie in +its goodness. Moreover, Imogene remembered a certain talk with Miss +Wallace on the occasion of Virginia's trouble with Miss Green; and the +memory of that talk still rankled bitterly. She _would_ get even with +Virginia, and show St. Helen's that this Wyoming girl was not such a +wonder after all. So as Virginia told her story and the others +listened, Imogene smiled to herself and planned her revenge, Miss Van +Rensaelar for the moment almost forgotten. + +"Aren't you going to play tennis, Dorothy?" Virginia asked as she +finished. + +Dorothy hesitated. "Can't we play to-morrow, Virginia?" she asked, +embarrassed. "I promised Imogene I'd walk to the village with her." + +"Of course. It doesn't matter. Come on, Vivian. Priscilla and you and +I'll play; and if Lucile doesn't want to make a fourth, we'll get Bess +Shepard from Overlook. She said this morning that she'd like to play." + +So while the others crossed the campus toward the gymnasium, Imogene +and Dorothy started for Hillcrest, and upon arriving went to the +"Forget-me-not," while the sallow-faced youth before mentioned served +them hot chocolate, and lingered unnecessarily in Imogene's +neighborhood. On the way home, peace having been restored between +them, Imogene divulged her secret plan to Dorothy, or at least the +half of it which she cared to divulge,--namely that upon their arrival +home while every one was preparing for dinner, a pail of water be +suspended over Miss Van Rensaelar's door, so that upon her return she +might be surprised into a more docile manner toward her housemates. + +Dorothy giggled at the picture of the soaked Katrina, but obstacles +presented themselves to her mind. + +"It will be funny, but I think you'll get the worst of it instead of +Katrina." + +"How, I'd like to know?" + +"Well, you're sure to be found out, because you can't fib about it, +and there's so few of us in The Hermitage that all of us will be +asked. Then, besides, it's funny, but I'm not so sure it's a joke. I +think it's sort of mean." Dorothy said the last somewhat hesitatingly, +noting the expression coming over Imogene's face. + +"Don't be such a wet-blanket, Dot! Besides, I don't see how you're so +sure I'll be found out. You certainly won't tell, and Viv won't dare +to; and you know how St. Helen's feels about telling tales anyway. +Besides, it's not my plan. You know who suggested it just this +afternoon." And into Imogene's eyes crept a crafty expression, which +told Dorothy more than her words. + +"Oh, Imogene!" she cried, really indignant. "You know that isn't true! +Virginia didn't propose it at all! She was just telling a story! You +don't mean you'd do it yourself, and then lay the blame on Virginia!" + +Imogene saw that she had made a mistake. + +"Who's talking about blaming anybody? I guess I'm willing to take the +blame for my own actions. Don't get so excited! I didn't exactly mean +she proposed it. I just meant that I'd never have thought of such a +good plan if it hadn't been for her." + +Dorothy was not convinced. She never felt quite sure of Imogene, +though she couldn't seem to help being fascinated by her. + +"You see," she said hesitatingly, "if you had meant that Virginia +suggested it, I'd think--" + +"Well, think what?" + +"I'd think that--? that maybe you laughed on purpose that night +down-stairs." + +Imogene shrugged her shoulders, and looked, for her, rather +uncomfortable. + +"Isn't any one allowed to laugh, if anything strikes her funny? You're +suspicious, Dorothy!" + +But quarreling would not do if Dorothy's help were to be relied upon. +Besides, the subject was distasteful, not to say dangerous. Imogene +changed it hurriedly, and, by the time they reached The Hermitage, the +plan had once more assumed at least an honest aspect, and Dorothy was +once more laughing at the thought of the drenched Katrina. + +Meanwhile Miss Van Rensaelar was being entertained in the city, and +regaling her friends with tales of the hopelessness of St. Helen's in +general, and The Hermitage in particular. Such regulations as to +hours! Such babyish girls! No style! No callers! No amusements, except +tennis and basketball, and riding on impossible horses! + +The truth was the trouble lay in Katrina Van Rensaelar, and not in St. +Helen's. Katrina, "on account of having been detained by illness at a +Long Island house-party," had not arrived at St. Helen's until after +Thanksgiving. She was too late to enter any of the regular classes, +and had been ranked as a "Special." The term really suited Katrina, +for she was a special type of girl to which St. Helen's had not often +been accustomed. She had too little desire for study and too much +money--too little friendliness and too many ancestors. + +Now, the possession of too many ancestors is difficult property to +handle, especially in boarding-school, unless you are very expert in +concealing your ownership. Katrina was not expert. On the contrary, +disdaining concealment, she openly avowed her ownership, and on the +few occasions in which she had been known to engage in conversation, +had announced that she was of the only original Dutch patroon stock of +New York. There were girls at St. Helen's who were every bit as +snobbish as Katrina with perhaps less to be snobbish about--Imogene was +one--but somehow they had learned that if one wished to be popular, she +concealed as far as possible her personal prejudices toward family and +fortune. + +Katrina, glad to be away from St. Helen's and to see some "life," as +she termed it, accepted with thanks an invitation to remain over night +in the city. Her friends telegraphed her intention to Miss King, +promising to bring her in by machine early in the morning. Miss Green +and Miss Wallace were accordingly informed of the fact that she would +not return, but, as such irregularities were not encouraged, said +nothing of her absence to the girls. + +That night Vivian was a trifle late for supper, for truth to tell it +had been Vivian whom Imogene had delegated to creep up-stairs with the +water-filled pail, and hang it on a nail already provided above the +door. + +"You're lighter on your feet than I am, Viv," she had explained, "and +no one will hear you. Just because you hang it there doesn't mean that +you're to blame at all. And remember, if to-night Miss Green questions +you, you're to say, 'That's the way they discipline snobbish cow-boys +in Wyoming.'" + +Poor, short-sighted little Vivian, glad to be again in the favor of +her adored Imogene, obediently hung the pail upon the nail, and +descended to the dining-room, looking embarrassed as she took her +seat. Miss Wallace's keen eyes noted the embarrassment, and caught +also a shade of disapproval cross Imogene's face. + +"You must have washed in a hurry, Vivian," whispered the unconscious +Virginia, who sat next her. "There are drops all over your collar." + +Vivian, more embarrassed than ever, raised her napkin to wipe the +drops. Supper proceeded, but Miss Wallace had her clew. + +All through study-hours, while the others worked, unconscious of any +excitement, Dorothy, Imogene, and Vivian waited with bated breath for +the return of Miss Van Rensaelar. But she did not come. At nine-thirty +she had not returned, and there was nothing to do but go to bed and +lie awake listening. The clock struck ten, and stealthy steps were +heard in the corridor. Could that be Katrina returning? No, for she +would never soften her tread for fear of disturbing the sleepers. Who +could it be? Whoever it was was going up the stairs, for they creaked +a little. The girls held their breaths for one long moment. Then--a +frightful splash, followed immediately by a crash and an unearthly +shriek, rent The Hermitage. Those awake and those who had been +sleeping rushed into the hall, in which the light was still burning. +Down the-stairs came a person in a gray flannel wrapper, which clung +in wet folds about her shivering figure, and from every fold of which +ran rivulets of water. The person's scant locks were plastered to her +head, save in front, where from every curl-paper dripped drops as from +an icicle. It was Miss Green! Frightened, furious, forbidding Miss +Green! + +Simultaneously the girls laughed--innocent and guilty alike. No one +could have helped it--at least not they, who were, for the most part, +completely surprised. And Miss Green, it must be admitted, was +excruciatingly funny. She stood in the middle of the hall, dripped and +glared. When she could command her trembling voice: + +"Mary Williams, you are a Senior monitor, and do you laugh at such +outrageous conduct?" + +"I--I beg your pardon, Miss Green," stammered Mary. "I really couldn't +help it. I'm sorry." + +"Will you explain this occurrence?" + +"I really can't, Miss Green. I don't know anything about it." + +At this juncture, hurried steps were heard on the stairs, and Miss +Wallace mercifully appeared. When she saw Miss Green, her own lips +quivered, but she restrained them. The shivering Miss Green explained +the situation in a voice quivering with cold and anger. Then, as if +her own conduct needed explanation: + +"I went up-stairs merely to--to see if the windows were lowered, and +this is what I received. Let us probe this disgusting matter to the +bottom, Miss Wallace." + +"I think you should first get into dry things," Miss Wallace suggested +gently. "Then we will talk matters over. Girls, please go to your +rooms." + +The girls obeyed. + +"One moment, please," Miss Green called imperiously. "Vivian, you were +late at supper. Can you explain this matter. Answer me, can you?" + +Poor frightened Vivian tried to look into Miss Green's glaring eyes, +but failed miserably. She stammered, hesitated, was silent. + +"Answer me, Vivian. What sort of a method of procedure is this?" + +"Please--please, Miss Green, it's--it's--" + +"Well, it's what?" + +"It's the way they discipline sn-snobbish c-cow-boys in Wyoming." + +Utter silence reigned for a few long seconds. Miss Green stared at +each of the mystified girls, until her eye fell upon Virginia, most +mystified of all. + +"For the present, Virginia," she said in measured tones, each one +distinct, "I will inform you that methods which are in vogue upon a +Wyoming ranch are not suitable in a young ladies' boarding-school. I +will see you later." + +She turned to go with Miss Wallace, still dripping, still glaring. +Miss Wallace's face had become stern. + +"Go to your rooms, girls. There will be no talking to-night. Please +remember, Mary." + +"Yes, Miss Wallace," promised the Senior monitor. + +But the mystified Virginia and her wholly indignant room-mate could +not resist some whispers. + +"It's Imogene," whispered Priscilla, on Virginia's bed. "She made +Vivian do it; and now she means to put the blame on you, just because +you told that story about Dick." + +"Oh, she couldn't be so mean, Priscilla!" + +"Yes, she could. She's just that kind. And if Miss Green blames you, +I'm going to tell. I am!" + +This, and much more, went on in whispers in their room, and, for that +matter, in every other. No one could sleep, and a half hour later +every girl heard Miss Wallace's voice at Imogene's door. + +"Imogene, you are to come to my room at once. No, I don't wish you, +Vivian. At once, please, Imogene." + +It was fully an hour later when they heard Imogene reenter her room, +but no one ventured either that night or in the morning to ask any +questions. As for Virginia, she was summoned to no interview, and +suffered no unjust reprimand, save Miss Green's piercing words, which +she wrote, with a half-smile, in the chapter, "Pertaining Especially +to Decorum": + +"I will inform you that methods in vogue upon a Wyoming ranch are not +suitable in a young ladies' boarding-school." + +Miss Van Rensaelar, who returned the next morning, never knew what +deluge she escaped. Imogene's manner forbade any interferences, but +apparently Vivian's life with her room-mate for the next few days was +anything but a happy one. Secret discussions were held in The +Hermitage, and likewise in the other cottages, for the news had +spread; but Imogene and Vivian never attended, and Dorothy, if +present, was silent and strangely embarrassed. + +A week later when the newness of the affair had passed away, and when +other topics occasionally came up for conversation, some news +announced by Miss Green to her classes swept through St. Helen's like +wild-fire. In recognition of years of faithful service, St. Helen's +had presented Miss Green with a fund, with the request that she go to +Athens for two years' study at the Classical School. + +"Another vocation thrust upon her! Horrors! What will she do?" +exclaimed Dorothy, at a meeting held in The Hermitage to discuss this +unexpected, and, I am forced to say, welcome piece of information. + +"Three cheers for St. Helen's!" cried one Blackmore twin. + +"And groans for Athens!" cried the other. + +So just before Christmas, Miss Green departed for Athens; and at the +same time, Katrina Van Rensaelar, deciding to seek education +elsewhere, left for a place in which her ancestors would be more +appreciated. + +"And to be perfectly frank, daddy dear," wrote Virginia, "it's a +welcome exodus!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE VIGILANTES + + +The weeks immediately following the Christmas holidays were always +hard ones at St. Helen's. This year was no exception to the experience +of every other year. The weather was cold and snowy, the girls were +homesick, or, as was too often the case, half ill and listless from +too many sweets and too much gayety during the vacation. Lessons were +often poorly learned or not learned at all. In short, the St. Helen's +faculty dreaded January, and the St. Helen's girls hated it. + +"It's the worst month in the whole year," remarked Priscilla, standing +by her window one Saturday afternoon, and watching a cold northeast +storm whirl the snow-flakes from a gray, forbidding sky. "January's +the out-of-sorts month, and every one in this whole school is +out-of-sorts, too. I wish it were Christmas over again!" + +"So do I," said Virginia from the other window. + +Virginia had just caught the out-of-sorts epidemic. For a week at +least after her return from Vermont, the memory of her own joyous +Christmas had kept her happy. It had been such a lovely two weeks! She +and her grandmother had grown to be such good friends. Virginia +actually dared believe that her grandmother did not now disapprove of +her in the least. She and Aunt Nan had had such a happy, jolly +vacation; and even the Rev. Samuel Baxter had been most gracious, not +once mentioning Korean missions or the sale of Bibles. But even +memories were not proof against a general atmosphere of discontent, +and she was beginning to be infected. + +"There goes Dorothy in all this snow," announced Priscilla a moment +later. "She's carrying books, too. Where's she going, I wonder?" + +She rapped on the window. Dorothy either did not hear or did not +choose to. The latter would be more thoroughly in keeping with her +January disposition. + +"I know. She's failed in geometry every day since we came back, and +has to take private lessons with Miss Wells. Of course she didn't tell +me, but I know she's failed because she's in my division. Bess Shepard +told me yesterday that Dorothy was going to take lessons with her of +Miss Wells in the afternoon. Bess was sick, you know, and she's making +up lost time. That's how I know." + +Priscilla turned suddenly from the window and sat down on the couch. + +"Virginia," she said, "I'm desperately worried about Dorothy. It isn't +being untrue to her to talk with you about her, because you are her +friend, too. She isn't a bit the way she was last year. She doesn't +seem to care about lots of things the way she did then and when she +was at our house this summer. Don't you think she's different from +what she was even in September?" + +Virginia left the window and sat beside her roommate. + +"Yes," she said, "she is different. She laughs at things now that she +didn't then; and she seems to be afraid of taking sides about things. +I mean, whether anything's fair or not. She never likes to say what +she thinks any more, like she used to." + +"That's Imogene. I think it's almost all Imogene." Priscilla's voice +was lowered to a whisper. "Dorothy likes Imogene because she has such +a don't-care way about things, and because she has so much money, and +dresses better than any girl in school, though _I_ think her clothes +are a sight! Mother thought Dorothy was different when she was here +Thanksgiving. She noticed it. I wish Imogene Meredith had never come +here!" + +Virginia's voice was also lowered. "She doesn't give Vivian a chance +either. I think Vivian's dear and sweet; but Imogene makes her do +everything she says, and poor Vivian's so easily influenced, she does +it. You know what I'm thinking about especially?" + +Priscilla nodded. She knew. They were both thinking of the "Flood," as +St. Helen's now termed it, and of how Imogene had tried to shift the +blame from her own shoulders on those of poor Vivian and unconscious +Virginia. + +"Of course I know. I told you then 'twas just like her. And Dorothy +knew about that, too. I'm sure she did! She's so quiet whenever it's +mentioned, and looks ashamed. And lately Dorothy's even been teasing +Vivian, just as Imogene does, about that silly Leslie, who always +gives Vivian extra large cakes at the 'Forget-me-not.' Oh, dear! I +don't suppose there's anything I can do, but it worries me. Dorothy's +my best friend along with you, and I don't want her to grow like +Imogene. Can you keep a secret if I tell you one?" + +"Of course, I can." + +"Well, Dorothy visited Imogene at Christmas time. Not the whole +vacation, because she spent most of it with her aunt in New York. You +know, her mother is dead, and her father is in California most of the +time, so she spends vacations with her aunt. She was there for a week +and a half, and then she went to Albany and visited Imogene, and that +is why they came back together. They were late, too, because they +stayed for a party Imogene gave. And the thing I mind most is that +Dorothy never told she'd been there at all, just as though it were a +secret. Only Vivian was at the party, and she mentioned it just as +though I knew. Mother asked Dorothy to come home with me--mother feels +sorry that she hasn't really any family like ours--but Dorothy said her +aunt wasn't going to let her go anywhere this vacation. It isn't that +I minded her not coming to us, you know, but I don't like to have her +so much with Imogene, and, besides, I can't see why they keep it so +secret." + +Priscilla finished, troubled. Virginia was troubled, too, for she +loved Dorothy, even though of late Dorothy had not seemed to care so +much for her. She remembered the day she had first seen Priscilla and +Dorothy at the station, and Dorothy's resolutions in regard to grades. + +"Dorothy hasn't gotten all _A's_ the way she planned in September, has +she?" + +"I think she had _B's_ on her fall card, because she was ashamed of +it, and wouldn't show it to mother at Thanksgiving. I know she hasn't +done so well in class as she did last year. Miss Wallace and Miss +Allan have reproved her more than once. And you know the house-meeting +we had when Mary said The Hermitage couldn't win the scholarship cup +away from Hathaway unless some of us who were getting _B's_, got _A's_ +for a change? Well, Dorothy just cut Mary for two days after that, and +she isn't nice to her now. It does seem too bad when we've decided to +try extra hard for the cup that Imogene and Dorothy pull us down. Even +Vivian's been getting _A's_, and Lucile's doing better all the time, +isn't she?" + +"Yes, she is. Even in English she's really trying; and she's fine in +French and Latin and geometry. Do you think Dorothy likes Miss Wallace +as much as she used?" + +"That's Imogene again. She called Miss Wallace Dorothy's 'idol' all +the fall in that sneering way she has, and now Dorothy acts ashamed to +show she loves Miss Wallace. She doesn't go to see her the way she did +last year. Last year, if she were troubled about anything, she went +right to Miss Wallace. Oh, dear, what shall we do?" + +Virginia did not answer for a moment. She was thinking. + +"Isn't life queer?" she said at last thoughtfully. "It all goes +crooked when you most want it to go straight. But I have an idea, +Priscilla. Let's be Vigilantes!" + +"Vi-gi-lan-tes! What's that?" + +"Why, don't you know about the Vigilantes? No, I don't suppose you do. +Even Miss Wallace didn't till I told her. Why, the Vigilantes were +brave men in the early days when the Pioneers were just going into +Montana and Wyoming and the other States out there. You see, when they +discovered that those States had such rich lands for wheat, and hills +for cattle, and gold mines--especially the gold--people just flocked +there by thousands. And, of course, there were many thieves and +cutthroats and lawless men who went, too, and they just became the +terror of the country. + +"They rode swift horses, and they knew all the passes in the +mountains. When they heard a train of men and horses was coming from +the mines, they would lie in wait in the mountains and come down upon +them, steal their gold and horses and murder any who resisted. It +wasn't safe to take any journeys in those days." + +"Well, but why did the people allow it? Why weren't they arrested?" +Priscilla in her interest had forgotten all about being out-of-sorts. + +"Why, you see the people couldn't help it at first. The country was so +very new that law hadn't been made. The government did send judges out +there; but there were so many lawless men that they threatened even +the judges; and, besides, these robbers were perfectly wonderful +shots, and they would scare the people so terribly that they were glad +to get away with their lives. + +"But by and by things grew so bad, and so many innocent persons who +dared oppose the robbers were shot down, that some men banded +together, and called themselves the Vigilantes. They pledged +themselves to watch out for evil-doers, to stand for fair play, and to +put a stop to robbery and murder. Of course, it was very hard at +first, and many of the Vigilantes lost their lives; but pretty soon +other bands were formed in the other towns, and they kept on, no +matter how discouraged they were at times. They used to post signs on +the roads that led to towns; and sometimes they would draw in red +chalk on a cliff or even on the paving in town, warning the robbers +and murderers that if they came into that place they would be +captured." + +"What did they do if they captured them?" + +"They most usually hung them to a tree. The big tall cottonwoods out +there are called 'gallows trees,' because they used to hang so many to +their branches. It seems wicked now, of course," Virginia explained, +seeing the horror on Priscilla's face, "to kill them like +that--sometimes even without a trial. But really, Priscilla, they +couldn't do anything else in order to save the good people from +danger." + +"No, of course, they couldn't. Mustn't it have been exciting?" + +"Exciting? I rather think it was exciting! Jim used to tell me about +it. There was one place in Montana named Virginia City where there +were many of the Vigilantes. You see, there were very rich gold mines +there, and that meant there were lawless men, too. Jim was there once, +and he could remember some of the Vigilantes. He said there was one +awful man who had killed scores of persons, and who was the terror of +the whole country. And the strangest part of it was, he was +nice-looking and talked like a gentleman. The Vigilantes watched for +him for ten years before they got him." + +"Did they hang him from a cottonwood, too?" + +"Yes; and Jim said when they had put the rope around his neck, and +were just going to lead his horse from under him he burst out laughing +at them all, and said, 'Good-by, boys. I'm mighty sorry I can't tell +you by and by how it feels to be hung. It's the only Western +experience I've never enjoyed.'" + +"After all he certainly was brave to die like that, laughing. He had +Margaret of Salisbury's spirit. I always loved her, especially when +she said if they wanted her head they must take it with her standing. +Virginia, you know more thrilling stories than any one I ever knew. It +just makes me wild to go away out there and visit you. Do you suppose +I ever shall?" + +"Yes, I just know you're coming. I shouldn't wonder if this very next +summer. I feel it inside me. We can be Vigilantes for sure out there. +That's just where they belong. But don't you think we could be sort of +Vigilantes here--standing as they did for fair play and "--she lowered +her voice "watching out for evil-doers?" + +Priscilla was enthusiastic over the idea. It seemed so different and +original. Besides, it really did mean something to try to stand for +fair play, and to watch out for anything--any evil influence, for +example--that might harm those you loved. + +"We'll especially try to see that Vivian isn't so easily influenced," +Virginia whispered, "and we'll try our best to help Dorothy to be like +she used to be. Only they mustn't know we're trying. That would spoil +it all." + +"Shall we ask any one else to join?" asked Priscilla. + +"We might ask Mary. She's really a Vigilante anyway, being a monitor." + +"Suppose we tell her about it, and ask her to be adviser. You see, +where she's monitor, she can't take sides just as we can, and maybe +she'd think she'd better not join. It's going to be a Secret +Organization, isn't it?" + +"Oh, of course. Secret things always seem more important. Let's draw +up the constitution this minute. I like to feel settled." + +Pen and ink were found, and within fifteen minutes the composition of +the organization was complete, Virginia being the Thomas Jefferson of +the occasion. + +"I'll read it aloud," said the author, "so that we can tell if it +sounds right. + + "'We, the undersigned, on this 20th day of a sad January, do + hereby announce in the sacred presence of each other, that we + are Vigilantes of St. Helen's. We are bound by our honor as + friends and room-mates to secrecy, and to an earnest + performance of our work as true Vigilantes. We deplore the + evil influence of ---- ----, and we promise to strive to off-set + that influence especially in regard to ---- ---- and ---- ----. + We are going to try to stand at all times for fair play, and + real friendship. We appoint ---- ---- as our trusted adviser. At + present we are the sole members of the Vigilante Order. + + "'Signed + "'Priscilla Alden Winthrop. + "'Virginia Webster Hunter.' + +"I put blanks instead of names," explained Virginia, signing her name +after Priscilla. "It seems more like an organization some way, and, +besides, we understand. Now, we are real Vigilantes, Priscilla." + +They shook hands solemnly. The paper was sealed with an extravagant +amount of sealing wax, and stuffed with much secrecy into a rent of +Virginia's mattress. Then the two Vigilantes, feeling much revived in +spirits, invited the disconsolate Vivian to join them, and went for a +walk in the snow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + + +"Don't they hurt a bit, Jean?" + +"No, of course not." + +"Don't you feel at all sick either?" + +"No, just mad! What's in that bag, Virginia?" + +"Pop-corn. Can you eat it?" + +"I should say I can. Haven't had anything but disgusting cream toast +for four days. Put it under the letters so no one will see. What's +that in the box, Priscilla?" + +"Peggy Norris' white mice she bought down town. They're only a loan +for to-day. Open the box right off or they'll smother." + +"What do you do all day, Jean?" + +"Oh, learn things by heart mostly. Miss Wood won't let me read, so I +just glance and then recite. It's a comfort. I've learned the +Ninety-first Psalm and 'Annabel Lee' and 'Drink to Me Only with Thine +Eyes' and the 'Address at Gettysburg' and 'One Thought of Marcus +Aurelius.' I call that quite good." + +"How do you know you're going to have them anyway, Jean?" + +"Oh, you hate everybody for two days, and your eyes water the third. +Is it all ready? Shall I pull? Be sure the mice are right side up. +Here goes then!" + +The taller Blackmore twin in a red wrapper and a bandaged throat +leaned out of her window and pulled on a rope, at the end of which +dangled a waste-basket filled with bags, envelopes, and boxes. Below, +in the snow, stood half a dozen sympathizers who had brought the +"morning post" to their comrade, confined to her room with the German +Measles. + +Judging from the patient's alacrity in securing the basket she was not +suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the +morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom +in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the +basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice, +leaned farther out of the window. + +"Don't go. I'll look my mail over later. It's fine of you to come. Any +more caught?" + +"Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore +throat." + +"Then she's probably just starting out." + +"My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason." This from Vivian. + +"Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too." + +"Are you all over speckles, Jean?" + +"Pretty much so!" + +The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. +All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of +danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one +accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the +closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed +therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean's door. Then +Jean's voice, pathetically lowered, + +"Come in." + +The door opened. + +"Jeannette," said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees +recognized as Miss Wood's. "Jeannette, don't you feel the draught from +that open window?" + +"No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air." + +"Didn't I hear you talking a moment since?" + +"Perhaps," said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. "I recite a +great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words +to some of the girls who came beneath the window." + +"You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel +better this morning?" + +"Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you." + +Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient's head. + +"You seem very cool--a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste? +It's nourishing, and won't hurt your throat." + +"Oh, it would be delicious, I'm sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really +believe I'm a little hungry." + +Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly +recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that +cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she +once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood's +reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across +the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly "tidying" +of their rooms. + +"Virginia," said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some +letters, "I just know I'm going to have them. I was with Jean all one +afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you'll have them +when I do!" + +"So do I. 'Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one. +And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth +the regular measles, not to mention German. You don't feel +out-of-sorts yet, do you?" + +"No, I'll tell you when I do, or you'll probably know anyway. Isn't +Jean a scream? Probably she was in bed when Miss Wood got there." + +"She's dear. Why don't she and Jess room together?" + +"My dear, the whole faculty rose up in arms this year when they +suggested it. They tried it exactly three weeks last year, and Miss +Wood nearly resigned. One is bad enough, but the two are awful! They +think up the most fearful things to do. Why, the summer before last, +they'd been in England all summer, and had seen all kinds of new +things. Well, the first thing they did when they got back to St. +Helen's was to play chimney-sweep. Jess had seen them in London and +she couldn't rest to see how it felt to be in a chimney. So, one day, +she put on some black tights and an old Jersey of her brother's, and +made a tall hat out of paste-board. Then they went up on the roof of +Hathaway, and Jean helped her get up on the chimney, and she dropped +down. The chimney's wide, you know, and she dropped straight down, +making an awful noise and loosening all the soot, right into the +living-room fire-place. Miss King and Bishop Hughes were calling on +Miss Wood just then, though, of course, Jess didn't know that. Down +she came, feet first, into the grate, and scared Miss King and Miss +Wood and the Bishop all but to death. She was all over soot, and was a +sight! The Bishop laughs about it every time he comes." + +Virginia laughed and laughed. As long as she had been at St. Helen's +she had never heard that story. + +"The thing that Jean's crossest about," Priscilla continued, "is the +Gordon dance on Washington's Birthday. Her cousin asked her to come, +and she's afraid Miss Wood won't let her go." + +"Why, she'll be all right by then, won't she? The speckles are most +gone already, and the dance is two weeks off." + +"I know, but Miss Wood is very careful, and, besides, Jess told her +that Jean was subject to tonsillitis. Oh, dear, I was sort of hoping +that Carver Standish would invite me! You see, I've never been to a +really big dance in the evening in my life. But I guess he's not going +to. Jean got her invitation yesterday." + +But when they reached The Hermitage and their own room, Priscilla +found the coveted envelope, with a card bearing the name "Carver +Standish III," and a note saying it would be "downright rotten," if +anything prevented her coming. Priscilla ran at once to ask for Miss +Wallace's chaperonage, but, when she returned, a worried expression +had replaced the joyous one on her face. + +"Won't she go with you?" + +"Yes, she'll go; but, Virginia, I just remembered the German Measles. +They don't look so much like a blessing as they did a few minutes ago. +What if I do get them? Oh, Virginia, what if I do? If I'm going to +have them, I wish I'd get them right away, and then I'd be all over +them in a week. Isn't there some way they can be hurried up if they're +inside of you?" + +Virginia was for a few moments lost in contemplation. Then apparently +she remembered. + +"Why, of course, there is," she said. "I remember all about it now. If +they're really inside of you, hot things will bring them out. When +they thought I had the mumps once, Hannah said 'Steam them out, dear. +If they're there, they'll come.' And they did come out. I've heard +Hannah say that over and over again. Don't you worry, Priscilla. We'll +use all the hot things we know, and try to bring them out, and, if +they don't come, you can be reasonably sure they're not inside of you. +If I were you, I'd begin right off. I'd put on a sweater, and sit over +the register. I'd just bake! To-night we'll get extra blankets and hot +water bottles, and in a day or two I believe we'll have them out. It's +lucky to-morrow is Sunday." + +"I just know they're inside," wailed Priscilla, buttoning her sweater, +as she sat over the register. "My! It's hot here! Would you think of +hot things, too? You know we said we believed that thoughts were +powerful." + +"I certainly do believe it. Yes, I believe I'd let my mind dwell on +Vesuvius and the burning of Rome, and things like--like crematories and +bonfires and the Equator. If there's anything in thought suggestion +that certainly will help. It won't harm anyway. Are you awfully +uncomfortable?" + +"Very hot. Would you really stay here all the afternoon?" + +"Yes, I would, and most of to-morrow. If, by to-morrow night, there +aren't any signs, I'll believe the danger's past Let's not tell +anybody what we're doing. If Miss Wallace thought you expected them, +she might think you ought not to go." + +"Does Hannah know all about sickness?" + +"She certainly does. Why, everybody for miles around comes to her for +advice, and trusts her just as though she were a doctor. Really, +Priscilla, I know she'd do just this way if she were here." + +The reassured Priscilla sweltered over the register most of the +afternoon. When evening came, she was somewhat out-of-sorts. "Maybe +the hating everybody has begun," thought her room-mate as she filled +hot water-bottles. They had borrowed all in The Hermitage, except Miss +Wallace's and Miss Baxter's (Miss Baxter was Miss Green's more popular +successor)--much to the unsatisfied wonder of the household. Priscilla +turned uneasily all night in a nest of hot water-bottles and extra +blankets. In the morning there were no signs of measles, except +perhaps a somewhat peevish disposition. + +"And that's not measles, Virginia, I'll have you to know!" the owner +of the disposition announced fretfully. "It's just from being burned +alive! Now, I'm not going to do another thing, so you might just as +well put away those two suits of underwear. One's enough!" + +"Well," said Virginia a little doubtfully, as she folded the extra +suit and replaced it in the drawer; "well, it does seem as though if +they'd been coming they would have come after all that steaming. I +wish Hannah were here! She'd know. But, if I were you, Priscilla, I'd +just keep thinking I wasn't going to have them. That will probably +help." + +This prescription compared to the preceding one was easy to follow, +and all through the next two weeks Priscilla, when she remembered it, +maintained that she was not to have the German Measles! For the rest +of the time, which was by far the larger portion, she was perfectly +oblivious as to even the possibility of her having them, so elated was +she over her preparation for the Gordon dance. She and Miss Wallace +and Jean Blackmore, who was really to be allowed to go after all, were +to make the journey, a distance of twenty-five miles, by automobile. +The two weeks dragged their days slowly along, but at last Thursday +night arrived, and Priscilla, with a happy heart, surveyed for the +last time that day her new dress, which her mother had sent from home. + +"Just one more night to wait," she said, as she got into bed. "Oh, +Virginia, I wish you were a Junior! I don't see why Miss King won't +let new girls go. Carver said if you only could, he would have asked +you, because his grandfather had told him so much about you, and his +room-mate, Robert Stuart, whom I've met, would have asked me. Then we +could have gone together." + +"I don't mind. It's been such fun getting you ready. Maybe next year +we'll both go. Isn't it the luckiest thing you haven't had them at +all?" + +"It certainly is! It just shows how powerful thought is! Really, I +have more faith in it than ever. You see, if they were inside of me, +they didn't get any attention, and probably decided not to come out." + +"Well, if they'd been there, they would have come out with all that +heat, I'm sure," said Virginia, still faithful to Hannah. "But it +doesn't matter whether they were there or not, just so long as they're +not here. Good-night." + +In the gray early morning Virginia was rudely awakened by some one +shaking her. She sat up in bed to find Priscilla desperately shaking +her with one hand and the witch-hazel bottle with the other. Priscilla +was apparently in trouble. What could be the matter? She sat up, +dazed, half-asleep. + +"Why, what is it? What's the matter? Was the dance lovely? Did you +have a good time?" + +At these last remarks Priscilla wept. + +"Oh, wake up!" she cried. "It's only Friday. I haven't been to the +dance at all, and probably I can't go, because I've got them; yes, I +have! My head aches, and my throat's sore, and I'm hot, and my eyes +run, and I hate everybody, and I'll be lumpy and speckled right away--I +_know_ I shall! Oh, what shall I do?" + +The last sentence ended in a long, heart-broken wail, which brought +the still dazed Virginia thoroughly to her senses. She sprang from +bed, turned on the light, and scrutinized the disconsolate Priscilla. +Yes, her cheeks were most assuredly flushed, and her eyes were +watery--from tears. Virginia was mistress of the situation. + +"Now, Priscilla," she commanded, "you go back to bed. You're _going_ +to that dance. Remember that! I've got an idea. If heat will bring the +things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We'll fill the hot +water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you'll feel +better. See if you don't. And you won't get speckled to-day anyway, +because Jean Blackmore didn't till two days after they started; and +even if you do behind your ears it won't matter. Stop crying, or +somebody'll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you're sick." + +This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to +the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By +breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and +she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after +each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for +the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia +tacked an "Asleep" sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous +treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time +filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An +ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room, +adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes. +The poor child's thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward +Eskimos and the Alps, and "such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and +icebergs." For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read "Snowbound" +to her. + +But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable +speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere. +Priscilla's cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her +head ached; but her spirit was undaunted. + +"My dear, you don't look well," Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they +left the dining-room, and went to dress. "Are you sure you're well?" + +"Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I'm just hot because I'm excited. My cheeks +always get red then What time does the machine come?" + +"In an hour, I think. You're sure you're all right, Priscilla?" + +"Oh, yes, thank you!" Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before +Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. "Come +on, Virginia, and help me dress." + +Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she +did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to +St. Helen's relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to +three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little +over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There +was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began +to dress. + +Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was +dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further +speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into +bed, where she most assuredly belonged. + +"Don't you feel a single bit better, dear?" + +"Oh, yes, I guess so--I don't know. I feel sort of loose inside, as +though I weren't connected. But I'll feel better driving over. Oh, +Virginia, talcum powder my ears. They're perfect danger signals. _Is_ +that a speckle on my neck? Oh, say it isn't!" + +"Of course, it isn't! It's only a wee pimple. I'll talcum powder it, +too. There! You look just lovely! Shan't I let the others in now? +They're cross as hops, because we've both been so secret, and we don't +want to rouse suspicion." + +Priscilla assented, and Virginia unlocked the door to the house in +general. + +"Too bad you're so exclusive!" + +"Even if we're not asked, we might see the fun of getting ready." + +"You look perfectly heavenly, Priscilla!" + +"It's a love of a dress!" + +"Mercy, Priscilla, what makes your ears so red?" + +"I'll bet you've gotten them frost-bitten!" + +"They certainly look it!" + +"Your cheeks are red, too, but it's becoming!" + +"What makes your eyes shine so?" + +Here the uneasy Virginia felt as though a reply were necessary. + +"Why, because she's happy, of course. You act just like Red Riding +Hood talking to the wolf, Dorothy." + +Fortunately, just when inquiries were becoming too personal, Jean +Blackmore entered, and claimed attention. + +"Jean, you're actually pretty!" + +"You really are, Jean." + +"Thank you. I'm sure that's nice of you." + +"That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an +apple-blossom." + +"You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here's the machine now, and +Miss Wallace is calling." + +They went down-stairs, the house following. + +"Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!" + +The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old +blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla's gift, at her +waist. + +"Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!" + +"You're just beautiful, Miss Wallace!" + +"No one will think you're a chaperon." + +"They'll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace." + +"Oh, girls, you'll quite spoil me," said the chaperon, and looked more +charming than ever. "Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat +collar. I'm afraid you've caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that +scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter's out. But I know +you will. Good-night." + +The car rolled away into the darkness, and the girls went up-stairs, +talking things over as they went. + +"Isn't Miss Wallace the sweetest thing?" + +"Something's the matter with Priscilla. She wasn't talking. What is +it, Virginia?" + +"Oh, she's excited, and perhaps--perhaps, she doesn't feel exactly +well." Virginia felt more free, now that Priscilla was safely on her +way. + + * * * * * + +At the Gordon school all was excitement. Boys in white trousers waited +impatiently at the gates, as the automobiles and carriages approached, +to greet their friends and conduct them to the brilliantly lighted and +beautifully decorated gymnasium. This annual dance on Washington's +Birthday was the one real social function, outside Commencement, +allowed at Gordon, and its importance was greatly felt by the young +hosts. + +Priscilla, strangely shivery, tried to reply easily to Carver's +remarks, as they went up the walk toward the gymnasium. + +"Isn't it lucky you didn't catch those things? I was dead scared you +would when you wrote me." + +"Yes, it's--it is lucky." + +"My! Your cheeks are red, Priscilla. Just the way they used to be +after swimming. Say, but you're looking great!" + +"Am I?" + +"Isn't Bob Stuart a corker? He decorated the whole gym. Never saw +flags look any better, did you?" + +"No, it's awfully pretty. I--I think I'll sit down, Carver, till +dancing begins." + +"Sure. Of course. I'll run and get Bob. He has three with you. Excuse +me just a moment." + +How Priscilla ever managed to dance the ten dances before +intermission, she never knew. Her cheeks grew redder, her eyes +brighter, her poor head spun as though never-ending wheels, eternally +wound up, were to whirl around forever. Sometimes the lights of the +gymnasium blurred, and something sang in her ears; but still she +smiled and moved her feet. At the end of each dance when her charge +was returned to her to await the arrival of her partner for the next, +Miss Wallace grew more and more anxious. + +"Priscilla dear, I'm sure you're ill. What is it?" + +"Really, Miss Wallace, I've just a headache. Oh, don't make me stop, +please!" + +But at intermission--that blessed time when one could rest and close +her eyes when nobody looked her way--at intermission while they sat in +Carver's study and ate ice-cream and cake, Priscilla all at once gave +a little worn-out sigh, and fainted quite away. Poor Carver Standish +III was all consternation. Had he tired her out? Hadn't there been +enough air in the room? Had he done anything he shouldn't? He plied +Miss Wallace with anxious questionings while a guest, who by good +fortune happened to be a doctor, bent over Priscilla. + +But Priscilla, coming to herself just then, answered his questions. + +"No, you haven't done a thing, Carver. It's the German Measles. They +wouldn't stay frozen in!" + +Then, to the greatly amused doctor, and to the greatly disturbed Miss +Wallace, and the greatly relieved Carver, the patient told in a weak +little voice of how they had tried two weeks ago to steam them out; +and how, when they had unexpectedly come that morning, they had, with +doubtful logic, striven to freeze them in. The doctor, though he +looked grave, laughed as though he never could stop; and it all ended +by his taking her and Miss Wallace home in his own machine, leaving +Jean to be chaperoned by her aunt, and a sympathetic but indignant +host, who thought they ought to let him go along. + +Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called +upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven +o'clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was +unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried +in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress--a figure, who cried in a +muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her: + +"Oh, Virginia, 'twas no use. They came out all the same!" + +"So this is the other member of the new medical school," announced the +gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. "Miss Virginia, I'm +honored to meet you!" + +The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace's +room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady +returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be +much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour +later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen's nurse, in +charge. + +But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had +been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate. + +"Oh, Priscilla," she moaned. "I'm so sorry! I thought 'twas just the +right thing to do." + +"It was," said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to +steaming had been prescribed. "It was, Virginia! Else I never could +have gone, and I wouldn't have missed the one half I had for the +world. Only I've just thought of the awful result! I've probably given +them to Carver and all the others; and he'll never invite me again! +Oh, why didn't we think?" + +Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss +Wallace's room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the +awful consequences to Colonel Standish's grandson. But both she and +Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the +solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers +and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had +ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note: + + "Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19--. + + "Dear Priscilla: + + "I've got them, and so has Bob, and the four other + fellows you danced with. Don't mind, because we're + all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort, + let us out of the February exams and we're some happy, + I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of + new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you + were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob + and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom + grandfather's always cracking up to me. + + "Your speckled friend, + "Carver Standish." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + + +The March days came hurrying on--gray and wind-blown and showery--but +rather merry for all that. All signs bore tokens of an early spring. A +flock of geese had already gone over, crows were flapping across St. +Helen's snow-freed meadow, and robins and song-sparrows felt quite at +home. There was a misty, indistinct blur in the tops of the maple +trees, quite as though wet buds were swelling. Under the pine trees by +the Retreat, tiny, furry heads were peeping above the needles, +hepaticas just awakening. The waters of the brook, freed from ice, +tore boisterously through the meadow; and along its weedy edges the +water-rats, having left their tunnels in the banks, scurried on +secret, silent errands. Everywhere there was a strange fragrance of +freshly-washed things--soft brown earth, buds ready to burst, tender +shoots of plants. Yes, spring was unmistakably near, and the St. +Helen's girls were ready for its coming. + +It was on a Saturday afternoon, the last in March, that Virginia +walked alone down the hill, through the pine woods, and across the +road to the pastures and woodlands opposite. She would have loved +company, but Priscilla, Lucile, and the Blackmore twins were playing +tennis finals in the gym, the Seniors were enjoying an afternoon tea, +Vivian was nowhere to be found, and, in the hope of persuading Dorothy +to go with her, she had again interrupted a secret conference between +Dorothy and Imogene, which conferences, to the watchful and troubled +Vigilantes, were becoming more and more frequent. The whole campus +seemed deserted, she thought, as she started from The Hermitage. +Perhaps, the opening of the "Forget-me-not" soda fountain--another sign +of spring--accounted for that. + +It was wet underfoot and gray overhead, but she did not mind. She was +bound for the pastures on the other side of the road leading to +Hillcrest, for there Miss Wallace had said she might even this early +find the mayflowers of which her mother had so often told her. As she +went along, jumping over the little spring brooks and pools in the +hollows, she thought of how spring was also coming to her own dear +country. Her father's letter that morning had told her of budding +quaking-asps, of red catkins on the cottonwoods, of green foot-hills, +and of tiny yellow butter-cups and the little lavender pasque-flowers, +which came first of all the spring blossoms. In a few weeks more those +foot-hills would be gay with violets and spring beauties, anemones and +shooting-stars. + +She crawled between the gray, moss-covered bars of a fence which +separated the two pastures, and went toward some deeper woodland where +pines and firs grew. Here, Miss Wallace said, she would be likely to +find them. She looked sharply for brown, clustered leaves, which +always deceived one as to the wealth beneath them. At last on a little +mossy knoll, in a clearing among the pines, she found what she sought. +Kneeling eagerly on the damp ground, she searched with careful fingers +through the brown leaves. Green leaves revealed themselves. She +smelled the sweetest fragrance imaginable--the fragrance of flowers and +brown earth and fresh leaves all in one. She looked beneath the green +leaves; and there, with their pale pink faces almost buried in the +moss, she found the first mayflowers of the spring. + +Tenderly she raised the tendrils from the moss and grass, and examined +the tiny blossoms, in whose centers the hoar frost of winter seemed to +linger. These then were the flowers her New England mother had so +loved. Years before, perhaps in this very spot, her mother had come to +search for them. She almost hated to pluck them--they looked so cozy +lying there against the brown earth, but she wanted to send them to +her grandmother for her mother's birthday. On other knolls and around +the gray pasture rocks, even at the foot of the fir trees, she found +more buds and a few opened blossoms. Her mother had long ago taught +her Whittier's "Song to the Mayflowers," and she said some of the +verses which she still remembered, as she sat beneath the trees, and +pulled away the dead leaves from the flowers' trailing stems. + + "O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine dark glen. + + "Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + "So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers." + +For an hour she roamed about the woods, finding evergreen to line her +box for the flowers, and some cheery partridge vine, whose green +leaves and red berries seemed quite untouched by the winter's snow. It +was quiet in among the trees. She was glad after all that she had come +alone. At school one needed to be away from the girls once in a while +just to get acquainted with oneself. + +She climbed upon a great gray rock in the open pasture, and sat there +thinking of the months at St. Helen's--remembering it all from the day +she had left her father. She was glad that she had come--glad that in +her father's last letter he had said she was to return after a summer +at home. Priscilla was to return, too, a Senior--perhaps, she would be +monitor like Mary--and they were to room together as they had this +year. The Blackmore twins had petitioned for Mary and Anne's room, +promising upon their sacred honor to be models of behavior; and Miss +King and Miss Wallace were considering their request. Virginia did +hope it would be granted, for she loved Jess and Jean clearly. Dorothy +would return. Would Imogene, too, she wondered? It might be mean to +hope that she would not, but she did hope that. + +From the rock where she sat a portion of the Hillcrest road was +visible. She was still thinking of Imogene and Dorothy, when a red and +a white sweater appeared on the distant road moving in the direction +of St. Helen's. "Dorothy and Imogene on the way home from Hillcrest," +she thought to herself. They were walking very close together, +apparently reading something, for Virginia could see something white +held between them. All at once they stopped, looked up and down the +road, and then disappeared among the bushes that edged the roadside. +Virginia was about to call them, thinking perhaps they had seen her, +and were coming through the pastures to where she was; but before she +had time even to call, they reappeared, and walked more hurriedly +toward the school. This time they were not close together, and the +paper had disappeared. + +The founder of the Vigilantes, perplexed by this strange behavior, did +not move until the two girls had turned into the driveway of St. +Helen's. Then she jumped from the rock. She would go back across the +pastures to the gate which she had entered, then turn down the road +and investigate. She felt like a true Vigilante, indeed! Something was +in the air! She had felt it the moment she discovered Imogene and +Dorothy in secret conference. Perhaps, in the roadside bushes she +would find the solution. Had the girls been Mary and Anne, Virginia +would never have questioned. Moreover, she would have felt like a spy +in suspecting their behavior. But Imogene had long given good cause +for righteous suspicion; and were not the Vigilantes pledged to guard +against evil-doers? + +She hurried across the pastures. The sun, which had been out of sight +all day, now at time of setting shone out clear and bright and was +reflected in every little pool. She reached the gate, closed it behind +her, and was about to turn down the road, when she saw sitting on a +rock by St. Helen's gate a weary, worn-looking woman with a child. +Something in the woman's expression made Virginia forget the errand +upon which she was bent. She looked more than discouraged--almost +desperate. The little girl by her side sat upon a shabby satchel, and +regarded her mother with sad, questioning eyes. There was something +about them so lonely and pathetic that Virginia's eyes filled with +quick tears. She crossed the road and went up to them. + +"Are--are you in any trouble?" she asked hesitatingly. "Can I help +you?" + +The woman in turn hesitated before she answered. But this young lady +was apparently not like the two who had passed her but a moment +before. She looked at her little girl, whose tired eyes were red from +crying. Then she answered Virginia. + +"I'm in a deal of trouble," she said slowly. "I've been sick, and +we've spent our money; and because we were three months back on the +rent, we were turned out this morning. I'm looking for work--any kind +will do--and I came to Hillcrest because I was hoping to get it at the +school there. I've heard tell of how Miss King is very kind; but the +two young ladies, who passed here just a few minutes ago, said there +was no work there at all. I guess they didn't have much time for the +likes of me. Do you go there, too?" + +"Yes," said Virginia. "But they don't know whether there's any work or +not at St. Helen's. I don't know either; but I know Miss King would +like to find some for you if she could. Anyway, I want you to come to +our cottage to supper with me. You are my guests--you and--what is the +little girl's name?" + +"Mary. And I'm Mrs. Michael Murphy. But, miss, you don't mean come to +supper with you? You see, we ain't fit." + +"Yes, you are perfectly fit. Saturday night no one dresses up. Please +come, and then you can see Miss King after supper. You'd like to come, +wouldn't you, Mary?" + +Poor little Mary cared not for etiquette. Besides, she was plainly +hungry. She pulled her mother's dress. + +"Please go, mother. Please!" + +Virginia smiled at her eagerness. "Of course you'll come, Mrs. Murphy. +My name's Virginia--Virginia Hunter. Let me help with your satchel, +please. Come on, Mary." + +With one hand she helped Mrs. Murphy with the satchel, while she gave +the other to Mary, and they started up the hill--Virginia never once +thinking that her new friends would not be as welcome guests as those +who were often bidden to The Hermitage, Mary, untroubled by +conventions and happy at the thought of supper, Mrs. Michael Murphy, +secretly troubled, but compelled to snatch at any hope of work. + +"You're not from these parts, I take it from your talk," Mrs. Murphy +remarked as they neared the campus. + +"No, I'm from Wyoming. It's a long way from here." + +"You're sure--I'm afraid--the ladies at your cottage mightn't like Mary +and me coming this way." + +"Please don't think that, Mrs. Murphy," Virginia reassured her. "We're +always allowed to invite guests to supper. It's quite all right, +truly." + +But Mrs. Murphy in her secret heart was not assured. She looked really +frightened as they neared The Hermitage; but Virginia, talking with +Mary, did not notice, nor did she heed the astonished and somewhat +amused looks of the girls whom they passed. + +The supper-bell was ringing just as they opened the door, and stepped +into the living-room. Mary and Anne were at the piano, and Virginia +beckoned to them, and introduced her new friends. The surprised Mary +and Anne managed to bow and smile; and were frantically searching for +topics of conversation, when the girls began to come down-stairs, just +as Miss Wallace, with Miss King, who was staying to supper, opened the +door of Miss Wallace's room. + +Poor Mrs. Michael Murphy was perhaps the most uncomfortable of them +all, for the others were mainly surprised. The girls stared, Imogene +and Dorothy giggled audibly, Miss King looked puzzled, Miss Wallace +sympathetic. Virginia could not understand the manifest surprise, +mingled with disapproval, on the faces around her. Could she have done +anything wrong? They certainly would not think so, if they knew. + +"Mary," she said, "will you please introduce my friends to the girls, +while I speak a moment with Miss King and Miss Wallace?" + +Mary, who began to see through the situation, managed to introduce the +painfully embarrassed Mrs. Murphy and shy little Mary to girls who, +with the exception of Imogene, responded civilly enough. Cordiality +certainly was lacking, but that was largely due to surprise. +Meanwhile, Virginia had explained matters to Miss King and Miss +Wallace, who, when they heard the story, lost their momentary +astonishment in sympathy. Of course such a proceeding was slightly out +of the course of ordinary events at The Hermitage; but Virginia's +thoughtfulness, though perhaps indiscreet, was not at the present to +be criticised. They came forward and shook hands heartily with the +guests, much to Virginia's comfort. It must be all right after all, +she concluded. + +Mrs. Murphy laid off her hat and shawl, Virginia took Mary's coat and +hood, and the family and guests passed to the supper table. +Conversation languished that evening. The girls talked among +themselves, but only infrequently. Even Miss Wallace and Miss King +apparently found it difficult to think of topics for general +conversation. But Virginia, true to her duties as hostess, chatted +with Mrs. Michael Murphy until the embarrassed, troubled little woman +partially regained her composure. As for little Mary, she was fully +occupied in devouring the first square meal she had had for days. + +But Virginia was not unconscious of the atmosphere. Something was +wrong. Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Murphy had been right when she said +the ladies of The Hermitage mightn't like to have her and Mary coming +this way. She could not understand it. At home in Wyoming the stranger +was always made a friend, and the unfortunate a guest. Hospitality was +the unwritten law of the land. + +She was rather glad when supper was over. The girls immediately went +up-stairs, only Mary, Anne, and Priscilla lingering to say good-night +to her guests. Virginia stayed upon Miss King's invitation, for she +and Miss Wallace were to talk with Mrs. Murphy concerning work at St. +Helen's. Little Mary, tired out but satisfied, fell asleep, her head +in Virginia's lap. To Virginia's joy, and to the unspeakable gratitude +of Mrs. Michael Murphy, whom the world had used none too kindly, Miss +King decided that St. Helen's needed just such a person to do +repairing and mending; and Mrs. Murphy, her face bright with +thankfulness, was installed that very evening in her new and +comfortable quarters. + +An hour later, Virginia, the supper table atmosphere almost forgotten +in her glad relief over Mrs. Murphy's immediate future, ran up-stairs +and down the hall to her own room. The door opposite opened a little, +and some one said in a biting voice: + +"I suppose, Miss Hunter, we entertain Wyoming cow-boys before long?" + +In Virginia's eyes gleamed a dangerous light, but she answered +quietly: + +"I'm afraid not, Miss Meredith. The Wyoming cow-boys whom I know are +accustomed to eat with ladies." + +Still, her delight over Mrs. Murphy's freedom from care could not +quite banish the feeling of puzzled sadness with which she wrote these +words in her "Thought Book": + +"The world is a very strange place. God may be no respecter of +persons, but people are. It is a very sad thing to be obliged to +believe, but I am afraid it is true." + +The next morning the two Vigilantes, obtaining permission to walk to +church a little earlier than the others, stopped by the roadside at +the spot where yesterday Virginia had noted suspicious behavior, and +thoroughly investigated. A rough path had apparently been recently +broken through the alders. At the end of the path by the fence stood a +big, white birch, and on the smooth side of the birch farthest from +the road were many pin-pricks. One pin remained in the tree, and it +still held a tiny scrap of white paper, apparently the corner of a +sheet, the rest of which had been hurriedly torn away. The Vigilantes, +thinking busily, went on to church. It is needless to say that they +found it difficult to listen to the morning's sermon. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +VESPER SERVICE + + +The Sunday following the Vigilantes' mysterious discovery by the +roadside, and immediately preceding the Easter holidays, was Palm +Sunday. It dawned beautiful--warm and sunny as a late spring clay--and +as the hours followed one another, each seemed more lovely than the +last. Song sparrows sang from budding alder bushes, and robins flew +hither and thither among the elms and maples, seeking suitable notches +in which to begin their homes. As if by magic, purple and golden +crocuses lifted their tiny faces on the southern sides of the cottage +lawns; and the buds of the lilac trees, warmed and encouraged by +yesterday's showers, burst into leaf before one's very eyes. + +The world seemed especially joyous to the girls, as they roamed the +woods in search of wild flowers, or sought about the campus for fresh +evidences of spring. The long winter months had gone; Easter +home-going was but five days away; and when they returned after two +weeks at home, spring would have really come, bringing with it all the +joys and festivities and sadnesses of the Commencement season. + +At four o'clock, as the westward-moving sun gleamed through the pines, +and fell in wavering lights and shadows on the brown needles beneath, +they gathered for their vesper service, coming from all directions, +their hands filled with pussy-willows, hepaticas, and mayflowers, +their faces glowing with health and happiness, in their eyes the old +miracle of the spring. To Virginia, as to many of the others, this +Sunday afternoon hour was the dearest of the week. She loved the +gray-stone, vine-covered Retreat, and its little chapel within; she +loved the sound of its organ, and the voices of the girls singing; and +most of all, she loved the little talks which Miss King gave on Sunday +afternoons--dear, close, helpful talks of things which she had learned, +and by which she hoped to make life sweeter for her girls. + +To-day the chapel was especially lovely, for the altar rail was banked +with palms, Easter lilies stood upon the white-covered altar, and the +sun, shining through the high, narrow windows, flooded all with golden +light. Virginia sat between Dorothy and Priscilla, holding a hand of +each. It was so lovely to be there together! In her secret heart she +was glad that Imogene's mother had sent for her to come home the day +before, for when Imogene was away Dorothy seemed to belong again to +them. + +Since St. Helen's held no Easter service, as the girls were always at +home, Miss King spoke to-day of Easter--how it had always seemed to her +the real beginning of the New Year; how it signified the leaving off +of the old and the putting on of the new; how it meant the awakening +of new thoughts, and the renewed striving after better things. + +"So, if we could only understand," she said in closing, while +the girls listened earnestly, "that Easter is far more than a +commemoration, that it is a condition of our hearts, then we should, +I think, reverence the day rightly. For as beautiful as is the story +of the risen Christ, we do not keep Easter sacred merely by the +remembrance of that story. The risen Christ is as nothing to us +unless in our own hearts the Christ spirit rises--the spirit of love +and service, of unselfishness and goodness. When that spirit awakens +within us, then comes our Easter day. It may be many days throughout +the year; it might be--if we could only rightly appreciate our +lives--it might be every day. For every day is a fresh beginning, an +Easter day, when we may decide to cast off the old and to put on the +new, the old habits of selfishness and jealousy, of insincerity and +thoughtlessness--all those petty, little things that mar our lives; and +to put on our new and whiter robes of unselfishness and simple +sincerity. If the thousands who next Sunday morning will sing of the +risen Christ, might all experience within themselves their own Easter +mornings, then this world of ours would have realized its +resurrection. + +"Let the hepaticas which you hold in your hands give you the only +Easter lesson worth the learning--the lesson which your pagan +forefathers in the forests of Germany taught their children centuries +ago on their own Easter festival. You know how each spring the +clusters beneath the pines are larger, if you are careful as you pick +the blossoms not to disturb the roots. The long months of fall and +winter are not months of sleep and rest for the hepaticas. Beneath the +snow in the winter silence they are at work, sending out their +rootlets through the brown earth, avoiding the rocks and sandy places, +but taking firm hold upon that which will nourish them best. Thus do +they grow year by year, at each Easter time showing themselves larger +and more beautiful than the spring before. + +"This is the Easter lesson which I wish you girls might all take to +yourselves. As in the winter silence of the earth, the hepaticas send +out their rootlets toward the best soil, so in the silence of your own +inner lives are you here and now also sending out rootlets, either +toward the soil which will give you a healthful, wholesome growth, or +toward the barren places where you must cease to grow. Avoid the rocks +of indolence and evil influence, the waste places of selfishness; but +reach far out for the good, wholesome soil of good books, of a love +and knowledge of the out-of-doors, of friends who make you better, of +study which will enrich your lives. And as the flowers find themselves +more firmly rooted year by year, so will you find yourselves growing +in strength and self-control, in sincerity and firmness of purpose. +Then, and only then, will you experience the real Easter--the awakening +to the realization in your hearts that you, through your own seeking, +have found that better part, which can never be taken away from you." + +In the silence that followed, while the organ played softly, Virginia +touched with gentle fingers the tiny hepaticas in her lap. Was she +sending out rootlets toward the right soil, she wondered? In the years +to come would people seek her, as she sought the hepaticas in the +spring, because she had found that "better part"? "That is why we go +to Miss King and Miss Wallace," she thought to herself, "because they +have found the best soil, and have grown sweeter every year." And, +deep in her heart, she resolved to try harder than ever to avoid the +rocks and the sand, and to send her rootlets deep down into the soil +which Miss King had described. + +Then she heard Dorothy by her side ask if they might sing the hymn of +her choosing, and they rose to sing words which somehow held to-day a +new and deeper meaning: + + "Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our feverish ways; + Re-clothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise." + +Silently they all passed out of the little chapel, and turned +homeward. The sun, sinking lower, cast long shadows among the pines, +and gilded with a farewell glow the chapel windows. Virginia, +Priscilla, and Dorothy took the woodsy path that led to the campus. No +one cared to talk very much. When they reached The Hermitage Dorothy +went with them to their room; and as they filled bowls of water for +the tired little hepaticas, and arranged them thoughtfully, for they +some way seemed more like persons than ever before, she said all at +once--looking out of the window to hide her embarrassment: + +"I just thought I'd tell you that I know I haven't been growing in +very good soil this year; but I'm going to put out new roots now, and +I'm not going to send them into sand either." + +The two Vigilantes dropped the hepaticas and hugged Dorothy hard +without saying a word. Then, with their arms around one another's +shoulders, they stood by the western window, and watched the sun set +behind the hills--happier than they had been for weeks. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + + +"You don't mean you're going to back out now, Vivian, when we've made +all arrangements, and you've promised to go?" + +"I--I didn't say I was going to back out, Imogene. I just said I wished +I hadn't promised. It doesn't seem nearly so much fun as it did, and, +besides, I know I'll get caught!" + +"Of course you will, if you lose your nerve like that. But if you do +as we've planned, there isn't a chance in a thousand. No one will +wonder why you're not at supper, because you're absent so often; and +it will be easy enough to slip out while we're eating. Then by the +time you're driving off, we'll all be at that Art lecture; and with +the lights off and only the stereopticon, no one will miss you. And by +the time we get home, you'll be here in bed. Why, it's as smooth as a +whistle, and you ought to be everlastingly grateful to Dot and me for +fixing it up for you. No other girl in St. Helen's has ever gone out +driving with a man, and you'll have the story to tell your children." + +Poor Vivian looked for a moment as though she doubted her future +children's pride in their mother's achievement; but she had long ago +put her hand to the plow, and there seemed no turning back. + +"Of course I'm going now that it's gone so far, and I've promised," +she said desperately. "But I don't believe Dorothy thinks it's so much +as she did. She said to-day she sort of wished we hadn't done it." + +Imogene looked uncomfortable. Dorothy's strange disloyalty during the +weeks since the Easter holidays had greatly disturbed her. + +"Dot needn't act so righteous all of a sudden," she said bitterly. +"I'd like to know who planned this whole thing if she didn't. I'd +certainly never have thought of the birch tree post-office; and she's +been mail-carrier more than half the time. It's a late day to back out +now." + +"She isn't backing out, Imogene. She only said she wished we hadn't +planned it in the first place; but since we had, of course we'd have +to see it through. I don't think you and she need worry anyway. It's I +that's going to get the blame; and I shan't tell on you even if I am +caught." + +"Tell on us!" Imogene's tone was more biting than ever. "Well, I +should hope you wouldn't! Who's superintended this thing, I'd like to +know? Who's been bringing boxes of candy from him all the way up here +to you, and running the risk of being caught? Who's been posting your +notes for you all winter long?" + +After listening to this exoneration, Vivian was on the point of tears, +and Imogene, feeling that her room-mate's courage must be kept up at +any cost, changed her tone. + +"To-morrow you'll be laughing up your sleeve, and saying what a +splendid time you had. Besides, think what fun it's been all along. +We've fooled every one in school. No one has suspected a thing! And +think of all the candy you've had. Of course, he'll have another box +to-night." + +The unhappy Vivian dried her tears, but her face did not brighten. In +fact, she did not look at all like a person who was about to enjoy a +long-anticipated evening drive. + +"Imogene," she said, and there was an unusual tone of self-assertion +in her voice, which surprised her room-mate, "Imogene, I want you to +know that a hundred boxes of candy don't make one feel right inside." + +While this conversation was taking place behind a closed door in The +Hermitage, there was another person in the woods by the Retreat, who +likewise did not feel right inside. The other person was Dorothy. She +had declined Virginia's and Priscilla's invitation to go after +violets, much as she would have liked to accept, in the hope of easing +her conscience; curtly refused to walk with Imogene; and studiously +sought to evade the accusing eyes of Vivian. Seizing her opportunity, +she had run away from them all, and now sat alone under the pines by +the Retreat, trying to think of a way out of her difficulty--a way that +would save Vivian from the consequences of an act for which she was +really not to blame. + +Ever since September Dorothy had sent her rootlets into the waste +places of indolence and poor companionship; and now that she had truly +resolved to change it seemed to her discouraged heart almost too late. +She and Imogene were to blame for the situation which confronted +her--not Vivian. Ever since the sallow, white-coated Leslie had entered +the employ of the "Forget-me-not," she and Imogene had directed +susceptible Vivian's attention toward his evident admiration. It was +they who had all through the winter and early spring transported his +gifts to Vivian; they, who, weary of the monotony which through +idleness they made themselves, had seized upon Dorothy's idea of a +secret post-office; and finally, they who had proposed through the +means of the post-office that the enamored Leslie take Vivian for an +evening drive. Now the crisis was at hand, and what could she do to +avert it? + +She sat in a wretched little heap beneath the pines, and thoroughly +despised Dorothy Richards. She had made a failure of the whole year--in +grades, in conduct, in character. The first was bad enough, for she +knew that Mary was right. It was she who was helping The Hermitage +lose the cup--the scholarship cup which it had determined to win from +Hathaway. The second was worse, for she had forfeited Miss Wallace's +confidence, and had aroused the righteous suspicion of the girls. But +the last was worst of all! She had allowed herself to be weakly +influenced by Imogene, had been disloyal to Priscilla and Virginia, +had been very nearly dishonest, if not quite so, and had pitiably lost +her own self-respect. And now, even though she was tired of it all, +even though she desired deep in her heart to turn her rootlets into +better soil, perhaps it was too late. Perhaps, after all, she was not +strong enough. + +A brown thrasher, who sat on her newly-made nest in a near-by thicket +and watched the girl beneath the pines, wondered perhaps at the +strange ways of mortals. For even though the sun was bright and the +whole world filled with joy, this girl all at once burst into tears, +and cried between her sobs: + +"Oh, dear, what shall I do? I'll never be any different--never! And +Priscilla and Virginia will never like me again when they know about +tonight!" + +But remorse, though quite appropriate under the circumstances, and +doubtless likely to bear fruit in the future, was useless just at +present. Dorothy soon realized that, and sat up again, much to the +relief of the brown thrasher, who felt safer now that this strange +person sobbed no more. A situation confronted her and must be met. Was +there any way to save Vivian, and at the same time not implicate +Imogene? Were Dorothy alone to blame, she would go to Miss Wallace and +tell the whole story; but she knew that Miss Wallace had previously +suspected Imogene with good cause, and she did not wish to run the +risk of getting Imogene into further trouble, even though she might +richly deserve it. Of course, Vivian might be easily persuaded to stay +at home and not meet her knight-errant of the soda-fountain, who was +to find her at seven o'clock by the birch tree; but that meant anger +and certain revenge on the part of Imogene, besides the probability of +the disappointed Leslie communicating his disappointment in such a way +as would eventually reach the ears of some member of St. Helen's +faculty. + +The five-thirty warning bell found the question unsolved, and a sadly +troubled Dorothy walked slowly homeward. She was purposely late to +supper, for she did not wish to encounter Imogene or Vivian. As she +left the wood-path and came out upon the campus, she saw hurrying down +the hill a short, plump figure in a red sweater. Vivian, on the way to +meet her knight! + +At supper Dorothy tried in vain to eat the food upon her plate. +Impossible schemes, each vetoed as soon as concocted, were born but to +die. It was only when Priscilla and Virginia, excused early for +tennis, left the table, that an inspiration seized her. Almost without +waiting for Miss Wallace's nod of permission, she ran from the +dining-room, flew up the stairs, and burst into Priscilla's and +Virginia's room, where they, surprised, paused in the act of lacing +their tennis shoes. + +"Oh, Virginia," she cried, "go quick! Vivian will listen to you, and +she won't to me, because I've been so mean. Oh, lace your shoes +quickly! She is down by the birch tree, just beyond the gates on the +road to Hillcrest, waiting for--for that silly Leslie, who's coming to +take her to drive. And it's not her fault, because we--I mean I--put her +up to do it. And you can hate and despise and detest me, if you want +to, only hurry, and make him go away!" + +The founder of the Vigilantes needed no further explanation. So this +was the meaning of her discovery a month ago! She sprang to her feet, +raced through the hall, down the stairs, and across the campus toward +the road, while the contrite Dorothy remained to confess the whole +miserable story to Priscilla. It was Friday evening and there was no +study hour after supper, so that Virginia could leave The Hermitage +without exciting surprise. Moreover, the girls in the cottages were +all at supper, and there was no one to note her hurried flight down +the hill. Dorothy had not said at what hour Vivian's cavalier would +arrive, and there was no time to be lost. Even then they might be +driving away. Almost out of breath she raced down the hill, through +the pine woods, out the stone gates, and into the main road. A quarter +of a mile away, coming from the direction of Hillcrest, she saw a +runabout, in which sat a solitary figure, who seeing her at that +distance waved his hand as a signal. + +"It's that silly thing!" breathed Virginia to herself. "He thinks I'm +Vivian. Oh, I'm glad I'm not too late!" + +She dashed down the road and into the rude path through the alders to +the birch tree. There, at its base, hidden by the alders from the view +of those who passed, crouched poor, trembling Vivian. She had half +risen, as Virginia crashed through the bushes, thinking that her +cavalier was approaching; but at the sight of the panting Virginia, +she shrank back against the tree. + +"Why--why, Virginia," she stammered. "Why--why, what do you want?" + +Virginia was almost too breathless to answer. + +"I've--come--to meet--your friend, Vivian," she managed to gasp. "He's +coming now. He'll be here in a moment." + +"I--I think I'm scared," gasped Vivian in her turn, shrinking farther +back against the tree. "Aren't you, Virginia?" + +"No," said her deliverer, gaining breath at every moment, "no, Vivian, +I certainly am not scared. I feel as brave as Theseus, though Leslie +isn't much of a Minotaur, I must say!" + +The sound of a horse's feet-came nearer and nearer, then stopped. A +carriage creaked as some one jumped from it; twigs snapped as some one +came crashing through them. Vivian hugged the old tree for support, +and turned her face toward the pasture. Virginia braced herself for +the attack, her back against the tree, her arms folded Napoleon-wise, +her head high, her eyes flashing. As the bushes parted and the +soda-fountain clerk emerged and stepped into the trysting-place, a +more surprised youth could not have been found in the State of +Massachusetts. + +Arrayed in a new and gallantly worn linen duster, his hat on the side +of his head, a box of candy under one arm, he stood as though rooted +to the spot, an amazed and sickly smile playing over his more sickly +countenance. What had happened? Was he to escort two ladies instead of +one? His eye-glasses, attached by a gold chain to his ear, trembled as +his pale gaze, expressionless save for surprise, tried to encompass +the figure who still embraced the tree. But all in vain, for ever he +encountered a pair of flashing gray eyes, which, steady and +disdainful, never once left his own. + +"You may go now," said the owner of the eyes, after what seemed long +minutes to the faithful Leslie, "and don't you ever come here again! +This isn't a post-office any longer. You're too unspeakably silly for +any use, and Vivian thinks so just the same as the rest of us. You +belong to a soda-fountain, for you're just as sickish as vanilla +ice-cream, and as senseless as soda-water. Now go!" + +The subdued Leslie needed no second bidding. He went. They heard his +hurrying feet crash through the roadside thicket, the creaking of his +carriage as with one bound he leaped into it, and the crack of the +whip, as he warned his steed to do no tarrying in that locality. Then +Virginia turned her attention to Vivian who by this time was in an +hysterical little heap at the foot of the big old tree. + +"It's all right, Vivian," she said, with her arms around Vivian's +shaking shoulders. "He's gone and he won't come back. He'll be in New +York by midnight, if he keeps on going. Please don't cry any more." + +But Vivian could not stop just then. To be sure, the result of her +foolishness had been checked before it was too late; but nothing could +blot out the foolishness itself; and it was that which was breaking +her heart. + +"Oh, I'm not crying about him!" she said between her sobs. "I despise +him! I'm crying because I've been so silly, and nobody'll ever forget +it. I don't care what Dorothy and Imogene say. It's what's inside of +me that hurts! And everybody'll know how silly I've been! Oh, why +can't I be different than I am?" + +"Everybody won't know, Vivian. Oh, please don't cry so! Nobody'll know +except Priscilla and me, and we'll think all the more of you. And +Dorothy feels worse than you, because she's been even more to blame. +'Twas she that told me, and made me come to help you." + +Vivian stopped crying from sheer surprise. So Dorothy felt bad inside +too, and had tried to help her. That was comforting. + +"And as for Imogene," Virginia continued, "if she once dares to tease +you for trying not to be foolish any more,--if she dares,--well. I +shouldn't want to say what might happen!" + +The distant sound of a bell rang through the still air. + +"Now, Vivian, there's the lecture bell, and if we don't go, somebody +will suspect. You'll feel better inside, if you just make up your mind +that you're not going to be silly any longer. I'm your true friend, +and so is Priscilla; and, if you'll let us, we'll try to help you +to--to find better soil for your roots, just the way we're trying to +do." + +So the world looked a little brighter to Vivian as she left the hated +post-office and walked back toward St. Helen's with her "true +friend's" arm around her. Perhaps, after all, if she tried hard, she +might, some day, be a little different. As they turned into St. +Helen's gateway, they met Dorothy and the Senior monitor, walking arm +in arm. Dorothy's eyes were red from crying, and the face of the +Senior monitor was stern, though it grew kind again as she came up to +Vivian and Virginia. + +"It's going to be all right, Vivian," she said, "and we're every one +your friends. Don't you feel bad any more." + +"And I'm going to begin all over again and be your friend, Vivian," +said Dorothy, tears very near the surface again, "if you'll forgive +me, and let me try. But if you won't, I'll never blame you, because +I've been so frightfully miserable to you!" + +But Vivian, feeling undeservedly rich, put her arm close around +Dorothy, while Mary went to Virginia's side, and the four of them +climbed the hill toward St. Helen's together. There were yet fifteen +minutes before the lecture, and those fifteen minutes were spent, with +the addition of Priscilla, in Imogene Meredith's room. The Senior +monitor spoke more plainly than they had ever heard her speak before +during that secret and never-to-be-forgotten session, and Imogene, for +at least once in her life, felt with the fabulous barnyard fowls in +the old tale, quite as though her "sky were falling." A week later, to +the surprise of all St. Helen's, except perhaps the faculty, Mrs. +Meredith arrived. She had decided to take Imogene to the mountains, +she said, for the remainder of the year. Her health seemed failing, +and she feared a nervous breakdown. + +As for the chivalrous Leslie, the "Forget-me-not" knew him no more; +for on the very day after his sudden departure from the +trysting-place, when the girls went to Hillcrest to indulge in the +inevitable Saturday afternoon sundae, they were served by a +gray-haired stranger, who wore Leslie's coat with ease, but who looked +unromantic in the extreme. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + + +"Ad, ante, con, de, in, inter,--" recited Virginia. "Priscilla, do you +always remember the difference between gerunds and gerundives now +you're a Junior?" + +"Always remember! Why, I _never_ do! I think it's a point of ignorance +to be proud of. It's depressing to remember so many unvital things. +That's one." + +Ten minutes' silence, punctuated by Priscilla's sighs over Cicero, and +Virginia's whispered prepositions. + +"The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been +very inhuman." + +"She was! 'Twas Greenie! We're studying now in blessed memory of her!" + +"I wonder where she is." + +"Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the +Acropolis! I'm glad it's the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I +can't study another second, and it isn't three o'clock for fifteen +minutes. You haven't shown me how you've changed the Constitution yet, +and we're going to start at three. I don't see but that we both have +to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We've just about +time to read it over." + +Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the +afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes +until she found what she sought--a somewhat rumpled piece of paper. + +"This is the original, you know," she said. "I'm keeping it for my +Memory Book, and I'll make a copy for yours. I made the new one +different as we planned. I took out the 'evil influence' part, because +there isn't any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those +we were especially guarding. I don't think Dorothy and Vivian had best +know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to +know we'd been watching them especially." + +"No, we won't say anything about that part. They're going to be one of +us now, and trying for the same thing. We'll keep the real reason for +the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. +I'll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have +come out the way they have. Isn't it splendid about Dorothy's grades? +Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets _A's_ in everything all the +quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps +up as well, we'll really have a chance of winning the cup from +Hathaway." + +"Vivian's doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class +to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She's so +quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. +Priscilla, do you really suppose that--?" Virginia's voice was +mysteriously lowered. + +"Yes, I do," answered Priscilla in a whisper. "Of course, no one will +ever know; but I'm sure Imogene didn't know her mother was coming, and +we all know Imogene wasn't sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or +maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen's +always does things quietly; but I'll always think that Imogene +was--expelled!" + +"Maybe Vivian knows, and that's why she feels so bad. And, besides, +it's lonesome rooming all alone. I'll read you the new Constitution, +and then we'll go and get them both. Where shall we go?" + +"Let's choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. +No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our +meeting-place. Read on. It's five minutes to three now." + +Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read: + + "We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby + announce that we are the sole members of the Order of + Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of + January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia + Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of + the West--those brave men, who in the early days of our + Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor + to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. + Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all + times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one + another in every way we can to live up to the principles + of our order. As stated above, we are the only real + Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to + Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance." + +"Now, we'll sign our names, Priscilla, and I'll take my fountain pen +so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It's after three now." + +They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep +the mysterious appointment with them at three o'clock, and together +they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking. + +"That's queer. She can't be asleep. She said she'd be ready." + +They knocked again--louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then +they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked. + +"Why, where can she be? You don't suppose she's sick or something, do +you?" asked Priscilla. "She wouldn't lock the door if she went out. +Let's go around the porch and look in the windows." + +They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the +porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian's room, they found +the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a +good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, +and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another +in amazement. Vivian's trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the +middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall +decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the +dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its +afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, "For any +one who wants it." + +"Why, why, she's gone!" gasped Virginia, the first to speak. "Oh, we +must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think--quick!" + +But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an +utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one +another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla's +eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an +envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk. + +"It's for you, Virginia," she cried, passing the envelope to her +room-mate. "Oh, read it, quick!" + +Virginia lost no time in tearing open the envelope and unfolding the +paper within. + + 'Dear Virginia,' she read in a trembling voice to those who + listened, 'I know you'll all think I'm sillier than ever, but + I can't stand being miserable any longer. You've all been good + to me, especially you, and I'll never, _never_, _never_ forget + it, so long as I live! You're the best friend I ever had. (A + sob from Dorothy.) But it is very hard to hate yourself every + minute; and, besides, I can't forget what Imogene said to me + when she went away. So I'm going home, and maybe next year + when people have forgotten my silliness, Miss King will let me + come back. Perhaps, I'll be different then, but I can't + promise; and maybe, after all, she won't let me come back, + when she knows I've run away. + + "Vivian. + + "'P. S. Please tell Miss Wallace I'm sorry I deceived her + by telling her I had a headache, and asking if I could + study in the woods. I did have a headache; and there wasn't + any other way I could get the train without somebody finding + out.'--V. E. W.'" + +Still they stood in poor, discouraged Vivian's deserted room, and +looked at one another. Virginia's face was sad from sympathy, +Priscilla looked puzzled and thoughtful, Dorothy was crying. + +"Oh, it's my fault," she sobbed. "I ought to have gone away along with +Imogene! I haven't been a friend to Vivian, and now I'll never have a +chance!" + +"Yes, you will, too," cried Priscilla, coming out of her reverie, +"because she can't take the train after all. There isn't any three +o'clock. It's been taken off. Miss Wallace told me so yesterday, when +she was thinking of going away for over Sunday. The next one doesn't +go till five, and if Vivian's anywhere around, we'll find her and +bring her back. Let's not say a word to any one, but just hunt till we +find her. The door's locked and we can draw the curtains, and no one +will ever know." + +Without wasting any precious moments they hurried out the way they had +entered, drawing the curtains before closing the windows and screens, +ran down-stairs and across the campus to the road, running the +gauntlet of all who called to them by maintaining a discreet and +somewhat exclusive silence. At the top of the hill, Priscilla reviewed +her forces. + +"Let's each take a different direction. She's around the woods +somewhere, because she wouldn't dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of +meeting the girls, and there aren't any woods the other side of the +village. I'll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the +Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go +through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, +though she's not likely to be there. And let's all remember that if +any girl tries to join us, we're to treat her abominably, so she'll +know she isn't wanted. It's mean, but there's no other way to do, +because Vivian'll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. +Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick +succession; and if by any chance we don't any of us find her, we're +all to meet at the station for the five o'clock. But I know we'll be +successful." + +They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried +through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever +found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had +passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of +the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees +hid her quite from sight. + +When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no +train before five o'clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She +could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of +the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and +to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from +there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to +retrace her steps toward St. Helen's, and hide in the woods until time +for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of +meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was +fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would +be through with study hour and out-of-doors. + +She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, +still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless +be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as +she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be +surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity +Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at +her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It +would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them +understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. +Helen's with the remembrance of Imogene's words in her ears. + +Out of breath, she sat down by the roadside to rest for a few minutes. +No, she could never forget Imogene's words! She saw her dressed ready +to go, remembered how she had risen to kiss her, and how, instead of +kissing her, Imogene had said, "Of course, you realize, Vivian, if you +hadn't been such a little fool, and Dorothy such a coward, I wouldn't +be going away like this!" + +So they had really sent Imogene away--_expelled_ her! And Imogene had +said that she was to blame, had gone without kissing her, had never +written her in all that long week! No, it was all too much to be +borne! Besides, it did not matter how good the girls had been to her +since the evening when Virginia had rescued her from the carrying out +of her foolish plan, she felt sure that in their hearts they despised +her for having been so weak and so easily influenced. And now she +could never show them that she meant to be different! Even Virginia +and Priscilla whom she so dearly loved would never know! But she saw +no other way. + +Rising, she hurried on. The school clock struck three. She dashed +through the gates and into the woods by the Retreat. In a few minutes +the girls would be passing along the road, and she was in danger of +being seen. Looking around for a hiding-place, she espied the big rock +back of the Retreat, the very rock which the Vigilantes had chosen for +their initiation ceremonies. A great pine which grew close by overhung +it with wide-spreading, feathery branches. Vivian hastily climbed upon +the rock, and, crawling in among the pine branches, was quite +concealed from the sight of all except the most careful observer. + +It was but a few moments before she heard voices--on the meadow, in the +road, even in the very woods about her. Study hour was over, and the +girls were free. Well, if by any chance they drew near her place of +concealment, she could take her Caesar from her pocket and begin to +study. That would tend to dispel suspicion. How jolly and merry they +sounded! She could hear Bess Shepard's laugh, and some lusty shouts, +which, of course, came from the Blackmore twins. She had had lovely +times at St. Helen's. Of course even now, she might--but no, it was too +late! Without doubt, by now some one had discovered her room, and +everybody would know! + +A loud crackling of twigs sounded to the right. Some one was coming in +her direction--yes, some one in a red sweater, for she could +distinguish that color through the thicket. She crouched lower under +the pine branches. Then, seeing that it was of no use to hide, for the +sweater was unmistakably coming through the bushes, she sat up-right +with a beating heart and drew Caesar from her pocket--just as Dorothy +broke through the last blackberry bush and saw her on the rock. And +though she tried her utmost to gaze at Caesar, she just couldn't help +seeing the joy and gladness that swept over Dorothy's anxious face. + +"Oh, Vivian!" she cried. "Oh, Vivian! I've found you, and I'm so glad! +And you're going to forgive me, and give me another chance to be your +friend, aren't you? Oh, say you're not going away!" + +In another moment Dorothy was on the rock beside her, and poor Caesar +had fallen into a rose-bush, where he lay forgotten. The five o'clock +train was forgotten, too; for as Vivian sat there with Dorothy's arms +around her, she knew she wouldn't do anything else in the world but go +back and begin all over again. + +"My!" said Dorothy, after they had talked everything over for the +third time at least. "My! I forgot to give the signal, and Priscilla +and Virginia are very likely half-dead from fright by now!" + +She gave the three short calls agreed upon, which were immediately +answered; and in less than five minutes the two Vigilantes, very much +alive and very, very happy, were also sitting on the very rock chosen +but two hours before. Then, after all the crooked things had been made +straight, after the world seemed beautiful again, and friendship +sweeter than before--then, with the ceremony befitting its importance, +the Vigilante Order was explained in full to the chosen initiates, and +its purpose made plain. With serious faces they signed their names, + + Vivian Evelyn Winters + Dorothy Richards + +below the signatures of the charter members. + +"Everything's over now," said the real originator of the order with a +happy little sigh, as she folded the Constitution and placed it in her +pocket. "Everything's over, and in another way, everything nicest is +just beginning. There's certainly strength in numbers, and we'll all +help one another to be real Vigilantes." + +"We ought to have a watchword," proposed Priscilla. "I was thinking of +one when I heard Dorothy call. Do you think 'Ever Vigilant' is any +good?" + +They all thought it just the thing. + +"And I've been, wondering just this minute," said Dorothy, "about +something else; but I'm a new member, and if you don't like my plan, I +hope you'll say so. I was thinking about having an emblem. Most orders +do, you know. Don't you think it-would be rather nice to have the +hepatica, and have it stand for what Miss King said--sending our +rootlets into good soil? You see, I thought of it because--well, +because I've felt so ashamed of--of the way my rootlets have been +growing, and lately I've--I've been trying--" She hesitated, +embarrassed. + +Virginia had listened, her eyes growing brighter every moment. + +"I think it's a perfectly lovely idea, Dorothy," she said, while +Priscilla and Vivian nodded their approval. "And I've a secret just +born--a lovely, lovely one--and it's going to happen before very long! +It just came with your thought of the hepatica!" + +The others were properly mystified, but the owner of the secret would +divulge nothing; and half an hour later, Caesar, having been rescued +from the rose-bush, the four Vigilantes went home to help Vivian +unpack. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + + +"Lucile, are you sure?" + +"Virginia, if you ask me that again, I'll believe you think I fib. Of +course I'm sure!" + +"Did you see him more than once, Lucile?" + +"Priscilla, I've told you a dozen times that I saw him one whole +afternoon long at Versailles. Isn't that long enough to remember him, +I'd like to know?" + +"And Miss Wallace said when she introduced him--just what did she say, +anyhow?" + +"Vivian Winters, you make me sick! You really do! She said--and this is +the twentieth time I've told you--she said, 'Lucile, I want you to meet +my dear friend, Mr. Taylor.'" + +"And what did he say?" + +"Will you please listen this time, Dorothy, for it's positively the +last time I shall tell you. He said, 'Any friend of Miss Wallace's is +my friend, too.' And he gazed at her with his very soul. You forgot he +had eyes at all!" + +The exasperated Lucile leaned back among her pillows, and munched the +candy with which she had generously supplied herself. + +"You really all do make me tired," she said between her bites. "I've +told you over and over again that any one could see that he loved her +from the way he gazed at her; that the picture she's had all the year +up to six weeks ago on her dresser was his; and that I know her heart +is broken. Now, what more can I say?" + +"It isn't that we don't believe you, Lucile," Virginia hastened to +explain. "It's just--well, you see you do have a very romantic +tendency, and--" + +"Of course, I do. It's my temperament. I've heard father say so a +dozen times. Besides, I've lived in Paris, and the very stones of +Paris breathe romance!" + +"Well, I really think Lucile is right, sad as it seems. Miss Wallace +hasn't been herself since Easter; and it was just then that the +picture disappeared from her dresser. Of course Lucile couldn't have +been with him a whole afternoon and not know his face; and, naturally, +she would know how he treated her." This announcement from Priscilla +was not without effect. + +"Of course I would," reiterated the encouraged Lucile. "Didn't I see +him gaze at her, and call her 'Margaret,' and her, when she called him +'Bob'?" + +"Did you see him do anything but gaze?" asked Dorothy, still a little +incredulous. "He seems to have gazed all the time." + +"Why, of course, right at Versailles, he wouldn't have taken her hand, +or anything like that. A gaze can speak volumes, I'll have you to +know. But when we sailed from Havre, and he stayed to study at the +Sorbonne, he put his arms around her and kissed her. It was +thrilling!" + +This new piece of information was indisputable proof, which, placed by +the side of the strange disappearance of the said Mr. Taylor's +picture, and the strange and unwonted sadness of Miss Wallace, formed +a bulk of evidence, to disbelieve which was folly. + +"Oh, I'm afraid it's true," said Virginia, echoing the misgivings of +her room-mate. "She looks so quiet and sad, it just breaks my heart. I +actually know she'd been crying the other day when I saw her coming +out of the Retreat. Probably she went there for comfort. Poor thing! +How could he have been so cruel?" + +"Why, maybe it wasn't he. Maybe he's suffering, and pacing the streets +of Paris this moment, preferring death to life." Lucile's imagination, +so fruitless in the channels of academic thought, was certainly +prolific in the flowery paths of Romance. "Perhaps Miss Wallace felt +the call to service, broke her engagement, and has decided to give her +very life to help others." + +"I don't think Miss Wallace would do that," Virginia said +thoughtfully. "Not that it isn't a wonderful thing to do; but I feel +some way as though she'd rather be a mother. One evening last +Thanksgiving I was in her room, and we were talking about the things +girls could do in the world. I asked her what she thought was the +noblest thing; and she said in the sweetest voice, 'A real mother, +Virginia.'" + +"And she is just a born mother," added Priscilla. "Mother said so at +Thanksgiving. Oh, dear! Why did it have to happen?" + +No one pretended to know. Lucile was inclined to attribute it to Fate; +while Dorothy advanced the thought that it might be a trial sent to +prove Miss Wallace's strength. + +"And it's wonderful how strong she is," she said. "She's usually so +jolly at table; and last night she was the very life of the party. One +would never have known." + +"Yes, and she probably went home to a sleepless night," suggested +Lucile, "and tossed about till morning." + +"It seems to me she's been happier lately." + +"She's probably learning to bear it better--that's all." + +"She's never worn an engagement ring, has she?" asked the practical +Vivian. + +"No, but of course she wouldn't wear it here. It would excite too much +comment," Priscilla explained. + +"Without doubt she had one, and wore it around her neck, before it +happened," Lucile again suggested. + +"Oh, if we could only show her in some way that we're sorry for her! +That would, perhaps, help a little," said Virginia. "Do you suppose +she'd feel we were interfering if we sent her some flowers? We needn't +say a thing, but just write 'With sympathy' or 'With love' on a card, +and she'd understand. Do you think she'd like it, Priscilla?" + +"Why, yes, I think she would. And 'twould relieve our minds. We'd know +we'd done all we could. I suppose time will make it easier for her to +bear." + +"Maybe it's just a misunderstanding, and they'll come together again, +when they see they can't live without each other," said Vivian +hopefully. + +"Maybe, but I feel that it's the end! And oh, if you girls could only +have seen them together and known that they were made for each other! +Fate is cruel!" wailed Lucile tragically. + +"Well, are we going to send the flowers?" asked Virginia. She was +aching for Miss Wallace, but Lucile's romantic ravings were a little +tiring. "If we do, let's not say a word to any one. Miss Wallace, +being in The Hermitage, belongs to us more anyway; and I think we +ought to love her enough to guard her secret. I know she wouldn't wish +it known. Of course, as things have happened, we can't help knowing, +but we can help talking about it to others. You haven't told any one +else, have you, Lucile?" + +"Of course not. Don't you suppose I know better than all of you that +life would be simply impossible to her if she thought the world knew. +Remember, _I've_ seen them together!" + +"What kind of flowers do you think we'd better send?" + +"Pink carnations." + +"Oh, no, carnations are too common!" + +"Violets then." + +"Oh, spare her that! He gave her violets that afternoon at +Versailles!" + +"Roses, why not?" + +"Anything but red roses. They mean undying love, and hers is dead." + +"Why not send her daffodils?" proposed Virginia. "They're so cheery +and hopeful, and look like spring." + +Every one seemed agreed that, under the circumstances, Virginia's +choice was the most appropriate. It was thereupon decided that +daffodils be sent to Miss Wallace; but that, to save her possible +embarrassment, the names of the donors be kept secret. Dorothy and +Vivian were delegated to go to Hillcrest and make the purchase, while +the others tried to enliven their sympathetic hearts by tennis. + +Meanwhile, during this session of sympathy in her behalf, Miss Wallace +sat in her school-room, correcting an avalanche of themes, which +seemed to have no end. "Dear me!" she sighed to herself, "no girl in +this whole school will be so glad of vacation as I. I've never taught +through such a year." + +It certainly had been a hard and trying year. In the fall Miss Green's +tactlessness had required an extra amount of discretion on the part of +Miss Wallace; in the winter the German Measles had broken into the +regularity necessary for good work; and all through the year she had +been required to watch, which occupation she found harder than any +other--watch a girl, to whom she had never been able to come close, and +whom she had failed to influence toward better things. She could not +really blame herself for her failure in helping Imogene, but she felt +sorry, because, knowing Imogene, she feared that life would never hold +what it might for her. Altogether, it had been a hard year; and she +would not have been human had she not at times looked tired, +thoughtful, and even sad. + +"You need a rest, my dear," said the old Hillcrest doctor, meeting her +one day in the village. "You're quite tired out, working for those +nice girls up there." But that pile of themes did not look like +immediate rest; and, sharpening her red pencil, she went to work +again. + +She left the school-room just as the warning-bell was ringing and +crossed the campus to The Hermitage, longing for letters. On her desk +she found a package and a telegram, which, when she had read it, made +her tired face glow with happiness. "Dear Bob!" she said to herself. +"He deserves it all. I'm so glad!" + +"His picture has come back, too," she added, untying the package, +"just in time for the good news. You dear old fellow! You deserve a +silver frame, and the nicest girl in the world." + +There came a knock at her door just then, and the maid passed her a +long box from the florist's. Surprised, she opened it to find dozens +of yellow daffodils, and a card, which said in carefully disguised +handwriting, "With deepest love, and tenderest sympathy." + +"Why, what can it mean?" she thought mystified. "I always need the +love, but I certainly don't need sympathy. I never was so happy in my +life!" + +The supper-bell rang just then, and put a stop to her wonderings. She +dressed hurriedly, placed some daffodils at her waist, and descended +to the dining-room, a trifle late, but wholly radiant. + +"She surely doesn't look sad to-night," mused more than one at the +table. "Could the flowers have made her happier so soon, or what is +it?" + +Half an hour before study hour, Miss Wallace called Virginia to her +room. + +"I know you love daffodils, Virginia," she said, "and I want you to +see this gorgeous quantity which some mysterious person has sent me. +And the strangest part about it is that they come with 'tenderest +sympathy.' It's especially funny to-night, because I'm so happy. I +think I really must tell you about it." + +Virginia's heart beat fast with excitement. Was this beloved teacher +of hers really going to confide in her? Her eyes followed Miss +Wallace's to the dresser, and there, reclothed in a shining silver +frame, was Mr. Taylor--Miss Wallace's own Mr. Taylor! So it had been +only a misunderstanding after all! The dream of Miss Wallace's life +was not dead, but living, and she was happy! One glance at her face +was proof of that! Virginia was so happy herself that she longed to +tell her so; but perhaps she had best not just now. Besides, what was +Miss Wallace saying? + +"I don't know that I've ever told you about my cousin, Robert Taylor, +Virginia. You've seen his picture of course--that is till recently when +I sent it away to have it framed. To-night I had a cable from him, +telling me that he's actually engaged to the dearest girl I know. +We've both been hoping for it for months--I almost as much as he--and +Mary's just decided that she can't get along without him. I'm so +delighted!" + +It seemed impossible that Virginia's heart could have undergone such a +metamorphosis as it had in the last minute. + +"Is--? is--he your cousin?" she asked in a queer, strained little voice. +But Miss Wallace was so happy that she did not notice it. + +"Why, yes, he's really my cousin, but he seems like my brother, for +his mother died when he was a baby, and my mother brought him up. So +we've always lived together, just like brother and sister, and I never +think of any difference. Why, my dear, where are you going? The bell +hasn't rung." For Virginia was half way out of the door. + +"I--must go," she stammered. "The girls are waiting for me up-stairs." + +Four more crestfallen and unromantic girls never existed than those +which looked at one another at the conclusion of Virginia's story. + +"I never felt so silly in my life!" she added, after the last +rainbow-colored bubble had been burst. + +"Nor I!" cried Priscilla. + +"Let's be everlastingly grateful we didn't sign our names," said +Dorothy. + +"And he was just away being framed!" moaned Vivian. + +"Where's Lucile?" + +"Oh, she's probably moaning in her room over Fate!" + +"She needs a tonic!" said Priscilla. "Let's go and tell her so." + +"It won't do a bit of good," Virginia observed, as they started down +the hall to employ the remaining five minutes in disciplining Lucile. +"It's her temperament, you know; and, besides, the very stones of +Paris breathe Romance!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SENIOR PAGEANT + + +Commencement came with hurrying feet, showing little regard for +Seniors, who daily visited the old haunts, grown so dear to them, and +hourly hated worse the thought of leaving St. Helen's. Every spot +seemed dearer than ever before--the cottages, which had been their +homes, the Retreat, filled with the memories of chapel and vespers, +every path in the woods, every spot where certain flowers grew. It +would be hard to leave them all; but far harder to say good-by to one +another, and to the teachers and girls who were to return; for, as +Anne said on every possible occasion, "There's no use talking! It +never will seem the same again!" So in all the festivities of the +closing days there was a sadness--a strange hollow feeling in one's +body, a lump which often came unexpectedly into one's throat. + +To Virginia, this season of her first Commencement was one of +conflicting emotions. She was torn between a joy in the perfect June +days, and a sorrow that they must soon come to an end; between the +happy anticipation of seeing her father, who, with her grandmother and +Aunt Nan, was to be at St. Helen's for the closing week, and the sad +realization that St. Helen's would never seem the same without the +Seniors, and that The Hermitage would be a sadly different place +without Mary and Anne. + +She found studying during those last few weeks the most difficult +thing in the world; and had it not been for the cup competition +between Hathaway and The Hermitage, which was daily growing more +close, she, like many of the others, would have been sorely tempted to +take a vacation. It would be so much more "vital," she said to +herself, and ten times more appropriate, to close her geometry and +walk through the woods with Priscilla, or sit in Mary's room, and plan +for the wonderful days to come; for Mrs. Williams had "found a way," +and Jack and Mary were actually to spend the month of August in +Wyoming with Virginia and Donald. The trip was to be their +Commencement gift, for Jack was likewise graduating that year from the +Stanford School. "It's too good to be true," Virginia kept saying to +herself, "it's too good to be true," and deep in her heart she hoped +and hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop might consent to Priscilla's +going also. They had said they would "think about it," and that, so +Priscilla said, was a hopeful sign. + +As she bent over her geometry, preparing for the final examination, +there would come before her eyes in place of circles and triangles and +parallelograms, visions of sunny August days riding over the +foothills, and starlit August nights about a camp-fire in the canyon. +It would be such fun for her and Don to show Mary and Jack all the +loveliest places in their country. And she would teach Mary to +shoot--Mary, who had never in her life held a rifle! Oh, if only the +other Vigilantes might come! But she knew that Dorothy was to be in +California with her father; and as to Vivian, Virginia could somehow +easily picture the horror on timid Mrs. Winter's face at the thought +of Vivian shooting and camping in a canyon! But this was not mastering +geometry, and there was the cup! The Hermitage must win it from +Hathaway, and the winning or the losing depended upon the success or +failure of each one. So, banishing dreams, she went to work again. + +There were but ten days more. Already it was examination week; already +many of the traditional ceremonies and closing occasions had taken +place. The Juniors had "picnicked" the Seniors, and the Seniors the +Juniors; the cottage tennis finals had been played off, Overlook +winning the doubles, and Bess Shepard being proclaimed the champion in +the ensuing singles; the Senior ivy had been planted against the wall +of the Retreat, and the old trowel presented with fitting remarks to +the Junior president. By the cottages the Senior occupants had each +planted her own slip of ivy, her name placed in a securely corked +bottle, and buried beneath the roots of her plant. Thus in our own +minds do we become immortal! + +But the occasion upon which all thoughts were centered, and toward +which all energies were bent, was the Senior Pageant, to be held on +Tuesday afternoon of the closing week. On preceding Commencements, an +out-of-door play had been the choice of the graduating class; but this +year the Seniors, who had been throughout their four years unusually +interested in History, had determined to give in place of the play a +Historical Pageant. Each was to represent some character of History, +legendary or ancient, mediaeval or modern, design and make her own +costume, and dramatize the certain scene or scenes which she had +chosen to portray. The Juniors and members of the lower classes, +though not of importance as prominent characters, were yet of +indispensable value as retainers, henchmen, pages, and the like. + +"In fact," said the Blackmore twins, who were the blindfolded +headsmen, leading the procession of the doomed Mary Stuart to the +block; "in fact, we may not seem very important, but we're the setting +and they couldn't do without us!" + +For weeks, even for months, they had been making preparations and +holding rehearsals. The place chosen for the pageant was the level +strip of meadow south of the campus. Directly back of it lay the +Retreat woods, which were very convenient for the disappearance of the +characters when their parts were finished, and especially so for +Martin Luther, who had to nail his ninety-five theses on the door of +the Retreat. On the left the road led to St. Helen's; on the right +stretched more woodland; while immediately in front of the ground +chosen for the performance, a gently sloping hillside formed a +splendid amphitheater from which the audience was to view the pageant. +Nature had surely done her best to provide an ideal situation; and the +girls were going to try to do as well. + +Virginia had found her services in great demand, and she was glad and +proud to give them. Anne had determined to be her beloved Joan of Arc, +and had planned to appear in three scenes--in the forest of Domremy, +where she listened to the voices; in the company of the old village +priest, with whom she talked of her visions; and finally on the +journey toward the Dauphin, whom she was to recognize among his +courtiers. In the last scene a horse was necessary, for Joan, clad in +armor, rode, accompanied by the old priest and two knights. Also, the +Black Prince clamored for a war-horse; Augustus said he never could be +august without one; and Roland refused to die in the Pass of +Roncesvalles, unless he could first fall from his panting steed! +Matters early in the spring having come to a halt over the horse +problem, Miss King was consulted, and upon Virginia's assurance, ably +seconded by that of Mr. Hanly, that Napoleon would be a perfectly safe +addition to the troupe, his services were engaged for rehearsals and +final performance alike, and he was installed in St. Helen's stable, +so as to be on hand whenever desired. + +Joan, never having been on a horse before, though born and bred in the +South, needed considerable instruction, as did the other equestrian +actresses; and Virginia found herself installed as riding-mistress for +a good many hours each week. Napoleon did not seem averse to his part +in the pageant, though sometimes he shook his head disdainfully when +the Black Prince strapped some armor over it, and objected slightly to +the trappings which Augustus felt necessary for his successful entry +into Rome. Virginia's saddle, bedecked for the occasion, was found +adequate for all the riders; and after many, many attempts, followed +by very frank criticisms from the riding-mistress, most of the +performers could mount and dismount with something resembling ease. +Virginia, knowing well Napoleon's variety of gaits, did not hope for +equestrianism on the part of the riders. If they could only get on +safely, sit fairly straight, and get off without catching their feet +or clothing, she would rest content; and though Roland and the Black +Prince were determined to use their spurs and come out from the forest +on the gallop, Virginia, having raised them from the ground after two +of these disastrous attempts, urged them with all her might to allow +Napoleon to walk, which he was very glad to do. + +But Joan, it must be admitted, found her last act a trying one. Though +she mounted in the recesses of the forest, and could have all the +assistance she needed, to ride before the audience, holding her spear +aloft in one hand, and driving with the other was well-nigh +impossible, especially when she longed to grasp the saddle-horn; and +lastly, to dismount safely, without catching on some part of that +fearful saddle and irretrievably loosening her armor, was an act she +feared and dreaded day and night. + +"Oh, why did I choose to be Joan!" she cried, as Virginia, at a +private rehearsal, raised her from the ground after at least the +twentieth attempt to dismount. "I just can't do it!" + +"Yes, you can," encouraged her instructor, who, when occasion +demanded, coached the dramatic appearance as well as the equestrian. +"You're beautiful when you hear the voices in the forest, and when you +talk with the old priest, you're thrilling! Only, I do wish Lucile +would be more priestly. Of course, she speaks French wonderfully, but +she isn't one bit like a priest. It's too bad, when you're so +wonderful in that scene." + +"Well, you see, she didn't want to be the priest, anyway. She wanted +to be the Black Prince's sweetheart." + +"He didn't have a sweetheart, did he?" + +"I don't know. It doesn't seem as though he would at seventeen. But +she wanted him to, anyway, and say farewell to her in England." + +"She does make me sick! Now, Anne, I've just one criticism. You're +going to learn to dismount all right; but if you'd only look less +scared when you ride toward the Dauphin! You know you ought to look +soulful, as though you were seeing a distant vision, but you don't. +You look frightened to death." + +"Then I look just the way I feel, Virginia. I'd rather ride an +elephant than that Napoleon. I am scared of him, and I may as well +admit it. He's the most terrorizing animal I've ever known!" And +nothing that Napoleon's trainer could say as to his harmlessness and +even amicability of disposition, could convince the trembling Joan, +who, in perseverance and fear, still continued to make herself +dismount. + +But when the last Saturday came, all difficulties seemed overcome. +Joan had actually dismounted successfully half a dozen times; the +Black Prince had, after all, decided that he was more impressive when +his charger walked; and Queen Elizabeth had ridden three times in her +carriage, borne by eight staggering retainers, without its once +breaking down. No more rehearsals were to be held until the final one +on Tuesday morning; and costumes were packed away, while Napoleon +gratefully munched his oats in St. Helen's stable, and wondered at the +unaccustomed respite he was enjoying. + +On that Saturday came Virginia's father with her Grandmother Webster +and Aunt Nan. She had never been so happy in her life, she thought, as +she walked excitedly up and down the platform, and waited for the +train. Would her father find her much changed, she wondered, and would +he look the same? Never before in their lives had they been separated, +and nine months seemed a very long time. His letter of yesterday had +been written from Vermont where he had visited a week, and where, he +told her, he had been very happy. And her grandmother had also +written, saying how much they were enjoying him. She was so glad, she +said to herself, as the train whistled in the distance--so thankful +that at last Grandmother Webster was beginning to appreciate her +father. If it were really true, she simply couldn't be any happier. + +It was really true! Of that she was assured. For after her father had +jumped from the train to hold his little daughter close in his arms +for a moment, he had turned to help her grandmother, who was just +alighting, and whom, to Virginia's great joy, he called "Mother." Then +her grandmother kissed her, and said to her father, "John, hasn't she +grown?"; and jolly Aunt Nan, who came up in the rear, hugged her hard, +and said in the most understanding kind of way, "Now this whole family +is together at last!" Finally, as if to add the finishing touch and +make everything complete, Grandmother Webster, after she and Aunt Nan +had greeted Miss King, who stood on the platform, said, "And I think, +years ago, you met my son, Virginia's father." + +The next three days were like the perfect realization of a dream. "The +whole family" roamed together about the campus; listened to the +farewell sermon, which the white-haired bishop gave on Sunday morning +in the chapel, and the last vesper service, at which every one cried; +heard the Senior essays on Monday afternoon; and attended Miss King's +reception on Monday evening. It seemed like a great family reunion +with all the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters; and it took no +time at all for everybody to become acquainted with everybody else. +Virginia proudly introduced her father to all the girls; and it was +not long before the four Vigilantes and their adviser were listening +to tales of the real Vigilante days. + +"And I hope you'll every one come to Wyoming for August," he said +genially, "You'll be well-chaperoned, for Virginia's Aunt Nan is +coming, and there's room and a welcome for all." + +That night Priscilla, before they went to sleep, confided her hopes to +Virginia. + +"I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, +when we were helping serve," she whispered, "and I know they were +talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I'll be there?" + +"I'm thinking on it every minute I have," came back the whispered +answer. "Aunt Nan's going will make a big difference; and some way I +just know you're coming, Priscilla!" + +Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which +had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to +study the heavens. At ten o'clock a strictly private dress rehearsal +was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth's +pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode +Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin +Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon +the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration +denounced the sale of "Indulgences "; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was +led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had +invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History +teacher, declared herself delighted. + +"It's perfect!" she said enthusiastically. "Now you may go where you +like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try +that dismounting again, Anne, and don't let your voice tremble when +you address the Dauphin." + +"My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever," +thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on +the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who +kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon's heels. She drew +near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and +prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell +to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved +it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking +on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan +released Anne's foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized. + +Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That +was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second +acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene +with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the +circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be +found, must be omitted. + +Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan +rubbed her aching ankle. + +"I think it's really providential," she said, "because I'd have been +sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. +My costume will fit her all right, and I'm quite content with hearing +the voices and talking with the priest. You'll do it, won't you, +Virginia?" + +"Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn't +like yours, Anne. Oh, I'm so sorry it happened!" + +"Well, it's fortunate we have you, Virginia," said Miss Allan. "You +know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. +Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it." + +Joan was lifted on Napoleon, where, having no spear to carry and both +hands free to clutch the saddle, she felt quite fearless, especially +since Virginia led her steed; and, followed by a train of sympathetic +courtiers, was carried to The Hermitage, where her ankle, which was +not badly hurt, was carefully bandaged. Meanwhile, Virginia, raised +all at once to the dignity of a Senior, rehearsed her lines, and tried +with the help of Lucile to pronounce the impossible French syllables. + +By three o'clock that afternoon the hillside amphitheater was crowded +with guests, the number of relatives and friends being increased by +many Hillcrest residents, who never failed to enjoy the Commencement +"doings." Prominent among those who awaited appearance of the pageant, +was a tall, soldierly-looking gentleman, who sat beside Virginia's +father, and seemed to enjoy talking of a certain little girl, with +whom he had journeyed East nine months before. Every now and then he +bestowed proud glances upon his grandson, who had accompanied him, and +who had already found in Jack Williams a pleasant companion. + +"I couldn't resist bringing my grandson to meet Miss Virginia," the +old gentleman explained, "and I'm doubly glad I did come, for I'm +delighted to meet her father." + +Virginia's father evidently enjoyed Colonel Standish, for they found +many subjects of conversation, and talked until a herald, clad in +crimson and white, the Senior colors, appeared from the forest, and +blowing a trumpet, announced in quaint language that the pageant was +about to begin: + + "Lords and ladies, passing fair, + I would now to you declare + That before your very eyes + Those from out the past arise." + +The first to arise from out the shadowy past were Hector and +Andromache, clad in Trojan costumes. In Homer's tongue they bade each +other farewell, while Andromache lifted her infant son (the janitor's +baby, borrowed for the occasion) to kiss his fierce father, armed with +helmet, shield, and spear, before he should go out to fight the great +Achilles. True to the Homeric legend, the baby cried in fright, and +was hurriedly returned to the janitor's wife, who waited in the shadow +of the trees. Demosthenes hurled in good Greek a "philippic" against +the Macedonian King, and Cicero cursed Cataline in fiery Latin. Then +followed the great Augustus, who sat upon the much-bedecked Napoleon +and gloried in his triumph; Roland, who fell gallantly from his steed +in the Pass of Roncesvalles, blowing his horn with his last breath to +warn the soldiers of Charlemagne of his disaster; and the Black +Prince, who, on his way to Crecy, paused to give an oration on the +valor of the English. + +Now it was time for Joan of Arc, who, her peasant robes covering her +bandaged ankle, sat in the forests of Domremy, and with sweet, +up-turned face listened to the voices of angels. Convinced that she +had a mission to perform, she sought the old priest as he walked one +day in the forest, and told him of her visions; but he, in perfect +though rather halfhearted French, discouraged her, and sent her home +to help her mother in the kitchen. A year passed, and Joan having at +last convinced the priest and the governor of Domremy, was allowed to +proceed to the Dauphin, and declare her message from God. + +In the last scene, a new Joan, clad in a shining helmet, a suit of +armor, and bearing a shield and spear, rode from the wood into the +meadow. She sat her horse like a knight of old, holding her reins in +her left hand, on which arm she bore her shield, and in her right hand +bearing her spear aloft. In her gray eyes was the memory of the +Domremy visions; on her face the determination to save her country. +Before her walked the little priest, who could not resist glancing +back every now and then to be sure Napoleon was not too near his +heels. Behind her on either side came two armed retainers. + +As the Maid of Orleans neared the audience, she was greeted by +applause, which pleased her even less than it pleased a certain little +group in the center of the gathering. She rode on toward the end of +the meadow, where next the woods stood the disguised Dauphin and his +courtiers. As she reached the first of the Dauphin's men-at-arms, she +halted her steed, swung her armor-clad body lightly to the ground, and +advanced with intent gaze toward him, whom she knew to be Charles, the +future king. + +[Illustration: "She sat her horse like a knight of old."] + +Meanwhile, Napoleon, weary of this pomp and pageantry, and feeling his +back free at last from knights and emperors, moved slowly to a near-by +birch tree, and began to nibble at its fresh new leaves. Joan's +retainers had followed her, and as there was no one to forbid him to +take refreshment, he ate on undisturbed. Suddenly at his very nose +sounded a blare of trumpets. They proclaimed the Domremy peasant girl +to be what she had declared herself--the deliverer of her country. But +Napoleon knew nothing of proclamations or deliverers. All he knew was +that he had been rudely disturbed and needlessly startled--he, who had +uncomplainingly worn trappings of every description and borne Augustus +and Roland, the Black Prince and Joan! + +The trumpets sounded again in his ears. This time he answered with a +terrifying snort, kicked up his heels and started down the meadow, his +tasseled blanket, for with this new Joan he wore no saddle, dragging +on the ground. Joan, in the act of receiving the homage of the Dauphin +and his court, saw him go. She sprang to her feet, mediaeval manners +forgotten, threw aside her spear and shield, and started in pursuit. +She forgot that she was to save France; but she knew she was to save +the Earl of Leicester embarrassment from having no steed to ride, when +he should advance in the next act to greet Queen Elizabeth. + +The progress of Napoleon was somewhat lessened by his robes in which +he became often entangled, and by his desire for more fresh birch +leaves. Within five minutes Joan was near him, her helmet long since +gone, her armor more or less depleted, her hair streaming in the wind. +She was no longer the gentle maid of Domremy; she was a Wyoming girl +who was catching her horse. + +"Oh, John!" cried Grandmother Webster, who with frightened eyes +watched her granddaughter in this somewhat strange proceeding. "Oh, +John, how can you laugh! She'll be hurt!" + +"No, she won't, mother," her father answered. "She's used to that sort +of thing. Don't worry." + +"She's the pluckiest girl I ever saw in my life!" cried the Colonel, +slapping his knee. "Joan of Arc wasn't in it!" And his grandson, who +had risen to his feet and was cheering as though he were at a +foot-ball game, kept shouting between his cheers: + +"Say, but she's a corker!" + +Now she was running beside Napoleon. Suddenly she grasped his reins, +and stopped him just as he was nearing the road, and thinking without +doubt that he would escape to his Hillcrest stable where pageantry was +unknown. She straightened his bedraggled robes as well as she could, +then with one hand on his neck, sprang to his back with as much ease +as though he had been a Shetland pony, and, amid the cheers of the +audience, rode back to receive the homage, not only of the Dauphin, +but of the gathering at large. + +The pageant proceeded. Queen Elizabeth, borne by her eight retainers, +was received by a somewhat trembling Earl of Leicester, who did not +seem at all sure of his steed; Mary Stuart was dignity and courage +itself as she marched to the scaffold, led by two perfectly serious +headsmen; and Martin Luther eclipsed even his rehearsal of the +morning. But none like the second Joan was prompted by necessity to +forget the bonds of History, and establish a new tradition to add to +the hundreds already clustering about St. Helen's. + +"For," said the white-haired bishop, shaking hands with her, as she +stood in her page's costume of doublet and hose, surrounded by an +admiring group, "St. Helen's girls will never forget this Joan, though +their memory may be hazy as to her of Domremy; just as they'll always +remember St. Helen's champion chimney-sweep, and probably forget all +about Charles Kingsley's. Isn't that so, my dear?" And he turned with +a quizzical smile toward the Blackmore twin, who had dropped into the +grate before his astonished eyes the year before. + +"Well," said Carver Standish III, as bearing Joan's spear and shield, +he accompanied her across the campus, "well, all I've got to say is, +Miss Hunter, you surely are a winner! And I'm some glad grandfather +brought me over to meet you!" + +"I'm glad, too," answered the happy Joan, "but I'm not Miss Hunter, +I'm just Virginia. You see I'm especially anxious not to be a young +lady when I get back home." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE VIGILANTES' LAST MEETING + + +"It's absolutely unbelievable!" cried Priscilla. + +"It's a fairy-tale!" said Vivian. + +"I'll just count the minutes till August!" declared Virginia. + +"Mine is a reward for getting all _A's_," said Priscilla. "My! but I'm +glad I worked!" + +"I'm thankful papa came for Commencement," said Vivian. "Mamma would +never have said 'Yes.' She still thinks I'm going to be killed. Are +you sure you have room for us all, Virginia? Is a ranch large?" + +"Of course we have room. Besides, I sleep in a tent summers." + +"Oh, may we, too?" + +"Why, yes, if you like. Mary wants to. It's lovely out-of-doors." + +"Aren't there any rattle-snakes around?" + +"Only on the hills, and in rocky and sandy places. Oh, Dorothy, we're +selfish talking like this when you can't come!" + +"No, you're not. I dote on hearing about it. I wish I could come, but +I'm glad I'm going to be with father. It makes me frightfully proud to +think he wants me to keep house for him; and we're going to have a +heavenly little bungalow right by the ocean. It will be lovely, I +think; and we haven't been together for so long, it will be like +getting acquainted over again." + +"I think it's splendid, Dorothy," said Priscilla, "and I'm so proud of +you! Mother is too--she said so. And being all Vigilantes, we'll be +together in thought, anyway. Oh, Virginia, I think your father was +perfectly lovely to give us our pins!" + +"Wonderful!" cried Dorothy. + +"They're the sweetest things!" said Vivian. + +"Wasn't that your secret when we held our first meeting in May?" asked +Dorothy. + +"Yes, that was it. When you mentioned the hepatica, I thought how +lovely it would be to have little hepatica pins. I wrote father all +about it, and he said he'd love to have them made for us as a gift +from him. They are sweet! I love them!" + +She lifted hers from her blouse and examined it, while the other +Vigilantes did the same. They were little hepaticas in dull gold. In +the heart of each glowed three small pearls; and in a circle around +the pearls were engraved in tiny letters the words, "Ever Vigilant." + +"They'll be such a help to us this summer, I think," said Dorothy. "I +know mine will. It will help me remember--lots of things." + +They were sitting on their rock back of the Retreat. It was afternoon +of the day following the pageant, and this was their last Vigilante +meeting. + +"Doesn't it seem as though everything had come out just right?" asked +Priscilla after a little pause. "This morning in chapel when Miss King +announced that we'd won the cup, I could have screamed, I was so glad! +And that's due to you, Dorothy, more than to any one else. Just think +of your Latin examination! Miss Baxter has put it in the exhibit of +class work. I'm so glad!" + +"I can't help feeling glad, too. But then it isn't any more than I +ought to have done toward my share of winning the cup. I helped toward +losing it the first of the year." + +"Oh, don't let's talk about that part--ever again!" cried the founder +of the Vigilantes. "It's never going to happen any more, and that's +what makes me so happy, because now we understand each other, and next +year we'll all be working for the same thing! Oh, I get happier every +minute!" + +"Won't it be lovely to have the Blackmores in The Hermitage?" + +"Has Miss King really said they could come?" + +"Yes, Jess told me this morning after chapel. At least, she's going to +try them for three months." + +"They're going to Germany this summer. I wonder what they'll learn to +do over there!" + +"You can depend upon it they'll learn something! You'll have enough to +do to keep them straight, Priscilla." + +"Oh, dear," said Priscilla. "Why did you ever choose me monitor? I'll +probably get into more scrapes than any one else, especially with the +Blackmores around. I'll try to be like Mary, but I know I can't." + +"Oh, won't we miss Mary and Anne?" + +"Anne's going abroad, too, with her mother; and then she's going to +college in the fall with Mary." + +"College seems so far away, and so big some way. I'm glad we're going +to be at St. Helen's." + +A bell sounded across the campus. + +"It's time for the Senior song," said Priscilla. "We must go in a +minute. I'm going to take a piece of pine for my Memory Book to +remember the last meeting." + +They all followed her example. Then, standing on the big rock with +their arms around one another's shoulders, they repeated earnestly +their Vigilante principles: + +"We stand for fair play and true friendship." + +"And for taking care of our roots," added Virginia, as a postscript. + +Then they scrambled down from the rock, and ran through the wood path +to the campus, where the lower classes were gathering for the annual +Senior song, which was held the last day of Commencement. From the +woods north of the campus came the twenty Seniors in white dresses. +They marched two by two between long lines of crimson ribbon, which +they held. As they drew near the campus where the other classes +awaited them, they sang their Senior song. + + "We're the St. Helen's Seniors, + The crimson and the white, + We stand for fun and friendship, + For loyalty and right, + We'll ever praise St. Helen's, + Her wisdom and her fame, + The only school in all this land + Our loyalty can claim." + +Cheers from Juniors, Sophomores, and Freshmen greeted them. They +marched to all the buildings, before each one singing farewell songs, +written by Senior poets; and then back again to the gathering-place of +the admiring lower classes, who, as they approached, rose, and with +greater volume, but no greater feeling, saluted them with a song, also +written expressly for the occasion. + + "Farewell to the Seniors, + We'll surely miss you sore + When we come back again next fall, + And find you here no more. + We'll try to follow in your steps, + Of loyalty and right, + And never, never will forget + The crimson and the white." + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +HOME ONCE MORE + + +"Oh, father, it looks just the same! There are our mountains that +Colonel Standish and I said good-by to. Oh, daddy, I've missed the +mountains so! And there are the foot-hills! Aren't they green? And see +the flowers on them! Oh, there's a shooting star! I saw it in the +hollow as we passed. And aren't the grain fields lovely with the wind +sweeping over them? Oh, father, won't the girls just love it? And +won't it be perfectly lovely to have them? I never saw any one so +happy as Carver Standish when he said you had asked him. The Colonel +was smiling all over, too. It will be a regular house-party, won't it? +And isn't it wonderful that Aunt Nan's coming with all of them? Oh, +father, weren't we happy in Vermont, and isn't it just the loveliest +thing in all the world that we have grandmother and Aunt Nan for our +very own? I know mother would be happy, don't you?" + +"I'm sure she would be very happy, dear. It's what we used to hope for +years ago. And I'm the happiest man in all Wyoming to have my little +daughter back, and I'm more glad than ever that I sent her away to +school." + +"Oh, I'm so glad that I can't help thinking about it. Just think if +I'd never gone, I'd never have known Priscilla--isn't she dear, +father--or Dorothy, or Mary and Anne, or those dear, funny Blackmore +twins, or Vivian--Vivian seems silly, father, but she isn't really, +she's fine underneath, you'll see--or Miss King, or darling Miss +Wallace--oh, daddy, wasn't she too dear for anything when she said +good-by? She kissed me twice. It's selfish to notice, but I couldn't +help it. She's one of my very dearest friends. Didn't you like her +especially?" + +"Very much, dear. See, we're coming nearer. We've crossed the creek +bridge. Better put on your hat." + +Fifteen minutes later they had left the dingy little station and were +driving along the country road between fields of waving grain, the +proud Dick being holder of the reins. Virginia plied him with eager +questions. + +"Oh, Dick, how is the colt?" + +"Fine, Miss Virginia. We put him on the range last month." + +[Illustration: "The road lay at the very base of the green +foot-hills."] + +"And how's Pedro?" + +"He's fine, too." + +"Have the little collies grown much?" + +Dick laughed. "They're not little any more, Miss Virginia." + +"And how are Alec and Joe and Hannah and Mr. Weeks and William?" + +"They're first-rate, and all anxious to see you." + +Virginia clung closer to her father's hand. "It seems strange, doesn't +it, father," she whispered, her voice breaking, "and--and sad not to +have Jim drive us home?" + +For miles they drove across the broad prairies, past grain fields and +through barren, unirrigated stretches. Then at last they turned a bend +in the road, and there before them lay the nearer foot-hills, with the +higher ranges above, and far above all the mountains--still +snow-covered. + +"They look really friendly this morning with the sun on them," said +Virginia, "and they ought to when I love them so, and am coming back +to them." + +They turned again. This time the road lay at the very base of the +green foot-hills, upon which cattle and horses were feeding. On the +side of one of the hills rose a great spruce, and on the ground near +it, Virginia's quick eyes caught a glow of color. + +"Is that--?" she whispered to her father. + +"Yes," he said softly. "That's where Jim lies. We fenced in the range +for a good distance all around the tree so the cattle couldn't go +there; and William tended some plants all winter so that he could put +them there early in the spring. They're all in blossom now, you see." + +Virginia could not speak. She watched the great spruce and the color +beneath it, until they rounded the hill and both were hidden from +sight. Then she put her head against her father's shoulder, while he, +understanding, held her close. Jim's absence was the only shadow upon +her home-coming. Nothing would seem the same without him; and now that +he was gone, the girls would never understand why it was that she had +loved him so. If they could only have seen him, then they would have +known! + +"You can see home now, little girl," said her father. + +She raised her head eagerly. Yes, there it was--the green wheat fields, +the avenue of tall cottonwoods whose leaves were fluttering in the +wind, the long white ranch-house, from the window of which some one +was waving a red handkerchief. + +"Hannah!" cried Virginia, as she waved her own handkerchief in answer. + +A few minutes more and they were driving beneath the cottonwoods. +Around the corner of the house bounded the collie dogs, the pups +indistinguishable from their mother, to give them welcome; in the +doorway stood Hannah, her face bright with joy; and by Virginia's +flower-bed, in which spikes of blue larkspur, reaching to her window, +were brave with bloom, stood William--a new William, with the sadness +and the failures quite gone from his face. + +"Oh, William," cried Virginia, jumping from the carriage, and running +up to him; "Oh, William, it's next best to having Jim to have you--like +this!" + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Elk Creek Valley lay bathed in June sunshine. It had +never seemed so beautiful--at least to a certain boy and girl, who +rested their horses on the brow of the Mine, and looked off across a +creek bordered by cottonwoods and merry, laughing quaking-asps, across +a blue-green sea of waving grain, to the distant, snow-furrowed +mountain peaks. Some magpies flew chattering over the prairie and +among the quaking-asps; a meadow lark sang from a near-by tree-stump; +and two cotton-tail rabbits chased each other across the open space +between the creek and the foot-hills, and played hide-and-seek behind +the sage-brush. + +"Isn't it the loveliest place in all the world, Don?" the girl almost +whispered. "I know I'll not be any happier when I get to Heaven. And +some way the mountains are friendlier than ever. Perhaps because I +love them better now I'm home again." + +"It is lovely," the boy answered. "The finest country anywhere! I'm +mighty glad you're home again, Virginia; but the thing I'm most glad +about is, that you aren't a young lady after all!" + + THE END + + + + + SIX STAR RANCH + + Another success by the author of the wonderful GLAD Books + + "Pollyanna: The GLAD Book" + "Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second GLAD Book" + +With frontispiece in full color from a painting by R. Farrington +Elwell and six spirited drawings by Frank J. Murch. Bound uniform with +the POLLYANNA books in silk cloth, with a corresponding color jacket, +net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The year we published POLLYANNA, THE GLAD BOOK, we published another +book by the same author, but as it is contrary to our policy to issue +two books by one writer in a year, we published the second book under +the pseudonym "Eleanor Stuart." + +As we are not going to publish a new book of Mrs. Porter's this year, +we have decided to announce the publication of SIX STAR RANCH under +the name of its real author. The success of her previous books is +practically unparalleled in the history of American publishing, +POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK, having already sold 300,000 copies--an +average of more than 100,000 copies for three consecutive years--and +POLLYANNA GROWS UP: THE SECOND GLAD BOOK, having sold nearly 150,000 +copies in nine months. + +SIX STAR RANCH is a charming story, in the author's best vein, of a +dear little Texas girl, who plays "the glad game" made famous by +POLLYANNA, and plays it with a charm which will put her on the same +pinnacle, side by side with POLLYANNA. + + + + + SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP + + A Sequel to "Sylvia's Experiment, The Cheerful Book" + + By Margaret R. Piper + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, decorative +jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +In THE CHEERFUL BOOK Sylvia Arden proved herself a messenger of joy +and cheerfulness to thousands of readers. In this new story she plays +the same rle on Arden Hill during her summer vacation and is the same +wholesome, generous, cheerful young lady who made such a success of +the Christmas Party. She befriends sick neighbors, helps "run" a +tea-room, brings together two lovers who have had differences, serves +as the convenient bridesmaid here and the good Samaritan there, and +generally acquits herself in a manner which made of her such a popular +heroine in the former story. There is, of course, a Prince Charming in +the background. + +"The SYLVIA books should be read by all the exponents of POLLYANNA of +THE GLAD BOOKS," says Mr. H. V. Meyer of the American Baptist +Publication Society. + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + By Mary Ellen Chase + +12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +At the beginning of the story, Virginia Hunter, a bright, breezy, +frank-hearted "girl of the Golden West," comes out of the Big Horn +country of Wyoming to the old Bay State. Then "things begin," when +Virginia,--who feels the joyous, exhilarating call of the Big Horn +wilderness and the outdoor life,--attempts to become acclimated and +adopt good old New England "ways." + +Few stories reveal a more attractive heroine, and the joyous spirit of +youth and its happy adventures give the story an unusual charm. + +"The book has natural characters, fresh incidents, and a general +atmosphere of sincerity and wholesome understanding of girl nature. +Virginia may well become as popular as 'Miss Billy' or irresistible +Anne."--_New York Sun_. + + + + + THE VIOLIN LADY + + A Sequel to "The Fiddling Girl" and "The Proving of Virginia" + + By Daisy Rhodes Campbell + +Frontispiece in full color from a painting by F. W. Read, and six +black and white illustrations by John Goss, decorative jacket, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +This new story continues the adventures of the once little Fiddling +Girl and tells of her triumphs and hardships abroad, of her friends, +her love affairs, and finally of Virginia's wedding bells and return +to America. The previous two books in this series have been pronounced +excellent and uplift stories, but "The Violin Lady" is far ahead of +both in interest and charm. + +The press has commented on the author's previous stories as follows: + + "A delightful story told in a charming manner. The Page + Company does a real service indeed in the publication of so + many of these excellent stories."--_Zion's Herald, Boston_. + + "A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of + sympathetic comprehension."--_Boston Herald_. + + + + + MAN PROPOSES + + Or, The Romance of John Alden Shaw + + By Elliot H. Robinson + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color and other +illustrations by William Van Dresser, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The story of John Alden Shaw is in many respects unique. Containing an +enigma of an unusual nature, an odd legal tangle and a deep moral +problem, the plot holds the reader's attention to the very end. Quite +as interesting as the major theme of the story are the minor +incidents, for the greater part of the action occurs in gay Newport +during "tennis week" and one somewhat unusual feature of the book is +the introduction of several real and widely known characters--chiefly +tennis stars of international reputation--and actual happenings, which +give the tale peculiar realism. As the author is recognized as one of +our leading writers on tennis, the scenes at the famous Casino during +one of the national championships are particularly well drawn. + +While primarily a problem love story, Man Proposes is essentially a +book "with a difference." The heroine is a charming Southern girl, +decidedly American in her ideas, while John is himself a very real +sort of young man, and though possessed of sterling qualities which +bring him victoriously through his great test, is no paragon of +virtues. + +"Man proposes, but God disposes!"--Thomas a Kempis. + +"Prithee, why don't you speak for yourself, John?"--_Longfellow_. + +As the story unfolds the reader will appreciate the significance of +the above lines. + + + + + ANNE'S WEDDING + + A Blossom Shop Romance + + A Sequel to "The Blossom Shop" and "Anne of the Blossom Shop" + + By Isla May Mullins + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a +fainting by Gene Pressler, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + + This new book continues the story of a delightful Southern family of +unique combinations, which have been introduced to thousands of +interested readers through the two preceding volumes, _The Blossom +Shop_ and _Anne of the Blossom Shop_. The new volume promises to be by +far the most popular of the three--which is saying a good deal--for +these stories, sweet and clean, with their picturesque Southern +setting, have charmed both old and young. In the new volume Anne, May +and Gene, three girls of varying types from lovely Mrs. Carter's +garden of girls, touch life in new and vital ways which develop +sterling character and set promising and full-blown romance to +stirring. + + "There is so much of sunshine in its pages that it sheds its +cheerfulness upon the reader, making life seem brighter and convincing +us that this world is a pleasant place to live in and full of +delightful, kind-hearted people."--_Boston Times_. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY*** + + +******* This file should be named 42287-8.txt or 42287-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/2/8/42287 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Farrington Elwell</h1> +<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a +href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> +<p>Title: The Girl from the Big Horn Country</p> +<p>Author: Mary Ellen Chase</p> +<p>Release Date: March 9, 2013 [eBook #42287]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="center">E-text prepared by Roger Frank</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +</div> +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-001.jpg' id='i001' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“Rode down the hill into the valley.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<div class='center isolate'> +<span style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY</span><br/> +<br/> +By<br/> +<br/> +MARY ELLEN CHASE<br/> +<br/> +Illustrated by<br/> +<br/> +R. FARRINGTON ELWELL<br/> +<br/><br/><br/><br/> +THE PAGE COMPANY<br/> +<br/> +BOSTON—MDCCCCXVI<br/> +</div> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<div class='center isolate'> +Copyright, 1916,<br/> +by the Page Company<br/> +<br/> +All rights reserved<br/> +<br/> +First Impression, January, 1916<br/> +Second Impression, March, 1916<br/> +Third Impression, May, 1916<br/> +Fourth Impression, June, 1916<br/> +Fifth Impression, August, 1916<br/> +<br/> +PRESSWORK BY<br/> +<br/> +THE COLONIAL PRESS<br/> +<br/> +C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY, BOSTON, U. S. A.<br/> +</div> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<div class='center isolate'> +TO THE MEMORY<br/> +OF MY FATHER<br/> +WHO, PERHAPS, KNOWS, AND IS GLAD<br/> +</div> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p>CONTENTS</p> + +<p style='margin-left:2em;'> +<a href='#ch01'>CHAPTER I—VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY</a><br/> +<a href='#ch02'>CHAPTER II—THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME</a><br/> +<a href='#ch03'>CHAPTER III—THE JOURNEY EAST</a><br/> +<a href='#ch04'>CHAPTER IV—VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT</a><br/> +<a href='#ch05'>CHAPTER V—THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS</a><br/> +<a href='#ch06'>CHAPTER VI—ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch07'>CHAPTER VII—"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM"</a><br/> +<a href='#ch08'>CHAPTER VIII—THE LAST STRAW</a><br/> +<a href='#ch09'>CHAPTER IX—THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch10'>CHAPTER X—THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch11'>CHAPTER XI—THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR</a><br/> +<a href='#ch12'>CHAPTER XII—THE VIGILANTES</a><br/> +<a href='#ch13'>CHAPTER XIII—THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III</a><br/> +<a href='#ch14'>CHAPTER XIV—WYOMING HOSPITALITY.</a><br/> +<a href='#ch15'>CHAPTER XV—VESPER SERVICE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch16'>CHAPTER XVI—A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch17'>CHAPTER XVII—THE VIGILANTES INITIATE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch18'>CHAPTER XVIII—THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE</a><br/> +<a href='#ch19'>CHAPTER XIX—THE SENIOR PAGEANT</a><br/> +<a href='#ch20'>CHAPTER XX—THE VIGILANTES’ LAST MEETING</a><br/> +<a href='#ch21'>CHAPTER XXI—HOME ONCE MORE</a><br/> +</p> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> + +<p style='margin-left:2em;'> +<a href='#i001'>“Rode down the hill into the valley.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i002'>“Forded the creek in a mad splash of water.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i003'>“Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair and stood facing his audience.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i004'>“Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a gray shawl.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i005'>“Virginia knelt by the altar rail.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i006'>“She sat her horse like a knight of old.”</a><br/> +<a href='#i007'>“The road lay at the very base of the green foot-hills.”</a><br/> +</p> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<h1 class='title'>THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY</h1> + +<h2 id='ch01'>CHAPTER I—VIRGINIA’S COUNTRY</h2> + +<p>A September afternoon in the Big Horn mountains! The air crystal +clear; the sky cloudless; the outlines of the hills distinct! Elk +Creek Valley lay golden in the sunshine, silent save for the incessant +hum of locust and cricket, the hurrying of the creek waters, and the +occasional bellowing of steers on the range beyond the foot-hills; +deserted except for the distant cattle, a coyote stealing across the +hills, a pheasant scurrying through the buck-brush by the creek, and +some cotton-tail rabbits and prairie dogs, who, sure of safety, meant +to enjoy the sunshine while they might.</p> + +<p>The foot-hills more than half-encircled the Valley. North, east, and +south they tumbled, their brown, closely-cropped sides glowing here +and there with the yellow of the quaking-asps, the red of hawthorn, +and the bronze of service-berry. Above them rose the higher ranges, +clothed in gray-green sagebrush and scant timber, and cut by +canyon-forming mountain storms, invisible from the Valley; and far +above all, seemingly near, but in reality miles away, the mountains +extended their blue, snow-furrowed summits toward a bluer sky. Peak +above peak they rose—some isolated and alone, others leaning upon the +shoulders of the higher—all silent, majestic, mysterious, as though +they held in their great hearts the secrets of the world—secrets of +which Elk Creek Valley could never know. Yet the Valley looked very +happy and content. Perhaps it had lain so long beneath their +protection that it knew no fear.</p> + +<p>The creek, rushing madly from the northern foothills, and fed by +melting snow from the higher mountains, had cut a canyon for itself in +its tumultuous journey from the hills; but as the land became more +level, it slackened its pace, content to make but a slight depression +through the Valley. Across it toward the west, beyond a great gap in +the foothills, stretched an open plateau, which rose in undulations, +and extended as far as one could see toward other far distant +mountains, on less clear days dim and hazy of outline, to-day almost +as blue and distinct as the nearer ranges, though sixty miles away. +This great sea of open prairie rolling westward was cut in as many +pieces and bore as many colors as a patchwork quilt. Golden +wheat-fields, the wheat shocked and piled in wigwams on the plain, met +acres of black, freshly-plowed soil, which, in turn, bordered upon the +tender green of alfalfa and of newly grown winter grain. Scattered +over the prairie stretches, at intervals of a mile, perhaps of +several, were homes—here, large ranch houses with out-lying +buildings—there, the rough shack of a lone homesteader.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was a golden land—smiling and peaceful in the September +sunshine. Save for horses and cattle dotted here and there, the +prairie seemed almost as deserted as Elk Creek Valley, though its +homes promised inhabitants, and a blue line of distant smoke showed +where the threshers were at work. Moreover, on the barely visible +brown road that threaded its way across the prairie, two specks were +moving rapidly in the direction of the Gap. The specks took form, +became two riders, a boy and a girl, on wildly galloping horses, +which, neck to neck, tore at last through the Gap, forded the creek in +a mad splash of water, stirrup-high, and dashed away up the Valley. +Reaching the foot-hills a trifle in advance of his companion, the boy +pulled in his restive horse, and called over his shoulder to the girl +just behind.</p> + +<p>“Are Pedro’s feet all right, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Don. Jim fixed them yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s take the Mine then, shall we?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, let’s!”</p> + +<p>And away they went, allowing the sure-footed horses to have their way +up one of the foot-hills, called the “Mine,” because some lone +prospector, dreaming of a fortune, had dug from its side some poor +coal; and then, perhaps discouraged, had abandoned the fruit of his +labors, leaving the black heap as a monument to his zeal, and a +testimony to the vanity of mere dreams.</p> + +<p>They reached the hill-top almost at the same instant, their good +steeds panting; they quite undisturbed, and, turning their horses’ +heads, drew rein and looked across the Valley. They were a +robust-looking pair, red-cheeked and khaki-clad, and as good riders as +Wyoming could produce. The boy was seventeen, or thereabouts, +well-knit and tall for his years, with dark, heavy hair and clear, +blue eyes that looked bluer through his coat of tan. His features were +cleanly-cut and strong, and his mouth had a laugh in the corners. A +merry, honest, manly-looking lad—Donald Keith by name, and the son of +a ranchman on the other side of the Valley.</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-002.jpg' id='i002' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“Forded the creek in a mad splash of water.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>She—Virginia Hunter—was a year younger, and for sixteen as tall and +strong as he for seventeen. She was not pretty, but there was +something singularly attractive about her clear, fresh skin, brown +now, except for the red of her cheeks, her even white teeth, and her +earnest gray eyes, at times merry, but often thoughtful, which looked +so straight at you from under brows and lashes of black. Her +golden-brown hair curled about her temples, but it was brushed back +quite simply and braided down her back where it was well out of her +way. A person riding could not bother about her hair. She sat her +horse as though he were a part of her, holding her reins loosely in +her brown left hand, her right hanging idly at her side. The wind blew +back the loosened hair about her face, and the ends of the red +handkerchief, knotted cow-boy fashion, under the collar of her khaki +shirt. She, like the boy, seemed a part of the country—free, natural, +wholesome—and she shared its charm.</p> + +<p>They had been comrades for years—these two—for, in the ranch country, +homes are often widely separated, and the frequent society of many +persons rare. Virginia’s home lay up the Valley, beyond the first +range of the foot-hills, while the Keith ranch was situated on the +prairie, west beyond the Gap. Three miles apart across country, four +by the road; but three or four miles in Wyoming are like so many +squares in Boston, and the Keiths and Hunters considered themselves +near neighbors. This afternoon Virginia had ridden over to say good-by +to all the dear Keiths—Mr. David, Mother Mary, Donald’s older brother +Malcolm, and his younger, Kenneth, the farm-hands busy with the +threshing, and the men in from the range to help with the wheat; for +they were all her friends, and now that she was going so far away to +school, they seemed nearer and dearer—indeed, next to her father and +those upon their own ranch, the dearest of her world.</p> + +<p>They had been quite as sad as she to say good-by. “The country won’t +be the same without you, my lass,” Mr. David had said in his genial +Scotch way; and Donald’s mother, whom Virginia had called “Mother +Mary,” since the death of her own dear mother six years ago, had +kissed her quite as though she were her own daughter. Even Malcolm had +come in from the wheat field to shake her by the hand and wish her +good luck, and little Kenneth’s feelings had been quite wounded +because Virginia felt she must decline to carry one of his pet foxes +away with her to boarding-school. Then Donald’s father had granted the +request in the boy’s eyes that he might be excused from threshing to +ride up the Valley and home with Virginia. So now their horses, good +friends, too, stood side by side on the brow of the Mine, while their +riders looked down the Valley, beyond the cottonwood-bordered creek, +and across the wide, rolling prairie to the far away mountains; and +then, turning in their saddles, to those ranges and peaks towering +above them.</p> + +<p>Virginia drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>“We’re like Moses on Mount Nebo, looking away into the Promised Land, +aren’t we, Don?” Then, as he laughed, “Do you suppose there’s any +country so lovely as ours? Is there anything in the East like this? Do +you think I’ll be homesick, Don?”</p> + +<p>He laughed again, used to her questions.</p> + +<p>“I suppose every fellow thinks his own State is the best, Virginia, +but I don’t believe there can be any lovelier than this. You know I +told you about spending a vacation when I was at school last year with +Jack Williams in the Berkshires. Some of those hills aren’t higher +than the Mine, you know, and he called them mountains. It seemed like +a mighty small country to me, but he thought there was no place like +it. I wish he could get this sweep of country from here. No, the East +isn’t like this,—not a bit—and maybe you won’t like it, but you’re too +plucky to be homesick, Virginia.”</p> + +<p>Little did Virginia realize how often those words would ring in her +ears through the months that were to follow. She drew another long +breath—almost a sigh this time.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish you were going East again, Don, instead of to Colorado! +’Twould be such fun traveling together, and you could tell me all +about the states as we went through them. But, instead, I’m going all +alone, and Aunt Louise has warned me a dozen times about talking to +strangers. Four days without talking, Don! I shall die! Is it very bad +taste to talk to good, oldish-looking people, do you think?”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> think your aunt’s mighty particular, if you ask me,” the boy said +bluntly. “You’ll have to talk to some one, Virginia. You’ll never last +four days without it, and I don’t think it’s any harm. But, you see, +your aunt’s from the East, and they’re not so sociable as we are out +here. I thought she was going East with you.”</p> + +<p>“No, she decided not to, and went to Los Angeles this morning; but I’m +bursting with watch-words that she left. All the way to your house I +said them over, and I nearly ran Pedro into a prairie dog’s hole, I +was thinking so hard. I. <i>It is very bad form to talk to strangers.</i> +II. <i>Try to be as neat in appearance on the train as you are at home.</i> +(Aunt Lou really means neater, Don.) III. <i>Don’t forget to tip the +waiter after each meal in the dining-car.</i> IV. <i>Be polite to your +traveling companions, but not familiar.</i> That’s all for the journey, +but I’ve heaps more for Vermont and for school. Oh, why did you choose +Colorado, Don?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, except that it’s nearer home, and since I’m going +there to college in another year, I may as well get used to it. The +East is all right, Virginia, but some way I like it out here better. +I’m a rank cow-boy, I guess. That’s what they used to call me at +school. Then, besides, the Colorado fellows ride a lot, and they don’t +in the East—that is, so much, you know,” he added hastily, as he saw +the dismay on her face.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ride, Don! Why, I can’t stand it not to ride! Don’t they have +horses? Don’t they—know how to ride?”</p> + +<p>Her genuine distress disturbed him, and he hastened to reassure her as +best he could.</p> + +<p>“You’ll find something to ride, I’m sure,” he said. “Don’t worry. +Maybe the horses won’t be like Pedro, but they’ll do. You see, your +school’s in a larger town than mine. You’ll write me all about it, +won’t you, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I will—every little thing. If the boys thought you were a +cow-boy, the girls will probably think I’m very queer, too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, they won’t! You’re—you’re different some way. And, anyway, +they won’t be as nice as you,” he finished awkwardly.</p> + +<p>Virginia, full of questions, did not heed the honest compliment.</p> + +<p>“What are Eastern girls like, Don? Have you seen many? You see, I’ve +never known one, except in books. Margaret Montfort certainly was +different. Besides, you know what a time Peggy had when she went East +to school, and she was only from Ohio.”</p> + +<p>Donald knew nothing of Margaret or Peggy, and felt incompetent to +remark upon them; but he answered Virginia’s questions.</p> + +<p>“I used to see them last year at school,” he said, “at the dances and +at Commencement. And in the Berkshires, I knew Jack’s sister, Mary. +She’s great, Virginia. I hope there are some like her. She’s at some +school, but I forget where. Oh, I guess they’re nice. You see, at +parties, when they’re all dressed up, you can’t get real +well-acquainted.”</p> + +<p>“Dressed up!” cried Virginia. “Don, you ought to see the clothes I’ve +got! And trunks like closets?—two of them! Aunt Lou bought my things +in Chicago for father. He told her to get what I’d need, and when all +the boxes came, he grew more and more surprised. He thought they had +sent a lot for us to choose from; and when Aunt Lou told him it was +only my ‘necessary wardrobe,’ he just sat down and laughed. Then I had +to try them all on—six pairs of shoes, and sailor-suits, and coats and +sweaters and dinner dresses, and goodness knows what all! It took the +whole afternoon. That was the one last week, you know, when I didn’t +get to go hunting prairie chickens with you. And Aunt Lou made me walk +back and forth in the dinner dresses until I could ‘act natural,’ she +said.” She paused laughing, and the boy looked at her, his face +troubled.</p> + +<p>“I hope all those things and going away off there won’t make you +different, Virginia,” he said, a little wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Of course, they won’t!” she told him. “I couldn’t be any different, +Don. If it weren’t for the fun of wondering about things, I’d never +want to go even a little, but it will be new and interesting. Besides, +you know Aunt Lou says it’s ‘imperative’ that I go. I heard her say +that to father one night this summer. ‘It’s imperative that Virginia +go,’ she said. ‘She’s getting really wild out here with just you men, +and that woman in the kitchen.’ ‘That woman’ means old Hannah, who’s +been so good to us ever since mother died!”</p> + +<p>Donald looked angry for a moment. Apparently he did not care a great +deal for Virginia’s Aunt Louise.</p> + +<p>“What did your father say?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t say anything, like he doesn’t when he’s thinking or +troubled; but, next morning, he told me he was going to send me East +to mother’s old school. He said he guessed I needed to see different +things. Aunt Lou was there when he told me, and she said, ‘It will be +the making of you, Virginia,—a very broadening experience!’”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’d like your aunt very well,” Donald announced +bluntly.</p> + +<p>Virginia was not surprised. “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t, and I don’t +think she’d like you either. That is, she <i>ought</i> to like you, and +maybe she would, but she probably wouldn’t approve. She’s a person +that doesn’t often approve of things. She doesn’t approve of my +shooting, or of Jim teaching me to lasso the steers in the corral; and +that afternoon when I wanted to go rabbit hunting with you instead of +trying on dresses, I heard her tell father that I was getting to be +rather too much of a young lady to ride the country over with you. But +father laughed and laughed, and said he’d as soon have me with you as +with himself.”</p> + +<p>Donald looked pleased. Then—</p> + +<p>“I hope you won’t get to be too much of a young lady while you’re +gone, Virginia,” he said, “so you won’t care for hunting and—and +things like that, next summer.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t be a young lady for years. I hate to +even think of it! But we must go down, Don. The sun says five o’clock, +and it’s my last evening with father.”</p> + +<p>Her gray eyes, thoughtful and almost sad, swept the country before +her.</p> + +<p>“I hate to leave you all,” she said softly, a little catch in her +voice. “The valley and the creek and the cottonwoods and the +prairie—all of you. And, most of all, the foot-hills. You know, Don,” +she continued, turning toward him, “I think I like the foot-hills +best. They’re so sort of friendly, and they don’t make you feel little +like the mountains. You know what I mean!”</p> + +<p>He nodded with quick understanding. They turned their horses to look +at the peaks towering above them.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes they really scare me,” she said almost in a whisper. +“They’re so big, and look as though they knew so many things. +Sometimes I wish they’d talk, and then I know if they did, I’d run and +hide, I’d be so frightened at what they were going to say.” Her eyes +left the mountains and swept across the nearer hills. Suddenly she +grasped his arm, all excitement. “Hst, Don!” she whispered, her eyes +gleaming. “There! Behind that clump of pine on the range! Not a +quarter of a mile away! Bess and the new colt! I know the way she +holds her head. Wait a minute! There she is! She’s seen us, and there +she goes!”</p> + +<p>With a wild snort, which they could hear distinctly in the clear air, +and a mad kick of the heels, the horse tore away across the range, her +colt trying manfully with his long ungainly legs to keep near his +mother. Months on the range had transformed Bess from a corral pet to +a wild steed, suspicious even of her mistress, and mindful only of her +safety and that of her colt.</p> + +<p>“A nice colt,” said Don, “and now she’s down this far she won’t go far +away. Doesn’t your father brand this week? They’ll probably mark the +little fellow with the rest.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose they will. That’s one thing I can’t bear to see—the +branding. Father and Jim will be so glad to know about the colt. You +can break it for me, Don, when it’s two years old.”</p> + +<p>“All right, I’ll not forget,” he promised.</p> + +<p>Then they turned again, and rode down the hill into the valley. This +time they did not ford the creek, but turned north, following an old +trail up the valley and through another gap in the hills a mile above. +This brought them again to the open, where Virginia’s home lay—a long, +rambling house with its back against the foot-hills and its front +looking westward across the prairie. Tall cottonwoods shaded the brown +road that led to it; and down this road, beneath the trees, they rode, +more slowly now.</p> + +<p>A tall man, reading on the broad front porch, rose as they drew rein +under the cottonwoods.</p> + +<p>“Come in to supper, Don,” he called cordially. “It’s all ready, and +we’re glad to have you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Hunter, but I can’t. I’ve got to be making for home. +Good-by, Virginia,” he said, jumping from his horse to shake hands +with her, as she stood beside her father. “I’m going to be lonesome +without you. Don’t forget us, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Good-by, Don.” She had the same little catch in her voice as upon the +hills, and her eyes were grave again. “I’ll miss you, and, of course, +I won’t forget. And, Don,” she called, as he swung himself into his +saddle and galloped away, “remember, I’ll not be a young lady when I +come back!”</p> + +<h2 id='ch02'>CHAPTER II—THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME</h2> + +<p>In the mountain country the twilights are longer and the sunset colors +lovelier than anywhere else. Long after Virginia and her father, +supper over, had come out upon the porch to sit together, the golden +light lingered in the western sky, making more blue the far distant +mountains, throwing the prairie into shadow, and casting upon the +nearer eastern foot-hills a strange, almost violet glow. Slowly the +gold changed to the deep, almost transparent blue of the mountain sky +at night. The sunset light faded to give place to the stars, which, +when the twilight was almost gone, seemed to shine out all at once, as +if fearful of the sunset’s lingering too long.</p> + +<p>It was very still everywhere. Virginia sat in her favorite way—on a +low stool by her father’s chair, her head upon his knees, his hand in +hers. Together they watched the light fade and the stars come out, as +they had done for so many nights. No sound anywhere, except Hannah’s +steps in the kitchen, an occasional distant laugh or song from the men +in the bunk-house, and the night noises—the stirring of the +cottonwoods and the singing of the insects.</p> + +<p>For a long time neither of them spoke, and the realization coming +closer every moment that this evening would be their last chance to +talk together for many months, did not seem to make conversation +easier. The big man in his chair was reviewing the years—thinking of +the time, twenty-five years back, when he had first come to this +country—then wild and unbroken like its own animals and roaming +horses. He had come like countless other young men, seeking a new +life, adventure, fortune; and he had stayed, having found an abundance +of the first two, and enough of the last. In the darkness he saw the +distant, widely separated lights of the homes on the prairie—that +prairie which he as a young man had ridden across, then +sagebrush-covered, the home of the antelope, the prairie dog, and the +rattler; now, intersected with irrigation ditches, covered with wheat +fields, dotted with homes. Yet the land possessed its old charm for +him. It was still a big country. The mountains had not changed; the +plains, though different in feature, stretched as wide; the sky was as +vast. He loved this land, so much that it had become a part of him; +but his little daughter at his feet he was sending away that she might +know another life.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her. She was thinking, too—filled with a great +desire to stay in her own dear, Western country, and with another as +great to experience all the new things which this year was to bring +her. Homesickness and anticipation were fighting hard. She looked up +at her father, and even in the darkness saw the sadness in his face. +Lost in her own thoughts, she had left him out—him, whose loneliness +would be far greater than her own. She sprang up from her stool and +into his lap, as she had always done before the years had made her +such a big girl; and he held her close in his strong arms, while she +cried softly against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Daddy, dear, do you +suppose people often want two different things so much that they can’t +tell which they want the most? Did you ever?”</p> + +<p>He held her closer. “Yes, little girl. I expect many people do that +very thing when it comes to deciding. And your dad is doing that very +thing this minute. He thinks he wants to keep you right here with him, +but he knows away down deep that he wouldn’t let you stay if he could. +He knows he wants his little daughter to go away to her mother’s +school, and to have everything this big world can give her.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s going to be so lonely for you, father. I’m so selfish, just +thinking of me, and never of you. I can’t leave you all alone!” And +the tears came again.</p> + +<p>Silently he smoothed her hair, until with a choking little laugh she +raised her head.</p> + +<p>“Don would call me a quitter, I guess,” she said. “I’m homesick +already, and he said to-day of course I’d be too plucky to be +homesick.” She laughed again. “I’m not going to cry another tear. And +there are so many things I want to ask you. Father, tell me truly, do +you like the folks in Vermont? Will I like them, do you think?”</p> + +<p>She waited for what seemed to her long minutes before he answered her.</p> + +<p>“Virginia,” he said at last, “your mother’s people are not like us +away out here. They are of New England stock and know nothing of our +life here, and it naturally seems rough to them. Your mother seemed to +have a different strain in her, else she had never come to Wyoming, +and stayed to marry a ranchman like me. But they are your mother’s +people, and as such I honor and respect them. And I want you to like +them, Virginia, for your mother’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“I will, father,” she whispered, clinging to him. “I promise I will!” +A minute later she laughed again.</p> + +<p>“I’ve written down all of Aunt Lou’s warnings, and I’ll learn them all +on the train. Are grandmother and Aunt Nan like Aunt Lou, father?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite remember. Your grandmother is a lady, and looks it. +Your Aunt Nan was but a little girl of your age when I saw her, but I +think she’s—well, a little less particular than your Aunt Lou, judging +from her letters. I have been wrong,” he continued after a pause, “in +not sending you on to them in the summers, but I could not go, and it +seemed a long way to have you go without me. And though we’ve always +asked them, none of them has ever come here, until your Aunt Lou came +this summer.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t mother go oftener?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated a moment. “Some way she didn’t want to leave for so long. +She loved this Big Horn country as much as you and I. We went together +once before you came; and then the summer you were five years old she +took you and went again. But that was the last time. Do you remember +it?”</p> + +<p>“I remember the tall clock on the stairs. I held the pendulum one day +and stopped it, and grandmother said it had not stopped for +seventy-five years. Then she scolded me, and told mother I was a +little wild thing—not a bit like my mother—and mother cried and said +she wished we were back home with you.”</p> + +<p>They were silent again, listening to the wind in the cottonwoods. A +long silence, then her father said quietly,</p> + +<p>“Your grandmother was wrong. You are very like your mother. But I am +sorry you had to look like your dad. It will disappoint them in +Vermont.”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s eyes in the darkness sparkled dangerously. She sat up very +straight.</p> + +<p>“If they don’t like the way I look,” she announced deliberately, “I’ll +go on to school, and not trouble them. I’m proud of looking like my +father, and I shall tell them so!”</p> + +<p>Her father watched her proudly. Back through the years he heard her +mother’s voice:</p> + +<p>“If they don’t like the man I’ve married, we’ll come back to the +mountains, and not torment them!”</p> + +<p>A creaking sound, occurring regularly at intervals of a few seconds, +came from the road back of the house leading to the ranch buildings, +and gradually grew more distinct.</p> + +<p>“Jim’s coming,” said Virginia. “He isn’t going on the round-up +to-morrow, is he, father? Don’t let him go, please!”</p> + +<p>The creaking drew nearer, accompanied by hard, exhausted breathing.</p> + +<p>“No,” her father told her, his voice low. “I’m not going to let him +go. He’s too worn out and old for that work, though it’s wonderful how +he rides with that wooden leg; but I can’t tell him he shan’t take +charge of the branding. He couldn’t stand that disappointment. Come +on, Jim,” he called cheerily. “We’re on the porch.”</p> + +<p>Virginia echoed her father. “Come and talk with us, Jim.”</p> + +<p>“I’m a-comin’,” came from the corner of the porch, “fast as this old +stick’ll bring me. Ain’t much the way I used to come, is it, sir? But +stick or leg, I’m good for years yet. Lord, Miss Virginia, I’m a-goin’ +to teach your boys and girls how to throw the rope!” And talking as he +wheezed and creaked, Jim reached the porch and laboriously stumped up +the steps.</p> + +<p>Jim was an old man, fifty of whose seventy years had been spent on the +ranges and ranches of the Great West. He had grown with the country, +moving westward as the tide moved, from Iowa to Kansas and Nebraska, +Nebraska to the Dakotas, and from the Dakotas to Montana and Wyoming. +No phase of the life West had escaped Jim. He had fought Indians and +cattle-thieves, punched cattle and homesteaded, prospected and mined. +Twenty years before, seeking more adventure, he had made his way on +horseback through the mountains to Arizona. Whether he found what he +sought, he never told, but five years later, he appeared again in +Wyoming, and since that time he had been with Mr. Hunter, whom he had +known when the country was new. Had his education equaled his honesty +and foresight, Mr. Hunter would long ago have made him foreman, for he +had no man whom he so fully trusted; but Jim’s limited knowledge of +letters and figures prohibited that distinction, and he remained in +one sense an ordinary ranch-hand, apparently content. Still, in +another sense, there was something unique about his position. The +younger men looked up to him, because of his wide experience and fund +of practical knowledge; Mr. Hunter relied implicitly upon his honesty, +and consulted him upon many matters of ranch management; and, next to +her father, there was no one in all Wyoming whom Virginia so loved.</p> + +<p>Jim had taught her to ride when her short legs could hardly reach the +stirrups; had told her the names of every tree, bush, and flower of +the hills and plains; and had been her guard and companion on +expeditions far and wide. As she grew older, he gave and taught her +how to use her small rifle; and of late had even given her lessons in +swinging the lasso in the corral, in which art he was dexterity +itself. And last winter Virginia had been able to repay him,—though +all through the years she had given him far more than she knew,—for in +the autumn round-up, Jim, galloping over the range, had been thrown +from his horse, when the animal stumbled into a prairie dog’s hole, +and the fall had broken his leg.</p> + +<p>The chagrin of the old cow-puncher was more pitiable to witness than +his pain, when the boys brought him in to the ranch. That he, the +veteran of the range, should have behaved thus—“like the rankest +tenderfoot”—was almost more than his proud spirit could withstand; and +later, when the doctor said the leg below the knee must be sacrificed, +the pain and loss, even the necessity of stumping about the rest of +his days, seemed as nothing to him compared with the shame he felt +over his “tenderfoot foolishness.”</p> + +<p>The winter days would have been endless, indeed, had not Virginia been +there to cheer him. Mr. Hunter would not hear of his staying in the +bunk-house, but brought him to the ranch,—and there, under Hannah’s +faithful nursing, and Virginia’s companionship, the old man forgot a +little of his chagrin and humiliation. Virginia read to him by the +hour, nearly everything she had, and her books were many. Seventy is a +strange age to receive a long-deferred education, but Jim profited by +every chapter, even from “David Copperfield,” who, he privately +thought, was “a white-livered kind of fool” and his patience in +listening to David, Virginia rewarded by the convict scene in her own +dear “Great Expectations,” or by “Treasure Island,” both of which he +never tired.</p> + +<p>Then, when he was able to sit up, even to stump about a little, +Virginia, having reviewed the venture in her own mind, suggested +bravely one day that he learn to read, for he barely knew his letters, +so that while she was at school the hours might not drag so wearily +for him. A little to her surprise, the old man assented eagerly, and +took his first lesson that very hour, He learned rapidly, to write as +well as read, and now that his labors on the ranch were so impaired he +had found it a blessing, indeed.</p> + +<p>Of Jim’s early life no one knew. He was always reticent concerning it, +and no one safely tried to penetrate his reserve. His accent betokened +Scotch ancestry, but his birth-place, his parents, and his name were +alike a mystery. He was known to miles of country as “Jim.” That was +all. Enough, he said.</p> + +<p>As he stood there in the open doorway, the light falling upon his bent +figure, and bronzed, bearded face, Virginia realized with a quick pang +of how much of her life Jim had been the center. She realized, too, +how worn he looked, and how out of breath he was, and she sprang from +her father’s lap.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Jim,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “It’s cold out +here. Come, father.”</p> + +<p>They went into the big, low-storied living-room, where Hannah had +lighted a fire in the great stone fire-place. The spruce logs were +burning brightly, and Virginia drew her father’s big arm-chair toward +the fire.</p> + +<p>“Sit here, Jim, where it’s warm, and rest.”</p> + +<p>Jim about to sit down, hesitated. “You see, sir, I come up on an +errand with a message from the boys. If it’s all well and pleasin’ to +you both, they’d like to beg permission to come up for a minute. You +see, they’re leavin’ early in the mornin’ for the round-up, and they +want to wish Miss Virginia good luck. If they was to come, I wasn’t to +go back.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, they’re to come!” cried Virginia, while her father +nodded his approval. “I’d forgotten they go so early on the range, and +I wouldn’t go for the world without seeing them all. Sit down, Jim. +Do! Will they be right up?”</p> + +<p>Jim sank gratefully into the big chair, placed his broad-brimmed hat +on his knee, and gave a final twist to his clean bandanna.</p> + +<p>“They was a-sprucin’ up when I left the bunk-house, kind o’ reckonin’ +on your sayin’ to come along. Beats all how walkin’ with a stick takes +your wind.” He was still breathing hard. Virginia watched him +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Jim,” said Mr. Hunter, after a pause, “I wish you’d look out for the +place to-morrow. I’ve some matters in town to attend to after taking +Virginia in for the train, and it may be late when I get back. A man +from Willow Creek thought he’d be around this week to look at some +sheep. I’m thinking of selling one hundred or so of that last year +lot, and I’ll leave the choice and price to your judgment.”</p> + +<p>“All right, sir.” This helped matters considerably. Jim himself had +decided that he could not go upon the range, but here was afforded a +valid excuse to give the boys. His tired face brightened.</p> + +<p>“And, Jim,” continued Virginia, eagerly, “I almost forgot to tell you. +Don and I spied Bess and the colt to-day on the lower range, not two +miles from the corral. The colt’s black like Bess, and a darling! +Don’t hurt it any more than you can help when you brand it, will you, +Jim? Does it hurt much, do you suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Sho’ now, don’t you worry, Miss Virginia. You see, brandin’s like +most other things that don’t hurt nearly so much as you think they’re +goin’ to. It ain’t bad after a minute. I’ll be careful of the little +fellow. Here come the boys.”</p> + +<p>Five stalwart forms passed the window and came to the porch, cleaning +their feet carefully upon the iron mud-scraper screwed to the side of +the lowest step for that very purpose. Then, a little embarrassed, +they filed up the steps and into the house, the two last bearing +between them a large box which they placed near the door. They were +hardy men, used to a rough life, of ages varying from young Dick +Norton, who was eighteen and a newcomer, to John Weeks, the foreman, a +man of fifty. Roughly dressed though they were, in flannel shirts and +knee-boots, they were clean, having, as Jim said, “spruced up” for the +occasion. For a moment they stood ill at ease, sombreros in their +hands, but only for a moment, for Mr. Hunter found them chairs, +talking meanwhile of the round-up, and Virginia ran to the kitchen to +ask Hannah for cider and gingerbread.</p> + +<p>“Come in yourself, Hannah,” she said to the kind soul, who sat by the +spotless pine table, knitting busily; and she begged until Hannah +changed her apron and joined the circle about the fire.</p> + +<p>“Joe,” said Virginia to a big man of thirty, whose feet worried him +because they demanded so much room. “Joe, you’ll keep an eye on the +littlest pup, won’t you? He has a lump in his throat, and the others +pick on him. I wish you’d rub the lump with liniment; and don’t forget +to tell me how he is.”</p> + +<p>Joe promised. If the service had been for the Queen, he could not have +been more honored.</p> + +<p>“And, Alec,” to a tall Scotchman, who had a wife and family in the +nearest town, “I’m leaving my black Sampson and all his clothes to +little David. You’ll take them when you go in Saturday night?”</p> + +<p>Alec beamed his thanks.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d use Pedro all you can, Dick.” This to the young lad, who +colored and smiled. “He gets sore if he isn’t used; and give him some +sugar now and then for me. He’ll miss me at first.”</p> + +<p>She turned toward the farthest corner of the room where a man sat +apart from the others—a man with a kind, almost sad face, upon the +features of which the town saloon had left its mark. This was William, +one of the best cattle hands in the county when he could keep away +from town. To every one but Virginia he was “Bill,” but Virginia said +he needed to be called William.</p> + +<p>“William,” she said, “if you kill any snakes, I wish you’d save me the +rattles. I’m collecting them. And, if you have any time, I wish you’d +plant some perennial things in the bed under my window, so they’ll +bloom early in June. You choose whatever you like. It’ll be more fun +not to know, and then see them all in blossom when I get home. Don’t +you think it would be a good plan?”</p> + +<p>William’s tired face, on which were written the records of many hopes +and failures, grew so bright with interest that he did not look like +“Bill” at all. Moreover, he loved flowers.</p> + +<p>“Just the thing, Miss Virginia,” he said. “I’ll have it ready for you +in June, and I won’t forget them rattles, either.”</p> + +<p>She thanked him. “And oh, Mr. Weeks,” she said, for she dignified the +foreman by a title, “you won’t let father work too hard, will you? +Because I shall worry if you don’t promise me.”</p> + +<p>So the delighted Mr. Weeks promised, while they all laughed. Then the +men looked from one another to Jim with shy, embarrassed glances, as +though they were waiting for something. Jim was equal to the occasion.</p> + +<p>“You, Joe and Dick, bring that box in front of the fire while I get +up.”</p> + +<p>Joe and Dick, glad of something to do, obeyed, lifting the big box +before the fire, while Virginia stared in surprise, and her father +smiled, watching her. Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his +chair and stood facing his audience, but his eyes were on Virginia.</p> + +<p>“Miss Virginia,” he began, while the boys fumbled with their hats, +“none of us ain’t forgot what you’ve been to us while you’ve been +a-growin’ up. Some of us have been here a good while, and some ain’t +been so long, but we’ve all been long enough to think a deal o’ you. +You’ve always treated us like gentlemen, and we ain’t them that +forget. This old ranch ain’t goin’ to seem the same without you, but +we’re glad you’re goin’ to be educated in that school your mother went +to, for those of us who knowed her, knowed a lady.</p> + +<p>“Now there ain’t a better rider in all this country than yourself, +Miss Virginia, and I can just see how you’ll make them Easterners’ +eyes stick out. And we boys don’t want you to have to ride on any o’ +them flat-seated English saddles, that ain’t fit for any one but a +tenderfoot. So we’ve just took the liberty of gettin’ you a little +remembrance of us. Joe and Dick, suppose you lift the cover, and show +Miss Virginia her present.”</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-003.jpg' id='i003' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chairand stood facing his audience.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Joe and Dick raised the cover of the box, and lifted from it before +Virginia’s shining eyes a new Western saddle. It was made from russet +leather with trappings complete, and could not be surpassed in design +and workmanship. On its brass-topped saddle-horn were engraved the +letters “V. H.”; the same monogram was embroidered on the four corners +of the heavy brown saddle blanket; and the brass of the bridle, +suspended from the saddle-horn, was cunningly engraved with the same +design.</p> + +<p>Virginia gazed at the saddle, at her father, at the men, one by one, +at Hannah, who was wiping her eyes; and then suddenly the tears came +into her own eyes, and her voice, when she tried to thank them, broke +at every word.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I—just—can’t—thank—you—” she managed to say, while the men’s +rough faces twitched, and tears filled the furrows of Jim’s cheeks, +“but I’ll—never forget you, never, because you’re my very best +friends!” And she went from one to the other, shaking hands with each, +while her father followed her example, for he was quite as touched and +delighted as she.</p> + +<p>Then, after she had examined all over again every part of the saddle; +after Jim had explained how they were to pack and ship it so that it +would reach school by the time she arrived; after gingerbread and +cider had helped them all to regain composure, Virginia went to her +room and returned with a tiny box, and her fountain pen.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Lou says that every girl who goes away to school must have +calling cards,” she explained, “and I’m going to use mine for the very +first time to-night to write my address for each one of you. And every +time you look at it, please remember how much I thank you every one, +and how much I’m missing you.”</p> + +<p>So when the men went back to the bunk-house, after an hour they would +always remember, each carried in the pocket of his flannel shirt a +calling-card, given by a “lady” to a “gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, daddy,” cried Virginia, as the last faint creak of Jim’s stick +died away on the road to the bunk-house. “Oh, daddy, why did they ever +do it for me? And I’ve never done a thing for them, except perhaps +reading to Jim!”</p> + +<p>Her father gathered her in his lap for the last few minutes before the +fire.</p> + +<p>“Virginia,” he said, “I learned long ago that we often help others +most by just being ourselves. When you grow older, perhaps you’ll +understand what the men mean.” They sat silently for a while, neither +wanting to leave the fire and each other. From the bunk-house came the +sound of voices singing some lusty song of the range. The boys +apparently were happy, too. “And now, little girl, it’s a long drive +to-morrow, and we must be off early. Kiss your father, and run to +bed.”</p> + +<p>Closely she clung to him, and kissed him again and again; but when the +lump in her throat threatened to burst with bigness, she ran to her +own room, leaving her father to watch the fire die away and to think +of many things. Pinned to her pillow, she found a brown paper parcel, +with “From Hannah” written in ungainly characters upon it. Inside were +red mittens, knitted by the same rough fingers that had penned the +words. The lump in Virginia’s throat swelled bigger. She ran across +the hall to the little room where Hannah, muffled in flannel gown and +night-cap, lay in bed, and kissed her gratefully.</p> + +<p>“Run to bed, dearie,” muttered the old servant. “It’s cold these +nights in the mountains.”</p> + +<p>But Virginia’s mind was too full of thoughts for sleep. She reviewed +her ride with Donald, her talk with her father, all the dear events of +the evening with its crowning joy. It seemed hours when she heard her +father go to his room, and yet she could not sleep. At last she sat up +in bed, bundling the covers about her, for the air was cold, and +looked out of her window. At night the mountains seemed nearer still, +and more friendly—more protecting, less strange and secretive. She +looked at them wondering. Did they really know all things? Were they +millions of years old, as she had read? Did they care at all for +people who looked at them, and wondered, and wanted to be like them?</p> + +<p>“To-night I half believe you do care,” she whispered. “Anyway, I’m not +frightened of you at all. And oh, do take care of those I love till I +come back again!”</p> + +<p>Then she lay down again, and soon was fast asleep.</p> + +<h2 id='ch03'>CHAPTER III—THE JOURNEY EAST</h2> + +<p>As the great Puget Sound Limited was about to pull out of the little +Wyoming way-station to which Virginia and her father had driven in the +early morning, a white-haired, soldierly looking gentleman in gray +overcoat and traveling cap watched with amused interest a gray-eyed +girl in a blue suit, who, leaning over the railing of the observation +car, gave hurried and excited requests to her father who stood alone +on the station platform.</p> + +<p>“Father, dear,” she begged, “don’t work too hard or read too late at +night; and don’t forget to take the indigestion tablets. And, father, +I think it would be fine if Jim could have my room when it gets cold. +The bunk-house is bad for his rheumatism. And I do hope you can keep +William away from town. You’ll try hard, won’t you?” The train slowly +began to move, but she must say one thing more. “Daddy,” she called, +beckoning him nearer, and making a trumpet of her hands; “daddy, you +trust me, don’t you, to use my judgment about talking on the journey?”</p> + +<p>The man on the platform smiled and nodded. Then, taking his +handkerchief from his pocket, he waved to his little daughter, who, +waving her own, watched him until the now rapidly moving train quite +hid his lonely figure from sight. Then she sighed, tucked her +handkerchief in her coat pocket, and sat down beside the old +gentleman, who was apparently still amused and interested, perhaps +also touched.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he heard her say to herself with a little break in her voice, +“it’s all over and it’s just begun.” Then she settled herself back in +her chair, while her neighbor wondered at this somewhat puzzling +remark.</p> + +<p>“How can it be all over and at the same time just begun, my dear?” he +ventured to ask, his kind blue eyes studying her face.</p> + +<p>Virginia looked at him. They two were quite alone on the platform. The +old gentleman, having heard her last request of her father, concluded +that she was using her judgment and deciding whether or not she had +best talk to him. His conclusion was quite right. “He certainly is +oldish, and very kind looking,” Virginia was thinking. “I guess it +wouldn’t be familiar.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, sir,” she answered, having in her own mind satisfied +herself and her father, and allowing herself to forget all about Aunt +Lou, “it’s all over because I’ve said good-by to father, and it’s just +begun—that is, the making of me is just begun—because I’m on my way +East to school.”</p> + +<p>“So going East to school is going to be the making of you, is it?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what Aunt Lou says; and, besides, ‘a very broadening +experience.’”</p> + +<p>“I see; and who is Aunt Lou?”</p> + +<p>“She’s my mother’s sister from Vermont. You see, my mother lived in +Vermont when she was a girl, and went to St. Helen’s, too; but when +she got older, she came to Wyoming to teach school and married my +father. My mother is dead, sir,” she finished softly.</p> + +<p>His eyes grew kinder than ever. “I’m sorry for that,” he said softly, +too.</p> + +<p>She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly even +Aunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped he +was going all the way East.</p> + +<p>The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was no +station near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentleman +followed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a dark +object was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near it +slowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia’s +quick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder was +branded a horseshoe with a “C” in the center.</p> + +<p>“My!” she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companion +in the gray coat. “That’s a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range. +Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He’ll +say there’s rustlers around Elk Creek.” She laughed.</p> + +<p>“How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what’s a +rustler?”</p> + +<p>Virginia laughed again. “You’re like me,” she said frankly. “I ask +questions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman who +lives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to him +because I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a +‘C’ in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. There +used to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their own +brands on young cattle and colts. But there aren’t any more now, you +see, because the range isn’t open like it used to be. There are too +many people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattle +which are branded already. You see,” she went on, “Mr. Cunningham’s +mean, though he’s very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattle +ever so many times even when they’re not branding or shipping, so he +can tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, because +people in our country think it’s very small to make such a fuss over +one steer when you have hundreds.”</p> + +<p>“I should think so. And how many cattle have you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not so many now as we used to have,” she explained, while he +listened interested. “You see, sir, the range isn’t so open any more, +because people are taking up the land from the government every year; +and so there isn’t so much room for the cattle. Besides, we’ve been +irrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and by +almost all the cattle land that’s good for grain will be gone. The +boys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps a +thousand. Does that seem many to you?” she added, because the old +gentleman looked go surprised.</p> + +<p>Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he was +accustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New England +pasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the land +about, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wished +he were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived in +Boston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his married +daughter, and was now returning home. “Then he will go all the way,” +thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that he +looked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in the +Civil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel Carver +Standish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one of +her new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, she +concluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quite +simply:</p> + +<p>“And my name is Virginia Hunter,” which pleased the old Colonel far +better than a calling card would have done.</p> + +<p>“And now, Miss Virginia,” he said, “if you will pardon me for what +looks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? I +couldn’t exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hope +you’ll excuse me?”</p> + +<p>Virginia smiled. She did enjoy being treated like a young lady. +“Certainly,” she said. And she told him all about poor old Jim, his +wooden leg, the accident that necessitated it, his learning to read, +which greatly interested the old Colonel, and his kindness to her ever +since she was a little girl. Then, seeing that he really liked to +know, she told him of the evening before, and the new saddle which the +boys had given her.</p> + +<p>“Capital!” cried the Colonel, slapping his knee in his excitement, +quite to the amusement of a little boy, who had come out-of-doors and +who sat with his mother on the other side of the platform. “Capital! +Just what they should have done, too! They must be fine fellows. I’d +like to know them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you would like them!” she told him. “I know you would! I love +them all, but Jim the best. And this morning, Colonel Standish” (for +if he called her by name she must return the courtesy), “this morning +when the other men had all gone to the round-up, Jim harnessed the +horses for father to drive me to the station. But he felt so bad to +have me go away that he couldn’t bear to bring the horses up to the +door, so he tied them and called to father; and when we drove away and +I looked back, he was leaning all alone against the bunk-house. And, +some way, I think he was crying.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at the Colonel, her eyes filled with tears. The Colonel +slapped his knee again, and blew his nose vigorously.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder a bit if that’s what he was doing, Miss Virginia,” +he said. “Fine old man! And what about William?” he asked after a few +moments.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William,” said Virginia. “You’d like William; and I’m sure you +wouldn’t call him ‘Bill’ like some do. It makes such a difference to +him! If you call him ‘Bill’ most of the time, he’s just Bill, and it’s +a lot easier for him to stay around the saloon. But if you say +‘William,’ it makes it easier for him to keep away—he told me so one +day. And in his spare time, he loves to take care of flowers, and +plant vines and trees.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel liked William. Indeed, he liked him so thoroughly that he +asked question after question concerning him; and then about Alec and +Joe and Dick. It was amazing how the time flew! Another hour passed +before either of them imagined it. The country was changing. Already +it was becoming more open, less mountainous. Some peaks towered in the +distance—blue and hazy and snow-covered.</p> + +<p>“We can see those from home,” Virginia told the Colonel. “They’re the +highest in all the country round. They’re the last landmark of home +I’ll see, I suppose,” she finished wistfully, and was sorry when a +bend of the road hid them from sight.</p> + +<p>“You love the mountains?” he said, half-questioning.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” she cried, “better than anything!” And then they talked of +the mountains, and of how different they were at different times, like +persons with joys and disappointments and ideals. How on some days +they seemed silent and reserved and solemn, and on others sunny and +joyous and almost friendly; and how at night one somehow felt better +acquainted with them than in the day-time.</p> + +<p>“But the foot-hills are always friendly,” Virginia told him. “And +they’re really more like people, because you can get acquainted with +them more easily. The mountains, after all, seem more like God. Don’t +you think so?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel did think so, most decidedly, now that he thought at all +about it. He admitted to himself that perhaps in his long journeys +across the mountains and through the foot-hills on his visits West, he +had not thought much about them, especially as related to himself. He +wished he had had this gray-eyed girl with him for she breathed the +very spirit of the country. It had been rare good fortune for him that +by chance he was standing on the platform when she said “Good-by” to +her father, else he had missed much. It was dinner time before either +of them realized how quickly the morning had passed; and Virginia ran +to wash her hands, after the Colonel had raised his cap with a +soldierly bow, saying that he hoped to see her again in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>He did see her again in the afternoon, for they discovered that their +sections were in the same car, in fact, directly opposite; and again +the next morning, until by the time they reached Omaha they were old +friends. They talked more about the country, which, after leaving the +mountains, was new to Virginia’s interested eyes; and then about +books; and after that about the war, the old soldier telling a most +flattering listener story after story of his experiences.</p> + +<p>The conductor, coming through the car with telegrams at Omaha, found +them both so interested that he was obliged to call her name twice +before her astonished ears rightly understood him.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you Miss Virginia Hunter?” he asked amused.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” she managed to say. “But it can’t be for me, is it? I +never had a telegram in my life.”</p> + +<p>“It’s for you,” he said, more amused than ever, while the Colonel +smiled, too, at her surprise, and left the yellow envelope in her lap.</p> + +<p>“Whom can it be from?” she asked herself, puzzled. “The spell of +having a real telegram is so nice that I almost hate to break it by +finding out. But I guess I’d best.”</p> + +<p>She tore open the envelope, and drew out the slip inside. When she had +read it, she gazed perplexed at the Colonel. She was half-troubled, +half-amused, but at length she laughed.</p> + +<p>“I’ll read it to you, I think,” she said, “because in a way it’s about +you.” The Colonel in his turn looked amazed. “You see,” she went on, +“it’s from my Aunt Lou, and she warned me about talking to strangers +on the way. I suppose she thought I’d forget, and so she sent this.” +She again unfolded the telegram, and read to him:</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>“Los Angeles, Cal., Sept. 15.</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0'>“I hope you are remembering instructions, and</p> +<p class='mtb0'>having a pleasant journey.</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>“Aunt Louise.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“But I’m sure she would approve of you,” she assured him; “and I’ve +talked with almost no one else, except the baby in the end of the car +and his mother; and babies certainly would be exempt, don’t you think? +No one could help talking to a baby.”</p> + +<p>He agreed with her. “Aren’t you going to send her a wire in return?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, I never thought of that. Could I? Is there time? What can I tell +her?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, you could, and there’s plenty of time. Ten minutes yet. +I’ll get you a blank, and you can be thinking what you’ll tell her.”</p> + +<p>While he was gone, Virginia studied her aunt’s message, and decided +upon her own. She was ready when he returned.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go away, Colonel Standish, please,” she said, when he would +have left her to complete her message. “I never sent a telegram +before, and besides I want you to tell me if you think this is all +right. I’ve said:</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>“Delightful journey. No talking except with</p> +<p class='mtb0'>baby, mother, and oldish gentleman.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The Colonel slapped his knee, and laughed. “Capital!” he said. +“Capital! You’ve got us all in.” He laughed again, but stopped as he +noted her puzzled expression. “Not satisfied, Miss Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite,” she admitted. “You see it doesn’t sound exactly honest. +I’ve said, ‘No talking ex-cept—’ Now that sounds as though I’d talked +only occasionally with the three of you, and most of the time sat by +myself, when really I’ve talked hours with you. I think I’ll change +the ‘No talking,’ and say, ‘Have talked with baby, mother, and oldish +gentleman.’ I’d feel better about it.” She paused, waiting his +approval.</p> + +<p>“If I’d feel better about it, Miss Virginia, I’d surely make the +change,” he said approvingly. “That queer thing inside of us that +tells us how to make ourselves most comfortable, is a pretty safe +guide to follow.”</p> + +<p>So she rewrote the message, while he waited, and while he went to +attend to its dispatch, wondered how Aunt Lou would feel when she +received it.</p> + +<hr class='tb'/> + +<p>At Chicago, Miss Cobb, a friend of Aunt Louise, met her and took her +across the city to the station from which she was to take the Eastern +train; and though Virginia had said “Good-by” to the Colonel until +they should again meet two hours later, it so happened that he was in +the very bus which took them with others across the city. Virginia +introduced him to Miss Cobb, and under her breath, while the Colonel +was looking out of the window, asked if Aunt Lou could possibly object +to her talking with such an evident gentleman. Miss Cobb, who, +perhaps, fortunately for herself, was not quite so particular as +Virginia’s aunt, felt very sure there could not be the slightest +objection, of which she was more than ever convinced after a half +hour’s talk with the gentleman in question.</p> + +<p>So Virginia with a clear conscience continued her journey from Chicago +on, and enjoyed the Colonel more than ever. As they went through the +Berkshires on the last day of the journey, she told him more about +Donald, his experience at school, and how he couldn’t seem to feel at +home.</p> + +<p>“I wish my grandson knew that fellow,” said the old gentleman. “Just +what he needs. Too much fol-de-rol in bringing up boys now-a-days, +Miss Virginia. The world’s made too easy for them, altogether too +easy!” And he slapped his knee vigorously to emphasize his remark. “By +the way, what’s the name of that school of yours?”</p> + +<p>“St. Helen’s at Hillcrest, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. Just what I thought you told me the first day I saw you. If +I’m not mistaken, that’s in the neighborhood of the very school that +grandson of mine attends. And if you’ll allow me, Miss Virginia, some +day when I’m there I’m going to bring that boy of mine over to see +you. You’d do him good; and I want him to see a girl who thinks of +something besides furbelows.”</p> + +<p>Virginia smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing the Colonel again.</p> + +<p>“I’d love to have you come to see me,” she said, “and bring him, too, +if he’d like to come. What is his name, and how old is he?”</p> + +<p>“Why, he has my name, the third one of the family, Carver Standish, +and he’s just turned seventeen. He has two more years at school, and +then he goes up to Williams where his father and I were educated. He’s +a good lad, Miss Virginia, if they don’t spoil him with too much +attention and too much society. I tell you these boys of to-day get +too much attention and too few hard knocks. I want this fellow to be a +man. He’s the only grandson I’ve got.”</p> + +<p>So they talked while the train bore them nearer and nearer Springfield +where Virginia’s grandmother and aunt were to meet her. At last there +were but a few minutes left, and she ran to wash and brush her hair, +so that she might carry out the first of Aunt Lou’s instructions: “Be +sure you are tidy when you meet your grandmother.”</p> + +<p>She was very “tidy,” at least so the Colonel thought, when, with +freshly brushed suit and hat, new gloves and little silk umbrella, she +stood with beating heart and wide-open, half-frightened eyes on the +platform of the slowly moving train. The Colonel was behind her with +her bag.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she told him, a little tremulously, “I’m so anxious for +them to approve of me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if they don’t—” he ejaculated almost angry, and perhaps it was +just as well that the train stopped that moment.</p> + +<p>Virginia’s eyes were searching the faces about her for those who might +be her grandmother and aunt; and, at the same time, farther up the +platform, the eyes of a stately, white-haired lady in black and of a +fresh-faced younger woman in blue were searching for a certain little +girl whom they had not seen for years.</p> + +<p>“There she is, mother,” cried the younger woman at last, quickening +her steps, “there in the blue suit. She walks with her head high just +as Mary did.”</p> + +<p>Tears came into the eyes of the white-haired lady. “But there’s a +gentleman with her, Nan. Who can he be?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, probably just some one she’s met. If she’s like her mother, she’d +be sure to meet some one.”</p> + +<p>She hurried forward, and so sure was she that the girl in the blue +suit was Virginia, that she put both arms around her, and kissed her +at once without saying a word.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Aunt Nan,” breathed Virginia, her heart beating less fast. She +knew that moment that she should love Aunt Nan. But her heart beat +fast again, as Aunt Nan drew her forward to meet her grandmother, who +was drawing near more slowly.</p> + +<p>“And this is Virginia,” said that lady, extending her perfectly gloved +hand, and kissing Virginia’s cheek. “I am glad to see you, my dear. +Mary’s little girl!” she murmured to herself, and at that tears came +again to her eyes.</p> + +<p>Virginia liked her for the tears, but could somehow find nothing to +say in response to her grandmother’s greeting. She stood embarrassed; +and then all at once she remembered the Colonel. He stood, hat in +hand, with her bag—a soldierly, dignified figure, who must impress her +grandmother.</p> + +<p>“I—I beg your pardon, grandmother,” she stammered. “This is my friend, +Colonel Standish, who has been kind to me on the way.”</p> + +<p>Her grandmother acknowledged the introduction, her Aunt Nan also. The +Colonel shook hands with Virginia, and reiterated his intention to +call upon her at school. “With your permission, my dear madam,” he +added, by his cultured manner quite convincing Mrs. Webster that he +was a gentleman. Then he hurried aboard his train, and left a +gray-eyed girl with a heart beating tumultuously inside a blue suit to +go on a waiting northbound train toward Vermont. As his train pulled +out from the station, the Colonel completed his sentence.</p> + +<p>“If they don’t approve of that little girl,” he said to himself, with +an emphatic slap upon his knee; “if they don’t approve of her, then +they’re-they’re hopeless, as that grandson of mine says, and I +shouldn’t care to make their acquaintance further.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Virginia was fixedly gazing out of the window, as the train, +leaving Springfield, carried them northward. She tried to be +interested in the strange, new country about her; but some way, +instead of the crimson maples and yellow goldenrod, there would come +before her eyes a cottonwood bordered creek, a gap between brown +foothills, a stretch of rolling prairie land, black and green and +gold, and in the distance the hazy, snow-covered summits of far away +mountains. But with the picture came again Donald’s words—words that +made her swallow the lump in her throat, and smile at her grandmother +and Aunt Nan.</p> + +<p>“No, the East isn’t like this—not a bit, and maybe you won’t like it; +but you’re too plucky to be homesick, Virginia!”</p> + +<h2 id='ch04'>CHAPTER IV—VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT</h2> + +<p>It was not until the afternoon of the second day in Vermont that +Virginia wrote her father. The evening before she had said +“Good-night” as early as she thought polite to her grandmother, Aunt +Nan, and the minister who had come to call, and, upon being asked, +willingly stayed to tea, and had gone up-stairs to the room which had +been her mother’s to write her father about everything. But somehow +the words would not come, though she sat for an hour at the quaint +little mahogany desk and tried to write; and it all ended by her going +to bed, holding close her mother’s old copy of “Scottish Chiefs,” +which Aunt Nan had placed in her room, and forgetting in sleep the +thoughts that would come in spite of her.</p> + +<p>But now that the hardest first night was over, and the first forenoon, +which she had spent walking with Aunt Nan, had gone, she must write +him all about it. She sat down again at the quaint little desk, over +which hung the picture of a girl of sixteen with clear, frank eyes, +and began:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style='text-align:right;'>“Webster, Vermont, Sept. 18, 19—</p> + +<p>“Father dearest:</p> + +<p>“Do you remember how the poor queen in the fairy tale dreaded +to meet the dwarf because she knew she didn’t know his name? +Well, that was just like me when the train was near +Springfield. If it hadn’t been for the dear Colonel, whom I +told you about in my train letter, I don’t believe I could +ever have been as calm as I truly <i>outwardly</i> was; because, +daddy, I felt as though I didn’t know grandmother at all, any +more than the poor queen, and I did dread seeing her. But I +was tidy, and my heart didn’t beat on the outside, for which +blessings I could well be thankful. The Colonel carried my bag +for me, and that made it easier, for, of course, family pride +forbade my allowing him to see that my grandmother and I +weren’t really well acquainted.</p> + +<p>“And, after all, it wasn’t so bad. Aunt Nan is dear, father, +like mother, I know, and I love her already. She is not so +<i>proper</i> as grandmother. <i>I</i> kissed Aunt Nan, and +<i>grandmother</i> kissed me. That explains the way they made me +feel, Grandmother <i>is</i> handsome, isn’t she? And stately, like +an old portrait. But when you talk with her you feel as though +there were some one else inside your skin.</p> + +<p>“I do hope they don’t disapprove of me now, and will by and by +care for me for mother’s sake and yours. Aunt Nan likes me +now, I am sure, and grandmother, I am reasonably sure, doesn’t +dislike me, though I think she considers me somewhat puzzling. +She looks at me sometimes like we used to look at the tame +foxes, when we weren’t sure what they were going to do next.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember how the country looked coming from +Springfield to Webster, when you came with mother? It was in +September when you came, you said, and I remembered it. The +creeks, which they call ‘brooks’ here, are lovely, though not +so swift as ours, and the oaks and maples are a wonderful +color in among the fir trees. I know you remember the +goldenrod and asters, because mother always told about them. +Didn’t you miss the quaking-asps, father? I did the first +thing, and asked grandmother about them,—if none grew in +Vermont. She didn’t know what I was talking about. She had no +idea it was a tree, and thought I meant a bug, like that which +killed poor Cleopatra. But I missed them, and I think the fall +is sadder without them, because they are always so merry. I +missed the cottonwoods, too. Aunt Nan said there were a few of +those in New England, but they called them Carolina poplars.</p> + +<p>“The little villages in among the hills are pretty, aren’t +they?—so clean and white—but they don’t seem to care about the +rest of the world at all, it seems to me. Webster is like +that, too, I think, though it is lovely. If you remember how +it looked when you were here, then I don’t need to describe +it, for Aunt Nan says it hasn’t changed any. When we reached +here, and were driving up towards the house, grandmother asked +me how I liked Webster, and I said it was beautiful, but it +seemed very small. She couldn’t understand me at all, and said +she didn’t see how it could seem small to me when we didn’t +live in a town at all in Wyoming. I was afraid I had been +impolite, and I was just trying to explain that I meant it +seemed shut in because you couldn’t see the country all around +like you could at home, when we stopped at the house, and saw +a gentleman coming toward us with a black suit and a cane. +Grandmother looked at Aunt Nan, and Aunt Nan at grandmother, +and they both said at once, ‘Dr. Baxter!’</p> + +<p>“‘We must invite him to tea,’ said grandmother. ‘It would +never do not to!’</p> + +<p>“‘Nonsense!’ said Aunt Nan. ‘I don’t see why.’</p> + +<p>“Well, he came up to the carriage just as grandmother finished +whispering, ‘Our pastor, Virginia,’ and handed grandmother +out, and then Aunt Nan, and lastly me. I tried to be +especially polite when grandmother introduced me, remembering +how she had warned me that he was the minister; but somehow +all I could think of was the parson in the ‘Birds of +Killingworth,’ because, when I first saw him coming down the +street, he was hitting the goldenrod with his cane, and some +way I just know he preaches about the ‘wrath of God,’ too, +just like the Killingworth parson. He did stay to tea, though +I’m sure Aunt Nan didn’t want him, and I, not being used to +ministers, didn’t want him either; but I put on one of my new +dresses, as grandmother said, and tried to be an asset and not +a liability. But, father, I know grandmother was troubled, +and, in a way, displeased, because of the following incident:</p> + +<p>“Dr. Baxter is bald and wears eye-glasses on a string, and the +end of his nose quivers like a rabbit’s, and he rubs his +hands, which are rather plump, together a great deal. Some +way, father, you just feel as though he didn’t care away down +deep about you at all, but was just curious. I am sorry if I +am wrong about him, but I can’t help feeling that way. All +through tea he talked about the Christianizing of Korea, and +the increased sale of the Bible, and how terrible it was that +China wasn’t going to make Christianity the state religion. He +didn’t pay much attention to me, and I thought he had +forgotten all about me, when all at once he looked at me +across the table and said:</p> + +<p>“‘And to what church do you belong, Miss Virginia?’</p> + +<p>“Poor grandmother looked so uncomfortable that I felt sorry +for her, and after I had said, ‘I don’t belong to any, Dr. +Baxter,’ she tried to explain about our living on a ‘large +farm’ (I don’t believe grandmother thinks ranches are real +<i>proper</i>) and not being near a church.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Nan tried to change the subject, but Dr. Baxter just +wouldn’t have it changed, and after looking at me thoughtfully +for a few moments, he said:</p> + +<p>“‘I wonder that our Home Mission Board does not send +candidates to that needy field. Do you have no traveling +preachers, Miss Virginia?’</p> + +<p>“Grandmother looked so uneasy that I did try to say just the +right thing, father, but I guess I made a mistake, because I +told him that we did have traveling preachers sometimes, only +we didn’t feel that we needed just the kind of preaching they +gave. His nose quivered more than ever, and grandmother tried +to explain again only she didn’t know how, and at last he +said:</p> + +<p>“‘If the Word is not appreciated in Wyoming, it is elsewhere, +thank God!’—just as though Wyoming were a wilderness where +‘heathen in their blindness bow down to wood and stone.’ +Grandmother looked more mortified than ever, and the silence +grew so heavy that you could hear it whirring in your ears. By +and by we did leave the table, and then I excused myself to +write to you, but I couldn’t seem to write at all, I felt so +troubled about mortifying poor grandmother. This morning I +thought she would speak of it, but she didn’t, and perhaps, if +I make no more slips, she will forget about it. It is very +difficult to be a constant credit to one’s family, especially +when it requires so much forethought.</p> + +<p>“Grandmother feels very bad because she has no son to carry on +the family name. When she and Aunt Nan and Aunt Lou die, she +says ‘the name will vanish from this town where it has been +looked up to for two hundred years.’</p> + +<p>“It makes a great difference in Webster <i>how</i> one does +things—even more than <i>what</i> one does. This morning, when Aunt +Nan and I were going to walk, Aunt Nan said, ‘I think we’ll +run in to see Mrs. Dexter, mother. She’ll want to see +Virginia.’ And grandmother said, ‘Not in the morning, Nan. It +would never do!’ So we have to go in the afternoon. I told +Aunt Nan when we were walking that at home we called on our +friends any time, and she said she wished she lived in +Wyoming! <i>She</i> could ‘belong’ to us, father, but I’m afraid +grandmother never could enjoy Jim and William and the others. +She is too Websterized.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t it thoughtful of Aunt Nan to put mother’s old +‘Scottish Chiefs’ on my table? It has all her markings in it. +Last night—but I won’t tell you, because you will think I am +homesick, and I’m not! Please tell Don.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember the view of the Green Mountains from the +window in mother’s room? I can see them now as I write you. +They are beautiful, but so dressed up with trees that they +don’t seem so friendly and honest as our little brown +foot-hills. Oh, daddy, I do miss the mountains so, and our +great big country! Last night when I tried to write you and +couldn’t, I stood by the window and watched the moon come up +over the hills; and I couldn’t think of anything but a poem +that kept running through my head like this:</p> + +<p class='mtb0'> To gaze on the mountains with those you love</p> +<p class='mtb0'> Inspires you to do right;</p> +<p class='mtb0'> But the hills of Vermont without those you love</p> +<p class='mtb0'> Are but a sorry sight!</p> + +<p>“Aunt Nan is waiting for me down-stairs. I can hear her and +grandmother talking together. Oh, I wonder if they do approve +of me!</p> + +<p>“Father, dear, give my love to Jim and Hannah and Mr. Weeks +and Alec and William and Joe and Dick and all the Keiths, and +tell them I think of them every day. Give Pedro sugar as often +as you remember, won’t you?—and if the lump in the littlest +collie’s throat doesn’t go away soon, please kill him, because +I don’t want him to suffer.</p> + +<p>“I do love you so much, father dearest, that if I tell you any +more about it, I’ll quite break my promise to myself.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right;'>“Virginia.</p> + +<p>“P. S. Just think, daddy, Aunt Nan says you must come East +in June to get me and visit them. She said also when we +were walking that you were a fine-looking man; and I told +her that you were not only that, but that you were fine +all the way through, and that every one in Sheridan County +knew it!—V. W. H.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And while Virginia wrote her letter to her father in the room which +had been her mother’s, downstairs, in the library, her grandmother and +Aunt Nan talked together.</p> + +<p>“I must admit, Nan, she isn’t nearly so wild as I expected after +having been brought up in that wilderness.”</p> + +<p>“Wild, mother? She’s a dear, that’s what she is! And Wyoming isn’t a +wilderness. You must remember the country has grown.”</p> + +<p>“I know, but it can hardly afford the advantages of New England. I +mean in a cultural way, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Nan actually sniffed. “Maybe not, mother. I’m sick of culture! I +like something more genuine. And as to good manners, I’m sure Virginia +has them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” her mother assented. “And I must say I’m surprised after what +Louise wrote as to the ranch life. Mary’s husband has done well by +Virginia, I must grant that.”</p> + +<p>“Lou is too particular for any use, mother. I’ve always said so. And +as for Virginia’s father, you’ve never half appreciated him!”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s grandmother felt rebuked—perhaps, a little justly.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” she said, a little deprecatingly, “there are crudities. +Now as to that matter last evening with Dr. Baxter. I fear he was +rather—”</p> + +<p>“Shocked!” finished Aunt Nan. “And I’m glad he was! Virginia only told +the truth. If he knew more about Wyoming geography and less about +Korean idolatry, he’d appear to better advantage! He needs shocking!”</p> + +<p>“My dear Nan!” interposed her mother.</p> + +<p>“Well, he does, mother, and I hope he’s so shocked that he won’t come +to tea again for a month!”</p> + +<p>And with that Aunt Nan, leaving her mother somewhat disturbed in mind, +went to call her niece.</p> + +<h2 id='ch05'>CHAPTER V—THE “BROADENING EXPERIENCE” BEGINS</h2> + +<p>“I’m afraid it will look as though we didn’t show proper interest, +Nan. Besides, I never did like the idea of a child starting out alone +for boarding-school. None of my children ever did. But what can we +do?” It was Virginia’s grandmother who spoke.</p> + +<p>“Now, mother dear, don’t worry about ‘proper interest.’ I’ve written +Miss King all about it, so that she understands. And since I was +careless enough to sprain my ankle, and you unfortunate enough to have +to entertain the Mission Circle, we can’t do anything but let Virginia +go alone.” This from Aunt Nan, who lay on the couch with a bandaged +ankle, the result of a bad wrench the day before.</p> + +<p>Virginia spoke next. “Don’t worry at all, please, grandmother. It +isn’t as though I hadn’t traveled way from Wyoming. I’ll be very +careful—truly, I will—and try to do everything just as you would +wish.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t suppose it’s absolutely necessary that one of us go. It’s +just that I have always considered it very essential that a young and +inexperienced girl should be accompanied by some member of her family +when she enters upon such an important step. But circumstances +certainly dictate the course of events, and it looks as though you +must go alone, Virginia. Miss King remembers your mother, and will +welcome you for her sake; and she assures me you are to room with a +wholly desirable girl of excellent family. My dear, you will try, I +know, to be a credit to the Websters!”</p> + +<p>Away back in Virginia’s eyes gleamed a flash of light, but she +answered quietly:</p> + +<p>“Certainly, grandmother, and to the Hunters, too, because father is +just as anxious that I should do well as you and Aunt Nan and Aunt +Lou. Please don’t forget how anxious he is,” she finished, a little +wistfully.</p> + +<p>Aunt Nan gave her hand a friendly little squeeze. “Of course, he’s the +most interested of us all,” she said. “We mustn’t be selfish, mother. +They’ll send the carriage to meet you, Virginia, and Miss King will +understand about everything. It will seem strange at first, but you’ll +soon get acquainted, and love it, I know you will.”</p> + +<p>So it happened that on account of a sprained ankle and the Mission +Circle, Virginia again boarded the train after five days in Vermont, +and started with a heart filled with dreams and hopes to discover +whether school were really as dear and delightful as Peggy Montfort +had found it.</p> + +<p>Hillcrest was a five hours’ journey from Webster, and to-day Virginia +could look at the countrysides which they passed with a less perturbed +spirit than that with which she had so unsuccessfully tried to watch +them nearly a week before. The visit in Vermont was over, and after +all it had not been so hard. She really loved dear, frank, funny Aunt +Nan very dearly, and she somehow felt sure that Aunt Nan loved her. As +for Grandmother Webster, perhaps she did not love her Wyoming +granddaughter just yet; but, Virginia assured herself, remembering her +grandmother’s warm kiss at parting, she at least did not entirely +disapprove of her. After all, it was hard to have one’s only +granddaughter from Wyoming—especially hard when one could not +understand that Wyoming was not a wilderness.</p> + +<p>But as she reviewed the five days, she could not find any glaring +improprieties or mistakes, except perhaps shocking poor Dr. Baxter. +But even then, she had only told the truth. After all, manners are +quite the same in Wyoming as in Vermont, she thought. To be sure her +<i>a’s</i> were hardly broad to suit Grandmother Webster, and her <i>r’s</i> +quite too prominent. In Vermont there were no <i>r’s</i>—that is, where +they belonged. If used at all, they were hinged in the funniest sort +of way to the ends of words. Virginia laughed as she remembered how +grandmother had called her “Virginiar” and the maid “Emmar,” but +pronounced Webster, which possessed a real <i>r</i> at the end “Websta.” +She wondered if the girls at St. Helen’s would all speak like that. If +so, they would find her funny, indeed; but she did not mind.</p> + +<p>New England was lovely. She did not wonder that her mother had always +talked so much of its fir-covered hills, its rocky, sunny pastures, +its little white-churched villages nestling in the hollows, its +crimson maples, its goldenrod and asters. And this very journey to St. +Helen’s, which she was now taking, her own mother years before had +taken many, many times in going back and forth to school before and +after vacations Quick tears filled her eyes as she remembered. Her +mother would be glad if she knew her little daughter was on her way to +her mother’s old school. Perhaps she did know after all. And with this +thought came a resolve to be an honor and a credit to them all.</p> + +<p>At one of the larger stations where the train stopped longer than +usual was gathered on the platform a merry group of persons, saying +good-by to two girls, who were apparently going to take the train. +Perhaps they also were going to St. Helen’s, thought Virginia, and she +studied the group as closely as politeness would allow.</p> + +<p>“Now, Priscilla, do be careful, and don’t get into any more scrapes +this year,” she heard a sweet-voiced, motherly-looking woman say, as +she kissed one of the girls good-by.</p> + +<p>“Mother dear, I’m going to be the model of the school, wait and see,” +the girl cried, laughing. “Dorothy is, too, aren’t you, Dot?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I am, Mrs. Winthrop. Dad’s going to cut down my allowance +if I don’t get all A’s. Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, I’ve had such a heavenly +time! Thank you so much for everything.”</p> + +<p>“You must come again,” said a tall gentleman in white flannels, +evidently Priscilla’s father, as he shook hands, while his invitation +was echoed heartily by two jolly-looking boys—one of about Donald’s +age, though not nearly so nice-looking, Virginia thought, and the +other younger. The train gave a warning whistle.</p> + +<p>“Priscilla, are you sure you haven’t forgotten something?”</p> + +<p>“First time in her life if she hasn’t!”</p> + +<p>“Have you your ticket and purse, daughter?”</p> + +<p>“And did you put your rubbers in your suitcase?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother, yes, daddy, I’ve got everything. Come on, Dot. The +conductor’s purple with rage at us! Good-by.”</p> + +<p>They hurried on board the train, and into the car in which Virginia +sat. Then the one they had called Priscilla apparently remembered +something, for she flew to the platform. Already the train was moving, +but she frantically shouted to her mother:</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, my ‘Thought Book’ is under my pillow! I’d die without it! +Send it right away, please, and don’t read a word on pain of death!”</p> + +<p>The younger boy on the station platform executed a kind of improvised +war-dance as he heard the words, meaning apparently to convey to his +troubled sister his intention of reading as soon as possible her +recorded thoughts. Priscilla returned to the car and took her seat, +directly opposite the interested Virginia.</p> + +<p>“If Alden Winthrop reads that ‘Thought Book,’ Dot, I’ll never speak to +him again. ’Twould be just like him to make a bee line for my room, +and capture it, and then repeat my thoughts for years afterward!”</p> + +<p>“That’s just the trouble with keeping a diary. I never do. My cousin +would be sure to find it. Besides, half the time I’m ashamed of my +thoughts after I write them down.”</p> + +<p>Virginia, sitting opposite, could not resist stealing shy and hurried +glances at the two girls, because she felt sure that they also were +bound for St. Helen’s. She liked them both, she told herself. They +were apparently about the same age—probably sixteen or thereabouts. +The one who had been so solicitous about the “Thought Book,” and whom +they had called Priscilla, had brown eyes and unruly brown hair, which +would fall about her face. She was very much tanned, wore a blue suit, +and little white felt hat, and looked merry, Virginia thought, though +she could hardly be called pretty. The other, whose name evidently was +Dorothy, was very pretty. Virginia thought she had never seen a +prettier girl. Her complexion was very fair, her eyes a deep, lovely +blue, her hair golden and fluffy about her face, her features even, +and her teeth perfect. She was dressed in dark green, and to +Virginia’s admiring eyes looked just like an apple-blossom. +Undeniably, she was lovely; but, as Virginia shyly studied the two +faces, she found herself liking Priscilla’s the better. The other some +way did not look so contented, so frank, or so merry. Still, Virginia +liked Dorothy—Dorothy what—she wondered.</p> + +<p>As they continued talking, she became convinced that they were going +to St. Helen’s, that they had been there a year already, and that +Dorothy had been visiting Priscilla for a month before school opened. +She longed to speak to them, but, remembering what Donald had said +about Easterners not being so sociable with strangers, she checked the +impulse, not knowing how they would regard it, and not wishing to +intrude. Still, she could not resist listening to the conversation, +which she could hardly have helped hearing, had she wished not to do +so.</p> + +<p>“Dear me! I wish now we hadn’t been so silly, Dorothy, and done all +those crazy things. Then we could have roomed together this year.”</p> + +<p>“I know. Maybe ’twas foolish, but I’ll never forget them. Especially +the time when we dropped the pumpkin pie before Miss Green’s door.” +They both laughed. “And, anyway, Priscilla, with Greenie in The +Hermitage, if we’d been saints, we couldn’t have roomed together. She +thinks we’re both heathen, and I worse than you; and just because she +does think I’m so bad, I feel like being just as bad as I can be. I +wish Miss Wallace would have the cottage alone this year. She’s such a +darling! I just adore her! I’d scrub floors for her! My dear, she +wrote me the most divine letter this summer! It absolutely thrilled +me, and I was good for a week afterward!”</p> + +<p>Virginia looked out of the window amused. What queer ways of saying +things! She had never heard a letter called “divine” before; nor had +she realized that scrubbing floors and adoring some one were +harmonious occupations. She listened again. Priscilla was talking this +time.</p> + +<p>“I adore Miss Wallace, too,” she said. “She makes you want to be fine +just by never talking about it. I wish I could like poor Miss +Green—she seems so sort of left out some way—but she just goes at you +the wrong way. Mother and daddy think she must be splendid because she +enforces rules, and they say we’re prejudiced; but I don’t think they +understand. It isn’t enforcing the rules; it’s the way she has of +doing it.”</p> + +<p>Dorothy acquiesced. “I suppose we’ll have to make the best of her if +she’s there. Miss Wallace’s being there, too, will make it better. I’m +wondering whom I’ll draw for a room-mate. Do you know who’s yours?”</p> + +<p>“No, Miss King wrote mother and said she’d selected a wholly desirable +one for me. I do hope she doesn’t chew gum, or want fish-nets up, or +like to borrow.”</p> + +<p>Virginia recalled Miss King’s words to her grandmother—“a wholly +desirable girl ”—but then that was just a form of expression. There +was no reason to believe, much as she would like to hope, that +Priscilla was to be her room-mate. At all events, if such a thing by +any possibility should come to pass, she was glad she did not chew +gum. As to fish-nets, she had never heard of one in a room, and as for +borrowing, she had never had any one in her life from whom she might +borrow.</p> + +<p>At that moment she saw the girls looking at her. Perhaps they had +suspected that she, too, was a St. Helen’s girl. They whispered one to +the other and exchanged glances, while Virginia, a little embarrassed, +looked out of the window. She only hoped they liked her half as much +as she liked them. They began to talk again.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” this from the extravagant Dorothy, “when you see my Navajo +rug, your eyes will leave your head for a week! It’s positively +heavenly! Daddy had it sent from California. Whoever my room-mate is, +she ought to be grateful for having that on the floor. It makes up for +me.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t hope for a Navajo just so long as I get some one I’ll like.”</p> + +<p>Virginia thought of her two Navajos in her trunk—one a gift from her +father, the other made and given her by a New Mexican Indian, whom she +had known from her babyhood. Oh, if only Priscilla might be the one!</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose Imogene and Vivian will be back?” Priscilla continued.</p> + +<p>“Imogene wrote me she was coming.” Somehow Virginia detected +embarrassment in Dorothy’s answer. Who was Imogene? she wondered. “You +know, Priscilla, Imogene’s lots of fun. Of course, she isn’t like you +or Mary Williams or Anne, but you can’t help liking her all the same.”</p> + +<p>“I know she’s fun, Dot, but I don’t think her fun is a very good kind; +and I don’t like the way she influences Vivian. Vivian’s a dear when +Imogene’s not around; but the minute they’re together she follows +Imogene’s lead in everything.”</p> + +<p>Somehow Virginia knew she should not care for Imogene. But where +before had she heard the name Mary Williams? Just then they passed a +tiny village surrounded by elm trees.</p> + +<p>“There’s Riverside now,” cried the girls opposite, “and Hillcrest is +the next.”</p> + +<p>They hurriedly gathered together their belongings, and put on their +hats. Virginia did the same, and as they noticed her preparing to +leave the train, Priscilla smiled, and Dorothy looked at her with +interest. But there was little time for exchange of greetings, for the +train was already stopping. As they went with their suit-cases toward +the door, Virginia, following, heard Priscilla say,</p> + +<p>“Probably Mary Williams will be at the station. Senior officers +usually meet new girls.”</p> + +<p>Then it all came back to her. Mary Williams was Jack Williams’ sister, +the girl in the Berkshires whom Don had liked so much. Her heart beat +fast with excitement. Could she be the very same Mary Williams?</p> + +<p>A moment more and they were all on the platform; and while Virginia +stood a little shyly by her suit-case, she saw running down the +platform toward them a tall, golden-haired girl in a white sweater. +Priscilla and Dorothy dropped their luggage, and ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mary, you darling!” they both cried at once, and embraced her +until the tall girl was quite smothered.</p> + +<p>“I knew you’d be down. I just told Dorothy.”</p> + +<p>“How is every one?”</p> + +<p>“Is Greenie in The Hermitage?”</p> + +<p>“Is Miss Wallace back?”</p> + +<p>“Where’s Anne?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, let me go, please, a minute!” begged the tall girl, looking at +Virginia. “I came down to meet a new girl. She must have come with you +on your train. Wait and see her.”</p> + +<p>“I told you she was coming to St. Helen’s,” Priscilla whispered to +Dorothy, while the tall girl went up to Virginia.</p> + +<p>“You’re Virginia Hunter, aren’t you?” they heard her say cordially, +“from that wonderful Big Horn country I’ve heard so much about! Miss +King couldn’t come down to-day, and the teachers in our cottage were +away, so she sent me. I’m Mary Williams.” And she put out her hand, +which Virginia grasped heartily.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she cried, her eyes shining, “aren’t you Jack Williams’ sister, +and don’t you live in the Berkshires, and don’t you know Donald Keith. +He’s my best friend. Oh, I do hope you’re the one!”</p> + +<p>Mary’s first surprise had turned to pleasure. She shook hands with +Virginia again, and more heartily.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, I know Donald Keith! He’s the most interesting boy I +ever met in my life. Why, now I remember, of course! When Miss King +told me your name I tried to think where I’d heard it before. Why, +you’re the girl Donald talked about so much, who could ride so +wonderfully and shoot and lasso cattle and kill rattle-snakes!”</p> + +<p>Virginia blushed, a little embarrassed. She did not know how such +accomplishments would be regarded by Eastern girls. Mary apparently +admired them; but Virginia was not so sure of Priscilla and Dorothy. +They stood a little apart and listened, certainly with interest, but +whether with approval Virginia was not sure. However, she had little +time for wondering, for Mary drew her forward to where they stood.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it wonderful to have a girl way from Wyoming?” she said. “And +isn’t it lovely that I know all about her? Her best friend is my +brother’s best friend, too. This is Virginia Hunter, and these are +Priscilla Winthrop and Dorothy Richards. Why, I almost forgot! You and +Priscilla are room-mates. Miss King just told me.”</p> + +<p>So the longed-for joy was to become a reality! Virginia was radiant. +She wondered if Priscilla were really glad. The handshake with which +she greeted her was surely cordial. Mary and Dorothy walked on ahead +toward the waiting carriage, and left the new room-mates to follow.</p> + +<p>“It’s ever so interesting to room with a girl way from Wyoming,” +Priscilla said sweetly. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. I don’t +know a thing!”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Virginia. Then she laughed. “And I really don’t chew +gum, or borrow things. And what is a fish-net?”</p> + +<p>Priscilla laughed, too. “Oh, did you hear those silly things I said? +Why, a fish-net is a hideous thing to put pictures in. I loathe them!”</p> + +<p>“Besides, I have two Navajo rugs,” Virginia continued. “I hope I +wasn’t rude! I couldn’t help hearing, really, and I was so +interested.”</p> + +<p>“You weren’t rude at all, and I’m wild over Navajos. Dorothy will be +plain peeved, because we have two in our room.”</p> + +<p>Virginia gathered from the tone that “plain peeved” must mean +something akin to jealous. But she was so happy that she forgot all +about Navajos.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad I’m going to room with you,” she couldn’t help saying. “I +knew I’d like you the moment you got on the train, and I like you +better every minute!”</p> + +<p>Priscilla in her turn was embarrassed. She was not used to such +frankness of speech, especially on first acquaintance. But very likely +the manner of speaking in Wyoming, just as Virginia’s speech, so full +of <i>r’s</i> was different from her own. And she was ready to go half-way +at least.</p> + +<p>“Why,” she stammered, “I—I’m—sure I’m glad, and I—I—know I’ll like +you, too.” Which was quite an admission for a member of the +conservative Winthrop family to make to a stranger!</p> + +<h2 id='ch06'>CHAPTER VI—ST. HELEN’S AND THE HERMITAGE</h2> + +<p>St. Helen’s lay a mile west of the station, and half a mile from the +village itself, through whose quiet, elm-shaded streets they were soon +driving in the big, open carriage. The girls pointed out to Virginia +the places of especial interest—the little white church which they +attended on Sundays; Mrs. Brown’s cottage, where pumpkin pies and +“heavenly chocolate cake” might be purchased, if not too frequently; +and, chief of attractions, the “Forget-me-not,” whose sundaes, once +eaten, were never forgotten.</p> + +<p>At the little post-office, another girl joined them, and was in turn +embraced quite as rapturously by Priscilla and Dorothy as Mary had +been. She was introduced to Virginia as Anne Hill, Mary’s roommate, +and another Senior.</p> + +<p>“The two sharks and faculty pets of St. Helen’s,” observed Dorothy, +supplementing the introduction, and including Mary and Anne with a +wave of her pretty hand,</p> + +<p>Virginia had not the vaguest idea of what a shark might be. Most +apparently, not a fish; but she saw that Dorothy’s remark embarrassed +both Mary and Anne. She liked Anne at once. She was rather short and +plump, with a sweet face and soft Southern accent.</p> + +<p>“She comes from Virginia,” Priscilla said in a whisper to her new +room-mate, as they drove along.</p> + +<p>Virginia divided her attention between her great interest in the +country and her absorbing eagerness to hear all that the girls had to +say, for Mary and Anne were kept busy answering Priscilla’s and +Dorothy’s questions. Yes, Imogene Meredith had returned, and she and +Vivian Winters were rooming together as they did last year. Miss Green +was to be in The Hermitage—(a long sigh from Priscilla and +Dorothy)—but the adorable Miss Wallace was to be there likewise. The +fortunate girl, who was to be blessed with Dorothy’s Navajo rug, and, +incidentally, with Dorothy herself, was new, and a protégée of Miss +Wallace’s. (Sighs of envy from all.) Her name was Lucile Du Bose, and +Miss Wallace had become acquainted with her in France through mutual +friends. She was doubtless very nice, but a little shy and apparently +lonely, and Miss Wallace had asked as a special favor to herself that +the girls try to make her feel at home. Moreover, Miss Wallace had +proposed Dorothy as a room-mate.</p> + +<p>“That settles it,” announced Dorothy. “I shall be angelic to Lucile, +even if she’s positively hopeless; since I’m doing Miss Wallace a +favor!”</p> + +<p>“Who has the big up-stairs room?” asked Priscilla.</p> + +<p>Mary and Anne laughed. “Somebody very important,” said Anne in her +pretty Southern accent. “She hasn’t come herself, but she has trunks +and bags enough for the whole family, and they keep on coming. Up to +this noon there were three trunks, two bags, a shawl strap, and four +express packages. And the trunks and bags are all marked ‘K. Van R.— +New York’ in big letters. Mary and I were so wild with curiosity that +we had the impoliteness to turn over one of the express packages to +see the name on it, and ’twas ‘Miss Katrina Van Rensaelar.’ We asked +Miss Green about her, but gleaned no information except that she would +be here in a few days, and was to room alone, as her guardian had +especially requested it.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! How select!” observed Dorothy.</p> + +<p>“She ought to be Katrina Van Tassel, like Katrina in ‘The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow,’” said Virginia, whereupon every one laughed, and Mary +said that “Sleepy Hollow” would be a very appropriate name for the +room, as the girls who had it last year never heard the rising bell, +and were invariably late for breakfast.</p> + +<p>“We’re getting very near now, Virginia,” said her new room-mate. And, +a moment later, they drove through some stone gate-posts and up a +lovely curving road bordered by pines, which edged the woodland on +either side.</p> + +<p>“There are always hepaticas here in the spring the first of any +place,” they told her.</p> + +<p>Then they crossed a rustic bridge over a little brook, after which the +pines gave way to maples and oaks, on either side of which were open +fields and meadows. They snow-shoed here, they told her; and in the +spring the ground was fairly blue with violets. Now the roadsides, as +well as the land near the brook, were yellow with goldenrod and purple +with asters, her mother’s flowers. The road commenced to be more hilly +above the meadow, and as the horses walked slowly along, Virginia +noticed with interest the shrubs and trees which grew in tangled +masses on either side. She knew the sumac, now in its autumn scarlet, +and the birches; but there were many which she had never seen, and she +missed the service-berry and the buck-brush, which bordered the +Wyoming roads, the cottonwoods and her own dear quaking-asps, which +always seemed so merry and friendly in the fall. What a lovely place +for a school, she kept thinking to herself, as they climbed the hill, +and, suddenly leaving the wood road behind, came out upon an open +campus, dotted here and there with fine old elms and maples.</p> + +<p>“And this is St. Helen’s,” the girls told her, as they followed the +elm-shaded driveway, while her delighted eyes wandered across the +lawns to the gray stone buildings, upon which the ivy was already +turning red.</p> + +<p>“It’s lovely,” she said softly, “just as lovely as mother used to tell +me. You see, years ago my mother came here to school, too.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps the softness of her voice told the girls more than she herself +had done, for they were silent for a moment. Then Mary said,</p> + +<p>“Miss King wanted me to bring Virginia over to the office as soon as +she came, so you girls can go on to The Hermitage. You might as well +leave your bag in the carriage, Virginia. They’ll put it in your +room.”</p> + +<p>Miss King’s office was in the largest of the gray stone buildings, +which, Mary told Virginia, held the gymnasium, the big assembly hall, +some recitation rooms, and the offices of the principal and other +important personages.</p> + +<p>“You’ll love Miss King,” Mary reassured her, perhaps guessing that +Virginia felt a little shy. “You see, she doesn’t teach any more, and +she leaves most of the care of the girls to the younger teachers; but +she always conducts chapel, and arranges with each girl separately +about her studies. It’s wonderful how she knows every girl in St. +Helen’s, and she’s interested in every little thing that concerns us. +We just love her!”</p> + +<p>They went up the steps, and into a large, open hall, at the end of +which a fire blazed in a big stone fire-place.</p> + +<p>“We don’t really need a fire now,” Mary explained, “but Miss King says +it seems more homelike and cheerful when the girls come in.”</p> + +<p>From the hall many doors led to different rooms, and through two big +central ones they passed into a large office. A young woman at the +desk rose to greet them.</p> + +<p>“You’re to take the young lady to Miss King’s private office, Miss +Williams,” she said.</p> + +<p>Mary thanked her, and crossing the room, rapped upon the door of an +inner office. A sweet, cheery voice said, “Come in,” and they entered +a large sunny room, by the western window of which sat a gray-haired +lady, who rose with girlish eagerness to greet them.</p> + +<p>“I have been waiting for you, my dears,” she said, and Virginia +thought she had never heard such a sweet voice. “And I have been +waiting years for you, Virginia,” she continued. “Come to the window. +I want to look at my dear Mary Webster’s little girl.”</p> + +<p>She took them by either hand, and drew them to the window. Then she +took off Virginia’s hat, and with tears in her sweet, almost sad blue +eyes studied the girl’s face.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said at last, “you don’t look like your mother, and yet +you do. Your eyes are gray, while hers were blue, but the light in +them is just the same, and your mouth is hers. But it is only fair +that you should look also like that fine father of yours whom your +mother brought to see me eighteen years ago. It was twenty years ago +that Mary Webster left St. Helen’s the sadder for her leaving; and now +the same St. Helen’s is gladder for her coming again in her little +daughter. Oh, my dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!”</p> + +<p>With that her blue eyes quite brimmed over with tears, and she held +Virginia close a moment and kissed her.</p> + +<p>A lump rose in Virginia’s throat and she could not speak. The dear +memory of her mother, and more than all else, the genuine praise and +appreciation of her father, the first she had heard since she came +East, with the exception of Aunt Nan’s compliment, quite overcame her. +Tears filled her eyes, and her chin quivered, when she tried to thank +Miss King. But the dear lady understood, and, still holding her hand, +turned to talk with Mary until Virginia should be herself again.</p> + +<p>“And, now,” she said gayly, a few moments later, “you’re both to have +tea with me, for I’ve told Miss Weston I’m not to be interrupted on +any condition. We don’t have girls from Wyoming every day, do we, +Mary? You like my room, Virginia?” For Virginia’s eyes were wandering +about the room, charmed with everything.</p> + +<p>“I just love it, Miss King,” she said, in her natural, unaffected way. +“It makes me think of a sunny autumn afternoon at home. The walls are +just the color of our brown foot-hills, and the yellow curtains +against them are like the sunlight on the hills. And I love the +marigolds on the table, I always have them in mother’s garden at home. +She loved them so.”</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad it seems like that to you,” Miss King told her, “because +it always makes me think of October, my favorite month.” And she +looked about contentedly at the soft brown walls, the pale yellow silk +curtains, the darker furniture, and the bowl of yellow and brown +marigolds which saw their reflection in the polished table. The +pictures were largely soft landscapes in sepia, Corot’s and Millet’s; +but here and there was hung a water color in a sunny, golden frame.</p> + +<p>“I wanted a restful room with soft colors, and soothing pictures—not +profound, energy-inspiring ones—for in this room I rest and read and +talk with my girls. And some way it satisfies me—the way I have +furnished and arranged it. Now, Virginia, I want to know about that +wonderful country of yours. You must tell us while we drink our tea.”</p> + +<p>Then followed one of the most memorable hours of Virginia’s school +life. Years afterward the remembrance of it was to stay with her—a +sweet and helpful influence. They sat in the brown and gold room, +which the sun setting made more golden, and talked of school plans, of +the new girls, of the summer just passed, and most of all of +Virginia’s country, which neither Miss King nor Mary had seen. The +subjects of their conversation were simple enough, but in some way the +gray-haired woman by the window made everything said doubly memorable +and precious; and when they left, as the school clock was striking +five, they felt, as many before them had felt, strangely helped and +strengthened.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she wonderful?” breathed Virginia, as they went down the steps +together.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is,” Mary said thoughtfully. “And after I’ve been with her I +wonder what it is about her that helps one so. She doesn’t say very +much—she always makes you talk; but there’s just something beautiful +about her that you always feel. I guess that’s why St. Helen’s is such +a fine school.”</p> + +<p>They took the long way around the campus so that Virginia might see +the buildings. In addition to the large main one, there were two +others, also of gray stone—one for recitations and the other +containing the laboratories and Domestic Science rooms. There was +also, Mary told her, in the pine woods below the hill, a little gray +stone chapel, called St. Helen’s Retreat, where they held their vesper +services, and where the girls were free to go when they wished. It was +the quietest, dearest place, Mary said. She did not see how she had +happened to forget to show Virginia the woodsy path that led to it, as +they came up the driveway. The cottages for the girls were scattered +about the campus. There were six of them,—King Cottage, West, +Overlook, Hathaway, Willow, and The Hermitage. Each accommodated +fifteen girls, with the exception of The Hermitage, which was smaller +than the others and held but nine. Miss King did not like dormitories, +Mary explained, as they went along. She thought they lacked a home +feeling, and so St. Helen’s had never built dormitories for its girls. +Moreover, in spite of many requests, Miss King limited her number of +girls to eighty-five—a large enough family, she said, since she wished +to know each member of it. The cottages did look homelike certainly, +Virginia thought, with their wide porches, well-kept lawns, shrubs, +and garden flowers. The Hermitage was the tiniest of them all, and +stood quite apart from the others behind a clump of fir trees, through +which a gravel path led to the cottage itself.</p> + +<p>“Really, The Hermitage isn’t a very appropriate name for a house full +of girls,” Mary said, as they drew nearer the little cottage; “but one +of the older graduates gave the money for it and asked the privilege +of naming it herself. So she selected that name on account of the +location, forgetting that girls aren’t a bit like hermits.”</p> + +<p>Virginia thought the name and location alike lovely; and as they +passed through the fir trees and reached the porch which surrounded +the house, her satisfaction was complete. Inside, The Hermitage was +quite as attractive as its brown-shingled exterior. On the first floor +were the living-room, with a wide stone fire-place and book-lined +walls, the sunny, homelike dining-room, and the rooms of the two +teachers. Up-stairs were the four rooms of the girls, each large and +sunny, and opening upon a porch, and away up on the third floor was +one large room, which was this year to be occupied by the mysterious +Katrina Van Rensaelar.</p> + +<p>All was hurry and bustle on the second floor of The Hermitage as Mary +and Virginia went up the stairs. Five girls were frantically and +unsystematically unpacking—pausing every other minute to go the rounds +for the sake of exhibiting some new possession acquired during the +summer. Two of the girls Virginia had not seen, and her new room-mate +promptly introduced them.</p> + +<p>“These are our next door neighbors, Virginia,” she said, “Imogene +Meredith and Vivian Winters. And this is Virginia Hunter from the Big +Horn Mountains in Wyoming.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed?” remarked the one called Imogene, raising her eyebrows and +extending a rather languid hand. “Quite off the map, n’est-ce pas?” +and she laughed.</p> + +<p>She was tall with dark, extremely-dressed hair, and eyes that did not +meet your own. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and she wore +several pieces of expensive jewelry. Virginia was embarrassed by her +easy, uninterested manner, and her strange laugh. Vivian Winters she +liked better. Vivian was short with a sweet, childish face, and +wistful blue eyes. She, too, was dressed far too lavishly for school, +Virginia felt, but she liked her all the same, and did not feel at all +embarrassed in replying to her pleasant little welcome. As she looked +at them, she recalled the conversation she had heard between Priscilla +and Dorothy in the train, and she thought she understood Priscilla’s +feeling toward Imogene. But, perhaps, they were both mistaken, and she +wouldn’t begin by being prejudiced. Just then Dorothy called Imogene +to her room at the other end of the hall, and Priscilla took Virginia +to their own room.</p> + +<p>“There’s a huge box here for you,” she said, as they went down the +hall. “It nearly fills the room.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s my saddle here already!” cried Virginia. “It is a huge box, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Your—what?” asked the amazed Priscilla, and listened open-mouthed +while Virginia explained, and told her about Jim and the others. So +interested did she become that before they realized it, the +supper-bell had rung, and found them sitting side by side on the big +box, friends already.</p> + +<p>“I never heard anything so interesting in all my life,” exclaimed +Priscilla, as they searched for hairbrushes and towels among their +confused luggage. “And will you really teach me to ride?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, I will. You’ll love it! Oh, I’m sorry to be late the +very first night!”</p> + +<p>“That’s the best time of all, because they expect it then. Besides, +Miss Green’s dining out, and Miss Wallace—you’ll love her!—took Lucile +Du Bose to town to see the oculist. Mary’s in charge tonight, and +she’ll excuse us.”</p> + +<p>“Is Mary part teacher?” Virginia asked, puzzled.</p> + +<p>No, not that exactly, Priscilla explained; but each year the girls of +the different cottages elected one of their number who would be a +Senior the next year to be a kind of cottage monitor, to take charge +of the table and study hours when the teachers were out.</p> + +<p>It was an honor to be elected, because it meant that the girls +considered you trustworthy; and every one at St. Helen’s knew and +trusted Mary Williams.</p> + +<p>Virginia admired Mary more than ever. It must be wonderful, she +thought as she tied her hair-ribbon and searched for a clean +handkerchief, to be trusted by every one in school. Could they say +that of her when she became a Senior?</p> + +<p>“What are you, Priscilla?” she asked as they went down-stairs.</p> + +<p>“I’m a Junior,” said Priscilla, “and so are Dorothy and Imogene. Anne +is a Senior like Mary. Vivian’s a Sophomore, and Lucile Du Bose, too, +they say. As for Miss Van Rensaelar, no one knows. Maybe she’s a +post-grad. She sounds very grand.”</p> + +<p>That evening they finished unpacking, and by nine o’clock their room +was quite settled. The Navajo rugs were on the floor—the envy of the +house. The saddle-box they had covered, and with pillows it made quite +a picturesque divan. Of course, the effect was lessened in the mind of +any one who might attempt to sink down upon it, but it looked well, +and there were chairs enough without it. Each cot was covered with +afghan and pillows. Even the pictures were hung, and their few +treasured books, of which Virginia discovered to her joy Priscilla was +as fond as she, were placed in the little wall book-case from +Virginia’s room at home. Altogether the big room had a cheery, +homelike atmosphere, and they both felt very happy.</p> + +<p>Before going to bed they visited their neighbors. Mary and Anne’s room +they found not unlike their own, only there were even more books +about, and an adorable tea-table with brass kettle and little alcohol +lamp, for Seniors were allowed to serve tea on Saturday afternoons. +Dorothy’s room was in a sad state of upheaval, the Navajo rug, +carefully spread on the floor, being the only sign of an attempt at +settlement. Dorothy herself was curled up on the couch, deep in a +magazine. Her room-mate had not returned she said, so why arrange +things? Their ideas might not harmonize.</p> + +<p>The room opposite their own, occupied by Imogene and Vivian, was +settled in a most unsettled manner. Virginia thought as she entered +that never in her life had she seen so many things in one room. One +entire wall was festooned with a dreaded fish-net, in which were +caught literally hundreds of relatives, friends, and acquaintances; +the other walls were covered with pennants. The couches were so piled +with pillows that one could not find room to sit down; the dressers +were loaded with costly silver toilet articles, and more friends in +silver frames; even the curtains were heavy with souvenirs, which were +pinned to them. There were no books, except a few school-books, tucked +under the desk, and no pictures, save highly decorated posters, wedged +among the pennants, where a few inches of bare space had not been +allowed to remain uncovered. It all gave Virginia a kind of stifled +sensation, and she was glad to return to their own room when the +nine-thirty bell had rung.</p> + +<p>It was strange to crawl into her cot-bed opposite Priscilla; strange +to talk in whispers for a few moments, and then to say “Good-night.” +For a few more moments she wondered with a wave of homesickness, more +for her father than for herself, what they were all doing at home. +Were they sleeping while the mountains kept their silent night watch? +No, that could not be, for the time was different. Colonel Standish +had explained that to her on the journey East. Dear Colonel Standish! +What was that difference? Was it two hours earlier at Hillcrest? Then +it would be only eight o’clock at home. Or was it—? But her tired +head, so weary from the day’s excitement, refused to reckon +differences in time, and Virginia fell asleep.</p> + +<h2 id='ch07'>CHAPTER VII—“PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM”</h2> + +<p>The first two weeks of Virginia’s life at St. Helen’s passed without a +cloud. The hours were as golden as the October days themselves. She +and Priscilla liked each other better every day. She had already +become acquainted with many of the girls at the other cottages, and +she found them as jolly and merry as those at The Hermitage. She liked +them—almost every one—and although at first her frank way of speaking, +and the strangeness of her accent had puzzled and surprised them, they +liked Virginia. Of course, all things accepted, they might have +preferred being born in Massachusetts to Wyoming, for to many of them, +as to Grandmother Webster, Wyoming seemed more or less of a +wilderness, and a ranch rather a queer kind of home, but they had the +good sense, and better manners, not to announce their preferences to +Virginia; and as the days went by they liked her more and more. +Wyoming might be a wilderness, they said to themselves; but this +ranch-bred girl certainly was as cultured as any girl at St. Helen’s. +So the letters which Virginia wrote almost daily to her father were +very happy ones, and she almost began to doubt the possibility of +being homesick in this beautiful place. Still, there were many weeks +yet to come!</p> + +<p>Her studies, with Miss King’s help, had been pleasantly arranged; and, +thanks to her book of compositions she had brought, her wide reading, +and her year of Algebra in the country school, she found herself, to +her great joy, ranked as a Sophomore, and in classes with Lucile and +Vivian. She liked Vivian very much, and tried hard to like Imogene for +Vivian’s sake. As for Lucile, she found her interesting in a queer +foreign kind of way, for Lucile’s French father, and her years in +Paris and Lausanne, had given her ways hardly American. Besides, +Virginia agreed with Dorothy, she would like Lucile for Miss Wallace’s +sake alone; for Virginia, as the prophets had foretold, already loved +Miss Wallace with unswerving loyalty.</p> + +<p>Two more different persons than Miss Margaret Wallace and Miss Harriet +Green would have been hard to find, especially housed beneath one +roof, and presumably dedicated to the same ideals. Miss Wallace was +young, enthusiastic, and attractive in appearance and personality; +Miss Green was middle-aged, languid, and unattractive, certainly in +appearance, and, as far as one could judge, in personality. Both were +scrupulously conscientious, but Miss Wallace enforced the rules +because she loved the girls, and Miss Green because it was her duty. +Moreover, Margaret Wallace, remembering her own recent college days, +trusted the girls before she suspected them; whereas Miss Green +reversed the proceedings, and watched them closely before she decided +to trust. The result of these different methods may be imagined. The +girls obeyed Miss Wallace, because she never expected them to do +otherwise. If they obeyed Miss Green, it was done unwillingly to save +trouble.</p> + +<p>Be it said to Miss Green’s credit that she was an excellent teacher. +The colleges which the St. Helen’s girls entered, expected and +received girls whose training in Latin and Greek was unexcelled. She +had been ten years at St. Helen’s. Perhaps her superior teaching and +her unshaken faithfulness to duty, more than offset her failure, which +she herself did not perceive, as a disciplinarian. However that might +be, the girls at St. Helen’s did not love Miss Green.</p> + +<p>Virginia, being a new-comer, resolved to like her; and to that end she +really strove, being the one girl in The Hermitage and often the only +one in school, who defended the teacher, whose strict adherence to her +own interpretation of duty brought with it sad mishaps, often for the +girls and sometimes for herself. Even Mary, who was Miss Green’s +helper, though she did not say much at the indignation meetings of the +other girls, quite clearly did not like Miss Green.</p> + +<p>“I think it’s sweet of you, Virginia, to stand up for her,” Priscilla +announced one evening, as they wrestled with extra hard Latin lessons, +“but your time hasn’t come yet. I hope you’ll always be able to like +Greenie, but I have my doubts.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m going to try hard, anyway. Of course, I shan’t love her—I +don’t hope for that—but she seems so left out with us all loving Miss +Wallace so much, that I’m going to try.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just what I thought when I came last year,” observed the +experienced Priscilla. “But after she just the same as accused me of +borrowing the down-stairs ink-bottle and never returning it, I +couldn’t like her any longer.”</p> + +<p>Whether Miss Green liked the gray-eyed Western girl, who was trying so +hard in the face of so many odds to like her was not as yet known. +Perhaps she was slowly deciding whether or not Virginia might be +trusted; and very soon events were to come to pass requiring that +decision to be made.</p> + +<p>The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days began +to grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; and +the girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supper +around the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the third +week of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight to +nine o’clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of various +subjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among other +things they spoke of their “vocations” in life—each painting in +glowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach, +and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to look +toward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who sat +opposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as “doctoring” the girls +when they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer and +consolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning’s “Court Lady,” +though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go on +the stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, and +never take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have a +villa outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had come +to Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. She +had seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would give +them encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a little +embarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she must +admit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books that +should inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at once +squeezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also. +Imogene “hadn’t decided,” and Vivian made them all laugh by saying she +wanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies and +take care of them every one herself.</p> + +<p>Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, the +other with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls had +finished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty to +declare that dreams were fleeting, said,</p> + +<p>“You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen’s ‘Master Builder,’ +you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I have +lived long enough to discover that one’s vocation in life is usually +thrust upon her.”</p> + +<p>“Horrors!” cried Dorothy. “Then I won’t have any!”</p> + +<p>The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm. +Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, being +honestly interested in Miss Green’s observation, and feeling +intuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?” she asked politely.</p> + +<p>“It was,” returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, but +Virginia mistook the tone for one of regret.</p> + +<p>“I’m so sorry,” she said. “You can’t be half so interested in it as +you would be if you could have chosen it. If I were you, I would +change, and choose another.”</p> + +<p>An inadvertent giggle from Imogene broke the embarrassed silence which +followed Virginia’s remark; and led Miss Green to mistake Virginia’s +honest interest for ill-bred sarcasm. She gathered the gray knit +shawl, which she often wore, more closely about her shoulders, rose +from her chair and left the room, saying in a frigid tone as she went:</p> + +<p>“Will you come to my room, Virginia, immediately upon the ringing of +the study-bell?”</p> + +<p>“Why—certainly—Miss Green,” stammered poor surprised Virginia.</p> + +<p>“Mean old thing!” muttered Dorothy, as a slam of Miss Green’s door +announced her complete departure. “Virginia didn’t—”</p> + +<p>“Dorothy,” warned Miss Wallace quietly.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace. I forgot.”</p> + +<p>Then Miss Wallace tactfully turned the conversation into other +channels, but Virginia could not enter into it with any interest. She +could not think how she had been impolite. Such a thought had never +entered her mind. Why had Imogene laughed? She caught Priscilla and +Mary looking reproachfully at Imogene. Even Dorothy seemed annoyed. +The study-bell put an end to the forced conversation, and as Virginia +went slowly toward Miss Green’s room, after encouraging pats and +squeezes from the girls, who left her to go up-stairs, Miss Wallace +asked Imogene to remain a few moments with her.</p> + +<p>Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy and +forbidding than when she had hurried from the room.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Virginia.” Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch.</p> + +<p>“I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely.”</p> + +<p>Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat.</p> + +<p>“I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry to +be obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school. +I cannot understand your rudeness of—”</p> + +<p>“But, Miss Green,” Virginia interrupted, because she could not help +it, “really I—”</p> + +<p>“Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish.”</p> + +<p>Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyes +bright, her heart rebellious.</p> + +<p>“Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation? +Will you attempt to justify Imogene’s giggle? It all looks to me like +a contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak.”</p> + +<p>But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all to +blame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it all +made her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears which +were blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. +Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginia +spoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school long +enough to know the meaning of diplomacy.</p> + +<p>“Miss Green,” she said, “I think you are very unjust. I felt sorry for +you when you said your vocation had been thrust upon you. That is why +I said I thought you would be happier if you changed. I don’t know why +Imogene laughed; but I think you are suspicious to think of a +conspiracy. I don’t know what you mean.”</p> + +<p>“Do not add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanors, Virginia.” +Miss Green was becoming angry—calmly so, perhaps, but angry.</p> + +<p>“I do not mean to be impertinent, Miss Green. I—I—have been trying +hard to like you”—her voice quavered and broke—“but I think you are +unfair to me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Green’s eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. She had never +dreamed of such frankness in a pupil brought before her for a +reprimand! She fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps, this +interview had been long enough. It did not seem fruitful.</p> + +<p>“Do not try to like me, I beg of you, Virginia. You seem to find it +hard work. But I tell you, as I tell all my pupils, the day will come +when you will be deeply grateful to me for my correction.”</p> + +<p>In her tumultuous heart Virginia doubted the arrival of that day of +gratitude. She waited for Miss Green to finish.</p> + +<p>“We will grant, perhaps, that you may not have meant rudeness. I will +give you the benefit of the doubt. But we must admit that you were +hardly decorous in your remarks. Have you anything to say?”</p> + +<p>Suddenly into Virginia’s’ mind there came an idea—so quickly that she +smiled a little, greatly to Miss Green’s discomfiture.</p> + +<p>“Yes, please,” she answered in reply to the question asked her. “I +can’t seem to think. What is the noun for ‘decorous’?”</p> + +<p>Miss Green’s eyes and mouth again widened, this time in greater +astonishment. Evidently, this interview was not producing the desired +change of heart. It would far better be ended. She cleared her throat +again.</p> + +<p>“The noun for ‘decorous’ is ‘decorum.’ I am sorry my words have had no +greater effect. Goodnight.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, it’s decorum” said Virginia, as she went toward the door. +“How foolish of me to forget! You’ve really given me a brand new idea, +Miss Green. Good-night.” And she went upstairs, leaving behind her a +puzzled and almost angry woman, whose knowledge of having done her +duty was in some way quite eclipsed by a strange, yet indisputable, +sense of having been badly beaten.</p> + +<p>Study hour was in session when Virginia hurried through the hall +toward her room; but two doors noiselessly opened as she passed, and +four hands extended notes, which she took wonderingly. The door +opposite her own did not open. In her room, Priscilla, instead of +studying, was writing furiously in her “Thought Book,” which, +apparently unread, had been sent two weeks before. As Virginia came +in, she jumped up from the desk, and threw her arms around her.</p> + +<p>“You poor, dear thing!” she cried. “We’re all furious! You didn’t do +one thing but be polite. We’re more furious at Imogene for giggling! +That only aroused Greenie’s suspicions. What did she say? Was she +awful? I’m so glad you’re not crying. You got the notes, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Virginia, returning the embrace. She read the notes. All +expressed a mixture of fury, loyalty, and sympathy. Then she took down +her own “Thought Book,” for she had also begun to keep one, and placed +the notes carefully between its pages. Priscilla watched her, puzzled. +Most of the girls were crying with rage when they came from Miss +Green’s room. Virginia opened the back part of her “Thought Book,” and +separated some thirty pages from those before. Then she dipped her pen +in the ink, but before writing, turned to Priscilla.</p> + +<p>“Priscilla,” she said slowly, “she is a very unjust woman. I think she +is very nearly a cruel one. I shall <i>never</i> try to like her again!”</p> + +<p>While Priscilla watched her, more puzzled than ever, she began to +write in large letters on the first of the pages thus separated.</p> + +<p class='center mtb0'>“‘ALL TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED ONLY</p> +<p class='center mtb0'>THROUGH EXPERIENCE.’”</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>“These pages will contain accounts of wisdom-giving</p> +<p class='mtb0'>experiences, and will pertain especially to matters</p> +<p class='mtb0'>of Decorum.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Experience I. Oct. 18. I have learned that the most careful +politeness may be called rudeness. Also that Pity is <i>not</i> akin to +Love, even though the Bible says it is. Also, that remarks, intended +to be polite, about one’s vocation, had best be avoided, especially +when it is previously known that one’s vocation has been thrust upon +her.</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>“Why these things are so,</p> +<p class='mtb0'>I don’t pretend to know.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>She closed the book, and replaced it in her desk. Afterward she sat +for a long moment watching a crescent moon sink below the horizon.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to study to-night, Priscilla?” she asked at last.</p> + +<p>Priscilla turned almost fiercely upon her. “I shall fail in Latin on +Monday and Tuesday, <i>anyway</i>,” she said, with unreasoning loyalty, +“and maybe on Wednesday, and I’m not exactly sure about Thursday. I +know it will hurt <i>me</i> and not <i>her</i>, but it doesn’t seem as though I +could ever get a good lesson for her again.”</p> + +<p>At nine there was an indignation meeting in their room, which every +one attended, except Imogene and Vivian, and at which Virginia, though +the center of attraction, said little. She appreciated their loyalty, +but somehow she could not talk. It had all surprised her too much. But +the others could talk. The room hummed with their vehement +whisperings.</p> + +<p>“It just shows how suspicious she is!”</p> + +<p>“Never mind, Virginia. It’s no disgrace to you.”</p> + +<p>“It’s really Imogene’s fault. Why did she giggle like that?”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose it could have been on purpose?” Courageous Anne +ventured to give voice to a suspicion which, except for Dorothy, +seemed general enough.</p> + +<p>But Dorothy, though annoyed at Imogene’s thoughtlessness, which had +caused trouble for Virginia, was loath to believe that it had arisen +from anything but thoughtlessness. To speak truly, Dorothy was +fascinated by Imogene—her wit, money, clothes, and, above all, by her +air of wisdom, and her “don’t care” ways. Therefore she defended her +hotly.</p> + +<p>“Of course it wasn’t on purpose, Anne!” she said indignantly. “Imogene +wouldn’t do such a thing!” But the silence which followed seemed to +show that all did not share Dorothy’s confidence; and Anne, growing +more courageous, said:</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure about that.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know what Miss Wallace said to her.”</p> + +<p>“So should I.”</p> + +<p>“She was plain mad when she came up-stairs, for she slammed the door +like anything.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and I heard her give Vivian fits for having the window open.”</p> + +<p>But Imogene kept her own counsel, and no one knew what Miss Wallace +had said. Neither did they learn that night from Virginia of her +interview with Miss Green. Her strange silence during the conference +quelled the curiosity which prompted them to ask; and, when the +nine-thirty bell rang, they went home, feeling that she was queer some +way but that they liked her more than ever.</p> + +<p>The world had suddenly lost its brightness for Virginia. She undressed +in silence, and was in bed before Priscilla, who sat on the edge of +her cot a moment before going to her own, and hugged her room-mate +sympathetically. Virginia returned the hug with a bear-like one of her +own, and kissed Priscilla good-night, but still she could not talk. +Neither could she go to sleep. Long after Priscilla’s breathing showed +that she had forgotten indignation and all else, Virginia lay awake, +choking back a great, obstinate lump of homesickness, which would rise +in her throat. She longed for her father. He would understand as no +one else could. She longed for Don, who would call Miss Green “an old +prune.” Most of all she longed for her own big country, where, her +poor injured heart told her, people didn’t look for impoliteness. And +just this morning she had been so happy!</p> + +<p>Then the tears came, and she sobbed into her pillow. “I’m not plucky +at all,” she thought, “because I <i>am</i> homesick, and I don’t care if I +am!” She felt better after a good cry, and thought she could go to +sleep, but the room seemed warm and close, though the windows were +open. She got out of bed, put on her kimono, and went to the French +windows which opened upon the porch. The moon had set, but the sky was +clear and star-filled. Unhesitatingly she opened the doors and stepped +out. From where she stood no trees obstructed her view of the campus. +The buildings stood dark and dim among the trees. It was so still that +she could hear the brook falling over the stones, half a mile away. +She felt better out there under the sky—somewhat as she felt among the +mountains at home.</p> + +<p>All at once she heard steps on the gravel walk. Who could be out so +late. A bulky form emerging from the firs and coming along the walk +below where she stood answered her question. It was Michael, the old +night watchman. Were it not for fear of disturbing some one she would +call to him, for she liked his funny Irish ways, and already they had +become good friends. She went nearer the railing to watch him as he +walked slowly toward West Cottage, and as she moved a board in the +floor of the porch creaked.</p> + +<p>Michael looked up hastily, and descried her figure. He had been too +long at St. Helen’s not to know that young ladies on porches at +midnight usually meant mischief, and he hurriedly retraced his steps +toward The Hermitage, rounded the cottage, and—truly Fate was +unkind!—rapped on Miss Green’s instead of Miss Wallace’s window.</p> + +<p>So perfectly innocent was Virginia that she did not for one moment +connect Michael’s return with herself. Miss Green’s room was on the +other side of the cottage from her own, and she could not hear +Michael’s quiet warning. Therefore, she was surprised and not a little +startled when she found herself five minutes later enveloped in a +strange light. She turned around quickly to see in the doorway Miss +Green, clothed in a gray flannel wrapper, and armed with a miniature +search-light, which always accompanied her on her night journeyings. +Virginia felt a strange desire to laugh. Miss Green’s scant locks were +arranged in curl-papers about her forehead; she still wore her +spectacles; and the combination gave the sinister effect of a beetle. +But the look on Miss Green’s countenance checked the unborn laugh.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here on the porch at midnight?” Miss Green’s words +were punctuated with pauses of horror.</p> + +<p>“Something inside of me said I’d feel happier out here, Miss Green.”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s honest eyes looked into Miss Green’s shrinking ones. Miss +Green apparently felt uncomfortable. She wrestled again with that +disagreeable sense of having been beaten. Slow as she was to perceive +honesty, she could not doubt this girl who faced her with flushed +cheeks and tear-swollen eyes. She stood aside, shivering in the night +air, to let Virginia enter her room. Then she followed her. Once +inside, she hesitated a moment, then locked the French windows, and +slipped the key into her capacious pocket. Virginia’s unwavering eyes +watched her. She cleared her throat nervously.</p> + +<p>“I need hardly remind you, Virginia, that it is highly indecorous for +a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono! Moreover, +let us ever avoid all appearance of evil.”</p> + +<p>Then she went. Virginia heard her padded footsteps stealing down the +stairs. Priscilla had, fortunately, not awakened. Virginia was too +surprised to be angry. Had it really happened, or was it just a dream? +She tried the French windows to make sure. They were securely locked. +Then she laughed as she remembered Miss Green’s curlpapers and +spectacles and horrified expression.</p> + +<p>She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go to +sleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her “Thought Book.” This +evening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turn +on the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling by +the window, she traced these words by the dim light:</p> + +<p>“Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highly +indecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a +kimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!”</p> + +<p>Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep.</p> + +<h2 id='ch08'>CHAPTER VIII—THE LAST STRAW</h2> + +<p>No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green, +clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resist +relating such an experience as that of the night before to her +roommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she told +Priscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing her +to eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealed +whether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair. +They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a little +worry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in the +small hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case for +report. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicit +trust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. She +was still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled the +events of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would “bear +watching.”</p> + +<p>Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. To +begin with, every one was late; and Miss Green’s frigid manner really +did not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed upon +late comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse, +and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Mary +and Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the +“Continental Breakfast,” and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, who +hoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogene +was not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in good +spirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green’s curl-papers. +However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivened +by Miss Wallace’s futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Green +felt Virginia’s gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, and +apparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve.</p> + +<p>Poor Virginia, who upon awaking had decided to try to forget all the +discomfort of the evening before and be happy again, felt her +resolution impossible of fulfillment in this atmosphere; and by the +time breakfast was over (be assured it was a short repast) was as +discouraged and homesick as the night before. She declined Mary’s and +Anne’s invitation to walk with them and the sad-eyed Vivian to the +village after Saturday morning’s house-cleaning; refused to play +tennis with Priscilla and the Blackmore twins (two jolly girls from +Hathaway); quite enraged Dorothy by discovering her and Imogene in +secret conversation, when she went to find her sweater which Lucile +had borrowed; and at last, completely discouraged, and sick of +everything, wandered off down the hill by herself, pretending not to +hear some girls from King Cottage, who called to her to wait.</p> + +<p>On the way she met the postman, who handed her three letters. She +stuffed them in her pocket; and then, for fear of being followed by +the King girls, hurried into the woods by a short cut she had already +discovered, and found her way to the little gray stone chapel. She +opened the door and went in, but it seemed cold and damp inside, and +she came out again into the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Here she was practically sure of being undisturbed, for the girls did +not often visit St. Helen’s Retreat on Saturday morning. She sat down +on the stone steps and listened to the wind in the pine trees, which +completely surrounded the little chapel. Shafts of sunlight fell +through the branches upon the brown needles beneath. In among the +tangled thickets beyond the trees, the birds were gathering to go +southward. They seemed in a great bustle of preparation. Virginia +spied thrushes and tow-hees, brown thrashers and robins in great +numbers; also many bluebirds, whose color was not so brilliant as that +of their mountain bluebird at home. The English sparrows, however, +were undisturbed by thoughts of moving, and chattered about the eaves +of the Retreat, quite lazy and content.</p> + +<p>At any other time Virginia would have watched the birds with eager +interest, creeping through the thickets to observe them, for she was a +real little student of their ways, and loved them dearly. But to-day +the world was wrong, and birds were just birds, she told +herself,—nothing more! Besides, she had been treated unjustly and +unfairly, and she had a good cause for feeling blue. No one could +blame her—not even Donald, whose words kept coming to her. She wished +Don had never said them—they bothered her!</p> + +<p>She drew her letters from her pocket. In a way, she hated to read +them, she said to herself, because they would make her more homesick. +But in a very short time curiosity overcame her, and she began to open +them eagerly. Two were from her father and Don, the other from Aunt +Lou in California. She read Aunt Lou’s first—saving the best for the +last. Aunt Lou was glad to hear such pleasing reports both from those +in Vermont, and from Miss King. From Grandmother Webster she had been +convinced that Colonel Standish was a gentleman though she would again +warn Virginia that one could not be too careful. She knew that St. +Helen’s and her experiences there would surely be the making of +Virginia, etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Virginia folded the letter. In a way she could not help feeling glad +that her grandmother and Aunt Nan, and especially Miss King, were +pleased with her. Still, if Miss Green told, would Miss King +understand? But it was of no use to worry, and it was in a little +better humor that she opened Donald’s letter.</p> + +<p>He had missed her, he said. Everything had seemed lost without her. It +was no fun riding alone, and he had been glad when October came, and +he had gone to Colorado. He liked it much better than the East. The +fellows were more his sort, and they rode a lot; but not one of them +could ride better than she.</p> + +<p>“I’m mighty glad,” the letter ended, “that Mary Williams is in your +cottage. She’s a peach, isn’t she? Jack’s all right, too. He wrote me +the other day that maybe he would come to Wyoming another summer. +Wouldn’t it be great if Mary could visit you then? I’m glad you’ve got +a good room-mate. Don’t forget though, you promised not to be a young +lady in June!”</p> + +<p>Before she opened her father’s letter, Virginia felt decidedly better. +Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mary could go to Wyoming with Jack? +Maybe—of course, not probably, but maybe—Priscilla’s father might let +her go, too. Dreams of glorious days in the mountains made her eyes +shine. She was almost happy again.</p> + +<p>Her father’s dear fat letter was supplemented by a laboriously written +one from Jim, and a note—yes, actually a note from William. And +William could write a good hand, without misspelling a word! Jim’s +letter told her that the little colt was growing beautifully, and was +the image of his mother; that he hadn’t much minded the branding; and +that Joe sent his best regards and wished to say that the lump in the +littlest collie’s throat had quite disappeared. His rheumatism got +worse, he said, with the colder weather, and he read her books a lot +for company. He closed by saying they all missed her worse every day, +and by asking her for them all how she liked the saddle, and “how it +set”?</p> + +<p>William’s note told her that he should send by the next mail two sets +of rattles, whose former owners he had killed the week before; and +that he had already planted her garden with some perennials which he +knew she would like. He would not tell her what they were, as he +wanted to surprise her.</p> + +<p>She read her father’s letter over and over again. It was filled with +pride, for he, too, had received a letter from Miss King, and—what was +stranger yet!—actually one from Grandmother Webster, telling of their +pleasure in Virginia. He was glad every day that she was so happy at +St. Helen’s. Were she often homesick, he would be troubled; but her +happiness made his loneliness the less.</p> + +<p>The fall threshing was over, he said, and the round-up and branding +completed. The men were having a much-needed rest. William had not +gone to town once since she left, and if he continued in his +determination, she would not know him when she came home. Jim, he was +sorry to tell her, seemed far from well. The Keiths were also finished +with the hardest of the fall labor; and they had all decided to ride +up the canyon the next Saturday “To-day,” thought Virginia—and camp +for over Sunday, just for a change. How they wished she and Don were +there to go along!</p> + +<p>Virginia folded the letter and jumped to her feet. An idea had seized +her, dispelling the few remaining blues, for to a nature like her own +a new idea is often a cure-all. Why had she not thought of it before? +She would ride to-day, just as they were doing at home. Not yet had +she used her new saddle, but really there had been little opportunity. +The days had been too filled with lessons and getting acquainted to +allow much time for riding; and they had now become so short that it +was impossible after supper. The first two Saturdays had been taken +up—one by a tennis tournament, the other by the Senior and Junior +basket-ball game—and this was only the third.</p> + +<p>But to-day she would ride. She would hurry home, learn her +lessons—yes, she even thought she might learn her Latin—and then after +luncheon have the man from the village stable bring up the horse he +had recommended at a previous interview.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere at luncheon was less chilled. Mary, Anne, and Vivian +brought from the village the glad tidings that the “Forget-me-not” +would be open all winter, and serve hot chocolate and cakes instead of +sundaes; Priscilla and Lucile had won four sets from the Blackmore +twins; and Virginia’s spirits were certainly improved. Only Imogene +and Dorothy, who had been together all the morning, preserved, the one +a haughty, the other an embarrassed, silence.</p> + +<p>Virginia’s announcement that she was to ride brought forth great +interest on the part of the girls, and solicitude on the part of Miss +Green.</p> + +<p>“You have permission, I presume, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly, Miss Green. I’ve talked with Miss King all about it,” +answered Virginia, striving to be polite. Later, when she heard Miss +Green supplementing over the telephone her own directions to the +stable-man, and cautioning him to bring the safest horse in the +stable, she tried not to mind.</p> + +<p>The horse arrived. To The Hermitage girls, and several from Hathaway, +who had come over to watch the proceedings, and who, if they had +ridden at all, had mounted nothing larger than ponies, he was a huge +beast. They watched with great interest while Virginia herself threw +across his broad back her shining new saddle, and tightened the +girths.</p> + +<p>“What a queer saddle!”</p> + +<p>“What’s that thing in front, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“The saddle-horn.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall against it and hurt you?”</p> + +<p>Virginia laughed. “Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“See the ‘V. H.’ on the brass, Anne. Some style to you, Virginia!”</p> + +<p>“What’s the horse’s name, Mr. Hanly?” asked Virginia, preparing to +mount.</p> + +<p>“Napoleon Bonaparte.”</p> + +<p>The girls laughed. Virginia swung herself into the saddle. To the +admiring girls it seemed as though she had not touched the stirrup at +all. She gathered her reins in one hand.</p> + +<p>“Remember, you’re to try him, Priscilla, when I get back,” she called, +riding away.</p> + +<p>From one of the lower windows of the Hermitage, some, one cleared her +throat.</p> + +<p>“Use extreme caution, Virginia,” some one called, but Virginia was +already out of hearing.</p> + +<p>She had intended to ride down to the gate-posts, and then farther out +into the country on the road which led away from Hillcrest. But by the +time she came in sight of the stone posts she had quite decidedly +changed her mind. Napoleon Bonaparte was hopeless! If he had not so +annoyed her she might have laughed at his combination of gaits. His +trot was torture; and it was only by the utmost urging that one could +prevail upon him to canter. This urging, Virginia discovered to her +surprise, was most effective when accomplished by yanking upon the +reins, a proceeding which a Western horse would not have borne at all. +His periods of willingness to canter were of short duration, for which +the rider at the end of the period usually felt thankful. Moreover, he +invariably stumbled when going down hill; and, to cap the climax, and +add the finishing touch, he had the asthma, and, after a few moments +of speed, sounded like a freight train.</p> + +<p>The gate-posts reached, Virginia was resolved upon one thing! She +could not ride Napoleon! She would ride to the village stable and see +if a change were possible. She turned Napoleon’s heavy head, and rode +on, wondering what Donald would say if he could see her steed, and +greatly hoping that the village stable contained some improvement.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hanly, who had driven down with the mail-carrier just ahead of +her, met her at the stable door.</p> + +<p>“Anything the trouble, miss?”</p> + +<p>Virginia for the moment ignored his question.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hanly, how old is Napoleon?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hanly calculated. “About eighteen, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Eighteen!” cried Virginia. “Then I don’t wonder! Why, Mr. Hanly, he +can’t go at all. He hasn’t a gait to his name! Besides, he wheezes +terribly. Has he the asthma?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hanly explained that for years Napoleon had been afflicted with a +chronic cold; but that he had been in his day a good saddle-horse, and +safe.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s perfectly safe, Mr. Hanly! He’s too safe! But, you see, I’ve +ridden all my life, and I can’t ride him. I really can’t! Haven’t you +something else?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hanly considered. Yes, he had a saddle-horse belonging to a +Hillcrest gentleman, who was away at present, but who had left word +that his horse might be exercised. Still, he would hardly venture to +saddle him for Virginia. He was safe enough, but inclined to take the +bit in his teeth. No, he would not dare to allow her to have him. +Still, she might look at him if she liked.</p> + +<p>Virginia swung herself off Napoleon, and went in the stable to view +the horse described. He was assuredly not in the same class as +Napoleon. She knew by his build that he was a good saddle-horse. She +must have him, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes later, the +persuaded, if not convinced, Mr. Hanly was somewhat dubiously removing +the saddle from poor, perspiring Napoleon, and strapping it, with +Virginia’s help, on the back of the black horse.</p> + +<p>In another moment Virginia was up and away, leaving Mr. Hanly, who was +watching her, somewhat reassured in the doorway.</p> + +<p>This was something like riding, she told herself, as she cantered +along the country road. The black horse, though nothing like her own +Pedro, was still a good horse. He could even singlefoot, and did not +have the asthma.</p> + +<p>She rode miles into the country beyond St. Helen’s. The afternoon was +perfect—one of those autumn afternoons when the summer lingers, loath +to go; when the leaves drift slowly down, and the air is filled with +an unseen chorus; and when all about an Unseen Presence makes itself +felt, and causes one to feel in harmony with the God of the +Out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>Virginia’s cheeks were rosy red; her hair was flying in the wind, for +she had lost her ribbon, and had long since stuffed her cap in her +pocket; her eyes were glowing with happiness. She reached the Five +Mile Crossways and turned back toward home. Then the black horse +showed his paces. He fairly flew over the road, Virginia delighting in +his every motion. One mile—two—three—he galloped furiously. They were +within a mile of St. Helen’s. Virginia sought to quiet him, but he was +on the homeward way, and he knew it. They rounded a curve, still on +the gallop, when some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl. It was Miss Green. Virginia strove with all her might to +pull the black horse into a walk so that she might speak, but he did +not choose to walk; and it was with a considerably lessened, but, to +the startled Miss Green, furious gallop that they passed, Virginia +waving her hand as her only means of salutation. She heard Miss +Green’s peremptory and horrified command for her to stop, but she +could not heed it. Her mind was at that time completely occupied with +wondering if the horse would willingly turn into the avenue leading to +St. Helen’s. Fortunately he did, perhaps imagining it for a new +entrance to his stable, and Virginia disappeared from sight among the +pines.</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-004.jpg' id='i004' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in agray shawl.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended the +hill leading to St. Helen’s in such a short space of time. When she +arrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was just +preparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interested +audience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease until +she might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throat +vigorously:</p> + +<p>“Priscilla,” she said, “dismount immediately. Virginia, tie that +dangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly to +come at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me to +Miss King’s office!”</p> + +<p>The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, more +dazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stony +silence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King’s gold and brown room. +Miss King sat by the western window, a book in her hand. She smiled as +they entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green’s +face.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by the +window, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willful +disobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusal +to stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished, +she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or an +explanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however—very +quietly.</p> + +<p>“You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did not +understand matters—quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding, +I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know so +little of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. I +am sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fully +described to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I will +talk this matter over with you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia, +still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in her +cheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked together +of books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and the +mountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation of +Virginia’s inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak of +horseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than when +she had entered.</p> + +<p>As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watched +the sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful—troubled, +perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to the +desk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight.</p> + +<p>“Harriet has been with me a long time,” she said to herself at last. +“But neither because of her superior Latin instruction, nor for the +sake of our old friendship, can I any longer allow my girls in The +Hermitage to lack a home atmosphere. Perhaps, after all, Athens needs +Harriet. I may be doing the Ancient World a favor, who knows?” And the +little, gray-haired lady smiled to herself in the twilight.</p> + +<h2 id='ch09'>CHAPTER IX—THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE</h2> + +<p>“Dorothy, do you think it’s fair?”</p> + +<p>The black eyes of Lucile Du Bose, ready at any moment to brim over +with discouraged tears, implored her room-mate, who lay upon the +couch, deep in a magazine.</p> + +<p>“Dorothy, do you?”</p> + +<p>Dorothy frowned. Apparently she had no thoughts on the subject, and +did not wish to be disturbed.</p> + +<p>“Do I what, Lucile? What’s the matter, anyway?”</p> + +<p>Her tone was petulant and not conducive to conversation; but poor +Lucile was desperate.</p> + +<p>“Do you think it’s fair for me to have to write an oration on the +Pilgrim Fathers? I don’t know anything about them, Dorothy. Besides, +I’m most all French; and I don’t know how to start an oration, +anyway!”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, it’s fair enough. The others all have to. Why not +you? No one’s to blame because you’re French.”</p> + +<p>“But the rest don’t all have to,” persisted the injured Lucile, while +Dorothy began again to read. “The Blackmore twins were allowed to take +Ethan Allen, because he’s their ancestor; and Miss Wallace told +Virginia she could write on the Pioneers. Who are the Pioneers, +Dorothy?”</p> + +<p>“Search me!” Dorothy was in a forbidding temper. Of late even her +devotion to Miss Wallace had not made her “angelic” to her room-mate.</p> + +<p>Lucile chewed her pen-stock savagely. Something must be done. Study +hour was nearly over, and Dorothy would be on her way to tennis or the +“Forget-me-not.” She would try once more.</p> + +<p>“Dorothy?”</p> + +<p>“Well!”</p> + +<p>“Dorothy, if you’ll tell me how an oration begins, I’ll do your French +sentences every day for two weeks.”</p> + +<p>Dorothy stopped reading. This was worth considering, since her rank in +French had been B for some time. Of late Dorothy’s resolutions made in +the fall had been considerably bent if not broken. Still it would not +do to accept with too much alacrity. She closed the magazine.</p> + +<p>“I can’t see, Lucile, how you can have been studying orations all the +fall with Miss Wallace, and not know what one is like. Don’t you +listen in class?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I do; but they’re so dry I forgot them. I know Napoleon’s +‘Address to his Troops,’ but I can’t understand Washington and +Webster. If I could just begin this I might go on. It’s got to sound +patriotic, you know, and thrilling, like ‘Soldiers! you have +precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines!’”</p> + +<p>“But you’re not talking to any one. You’re talking about the Pilgrim +Fathers. Now, why don’t you begin like Lincoln? Of course, you can’t +say, ‘Fourscore and seven years ago,’ but you can subtract 1620 from +now, and say—let me see-‘Fourteen score and thirteen years ago.’ Now, +I think that’s original, Lucile.”</p> + +<p>Lucile looked more hopeful, and blew her nose for the last time. Then +she began to write. After a few moments,</p> + +<p>“I’ve done three sentences, Dorothy. They’re landed safely. Now what +shall I say?”</p> + +<p>Dorothy was plainly impatient. Still there were those French +sentences!</p> + +<p>“Well, I should think you’d tell how they overcame all the elements. +Something like this, ‘Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing +high, or a stern and rockbound coast.’ That’s from a poem, you know, +called ‘The Landing of the Pilgrims.’ Then you might say something +about their fortitude being an inspiration to us. Orations are all +about that, you know,—bravery and inspiration and reverence and all +kinds of memories. But for goodness’ sake, Lucile, don’t put my words +down! I just suggest. You must write your own words.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course I will. I’m just putting it down roughly now, you see. +I’ll do it all over this evening. Oh, dear, here’s Virginia and +Priscilla and we’re not half done. Do you suppose you’ll have any +thoughts this evening?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell. Come in!”</p> + +<p>“Walk down to the ‘Forget-me-not’ with us, you two,” said Priscilla. +“My allowance has come, and I’m treating. This is the first hot +chocolate and cake day. Jess Blackmore was down yesterday, and they +told her. What’s the matter, Lucile? You look sad.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to change my shoes,” said Dorothy. “Will you wait?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if you hurry. What’s up, Lucile?”</p> + +<p>Lucile, glad of an audience, returned to her old grievance.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it’s fair,” she complained. “Virginia, if you had the +Pioneers, why need I have the Pilgrim Fathers?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’d have soon had the Pilgrim Fathers,” Virginia explained, “but +I think real Americans ought to be just as proud of the Pioneers, +because they were every bit as brave. They crossed the mountains to +find new lands, and made homes in the wilderness, and fought Indians +and wild animals. And no one here in New England seems to care about +them. So I asked if I mightn’t take them myself to give them a +tribute.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s what a Pioneer is,” said Lucile reflectively. “Well, why +couldn’t I take the Storming of the Bastille? My great grandfather +helped. The Blackmores have Ethan Allen.”</p> + +<p>Dorothy sighed very audibly as she laced her boots. She was apparently +dead sick of the Pilgrim Fathers.</p> + +<p>“But, you see, Lucile,” Virginia again explained, “Miss Wallace wants +you to be more American now you’re here at school, because your mother +is American, and that’s why she wants you to take the Pilgrim Fathers, +so you’ll appreciate your country more.”</p> + +<p>Lucile’s black eyes snapped. She pushed her paper away, and went to +the closet, murmuring something in French under her breath that +sounded very much like “Vive la France!”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s eyes fell on the crumpled and dog-eared piece of paper.</p> + +<p>“Why, haven’t you more than that done, Lucile? They have to be given +to Miss Wallace to-morrow!”</p> + +<p>The angry Lucile stamped her foot. This was quite too much to be +borne. She was sick and tired of the Pilgrim Fathers, and all their +patronizing descendants.</p> + +<p>“No, I haven’t,” she cried. “And you needn’t act as though you knew so +much, Virginia Hunter, just because you can write compositions. You’re +out of it easy just because you’ve lived way out in the woods, and +know all about Indians and wild animals. But I’ve lived in Paris, and +there’s a great difference between Wyoming and Paris, I’ll have you to +know!”</p> + +<p>The scorn in Lucile’s voice was not to be mistaken; but Virginia was +equal to the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course there is a great difference,” she said. “You see, +Paris is frightfully small compared to Wyoming—I don’t mean in size, +you know, but in the way people look at things. In Paris, for +instance, one thinks about clothes and a good time and gayety; and in +the mountains you’d feel mean thinking about such frivolous things.”</p> + +<p>Dorothy and Priscilla laughed, but Lucile grew angrier as Virginia +continued sweetly,</p> + +<p>“But I really wrote one on the Pilgrim Fathers, too, Lucile. Priscilla +and I both did, and then tried to thrill each other by giving them. +Would you like to hear mine? I have it right here in my blouse +pocket.”</p> + +<p>Lucile’s mind, slow to originate, was quick to grasp, and tenacious to +retain. An idea came to her with Virginia’s question, but she was too +irritated to appear as eager as she really was to hear the oration. +Here might be a way out of her difficulty. She brushed her sweater +leisurely.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t care. You may if you like,” she said at length.</p> + +<p>“Oh, let’s give those Pilgrim Fathers a rest!” cried the exasperated +Dorothy. “I’m tired to death of them, and there won’t be a cake left. +Come on!”</p> + +<p>Priscilla gave her a warning nudge and a sly wink. “No, let’s hear +Virginia first,” she said. “It won’t take five minutes, and her +oration’s a peach! Go on, Virginia!”</p> + +<p>Virginia mounted the nearest chair, and drawing a crumpled paper from +her blouse pocket, began to read in a voice filled with emotion:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod were +thrilled when our Pilgrim forefathers first landed on the +stern shores of our vast continent, then unrevealed. +Methinks the ocean eagle himself burst into a paean of +praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a +stormy sky waved banners of praise! No trumpet that sings +of fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums +saluted them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon +the naked solitude!</p> + +<p> “They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels +of the earth, nor did they seek king’s wealth or war’s +spoils, but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike +faith.</p> + +<p> “Aye, classmates, let us in sooth call this soil of our +dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and they left +us an unstained freedom to worship the God of our Fathers, +known of old!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>With a quiver in her voice Virginia finished, bowed to her audience +and descended. Lucile was not blessed with a keen sense of humor. +Still, as eloquent as it sounded, it might be a joke. She glanced at +Virginia’s and Priscilla’s serious faces, and was reassured.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish I could do something like that!” she breathed.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it fine?” Priscilla asked excitedly. “I told Virginia it had a +real Patrick Henry ring. Don’t you think so, Dorothy?”</p> + +<p>“Elegant!” said Dorothy, emerging crimson from the depths of the +closet. “Come on. Let’s hurry!”</p> + +<p>Virginia threw the piece of mangled paper in the waste basket. “I’ve +another copy,” she said carelessly, as they hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors. At the steps Lucile hesitated.</p> + +<p>“I’ll catch up,” she said. “I’ve forgotten something. Go on.”</p> + +<p>She ran up-stairs while the three outside the fir trees laughed.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t she bite easily, though? I never thought she would bite like +that. Poor Mrs. Hemans and Kipling!”</p> + +<p>“It way mean,” admitted Virginia, “but I just couldn’t resist after +that slam she gave Wyoming. I thought sure she’d see through +it—Dorothy was so red; and, of course, I thought she knew ‘The +breaking waves dashed high.’”</p> + +<p>“The best part of it all is,” Dorothy whispered, “she’s gone up to +find that paper. Martha cleans this afternoon, you know, and Lucile +wants to use that oration. I’ll bet I’m not asked for any thoughts +to-night!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, she won’t!” cried Virginia. “Dorothy, do you suppose she +will?”</p> + +<p>“You wait and see! Of course she will. Lucile’s queer. She doesn’t +have any thoughts; and she can’t see when a thing is funny. Miss +Wallace doesn’t have them read aloud, does she, Priscilla? Lucile +especially asked that, and I told her she didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“She didn’t last year. Oh, if she did!”</p> + +<p>They laughed again, but tried to calm down as Lucile, looking somewhat +embarrassed, emerged from the fir trees. Then they proceeded to the +“Forget-me-not,” where they found most of St. Helen’s assembled, and +toasted the different classes and cottages in hot chocolate, served by +a sallow youth with eye-glasses and a white duck coat, he evidently +being likewise an innovation, like the chocolate and cakes.</p> + +<p>On the way home Virginia’s conscience pricked a little, and she +confessed a slight mean feeling to Priscilla.</p> + +<p>“You see, if I could be sure Miss Wallace wouldn’t ask us to read them +in class, it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s bad enough, if Lucile really +uses that foolish thing, to have Miss Wallace read it alone; but, +really, ’twould be frightful if Miss Wallace should call on her to +read it. I don’t know what I’d do! And every one would laugh! Oh, it +is mean, Priscilla!”</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t mean, it’s just funny. You know things are different in +school, Virginia, though I can never make mother see it. Now jokes +aren’t mean! Lucile just bit, and she’ll learn in this way not to bite +so easily. Also, that you get in trouble using other folks’ work. +Besides, if she’s a sport, and takes it right, we’ll all like her +better. It is mean to set traps deliberately to get other girls into +trouble, the way Imogene did to you the other night; and it’s +miserably mean to try to throw blame on some one else for what you’ve +done yourself. Mother can’t seem to see much difference, but dad and +the boys can. Only jokes aren’t mean; and we’d have been too slow for +any use if we hadn’t had some fun out of that oration when the chance +came like that.”</p> + +<p>In study hour that evening, Lucile’s conscience was also active, with +better reason. Dorothy, in her slippers, had stolen along the porch to +Imogene’s room, a way she had of doing lately, though it was quite +against the rules. But Lucile did not need Dorothy’s thoughts, for she +was copying furiously from a piece of yellow paper, which she had +taken from her handkerchief box. After all, she told her conscience, +it was perfectly excusable, for the whole thing had been unfair. To +expect her, whose great-grandfather had stormed the Bastille, to write +an oration on the Pilgrim Fathers! Moreover, Virginia wasn’t going to +use it herself, she reasoned, so it really wasn’t cheating; and she +could help Virginia on her French some day to balance the account. +Besides, Virginia would never know, because Miss Wallace never had +them read in class; and, after all, it was not all Virginia’s work, +because Lucile must add some thoughts of her own to eke out the +required length. Lucile was not a prolific thinker, but with the help +of the Dictionary and “The Essentials of American History,” she was +progressing. By the time Dorothy returned, the oration was completed, +though Lucile was strangely reticent concerning it. On her desk, +Dorothy found a neatly written French exercise.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lucile, that’s awfully good of you,” she said, herself slightly +conscience stricken.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right. You helped me, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Is the oration all done?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I—I wish I hadn’t eaten those three cakes. I think I’ll go to +bed early.”</p> + +<p>Sophomore English recited from nine to ten, Miss Wallace desiring +minds as fresh as possible. The morning following Lucile’s desperate +attempt and final accomplishment, a growing pile of manuscript on Miss +Wallace’s desk proved that youthful orators had been busy. Lucile and +Virginia, coming a few moments late to class, deposited their papers +on the top of the pile and took their seats. The recitation began, and +for half an hour Miss Wallace questioned, listened, and explained. +Then she closed her book, and motioned the girls to do the same.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to introduce a custom which I have never introduced +before,” she said with the smile that had made her beloved during her +three years at St. Helen’s. “We have twenty-five minutes remaining. I +am going to ask that two or three of our orations be read before the +class. Virginia, you are on the top of the pile, perhaps a penalty for +being late. We will hear your oration.”</p> + +<p>Virginia crossed the room, conflicting emotions sweeping over her. As +to reading her own composition, she was quite willing, since Miss +Wallace desired it; but she knew that Lucile’s was next in order, and, +as she turned to face the others, she saw Lucile’s agonized face. +Could she do anything to prevent her coming next? She hesitated. There +was nothing except to hope that Miss Wallace would note Lucile’s fear, +and excuse her. Miss Wallace noticed the hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Come, Virginia. We are waiting.” Virginia began to read, and as she +read, she forgot Lucile in the hope that those listening might realize +that the Pioneers of her own dear country were likewise Pilgrim +Fathers. Her voice, sweet and clear, rang out earnestly:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“At this Thanksgiving season when we, as a nation, give honor +to those brave men and women who founded the New England +States, should we not also grant honor and homage to those +other founders of our country—the children of the Pilgrim +Fathers—the sturdy Pioneers of our Great West? In our praise +of the Pilgrim Fathers, we often forget, I think, that there +were other Pilgrims besides those at Plymouth Rock—other +wanderers, who, perhaps, did not seek freedom to worship God, +but who did seek better homes for their children, and who +tried by their discoveries to show that we had a bigger, +richer country than we knew about. They did not cross the +angry seas of water, but they crossed a sea of land, our great +prairies, where there were even more perils than those of the +Atlantic—perils of Indians, wild animals, cyclones, and +blizzards. They crossed the mountains, cutting their own +trails before them, protecting the tired women and helpless +children from danger; and those who went to the Far West +crossed the great deserts, suffering great hunger and worse +thirst, and sometimes leaving their bones upon the sands.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Her voice as she read trembled with eagerness and pride. Into her mind +crept the pictures of “old timers” at home, and the tales of bravery +and endurance which they had told her. She read on, telling of more +hardships, of greater bravery, extolling the lonely lives in the +forests or mountains or on the great prairies. The girls listened +eagerly. Many of them had never considered the Pioneers before. After +all, they were worthy of praise. Virginia was holding her audience—all +save the cowering Lucile, who was miserably knotting her handkerchief. +The young orator closed with an appeal to her listeners:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Oh, let us who are so greatly blessed with homes and friends +and safety from the dangers that beset our forefathers, give +thanks to God at this Thanksgiving season! And let us +determine to show in our small lives the bravery and the +perseverance and the honesty and the fear of doing wrong, +which was shown by our Pilgrim forefathers of Massachusetts, +and by the Pilgrim pioneers of our mountain and prairie +States. Then shall we be more fit to be called real, true +Americans!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Virginia took her seat amid a burst of genuine applause, the most +precious of which was her beloved teacher’s own commendation and look +of approval.</p> + +<p>“Now, Lucile, you are next,” continued the merciless Miss Wallace; and +the trembling, cowering Lucile managed to cross the room, and take her +own paper from the desk. For a moment Miss Wallace may have been +tempted to withdraw her request. Virginia, whose pleasure in the +reception of her own oration had quite disappeared in her pity for +Lucile, kept hoping that she might reconsider; but she did not. Lucile +must take her chances with the others, she was thinking. Here was an +opportunity for overcoming her diffidence in class.</p> + +<p>Lucile faced her audience, her eyes half angry, half frightened, her +hands shaking. Her low trembling voice was hardly oratorical.</p> + +<p>“Louder, please, Lucile,” commanded Miss Wallace.</p> + +<p>Virginia studiously looked out of the window. Lucile recommenced, and +this time, so absolutely astonished and overcome was Miss Wallace, +that the orator proceeded without interruption to the end.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Fourteen score and thirteen years ago,” read the trembling +voice, “our Pilgrim forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The +exact date was the 20th of December in the year of our Lord +1620. It was Monday when they got there and the women thought +they would wash. All American women have washed ever since. +Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing high, or a stern +and rockbound coast, which is from a poem called ‘The Landing +of the Pilgrims.’ They gave us bravery and inspiration and +reverence and all kinds of memories.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The orator at this juncture cleared her throat desperately, and seemed +to gather strength. She proceeded more calmly, and in somewhat louder +tone.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod, situated +on the eastern coast of Massachusetts, and so named for the +fish that swim around it, were thrilled when our Pilgrim +Fathers first landed on the shores of our vast continent, then +unrevealed—America, named for a poor Italian author, Amerigo +Vespucci. Many persons think the name would be better if it +were Columbia, after the song, ‘Columbia, the gem of the +ocean.’ Methinks the ocean eagle, a bird once inhabitating the +shores of New England, but now extinct, himself burst into a +paean of praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a +stormy sky waved banners of praise. No trumpet that sings of +fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums saluted +them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon the naked +solitude!</p> + +<p> “They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels of +the earth, nor did they seek kings’ wealth or war’s spoils, +but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike faith. And +almost the very first building they erected was a church!</p> + +<p> “Aye, Sophomore classmates, I think you ought to call this +soil of your dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and +they have left you an unstained freedom to worship the God of +your Fathers, known of old!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The poor orator managed to reach her seat without encountering the +eyes of Virginia; but she could not be unconscious of the postures of +her classmates. Some with crimson cheeks and shaking shoulders were +studiously regarding their textbooks; others, with a complete +disregard either of hygiene or of good manners, were chewing their +handkerchiefs; the Blackmore twins were weeping on each others’ +shoulders. Miss Wallace was fumbling in the drawer of her desk, and +striving hard to control her quivering lips.</p> + +<p>“This class is dismissed,” she managed to say, without looking up, and +the class, unspeakably glad to be dismissed, literally ran from the +room, leaving poor Lucile, upon whom the joke was very slowly dawning, +to come out alone, cut her Latin recitation, and seek her room. Here +she locked the door against her room-mate, and packed her suit-case +for New York where she was to spend Thanksgiving, glad that a telegram +from relatives there had asked for her early departure on the +afternoon train. She did not appear at luncheon.</p> + +<p>“Poor thing! I guess she won’t bite so easy next time,” said +Priscilla, as they left the table, where Miss Wallace, still smiling, +was arranging a tray for the orator. “Let’s be decent enough to play +tennis on the back court till she goes to the station. I know she +doesn’t want to see us, and I don’t blame her a bit. It’ll be +forgotten when she gets back. You don’t feel bad about it, do you, +Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“No, not now, but it was truly awful, Priscilla, when she looked so +scared in class. I felt like a criminal. But I feel better now I’ve +written the note.”</p> + +<p>“What note?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I forgot to tell you, and I signed your name, too; but I knew +you’d want to. You see, I thought ’twould be too bad to have her go +away for Thanksgiving, thinking we didn’t like her and had been mean +to her, because, you know, I don’t think Lucile is very quick about +seeing through things, and I wanted her to know we liked her all the +same. So I wrote a verse, and slipped it under her door. It said:</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>Dear Lucile;</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0'>It was a joke, and now it’s made</p> +<p class='mtb0'> We simply can’t unmake it;</p> +<p class='mtb0'>But we like you, and hope that you</p> +<p class='mtb0'> Will be a sport and take it.</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0'>Happy Thanksgiving!</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>P. and V.</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0'>You don’t mind, do you?”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Priscilla threw her arm over Virginia’s shoulder, and drew her toward +the tennis court.</p> + +<p>“No, of course I don’t mind. I think ’twas mighty sweet of you to do +it. You’re queer, Virginia, but I like you, and I’m glad you’re my +roommate.”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s eyes glowed with happiness.</p> + +<p>“Glad!” she cried. “I’m gladder every day! And I just love you, +Priscilla Winthrop!”</p> + +<p>That evening Virginia added Experience III to the Decorum Chapter of +her ever growing “Thought Book ”:</p> + +<p>“In school it all depends upon how you feel inside when you do a thing +as to whether it’s mean or not. Jokes are not mean, unless you feel +malicious when you conceive them. Also, it doesn’t matter at all if a +joke is played upon you. All it matters is whether you are a good +sport and take it well.”</p> + +<h2 id='ch10'>CHAPTER X—THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE</h2> + +<p>Going home for the Thanksgiving holidays, though not forbidden, was +discouraged at St. Helen’s. The time was very short, there being less +than a week’s vacation allowed; and it had long been the custom, +unless urgent demands came from home, for the girls to remain at +school. It was not at all a hardship, for every one had such a royal +good time. Moreover, the fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers and +friends of the girls were always welcome, as far as accommodations in +the village and at the school allowed; and for years Thanksgiving at +St. Helen’s had been a gala season.</p> + +<p>This year it seemed even especially lovely. Indian summer had waited +to come with Thanksgiving, and every day of the vacation was a golden +one. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop came to spend the holidays with Priscilla; +and Mrs. Williams, a sweet, motherly lady, whom Virginia loved at +once, came with Jack to see Mary. Virginia liked Jack, too, and the +four of them dreamed what Mary and Jack called “vain dreams” of a +summer in Wyoming with Donald and Virginia. But the dreams were lovely +anyway, and Mrs. Williams said with a mysterious smile that “perhaps +they were not all in vain,” which remark straightway inspired the +youthful dreamers to build more air-castles.</p> + +<p>Virginia liked Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, also; and her heart beat fast +with happiness when Mrs. Winthrop told her how glad she was to have +her daughter room with Virginia. Mrs. Meredith, a flashily dressed +woman with too many jewels, came for a day to bring the already +over-supplied Imogene some new clothes and candy enough to make her +ill for a week. Vivian’s mother came, too. She had the same wistful, +half-sad expression about her eyes which Vivian had, and Virginia +liked her in spite of her silly clothes, and nervous solicitude over +Vivian’s every step. There was something pathetic about Mrs. Winters. +She might so easily have been so different! And she did truly want +Vivian to be the right kind of a girl. If only she didn’t care so much +for dress and style, Virginia thought to herself, then she might see +that Imogene was not the best roommate for Vivian.</p> + +<p>On Thanksgiving morning, an hour before dinner, Virginia was called to +Miss King’s room. Wonderingly she crossed the campus to the office, +where to her joy she found dear, brisk Aunt Nan, who had run down just +for the day to see how her niece was getting along. Apparently Miss +King had satisfied her before Virginia entered, for she seemed very +proud of the gray-eyed little girl, who was growing taller every week.</p> + +<p>“I really need to stay longer to let your dresses down, dear,” she +said. “But at Christmas time we’ll have a seamstress, and you can’t +grow much in four weeks. Your grandmother and aunt can hardly wait for +Christmas, Virginia.”</p> + +<p>This made Virginia happier than ever, for she had dreaded Christmas in +Vermont without her father. But now it was really something to look +forward to, since even grandmother wanted her so much. She and Aunt +Nan talked with Miss King for a while, and then walked about the +campus until time to dress for dinner. St. Helen’s had changed a good +deal since Aunt Nan’s day. There had been only thirty girls then, she +told Virginia, and two cottages, King and Willow. As they walked +about, the Williamses and Winthrops, together with Anne and Dorothy, +joined them, and Virginia proudly introduced Aunt Nan, who made them +all laugh with the tales of her experiences and escapades at St. +Helen’s years ago.</p> + +<p>Then, the bell on the main building warning them, they hurried in to +dress for dinner, which The Hermitage girls and those of Hathaway +together with their friends were to have at Hathaway. Each year one +cottage was hostess to another. This year Hathaway had bidden The +Hermitage, Overlook was entertaining West, and King and Willow were +celebrating together. It was a merry, happy family that assembled in +Hathaway half an hour later. The tables, arranged in the form of a +hollow square, were gay with centerpieces of yellow chrysanthemums, +and strewn with yellow leaves, gathered weeks before and pressed for +the occasion. There were dainty place-cards upon which the Hathaway +girls with skillful fingers had drawn and painted pumpkins, +log-houses, turkeys, and miniature Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers; and as +each found her place at the table, she discovered also a slip of paper +with an appropriate Thanksgiving verse. This form of Thanksgiving +grace Miss King had originated. “Each one must give thanks for the +day,” she always said; and before the table was seated, each read +aloud her verse or bit of prose.</p> + +<p>Miss King, who, year by year, dined with each cottage in turn, was +this year the guest of the proud Hathaway girls. It was she who gave +first the grace she had given on each Thanksgiving for many years:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.</p> + +<p>“Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence +with singing.</p> + +<p>“Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made +us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep +of His pasture.</p> + +<p>“Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His +courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His +name.</p> + +<p>“For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His +truth endureth to all generations. Praise ye the Lord.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The others followed. Virginia’s was her favorite stanza from a new +poem, which Miss Wallace had read to her only the night before. Miss +Wallace must have selected it for her. She looked toward her +gratefully, as she read in her clear voice:</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“A haze on the far horizon,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>The infinite, tender sky,</div> +<div class='verse'>The ripe, rich tint of the corn-fields,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>And the wild geese sailing high;</div> +</div> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“And all over upland and lowland</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>The charm of the goldenrod;</div> +<div class='verse'>Some of us call it Autumn,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>And others call it God.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Each having read her selection, they sang all together, as on every +Thanksgiving Day for thirty years the St. Helen’s girls had done, that +old, universal song of praise, which the world will never outgrow:</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,</div> +<div class='verse'>Praise Him all creatures here below,</div> +<div class='verse'>Praise Him above ye heavenly host,</div> +<div class='verse'>Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then, with a renewed feeling of thankfulness and happiness, every one +sat down, and the bountiful dinner was served. Virginia sat between +Aunt Nan and Mary, and opposite the Blackmore twins, whose father had +come to spend the day with them. He was the jolliest man imaginable, +“even though he is a minister,” as Jean Blackmore often said, and kept +the entire table laughing over his jokes and funny stories. Virginia +mentally compared him with the Rev. Samuel Baxter, and could not +resist whispering to Aunt Nan:</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t Dr. Baxter be shocked if he were here?”</p> + +<p>“I wish he were!” Aunt Nan whispered back. “Maybe he’d be so shocked +he couldn’t get back to Webster!”</p> + +<p>They sat for a long time after dinner was over, talking with each +other and enjoying the informal after-dinner speeches. As they left +the dining-room, and passed into the big living-room to listen to some +music, a large automobile stopped at the door, and a tall, +white-haired gentleman in a gray overcoat stepped out and was about to +ring the bell. But, before he had time, he was seized by a gray-eyed +girl in a white dress, who had burst open the door, crying:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Colonel Standish! Have you really, really come to see me?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Miss Virginia,” said the Colonel, pausing to shake hands +cordially with Aunt Nan, “I’ve been having Thanksgiving dinner with +that grandson of mine at the Gordon school; and I told my man he must +drive around this way to give me just a glimpse of you before taking +me back to the city. And how goes everything, my dear? Is the ‘making +of you’ progressing?” And he smiled in remembrance of their journey +together.</p> + +<p>Virginia was so delighted to see him that she could hardly speak.</p> + +<p>“I think so, sir. Everything’s lovely anyway. Oh, Priscilla, come +here!”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if you’re not the girl who knows my grandson?” the Colonel +asked Priscilla. “He was telling me he knew a St. Helen’s girl at +Vineyard Haven this summer named Priscilla Winthrop.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Carver Standish, sir? Why, of course, I know him. He +taught me to swim this summer. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him +when Virginia told me that your name was Colonel Standish,” said +Priscilla to Virginia’s delight. To think Priscilla knew Colonel +Standish’s grandson!</p> + +<p>Then the Winthrops must be introduced, and the Williamses and Anne and +Dorothy, together with Miss King and Miss Wallace, until the Colonel +declared that he felt quite at home. It seemed about a minute to +Virginia before he said that he must go, in spite of entreaties and +cordial invitations to share the festivities of the afternoon. But he +should come again, he said, and the next time he would bring his +grandson. Virginia watched the big car as it disappeared below the +hill; and later, as they drove together in the early evening to the +station, she told Aunt Nan that the Colonel’s coming had made her day +complete.</p> + +<p>“Give my love to grandmother, Aunt Nan,” she said, as they told each +other good-by, “and kiss her twice for me, if you think she’d like +it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure she would, Virginia,” answered Aunt Nan. “She’s counting the +days until Christmas.” And the train that carried Aunt Nan northward +left a very happy girl on the station platform.</p> + +<p>But of all the happiness which Thanksgiving brought, the loveliest was +the opportunity it gave her to know Miss Wallace better. Miss Green +had gone to Boston for the holidays, and since The Hermitage was +filled to overflowing, Priscilla and Virginia stayed in her room, +giving their own to the Winthrops. Miss Green’s room was next to Miss +Wallace’s; and since Priscilla was constantly with her father and +mother, Virginia, though always asked with Dorothy to join the party, +seized the privilege afforded her of being with Miss Wallace. Miss +Wallace was also glad, for she loved Virginia. Policy, when school was +in session, forbade, with total disregard for a teacher’s preferences, +a greater intimacy with one girl than with another; but in the +vacation days following Thanksgiving, when Virginia was more or less +alone, their friendship grew and ripened into a close understanding +between them.</p> + +<p>Virginia discovered that Miss Wallace loved her best book +friends—“Pollyanna,” Pip in “Great Expectations,” poor Smike in +“Nicholas Nickleby,” David Balfour, Sydney Carton, Sohrab, and dear +Margaret in “The Cloister and the Hearth.” They spent two lovely long +evenings reading together before the open fire in Miss Wallace’s +cheery room, and some hours out-of-doors. Also, to Virginia’s great +delight, Miss Wallace expressed a desire to learn to ride; and +thereupon followed a lesson with Miss Wallace on Napoleon, who, to her +inexperienced eyes, was a veritable war-horse.</p> + +<p>She was doubly glad and thankful for Miss Wallace’s interest and +friendship on the Monday following Thanksgiving. It was the last day +of the vacation, and golden like the others. The Winthrop family and +the Williamses, together with Anne and Dorothy, had motored to +Riverside, twenty miles distant, to take their homeward bound train +from there instead of Hillcrest. Virginia had been asked to join the +party, but had declined, preferring to ride, and secretly hoping that +Miss Wallace might be able to ride also. But Miss Wallace had papers +to correct, sorry as she was, and Virginia tried to be content with +the sunshine, the black horse, and a thick letter from her father, +which the postman gave her as she rode past him down the hill.</p> + +<p>Securing her reins to the horn of her saddle, she tore open her +letter. So motionless did she sit while she read its contents that the +black horse quite forgot he had a rider, and stopped to nibble at the +bare, wayside bushes. A few moments later he must have been surprised +to feel a pair of arms about his neck, and a head against his mane; +but he still nibbled on unconscious that the girl on his back was +sobbing, and saying between her sobs,</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you were Pedro, you might understand, but you haven’t any +heart at all!”</p> + +<p>Still he chewed the alder bushes. It was not often that he was allowed +to take refreshment when this girl rode him, and he intended to make +the best of his advantages. He felt her raise her head after some long +moments; but as yet there was no signal for departure. Virginia was +reading her letter again through blinding tears.</p> + +<p>“I have something to tell you, my clear little daughter, which I know +will grieve you deeply,” her father had written. It was this that had +at first made her heart stand still. “Still, I feel that I should tell +you, for sooner or later you must know. Dear old Jim left us last +night to begin life over again Somewhere Else. He had been gradually +failing for weeks, but he would not give up his work. Yesterday +morning Pedro was taken ill, and Jim refused to leave him, saying over +and over again that you had always trusted Pedro to him. He worked +over him all day, undoubtedly saving Pedro’s life, and refusing to +leave him, even though the other men insisted upon his giving place to +them. At night the men left him to eat supper, for he still would not +leave his post; and when they had finished and went back to the +stable, Pedro was quite himself again, but they found Jim—asleep.</p> + +<p>“I think you will feel as I do, dear, that it was like Jim to go that +way—faithful to the end. We laid him to rest this morning in the side +of the Spruce Ridge, near the great old tree to which you and he used +to climb so often, especially when you were a little girl. You will +remember how he loved the sweep of country from there. The morning was +beautiful and clear—the very kind of day he loved best; and as we +carried him up the hill, and laid him to rest, a meadow-lark sat on +the stump of a quaking-asp and sang over and over again. That was the +only prayer there was—that and our thoughts—but I am sure Jim would +have chosen that for his farewell song.”</p> + +<p>Virginia could read no more. She pulled the head of the startled black +horse away from the alders, and struck him with her spur. He started +furiously down the hill, through the pines, and out into the country +road. On and on they went, mile after mile, but still in Virginia’s +ears rang her father’s words, “Dear old Jim left us last night to +begin life over again Somewhere Else.” Jim, the comrade of her life, +her trusted friend and adviser, whom she would never see again!</p> + +<p>Again she struck the black horse with her spur. But the pounding of +his feet on the hard road could not drown her father’s words. And no +one would understand, she cried to herself—not even Mary and +Priscilla. To them Jim was a dear, interesting old man; to Dorothy a +“character”; to Imogene a “common hired helper”! They would not be +able to comprehend her grief, just as they had never been able to +understand her love for him.</p> + +<p>But riding did not help as she had hoped. She would go back. A half +hour later she left the horse at the stable, and walked homeward, +alone with her grief. She could not bear to see the girls just yet, so +she turned aside and followed the woodsy little path that led to St. +Helen’s Retreat. It was still there—comfortingly still. She pushed +open the door, and entered the little chapel, through whose long and +narrow windows the sunlight fell in golden shafts upon the floor, and +upon the white cloth that covered the little altar. Obeying something +deep within her heart, Virginia knelt by the altar rail; and somehow +in the stillness, the beauty and faithfulness of Jim’s honest life +overcame a little the sadness of his death.</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-005.jpg' id='i005' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“Virginia knelt by the altar rail.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>How long she knelt there she did not know, but all at once she felt an +arm around her, and heard Miss Wallace’s voice say:</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear child, what is it? Come out into the sunlight and tell +me. You will take cold in here!”</p> + +<p>Together they went out under the pines where the sun was warm and +bright; and sitting there, with Miss Wallace’s arms around her, +Virginia told of her sorrow, and of dear old Jim, of whom Miss Wallace +had already heard. Then she read her father’s letter, and the tears +which stood in Miss Wallace’s eyes quite overflowed when she came to +the part about the meadow-lark.</p> + +<p>“And he loved the meadow-lark so!” sobbed Virginia. “It seems as +though that one must have known!”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it did,” Miss Wallace said with dear comfort. “I like to +think that birds know many things that we cannot—many of the sweetest +things like that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re such a help!” breathed Virginia, the burden upon her heart +already lighter. “You see, the others can’t understand why I loved him +so. But you just seem to know some way.”</p> + +<p>“I think I do know, dear,” Miss Wallace told her as they rose to go up +the hill. “I want you always to tell me the things that trouble you, +Virginia, and the things that make you glad, because we’re real +friends now, you know; real friends for always!”</p> + +<p>And even in the midst of her grief, Virginia was happy—happy in the +knowledge that she had gained a friend—a “real friend for always.” In +the hard days that followed, when so few understood why it was that +the merry girl from Wyoming had suddenly grown less merry, that +friendship was a tower of strength to Virginia—giving her courage and +happiness when she most needed both; and proving, as it has proven so +many times, that there is no sweeter, finer influence in life than the +mutual helpfulness born of a friendship between a teacher and one of +“her girls.”</p> + +<h2 id='ch11'>CHAPTER XI—THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR</h2> + +<p>“On, of course, Dorothy, do as you like! If you’d rather play tennis +with the Wyoming Novelty than go down to the village with me, go +ahead. Don’t think for a moment that I care!”</p> + +<p>Imogene leaned idly back among the pillows, while Dorothy studied the +rug with a flushed face.</p> + +<p>“You know it isn’t that I’d rather, Imogene; but Virginia and I made +an agreement that I’d teach her some tennis serves, and she’d teach me +to ride. She’s given me two lessons already, and now that the indoor +courts are fixed I thought we’d play this afternoon, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Go and play then. Don’t mind me. I’m comfortable!”</p> + +<p>Dorothy was silent for a moment. “I don’t see why you dislike Virginia +so, Imogene,” she said at last.</p> + +<p>“Dislike her? I don’t dislike her, or like her either for that matter. +I don’t care one way or the other. My friends have never been brought +up in the backwoods, and don’t weep over dead cow-boys; but, of +course, you’re at liberty to choose yours wherever you like.”</p> + +<p>The sarcasm in Imogene’s tone was biting. Dorothy struggled with a +strong desire to defend Virginia, and another as strong to keep in +Imogene’s favor. Completely ashamed of herself, she said nothing, and +Imogene mercifully changed the subject.</p> + +<p>“Has our Dutch aristocrat returned your penknife?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet. How about your hammer?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t seen it since she borrowed it, and I’ve ruined my nail-file +trying to open the box of cake mother sent. She has her nerve! I found +this on my desk this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>She showed Dorothy a slip of paper on which was written in a heavy +black hand:</p> + +<div class='literal-container'> +<div class='literal'> +<p class='mtb0'>“Have borrowed your ink for the afternoon.</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>“K. van R.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“You don’t mean to say she came in when there was no one here, and +just took it!” gasped Dorothy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Vivian was here, I guess, but Viv hasn’t the nerve of a rabbit. +If Her Highness had chosen to take the room, Viv would have gone +along. But I’m going to do something very soon. I’m sick of this!”</p> + +<p>An imperious knock sounded on the door, and without waiting to be +bidden, the knocker entered. It was Miss Van Rensaelar herself, who, +late in coming to St. Helen’s, had arrived two weeks before. She was +dressed in dark blue velvet with ermine furs, and looked undeniably +handsome, with her blue eyes and faultless complexion. In one +white-gloved hand she gingerly held an ink-bottle, which she extended.</p> + +<p>“Here is your ink,” she announced somewhat haughtily. “I’m sure I’m +obliged. I forgot the hammer, but you can get it from my room if you +need it. I go to the city for dinner. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>Imogene did not rise. “Good-by,” she said in a tone which quite +matched Miss Van Rensaelar’s. “You might have the goodness to place +the ink on my desk. It belongs there.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” Miss Van Rensaelar sniffed the air, but crossed the room +with the ink-bottle, which she deposited upon the desk. Then she +crossed again, her head a trifle higher if possible, and went out the +door, which she left wide open.</p> + +<p>Imogene was furious. She rose from the couch to give vent to her +feelings by slamming the door, but encountered Priscilla and Virginia +just about to enter. Had she not wished to share her rage, she might +not have been so gracious.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she said, “and hear the latest!”</p> + +<p>“What’s she done now?” Priscilla whispered. “We met her in the hall, +but she didn’t deign to speak. Is she going to town to dine with the +Holland ambassador, or what?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know or care whom she’s going to see,” stormed Imogene, “but +I know one thing! I’m not going to stand this sort of thing any +longer. Borrowing everything is bad enough; but when it comes to +lording it over the whole house, it’s time to do something! Besides, +she’s a Freshman!”</p> + +<p>“She isn’t exactly a Freshman,” said Virginia, not noting Imogene’s +displeasure. “Miss Wallace says she’s been to several girls’ schools +on the Hudson already, but she doesn’t stay. She’s sort of a special, +I guess. She’s nearly eighteen, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t favored with a knowledge of her age,” Imogene continued +frigidly. “But I repeat, it’s time to do something!”</p> + +<p>“But what can we do?” asked Priscilla. “Of course we can refuse to +lend our things, but that—”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t what I mean. I mean we ought to show her that she isn’t +everything in The Hermitage, or in all St. Helen’s. She thinks she is! +But she isn’t! In college she’d be made to black boots, or run +errands. I have a friend at Harvard and he told me all about the +things they make fresh Freshmen do.”</p> + +<p>The thought of the haughty, velvet-clad Miss Van Rensaelar blacking +boots was too much for Virginia and she laughed, thereby increasing +Imogene’s displeasure. Vivian arrived just at this point of the +conversation, falling over the rug as she entered, which awkward +proceeding greatly disturbed her room-mate.</p> + +<p>“For mercy’s sake, Viv, save the furniture, and do close the door! +This isn’t open house!”</p> + +<p>Poor Vivian, a little uncertain as to whether or not she was welcome, +straightened the rug and closed the door. Then she sat beside +Virginia, who had made room for her on the couch.</p> + +<p>“We might ask Mary. Maybe she’d have an idea,” Priscilla suggested a +little timidly, but Imogene did not receive the suggestion very +kindly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m sick of this monitor business! Don’t say a word to Mary. +Whatever is done can be done without her first assistance. I’m going +to think of something before I go to bed to-night.”</p> + +<p>“She makes me think of Dick when he first came to the ranch,” said +Virginia. “He acted as though he were better than the other men, and +knew a lot more, though he was only eighteen. He used to like to dress +up and go to town at night, as though he were above them all. The men +grew tired of his overbearing ways, and Jim and Alex decided he needed +some discipline. So, one night when he had gone to town in his best +clothes, they placed a big bucket of water over the bunk-house door, +and arranged it so that when any one opened the door from the outside +it would fall and drench him. Dick came home about midnight; and the +men all lay in bed, waiting for him to open the door. He opened it, +and down came all the water. Jim told father the next day that Dick +just stood there wet through, and never said a word. But he +understood, and after that he wasn’t snobbish any more, but just one +of the men, and they liked him a great deal better. I know I thought +’twas mean when Jim told father, but father said it was just what Dick +needed to help make a man of him.”</p> + +<p>They had all listened to Virginia’s story. Somehow they always did +listen when Virginia told a story for it was sure to be interesting. +Imogene, though she stared out of the window while Virginia told it, +was really listening most attentively of all; for, as Virginia talked, +into her scheming mind flashed an idea, by the carrying out of which +she might attain a two-fold purpose—namely, the desired disciplining +of Miss Van Rensaelar, and the revenging of certain wrongs for which +she held Virginia responsible.</p> + +<p>Imogene did dislike Virginia, for no other reasons in the world than +that the other girls liked her, and that their friendliness gave +Virginia prominence at St. Helen’s. Virginia did not seek popularity +or influence, therefore she had both; but Imogene for two years had +sought for both, and moreover had used every means to attain them. +This year she saw her popularity waning. Even Dorothy did not seem to +care so much for her. Instead she liked Virginia—a bitter pill for +Imogene to swallow. As for influence, Imogene Meredith did possess a +strong influence over her associates, but its strength did not lie in +its goodness. Moreover, Imogene remembered a certain talk with Miss +Wallace on the occasion of Virginia’s trouble with Miss Green; and the +memory of that talk still rankled bitterly. She <i>would</i> get even with +Virginia, and show St. Helen’s that this Wyoming girl was not such a +wonder after all. So as Virginia told her story and the others +listened, Imogene smiled to herself and planned her revenge, Miss Van +Rensaelar for the moment almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to play tennis, Dorothy?” Virginia asked as she +finished.</p> + +<p>Dorothy hesitated. “Can’t we play to-morrow, Virginia?” she asked, +embarrassed. “I promised Imogene I’d walk to the village with her.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. It doesn’t matter. Come on, Vivian. Priscilla and you and +I’ll play; and if Lucile doesn’t want to make a fourth, we’ll get Bess +Shepard from Overlook. She said this morning that she’d like to play.”</p> + +<p>So while the others crossed the campus toward the gymnasium, Imogene +and Dorothy started for Hillcrest, and upon arriving went to the +“Forget-me-not,” while the sallow-faced youth before mentioned served +them hot chocolate, and lingered unnecessarily in Imogene’s +neighborhood. On the way home, peace having been restored between +them, Imogene divulged her secret plan to Dorothy, or at least the +half of it which she cared to divulge,—namely that upon their arrival +home while every one was preparing for dinner, a pail of water be +suspended over Miss Van Rensaelar’s door, so that upon her return she +might be surprised into a more docile manner toward her housemates.</p> + +<p>Dorothy giggled at the picture of the soaked Katrina, but obstacles +presented themselves to her mind.</p> + +<p>“It will be funny, but I think you’ll get the worst of it instead of +Katrina.”</p> + +<p>“How, I’d like to know?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re sure to be found out, because you can’t fib about it, +and there’s so few of us in The Hermitage that all of us will be +asked. Then, besides, it’s funny, but I’m not so sure it’s a joke. I +think it’s sort of mean.” Dorothy said the last somewhat hesitatingly, +noting the expression coming over Imogene’s face.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be such a wet-blanket, Dot! Besides, I don’t see how you’re so +sure I’ll be found out. You certainly won’t tell, and Viv won’t dare +to; and you know how St. Helen’s feels about telling tales anyway. +Besides, it’s not my plan. You know who suggested it just this +afternoon.” And into Imogene’s eyes crept a crafty expression, which +told Dorothy more than her words.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Imogene!” she cried, really indignant. “You know that isn’t true! +Virginia didn’t propose it at all! She was just telling a story! You +don’t mean you’d do it yourself, and then lay the blame on Virginia!”</p> + +<p>Imogene saw that she had made a mistake.</p> + +<p>“Who’s talking about blaming anybody? I guess I’m willing to take the +blame for my own actions. Don’t get so excited! I didn’t exactly mean +she proposed it. I just meant that I’d never have thought of such a +good plan if it hadn’t been for her.”</p> + +<p>Dorothy was not convinced. She never felt quite sure of Imogene, +though she couldn’t seem to help being fascinated by her.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she said hesitatingly, “if you had meant that Virginia +suggested it, I’d think—”</p> + +<p>“Well, think what?”</p> + +<p>“I’d think that—? that maybe you laughed on purpose that night +down-stairs.”</p> + +<p>Imogene shrugged her shoulders, and looked, for her, rather +uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t any one allowed to laugh, if anything strikes her funny? You’re +suspicious, Dorothy!”</p> + +<p>But quarreling would not do if Dorothy’s help were to be relied upon. +Besides, the subject was distasteful, not to say dangerous. Imogene +changed it hurriedly, and, by the time they reached The Hermitage, the +plan had once more assumed at least an honest aspect, and Dorothy was +once more laughing at the thought of the drenched Katrina.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miss Van Rensaelar was being entertained in the city, and +regaling her friends with tales of the hopelessness of St. Helen’s in +general, and The Hermitage in particular. Such regulations as to +hours! Such babyish girls! No style! No callers! No amusements, except +tennis and basketball, and riding on impossible horses!</p> + +<p>The truth was the trouble lay in Katrina Van Rensaelar, and not in St. +Helen’s. Katrina, “on account of having been detained by illness at a +Long Island house-party,” had not arrived at St. Helen’s until after +Thanksgiving. She was too late to enter any of the regular classes, +and had been ranked as a “Special.” The term really suited Katrina, +for she was a special type of girl to which St. Helen’s had not often +been accustomed. She had too little desire for study and too much +money—too little friendliness and too many ancestors.</p> + +<p>Now, the possession of too many ancestors is difficult property to +handle, especially in boarding-school, unless you are very expert in +concealing your ownership. Katrina was not expert. On the contrary, +disdaining concealment, she openly avowed her ownership, and on the +few occasions in which she had been known to engage in conversation, +had announced that she was of the only original Dutch patroon stock of +New York. There were girls at St. Helen’s who were every bit as +snobbish as Katrina with perhaps less to be snobbish about—Imogene was +one—but somehow they had learned that if one wished to be popular, she +concealed as far as possible her personal prejudices toward family and +fortune.</p> + +<p>Katrina, glad to be away from St. Helen’s and to see some “life,” as +she termed it, accepted with thanks an invitation to remain over night +in the city. Her friends telegraphed her intention to Miss King, +promising to bring her in by machine early in the morning. Miss Green +and Miss Wallace were accordingly informed of the fact that she would +not return, but, as such irregularities were not encouraged, said +nothing of her absence to the girls.</p> + +<p>That night Vivian was a trifle late for supper, for truth to tell it +had been Vivian whom Imogene had delegated to creep up-stairs with the +water-filled pail, and hang it on a nail already provided above the +door.</p> + +<p>“You’re lighter on your feet than I am, Viv,” she had explained, “and +no one will hear you. Just because you hang it there doesn’t mean that +you’re to blame at all. And remember, if to-night Miss Green questions +you, you’re to say, ‘That’s the way they discipline snobbish cow-boys +in Wyoming.’”</p> + +<p>Poor, short-sighted little Vivian, glad to be again in the favor of +her adored Imogene, obediently hung the pail upon the nail, and +descended to the dining-room, looking embarrassed as she took her +seat. Miss Wallace’s keen eyes noted the embarrassment, and caught +also a shade of disapproval cross Imogene’s face.</p> + +<p>“You must have washed in a hurry, Vivian,” whispered the unconscious +Virginia, who sat next her. “There are drops all over your collar.”</p> + +<p>Vivian, more embarrassed than ever, raised her napkin to wipe the +drops. Supper proceeded, but Miss Wallace had her clew.</p> + +<p>All through study-hours, while the others worked, unconscious of any +excitement, Dorothy, Imogene, and Vivian waited with bated breath for +the return of Miss Van Rensaelar. But she did not come. At nine-thirty +she had not returned, and there was nothing to do but go to bed and +lie awake listening. The clock struck ten, and stealthy steps were +heard in the corridor. Could that be Katrina returning? No, for she +would never soften her tread for fear of disturbing the sleepers. Who +could it be? Whoever it was was going up the stairs, for they creaked +a little. The girls held their breaths for one long moment. Then—a +frightful splash, followed immediately by a crash and an unearthly +shriek, rent The Hermitage. Those awake and those who had been +sleeping rushed into the hall, in which the light was still burning. +Down the-stairs came a person in a gray flannel wrapper, which clung +in wet folds about her shivering figure, and from every fold of which +ran rivulets of water. The person’s scant locks were plastered to her +head, save in front, where from every curl-paper dripped drops as from +an icicle. It was Miss Green! Frightened, furious, forbidding Miss +Green!</p> + +<p>Simultaneously the girls laughed—innocent and guilty alike. No one +could have helped it—at least not they, who were, for the most part, +completely surprised. And Miss Green, it must be admitted, was +excruciatingly funny. She stood in the middle of the hall, dripped and +glared. When she could command her trembling voice:</p> + +<p>“Mary Williams, you are a Senior monitor, and do you laugh at such +outrageous conduct?”</p> + +<p>“I—I beg your pardon, Miss Green,” stammered Mary. “I really couldn’t +help it. I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Will you explain this occurrence?”</p> + +<p>“I really can’t, Miss Green. I don’t know anything about it.”</p> + +<p>At this juncture, hurried steps were heard on the stairs, and Miss +Wallace mercifully appeared. When she saw Miss Green, her own lips +quivered, but she restrained them. The shivering Miss Green explained +the situation in a voice quivering with cold and anger. Then, as if +her own conduct needed explanation:</p> + +<p>“I went up-stairs merely to—to see if the windows were lowered, and +this is what I received. Let us probe this disgusting matter to the +bottom, Miss Wallace.”</p> + +<p>“I think you should first get into dry things,” Miss Wallace suggested +gently. “Then we will talk matters over. Girls, please go to your +rooms.”</p> + +<p>The girls obeyed.</p> + +<p>“One moment, please,” Miss Green called imperiously. “Vivian, you were +late at supper. Can you explain this matter. Answer me, can you?”</p> + +<p>Poor frightened Vivian tried to look into Miss Green’s glaring eyes, +but failed miserably. She stammered, hesitated, was silent.</p> + +<p>“Answer me, Vivian. What sort of a method of procedure is this?”</p> + +<p>“Please—please, Miss Green, it’s—it’s—”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s what?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the way they discipline sn-snobbish c-cow-boys in Wyoming.”</p> + +<p>Utter silence reigned for a few long seconds. Miss Green stared at +each of the mystified girls, until her eye fell upon Virginia, most +mystified of all.</p> + +<p>“For the present, Virginia,” she said in measured tones, each one +distinct, “I will inform you that methods which are in vogue upon a +Wyoming ranch are not suitable in a young ladies’ boarding-school. I +will see you later.”</p> + +<p>She turned to go with Miss Wallace, still dripping, still glaring. +Miss Wallace’s face had become stern.</p> + +<p>“Go to your rooms, girls. There will be no talking to-night. Please +remember, Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Wallace,” promised the Senior monitor.</p> + +<p>But the mystified Virginia and her wholly indignant room-mate could +not resist some whispers.</p> + +<p>“It’s Imogene,” whispered Priscilla, on Virginia’s bed. “She made +Vivian do it; and now she means to put the blame on you, just because +you told that story about Dick.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she couldn’t be so mean, Priscilla!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she could. She’s just that kind. And if Miss Green blames you, +I’m going to tell. I am!”</p> + +<p>This, and much more, went on in whispers in their room, and, for that +matter, in every other. No one could sleep, and a half hour later +every girl heard Miss Wallace’s voice at Imogene’s door.</p> + +<p>“Imogene, you are to come to my room at once. No, I don’t wish you, +Vivian. At once, please, Imogene.”</p> + +<p>It was fully an hour later when they heard Imogene reenter her room, +but no one ventured either that night or in the morning to ask any +questions. As for Virginia, she was summoned to no interview, and +suffered no unjust reprimand, save Miss Green’s piercing words, which +she wrote, with a half-smile, in the chapter, “Pertaining Especially +to Decorum”:</p> + +<p>“I will inform you that methods in vogue upon a Wyoming ranch are not +suitable in a young ladies’ boarding-school.”</p> + +<p>Miss Van Rensaelar, who returned the next morning, never knew what +deluge she escaped. Imogene’s manner forbade any interferences, but +apparently Vivian’s life with her room-mate for the next few days was +anything but a happy one. Secret discussions were held in The +Hermitage, and likewise in the other cottages, for the news had +spread; but Imogene and Vivian never attended, and Dorothy, if +present, was silent and strangely embarrassed.</p> + +<p>A week later when the newness of the affair had passed away, and when +other topics occasionally came up for conversation, some news +announced by Miss Green to her classes swept through St. Helen’s like +wild-fire. In recognition of years of faithful service, St. Helen’s +had presented Miss Green with a fund, with the request that she go to +Athens for two years’ study at the Classical School.</p> + +<p>“Another vocation thrust upon her! Horrors! What will she do?” +exclaimed Dorothy, at a meeting held in The Hermitage to discuss this +unexpected, and, I am forced to say, welcome piece of information.</p> + +<p>“Three cheers for St. Helen’s!” cried one Blackmore twin.</p> + +<p>“And groans for Athens!” cried the other.</p> + +<p>So just before Christmas, Miss Green departed for Athens; and at the +same time, Katrina Van Rensaelar, deciding to seek education +elsewhere, left for a place in which her ancestors would be more +appreciated.</p> + +<p>“And to be perfectly frank, daddy dear,” wrote Virginia, “it’s a +welcome exodus!”</p> + +<h2 id='ch12'>CHAPTER XII—THE VIGILANTES</h2> + +<p>The weeks immediately following the Christmas holidays were always +hard ones at St. Helen’s. This year was no exception to the experience +of every other year. The weather was cold and snowy, the girls were +homesick, or, as was too often the case, half ill and listless from +too many sweets and too much gayety during the vacation. Lessons were +often poorly learned or not learned at all. In short, the St. Helen’s +faculty dreaded January, and the St. Helen’s girls hated it.</p> + +<p>“It’s the worst month in the whole year,” remarked Priscilla, standing +by her window one Saturday afternoon, and watching a cold northeast +storm whirl the snow-flakes from a gray, forbidding sky. “January’s +the out-of-sorts month, and every one in this whole school is +out-of-sorts, too. I wish it were Christmas over again!”</p> + +<p>“So do I,” said Virginia from the other window.</p> + +<p>Virginia had just caught the out-of-sorts epidemic. For a week at +least after her return from Vermont, the memory of her own joyous +Christmas had kept her happy. It had been such a lovely two weeks! She +and her grandmother had grown to be such good friends. Virginia +actually dared believe that her grandmother did not now disapprove of +her in the least. She and Aunt Nan had had such a happy, jolly +vacation; and even the Rev. Samuel Baxter had been most gracious, not +once mentioning Korean missions or the sale of Bibles. But even +memories were not proof against a general atmosphere of discontent, +and she was beginning to be infected.</p> + +<p>“There goes Dorothy in all this snow,” announced Priscilla a moment +later. “She’s carrying books, too. Where’s she going, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>She rapped on the window. Dorothy either did not hear or did not +choose to. The latter would be more thoroughly in keeping with her +January disposition.</p> + +<p>“I know. She’s failed in geometry every day since we came back, and +has to take private lessons with Miss Wells. Of course she didn’t tell +me, but I know she’s failed because she’s in my division. Bess Shepard +told me yesterday that Dorothy was going to take lessons with her of +Miss Wells in the afternoon. Bess was sick, you know, and she’s making +up lost time. That’s how I know.”</p> + +<p>Priscilla turned suddenly from the window and sat down on the couch.</p> + +<p>“Virginia,” she said, “I’m desperately worried about Dorothy. It isn’t +being untrue to her to talk with you about her, because you are her +friend, too. She isn’t a bit the way she was last year. She doesn’t +seem to care about lots of things the way she did then and when she +was at our house this summer. Don’t you think she’s different from +what she was even in September?”</p> + +<p>Virginia left the window and sat beside her roommate.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, “she is different. She laughs at things now that she +didn’t then; and she seems to be afraid of taking sides about things. +I mean, whether anything’s fair or not. She never likes to say what +she thinks any more, like she used to.”</p> + +<p>“That’s Imogene. I think it’s almost all Imogene.” Priscilla’s voice +was lowered to a whisper. “Dorothy likes Imogene because she has such +a don’t-care way about things, and because she has so much money, and +dresses better than any girl in school, though <i>I</i> think her clothes +are a sight! Mother thought Dorothy was different when she was here +Thanksgiving. She noticed it. I wish Imogene Meredith had never come +here!”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s voice was also lowered. “She doesn’t give Vivian a chance +either. I think Vivian’s dear and sweet; but Imogene makes her do +everything she says, and poor Vivian’s so easily influenced, she does +it. You know what I’m thinking about especially?”</p> + +<p>Priscilla nodded. She knew. They were both thinking of the “Flood,” as +St. Helen’s now termed it, and of how Imogene had tried to shift the +blame from her own shoulders on those of poor Vivian and unconscious +Virginia.</p> + +<p>“Of course I know. I told you then ’twas just like her. And Dorothy +knew about that, too. I’m sure she did! She’s so quiet whenever it’s +mentioned, and looks ashamed. And lately Dorothy’s even been teasing +Vivian, just as Imogene does, about that silly Leslie, who always +gives Vivian extra large cakes at the ‘Forget-me-not.’ Oh, dear! I +don’t suppose there’s anything I can do, but it worries me. Dorothy’s +my best friend along with you, and I don’t want her to grow like +Imogene. Can you keep a secret if I tell you one?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I can.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Dorothy visited Imogene at Christmas time. Not the whole +vacation, because she spent most of it with her aunt in New York. You +know, her mother is dead, and her father is in California most of the +time, so she spends vacations with her aunt. She was there for a week +and a half, and then she went to Albany and visited Imogene, and that +is why they came back together. They were late, too, because they +stayed for a party Imogene gave. And the thing I mind most is that +Dorothy never told she’d been there at all, just as though it were a +secret. Only Vivian was at the party, and she mentioned it just as +though I knew. Mother asked Dorothy to come home with me—mother feels +sorry that she hasn’t really any family like ours—but Dorothy said her +aunt wasn’t going to let her go anywhere this vacation. It isn’t that +I minded her not coming to us, you know, but I don’t like to have her +so much with Imogene, and, besides, I can’t see why they keep it so +secret.”</p> + +<p>Priscilla finished, troubled. Virginia was troubled, too, for she +loved Dorothy, even though of late Dorothy had not seemed to care so +much for her. She remembered the day she had first seen Priscilla and +Dorothy at the station, and Dorothy’s resolutions in regard to grades.</p> + +<p>“Dorothy hasn’t gotten all <i>A’s</i> the way she planned in September, has +she?”</p> + +<p>“I think she had <i>B’s</i> on her fall card, because she was ashamed of +it, and wouldn’t show it to mother at Thanksgiving. I know she hasn’t +done so well in class as she did last year. Miss Wallace and Miss +Allan have reproved her more than once. And you know the house-meeting +we had when Mary said The Hermitage couldn’t win the scholarship cup +away from Hathaway unless some of us who were getting <i>B’s</i>, got <i>A’s</i> +for a change? Well, Dorothy just cut Mary for two days after that, and +she isn’t nice to her now. It does seem too bad when we’ve decided to +try extra hard for the cup that Imogene and Dorothy pull us down. Even +Vivian’s been getting <i>A’s</i>, and Lucile’s doing better all the time, +isn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is. Even in English she’s really trying; and she’s fine in +French and Latin and geometry. Do you think Dorothy likes Miss Wallace +as much as she used?”</p> + +<p>“That’s Imogene again. She called Miss Wallace Dorothy’s ‘idol’ all +the fall in that sneering way she has, and now Dorothy acts ashamed to +show she loves Miss Wallace. She doesn’t go to see her the way she did +last year. Last year, if she were troubled about anything, she went +right to Miss Wallace. Oh, dear, what shall we do?”</p> + +<p>Virginia did not answer for a moment. She was thinking.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t life queer?” she said at last thoughtfully. “It all goes +crooked when you most want it to go straight. But I have an idea, +Priscilla. Let’s be Vigilantes!”</p> + +<p>“Vi-gi-lan-tes! What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you know about the Vigilantes? No, I don’t suppose you do. +Even Miss Wallace didn’t till I told her. Why, the Vigilantes were +brave men in the early days when the Pioneers were just going into +Montana and Wyoming and the other States out there. You see, when they +discovered that those States had such rich lands for wheat, and hills +for cattle, and gold mines—especially the gold—people just flocked +there by thousands. And, of course, there were many thieves and +cutthroats and lawless men who went, too, and they just became the +terror of the country.</p> + +<p>“They rode swift horses, and they knew all the passes in the +mountains. When they heard a train of men and horses was coming from +the mines, they would lie in wait in the mountains and come down upon +them, steal their gold and horses and murder any who resisted. It +wasn’t safe to take any journeys in those days.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but why did the people allow it? Why weren’t they arrested?” +Priscilla in her interest had forgotten all about being out-of-sorts.</p> + +<p>“Why, you see the people couldn’t help it at first. The country was so +very new that law hadn’t been made. The government did send judges out +there; but there were so many lawless men that they threatened even +the judges; and, besides, these robbers were perfectly wonderful +shots, and they would scare the people so terribly that they were glad +to get away with their lives.</p> + +<p>“But by and by things grew so bad, and so many innocent persons who +dared oppose the robbers were shot down, that some men banded +together, and called themselves the Vigilantes. They pledged +themselves to watch out for evil-doers, to stand for fair play, and to +put a stop to robbery and murder. Of course, it was very hard at +first, and many of the Vigilantes lost their lives; but pretty soon +other bands were formed in the other towns, and they kept on, no +matter how discouraged they were at times. They used to post signs on +the roads that led to towns; and sometimes they would draw in red +chalk on a cliff or even on the paving in town, warning the robbers +and murderers that if they came into that place they would be +captured.”</p> + +<p>“What did they do if they captured them?”</p> + +<p>“They most usually hung them to a tree. The big tall cottonwoods out +there are called ‘gallows trees,’ because they used to hang so many to +their branches. It seems wicked now, of course,” Virginia explained, +seeing the horror on Priscilla’s face, “to kill them like +that—sometimes even without a trial. But really, Priscilla, they +couldn’t do anything else in order to save the good people from +danger.”</p> + +<p>“No, of course, they couldn’t. Mustn’t it have been exciting?”</p> + +<p>“Exciting? I rather think it was exciting! Jim used to tell me about +it. There was one place in Montana named Virginia City where there +were many of the Vigilantes. You see, there were very rich gold mines +there, and that meant there were lawless men, too. Jim was there once, +and he could remember some of the Vigilantes. He said there was one +awful man who had killed scores of persons, and who was the terror of +the whole country. And the strangest part of it was, he was +nice-looking and talked like a gentleman. The Vigilantes watched for +him for ten years before they got him.”</p> + +<p>“Did they hang him from a cottonwood, too?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and Jim said when they had put the rope around his neck, and +were just going to lead his horse from under him he burst out laughing +at them all, and said, ‘Good-by, boys. I’m mighty sorry I can’t tell +you by and by how it feels to be hung. It’s the only Western +experience I’ve never enjoyed.’”</p> + +<p>“After all he certainly was brave to die like that, laughing. He had +Margaret of Salisbury’s spirit. I always loved her, especially when +she said if they wanted her head they must take it with her standing. +Virginia, you know more thrilling stories than any one I ever knew. It +just makes me wild to go away out there and visit you. Do you suppose +I ever shall?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I just know you’re coming. I shouldn’t wonder if this very next +summer. I feel it inside me. We can be Vigilantes for sure out there. +That’s just where they belong. But don’t you think we could be sort of +Vigilantes here—standing as they did for fair play and ”—she lowered +her voice “watching out for evil-doers?”</p> + +<p>Priscilla was enthusiastic over the idea. It seemed so different and +original. Besides, it really did mean something to try to stand for +fair play, and to watch out for anything—any evil influence, for +example—that might harm those you loved.</p> + +<p>“We’ll especially try to see that Vivian isn’t so easily influenced,” +Virginia whispered, “and we’ll try our best to help Dorothy to be like +she used to be. Only they mustn’t know we’re trying. That would spoil +it all.”</p> + +<p>“Shall we ask any one else to join?” asked Priscilla.</p> + +<p>“We might ask Mary. She’s really a Vigilante anyway, being a monitor.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose we tell her about it, and ask her to be adviser. You see, +where she’s monitor, she can’t take sides just as we can, and maybe +she’d think she’d better not join. It’s going to be a Secret +Organization, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course. Secret things always seem more important. Let’s draw +up the constitution this minute. I like to feel settled.”</p> + +<p>Pen and ink were found, and within fifteen minutes the composition of +the organization was complete, Virginia being the Thomas Jefferson of +the occasion.</p> + +<p>“I’ll read it aloud,” said the author, “so that we can tell if it +sounds right.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“‘We, the undersigned, on this 20th day of a sad January, do +hereby announce in the sacred presence of each other, that we +are Vigilantes of St. Helen’s. We are bound by our honor as +friends and room-mates to secrecy, and to an earnest +performance of our work as true Vigilantes. We deplore the +evil influence of —— ——, and we promise to strive to off-set +that influence especially in regard to —— —— and —— ——. We are +going to try to stand at all times for fair play, and real +friendship. We appoint —— —— as our trusted adviser. At +present we are the sole members of the Vigilante Order.</p> + +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>“‘Signed</p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>“‘Priscilla Alden Winthrop.</p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>”‘Virginia Webster Hunter.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“I put blanks instead of names,” explained Virginia, signing her name +after Priscilla. “It seems more like an organization some way, and, +besides, we understand. Now, we are real Vigilantes, Priscilla.”</p> + +<p>They shook hands solemnly. The paper was sealed with an extravagant +amount of sealing wax, and stuffed with much secrecy into a rent of +Virginia’s mattress. Then the two Vigilantes, feeling much revived in +spirits, invited the disconsolate Vivian to join them, and went for a +walk in the snow.</p> + +<h2 id='ch13'>CHAPTER XIII—THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III</h2> + +<p>“Don’t they hurt a bit, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“No, of course not.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you feel at all sick either?”</p> + +<p>“No, just mad! What’s in that bag, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Pop-corn. Can you eat it?”</p> + +<p>“I should say I can. Haven’t had anything but disgusting cream toast +for four days. Put it under the letters so no one will see. What’s +that in the box, Priscilla?”</p> + +<p>“Peggy Norris’ white mice she bought down town. They’re only a loan +for to-day. Open the box right off or they’ll smother.”</p> + +<p>“What do you do all day, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, learn things by heart mostly. Miss Wood won’t let me read, so I +just glance and then recite. It’s a comfort. I’ve learned the +Ninety-first Psalm and ‘Annabel Lee’ and ‘Drink to Me Only with Thine +Eyes’ and the ‘Address at Gettysburg’ and ‘One Thought of Marcus +Aurelius.’ I call that quite good.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know you’re going to have them anyway, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you hate everybody for two days, and your eyes water the third. +Is it all ready? Shall I pull? Be sure the mice are right side up. +Here goes then!”</p> + +<p>The taller Blackmore twin in a red wrapper and a bandaged throat +leaned out of her window and pulled on a rope, at the end of which +dangled a waste-basket filled with bags, envelopes, and boxes. Below, +in the snow, stood half a dozen sympathizers who had brought the +“morning post” to their comrade, confined to her room with the German +Measles.</p> + +<p>Judging from the patient’s alacrity in securing the basket she was not +suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the +morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom +in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the +basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice, +leaned farther out of the window.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go. I’ll look my mail over later. It’s fine of you to come. Any +more caught?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore +throat.”</p> + +<p>“Then she’s probably just starting out.”</p> + +<p>“My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason.” This from Vivian.</p> + +<p>“Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too.”</p> + +<p>“Are you all over speckles, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty much so!”</p> + +<p>The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. +All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of +danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one +accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the +closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed +therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean’s door. Then +Jean’s voice, pathetically lowered,</p> + +<p>“Come in.”</p> + +<p>The door opened.</p> + +<p>“Jeannette,” said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees +recognized as Miss Wood’s. “Jeannette, don’t you feel the draught from +that open window?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I hear you talking a moment since?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. “I recite a +great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words +to some of the girls who came beneath the window.”</p> + +<p>“You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel +better this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient’s head.</p> + +<p>“You seem very cool—a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste? +It’s nourishing, and won’t hurt your throat.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it would be delicious, I’m sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really +believe I’m a little hungry.”</p> + +<p>Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly +recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that +cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she +once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood’s +reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across +the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly “tidying” +of their rooms.</p> + +<p>“Virginia,” said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some +letters, “I just know I’m going to have them. I was with Jean all one +afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you’ll have them +when I do!”</p> + +<p>“So do I. ’Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one. +And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth +the regular measles, not to mention German. You don’t feel +out-of-sorts yet, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No, I’ll tell you when I do, or you’ll probably know anyway. Isn’t +Jean a scream? Probably she was in bed when Miss Wood got there.”</p> + +<p>“She’s dear. Why don’t she and Jess room together?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, the whole faculty rose up in arms this year when they +suggested it. They tried it exactly three weeks last year, and Miss +Wood nearly resigned. One is bad enough, but the two are awful! They +think up the most fearful things to do. Why, the summer before last, +they’d been in England all summer, and had seen all kinds of new +things. Well, the first thing they did when they got back to St. +Helen’s was to play chimney-sweep. Jess had seen them in London and +she couldn’t rest to see how it felt to be in a chimney. So, one day, +she put on some black tights and an old Jersey of her brother’s, and +made a tall hat out of paste-board. Then they went up on the roof of +Hathaway, and Jean helped her get up on the chimney, and she dropped +down. The chimney’s wide, you know, and she dropped straight down, +making an awful noise and loosening all the soot, right into the +living-room fire-place. Miss King and Bishop Hughes were calling on +Miss Wood just then, though, of course, Jess didn’t know that. Down +she came, feet first, into the grate, and scared Miss King and Miss +Wood and the Bishop all but to death. She was all over soot, and was a +sight! The Bishop laughs about it every time he comes.”</p> + +<p>Virginia laughed and laughed. As long as she had been at St. Helen’s +she had never heard that story.</p> + +<p>“The thing that Jean’s crossest about,” Priscilla continued, “is the +Gordon dance on Washington’s Birthday. Her cousin asked her to come, +and she’s afraid Miss Wood won’t let her go.”</p> + +<p>“Why, she’ll be all right by then, won’t she? The speckles are most +gone already, and the dance is two weeks off.”</p> + +<p>“I know, but Miss Wood is very careful, and, besides, Jess told her +that Jean was subject to tonsillitis. Oh, dear, I was sort of hoping +that Carver Standish would invite me! You see, I’ve never been to a +really big dance in the evening in my life. But I guess he’s not going +to. Jean got her invitation yesterday.”</p> + +<p>But when they reached The Hermitage and their own room, Priscilla +found the coveted envelope, with a card bearing the name “Carver +Standish III,” and a note saying it would be “downright rotten,” if +anything prevented her coming. Priscilla ran at once to ask for Miss +Wallace’s chaperonage, but, when she returned, a worried expression +had replaced the joyous one on her face.</p> + +<p>“Won’t she go with you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she’ll go; but, Virginia, I just remembered the German Measles. +They don’t look so much like a blessing as they did a few minutes ago. +What if I do get them? Oh, Virginia, what if I do? If I’m going to +have them, I wish I’d get them right away, and then I’d be all over +them in a week. Isn’t there some way they can be hurried up if they’re +inside of you?”</p> + +<p>Virginia was for a few moments lost in contemplation. Then apparently +she remembered.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, there is,” she said. “I remember all about it now. If +they’re really inside of you, hot things will bring them out. When +they thought I had the mumps once, Hannah said ‘Steam them out, dear. +If they’re there, they’ll come.’ And they did come out. I’ve heard +Hannah say that over and over again. Don’t you worry, Priscilla. We’ll +use all the hot things we know, and try to bring them out, and, if +they don’t come, you can be reasonably sure they’re not inside of you. +If I were you, I’d begin right off. I’d put on a sweater, and sit over +the register. I’d just bake! To-night we’ll get extra blankets and hot +water bottles, and in a day or two I believe we’ll have them out. It’s +lucky to-morrow is Sunday.”</p> + +<p>“I just know they’re inside,” wailed Priscilla, buttoning her sweater, +as she sat over the register. “My! It’s hot here! Would you think of +hot things, too? You know we said we believed that thoughts were +powerful.”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do believe it. Yes, I believe I’d let my mind dwell on +Vesuvius and the burning of Rome, and things like—like crematories and +bonfires and the Equator. If there’s anything in thought suggestion +that certainly will help. It won’t harm anyway. Are you awfully +uncomfortable?”</p> + +<p>“Very hot. Would you really stay here all the afternoon?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I would, and most of to-morrow. If, by to-morrow night, there +aren’t any signs, I’ll believe the danger’s past Let’s not tell +anybody what we’re doing. If Miss Wallace thought you expected them, +she might think you ought not to go.”</p> + +<p>“Does Hannah know all about sickness?”</p> + +<p>“She certainly does. Why, everybody for miles around comes to her for +advice, and trusts her just as though she were a doctor. Really, +Priscilla, I know she’d do just this way if she were here.”</p> + +<p>The reassured Priscilla sweltered over the register most of the +afternoon. When evening came, she was somewhat out-of-sorts. “Maybe +the hating everybody has begun,” thought her room-mate as she filled +hot water-bottles. They had borrowed all in The Hermitage, except Miss +Wallace’s and Miss Baxter’s (Miss Baxter was Miss Green’s more popular +successor)—much to the unsatisfied wonder of the household. Priscilla +turned uneasily all night in a nest of hot water-bottles and extra +blankets. In the morning there were no signs of measles, except +perhaps a somewhat peevish disposition.</p> + +<p>“And that’s not measles, Virginia, I’ll have you to know!” the owner +of the disposition announced fretfully. “It’s just from being burned +alive! Now, I’m not going to do another thing, so you might just as +well put away those two suits of underwear. One’s enough!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Virginia a little doubtfully, as she folded the extra +suit and replaced it in the drawer; “well, it does seem as though if +they’d been coming they would have come after all that steaming. I +wish Hannah were here! She’d know. But, if I were you, Priscilla, I’d +just keep thinking I wasn’t going to have them. That will probably +help.”</p> + +<p>This prescription compared to the preceding one was easy to follow, +and all through the next two weeks Priscilla, when she remembered it, +maintained that she was not to have the German Measles! For the rest +of the time, which was by far the larger portion, she was perfectly +oblivious as to even the possibility of her having them, so elated was +she over her preparation for the Gordon dance. She and Miss Wallace +and Jean Blackmore, who was really to be allowed to go after all, were +to make the journey, a distance of twenty-five miles, by automobile. +The two weeks dragged their days slowly along, but at last Thursday +night arrived, and Priscilla, with a happy heart, surveyed for the +last time that day her new dress, which her mother had sent from home.</p> + +<p>“Just one more night to wait,” she said, as she got into bed. “Oh, +Virginia, I wish you were a Junior! I don’t see why Miss King won’t +let new girls go. Carver said if you only could, he would have asked +you, because his grandfather had told him so much about you, and his +room-mate, Robert Stuart, whom I’ve met, would have asked me. Then we +could have gone together.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind. It’s been such fun getting you ready. Maybe next year +we’ll both go. Isn’t it the luckiest thing you haven’t had them at +all?”</p> + +<p>“It certainly is! It just shows how powerful thought is! Really, I +have more faith in it than ever. You see, if they were inside of me, +they didn’t get any attention, and probably decided not to come out.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if they’d been there, they would have come out with all that +heat, I’m sure,” said Virginia, still faithful to Hannah. “But it +doesn’t matter whether they were there or not, just so long as they’re +not here. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>In the gray early morning Virginia was rudely awakened by some one +shaking her. She sat up in bed to find Priscilla desperately shaking +her with one hand and the witch-hazel bottle with the other. Priscilla +was apparently in trouble. What could be the matter? She sat up, +dazed, half-asleep.</p> + +<p>“Why, what is it? What’s the matter? Was the dance lovely? Did you +have a good time?”</p> + +<p>At these last remarks Priscilla wept.</p> + +<p>“Oh, wake up!” she cried. “It’s only Friday. I haven’t been to the +dance at all, and probably I can’t go, because I’ve got them; yes, I +have! My head aches, and my throat’s sore, and I’m hot, and my eyes +run, and I hate everybody, and I’ll be lumpy and speckled right away—I +<i>know</i> I shall! Oh, what shall I do?”</p> + +<p>The last sentence ended in a long, heart-broken wail, which brought +the still dazed Virginia thoroughly to her senses. She sprang from +bed, turned on the light, and scrutinized the disconsolate Priscilla. +Yes, her cheeks were most assuredly flushed, and her eyes were +watery—from tears. Virginia was mistress of the situation.</p> + +<p>“Now, Priscilla,” she commanded, “you go back to bed. You’re <i>going</i> +to that dance. Remember that! I’ve got an idea. If heat will bring the +things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We’ll fill the hot +water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you’ll feel +better. See if you don’t. And you won’t get speckled to-day anyway, +because Jean Blackmore didn’t till two days after they started; and +even if you do behind your ears it won’t matter. Stop crying, or +somebody’ll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you’re sick.”</p> + +<p>This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to +the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By +breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and +she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after +each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for +the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia +tacked an “Asleep” sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous +treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time +filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An +ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room, +adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes. +The poor child’s thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward +Eskimos and the Alps, and “such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and +icebergs.” For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read “Snowbound” +to her.</p> + +<p>But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable +speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere. +Priscilla’s cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her +head ached; but her spirit was undaunted.</p> + +<p>“My dear, you don’t look well,” Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they +left the dining-room, and went to dress. “Are you sure you’re well?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I’m just hot because I’m excited. My cheeks +always get red then What time does the machine come?”</p> + +<p>“In an hour, I think. You’re sure you’re all right, Priscilla?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, thank you!” Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before +Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. “Come +on, Virginia, and help me dress.”</p> + +<p>Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she +did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to +St. Helen’s relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to +three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little +over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There +was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began +to dress.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was +dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further +speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into +bed, where she most assuredly belonged.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you feel a single bit better, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I guess so—I don’t know. I feel sort of loose inside, as +though I weren’t connected. But I’ll feel better driving over. Oh, +Virginia, talcum powder my ears. They’re perfect danger signals. <i>Is</i> +that a speckle on my neck? Oh, say it isn’t!”</p> + +<p>“Of course, it isn’t! It’s only a wee pimple. I’ll talcum powder it, +too. There! You look just lovely! Shan’t I let the others in now? +They’re cross as hops, because we’ve both been so secret, and we don’t +want to rouse suspicion.”</p> + +<p>Priscilla assented, and Virginia unlocked the door to the house in +general.</p> + +<p>“Too bad you’re so exclusive!”</p> + +<p>“Even if we’re not asked, we might see the fun of getting ready.”</p> + +<p>“You look perfectly heavenly, Priscilla!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a love of a dress!”</p> + +<p>“Mercy, Priscilla, what makes your ears so red?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet you’ve gotten them frost-bitten!”</p> + +<p>“They certainly look it!”</p> + +<p>“Your cheeks are red, too, but it’s becoming!”</p> + +<p>“What makes your eyes shine so?”</p> + +<p>Here the uneasy Virginia felt as though a reply were necessary.</p> + +<p>“Why, because she’s happy, of course. You act just like Red Riding +Hood talking to the wolf, Dorothy.”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, just when inquiries were becoming too personal, Jean +Blackmore entered, and claimed attention.</p> + +<p>“Jean, you’re actually pretty!”</p> + +<p>“You really are, Jean.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I’m sure that’s nice of you.”</p> + +<p>“That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an +apple-blossom.”</p> + +<p>“You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here’s the machine now, and +Miss Wallace is calling.”</p> + +<p>They went down-stairs, the house following.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!”</p> + +<p>The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old +blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla’s gift, at her +waist.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!”</p> + +<p>“You’re just beautiful, Miss Wallace!”</p> + +<p>“No one will think you’re a chaperon.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, girls, you’ll quite spoil me,” said the chaperon, and looked more +charming than ever. “Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat +collar. I’m afraid you’ve caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that +scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter’s out. But I know +you will. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>The car rolled away into the darkness, and the girls went up-stairs, +talking things over as they went.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t Miss Wallace the sweetest thing?”</p> + +<p>“Something’s the matter with Priscilla. She wasn’t talking. What is +it, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s excited, and perhaps—perhaps, she doesn’t feel exactly +well.” Virginia felt more free, now that Priscilla was safely on her +way.</p> + +<hr class='tb'/> + +<p>At the Gordon school all was excitement. Boys in white trousers waited +impatiently at the gates, as the automobiles and carriages approached, +to greet their friends and conduct them to the brilliantly lighted and +beautifully decorated gymnasium. This annual dance on Washington’s +Birthday was the one real social function, outside Commencement, +allowed at Gordon, and its importance was greatly felt by the young +hosts.</p> + +<p>Priscilla, strangely shivery, tried to reply easily to Carver’s +remarks, as they went up the walk toward the gymnasium.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it lucky you didn’t catch those things? I was dead scared you +would when you wrote me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s—it is lucky.”</p> + +<p>“My! Your cheeks are red, Priscilla. Just the way they used to be +after swimming. Say, but you’re looking great!”</p> + +<p>“Am I?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t Bob Stuart a corker? He decorated the whole gym. Never saw +flags look any better, did you?”</p> + +<p>“No, it’s awfully pretty. I—I think I’ll sit down, Carver, till +dancing begins.”</p> + +<p>“Sure. Of course. I’ll run and get Bob. He has three with you. Excuse +me just a moment.”</p> + +<p>How Priscilla ever managed to dance the ten dances before +intermission, she never knew. Her cheeks grew redder, her eyes +brighter, her poor head spun as though never-ending wheels, eternally +wound up, were to whirl around forever. Sometimes the lights of the +gymnasium blurred, and something sang in her ears; but still she +smiled and moved her feet. At the end of each dance when her charge +was returned to her to await the arrival of her partner for the next, +Miss Wallace grew more and more anxious.</p> + +<p>“Priscilla dear, I’m sure you’re ill. What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Really, Miss Wallace, I’ve just a headache. Oh, don’t make me stop, +please!”</p> + +<p>But at intermission—that blessed time when one could rest and close +her eyes when nobody looked her way—at intermission while they sat in +Carver’s study and ate ice-cream and cake, Priscilla all at once gave +a little worn-out sigh, and fainted quite away. Poor Carver Standish +III was all consternation. Had he tired her out? Hadn’t there been +enough air in the room? Had he done anything he shouldn’t? He plied +Miss Wallace with anxious questionings while a guest, who by good +fortune happened to be a doctor, bent over Priscilla.</p> + +<p>But Priscilla, coming to herself just then, answered his questions.</p> + +<p>“No, you haven’t done a thing, Carver. It’s the German Measles. They +wouldn’t stay frozen in!”</p> + +<p>Then, to the greatly amused doctor, and to the greatly disturbed Miss +Wallace, and the greatly relieved Carver, the patient told in a weak +little voice of how they had tried two weeks ago to steam them out; +and how, when they had unexpectedly come that morning, they had, with +doubtful logic, striven to freeze them in. The doctor, though he +looked grave, laughed as though he never could stop; and it all ended +by his taking her and Miss Wallace home in his own machine, leaving +Jean to be chaperoned by her aunt, and a sympathetic but indignant +host, who thought they ought to let him go along.</p> + +<p>Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called +upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven +o’clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was +unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried +in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress—a figure, who cried in a +muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Virginia, ’twas no use. They came out all the same!”</p> + +<p>“So this is the other member of the new medical school,” announced the +gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. “Miss Virginia, I’m +honored to meet you!”</p> + +<p>The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace’s +room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady +returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be +much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour +later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen’s nurse, in +charge.</p> + +<p>But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had +been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Priscilla,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry! I thought ’twas just the +right thing to do.”</p> + +<p>“It was,” said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to +steaming had been prescribed. “It was, Virginia! Else I never could +have gone, and I wouldn’t have missed the one half I had for the +world. Only I’ve just thought of the awful result! I’ve probably given +them to Carver and all the others; and he’ll never invite me again! +Oh, why didn’t we think?”</p> + +<p>Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss +Wallace’s room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the +awful consequences to Colonel Standish’s grandson. But both she and +Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the +solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers +and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had +ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style='text-align:right;'>“Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19—.</p> + +<p>“Dear Priscilla:</p> + +<p>“I’ve got them, and so has Bob, and the four other +fellows you danced with. Don’t mind, because we’re +all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort, +let us out of the February exams and we’re some happy, +I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of +new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you +were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob +and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom +grandfather’s always cracking up to me.</p> + +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em;'>“Your speckled friend,</p> +<p class='mtb0' style='text-align:right;'>“Carver Standish.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<h2 id='ch14'>CHAPTER XIV—WYOMING HOSPITALITY.</h2> + +<p>The March days came hurrying on—gray and wind-blown and showery—but +rather merry for all that. All signs bore tokens of an early spring. A +flock of geese had already gone over, crows were flapping across St. +Helen’s snow-freed meadow, and robins and song-sparrows felt quite at +home. There was a misty, indistinct blur in the tops of the maple +trees, quite as though wet buds were swelling. Under the pine trees by +the Retreat, tiny, furry heads were peeping above the needles, +hepaticas just awakening. The waters of the brook, freed from ice, +tore boisterously through the meadow; and along its weedy edges the +water-rats, having left their tunnels in the banks, scurried on +secret, silent errands. Everywhere there was a strange fragrance of +freshly-washed things—soft brown earth, buds ready to burst, tender +shoots of plants. Yes, spring was unmistakably near, and the St. +Helen’s girls were ready for its coming.</p> + +<p>It was on a Saturday afternoon, the last in March, that Virginia +walked alone down the hill, through the pine woods, and across the +road to the pastures and woodlands opposite. She would have loved +company, but Priscilla, Lucile, and the Blackmore twins were playing +tennis finals in the gym, the Seniors were enjoying an afternoon tea, +Vivian was nowhere to be found, and, in the hope of persuading Dorothy +to go with her, she had again interrupted a secret conference between +Dorothy and Imogene, which conferences, to the watchful and troubled +Vigilantes, were becoming more and more frequent. The whole campus +seemed deserted, she thought, as she started from The Hermitage. +Perhaps, the opening of the “Forget-me-not” soda fountain—another sign +of spring—accounted for that.</p> + +<p>It was wet underfoot and gray overhead, but she did not mind. She was +bound for the pastures on the other side of the road leading to +Hillcrest, for there Miss Wallace had said she might even this early +find the mayflowers of which her mother had so often told her. As she +went along, jumping over the little spring brooks and pools in the +hollows, she thought of how spring was also coming to her own dear +country. Her father’s letter that morning had told her of budding +quaking-asps, of red catkins on the cottonwoods, of green foot-hills, +and of tiny yellow butter-cups and the little lavender pasque-flowers, +which came first of all the spring blossoms. In a few weeks more those +foot-hills would be gay with violets and spring beauties, anemones and +shooting-stars.</p> + +<p>She crawled between the gray, moss-covered bars of a fence which +separated the two pastures, and went toward some deeper woodland where +pines and firs grew. Here, Miss Wallace said, she would be likely to +find them. She looked sharply for brown, clustered leaves, which +always deceived one as to the wealth beneath them. At last on a little +mossy knoll, in a clearing among the pines, she found what she sought. +Kneeling eagerly on the damp ground, she searched with careful fingers +through the brown leaves. Green leaves revealed themselves. She +smelled the sweetest fragrance imaginable—the fragrance of flowers and +brown earth and fresh leaves all in one. She looked beneath the green +leaves; and there, with their pale pink faces almost buried in the +moss, she found the first mayflowers of the spring.</p> + +<p>Tenderly she raised the tendrils from the moss and grass, and examined +the tiny blossoms, in whose centers the hoar frost of winter seemed to +linger. These then were the flowers her New England mother had so +loved. Years before, perhaps in this very spot, her mother had come to +search for them. She almost hated to pluck them—they looked so cozy +lying there against the brown earth, but she wanted to send them to +her grandmother for her mother’s birthday. On other knolls and around +the gray pasture rocks, even at the foot of the fir trees, she found +more buds and a few opened blossoms. Her mother had long ago taught +her Whittier’s “Song to the Mayflowers,” and she said some of the +verses which she still remembered, as she sat beneath the trees, and +pulled away the dead leaves from the flowers’ trailing stems.</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“O sacred flowers of faith and hope,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>As sweetly now as then</div> +<div class='verse'>Ye bloom on many a birchen slope,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>In many a pine dark glen.</div> +</div> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“Behind the sea-wall’s rugged length,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Unchanged, your leaves unfold,</div> +<div class='verse'>Like love behind the manly strength</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Of the brave hearts of old.</div> +</div> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“So live the fathers in their sons,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Their sturdy faith be ours,</div> +<div class='verse'>And ours the love that overruns</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Its rocky strength with flowers.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>For an hour she roamed about the woods, finding evergreen to line her +box for the flowers, and some cheery partridge vine, whose green +leaves and red berries seemed quite untouched by the winter’s snow. It +was quiet in among the trees. She was glad after all that she had come +alone. At school one needed to be away from the girls once in a while +just to get acquainted with oneself.</p> + +<p>She climbed upon a great gray rock in the open pasture, and sat there +thinking of the months at St. Helen’s—remembering it all from the day +she had left her father. She was glad that she had come—glad that in +her father’s last letter he had said she was to return after a summer +at home. Priscilla was to return, too, a Senior—perhaps, she would be +monitor like Mary—and they were to room together as they had this +year. The Blackmore twins had petitioned for Mary and Anne’s room, +promising upon their sacred honor to be models of behavior; and Miss +King and Miss Wallace were considering their request. Virginia did +hope it would be granted, for she loved Jess and Jean clearly. Dorothy +would return. Would Imogene, too, she wondered? It might be mean to +hope that she would not, but she did hope that.</p> + +<p>From the rock where she sat a portion of the Hillcrest road was +visible. She was still thinking of Imogene and Dorothy, when a red and +a white sweater appeared on the distant road moving in the direction +of St. Helen’s. “Dorothy and Imogene on the way home from Hillcrest,” +she thought to herself. They were walking very close together, +apparently reading something, for Virginia could see something white +held between them. All at once they stopped, looked up and down the +road, and then disappeared among the bushes that edged the roadside. +Virginia was about to call them, thinking perhaps they had seen her, +and were coming through the pastures to where she was; but before she +had time even to call, they reappeared, and walked more hurriedly +toward the school. This time they were not close together, and the +paper had disappeared.</p> + +<p>The founder of the Vigilantes, perplexed by this strange behavior, did +not move until the two girls had turned into the driveway of St. +Helen’s. Then she jumped from the rock. She would go back across the +pastures to the gate which she had entered, then turn down the road +and investigate. She felt like a true Vigilante, indeed! Something was +in the air! She had felt it the moment she discovered Imogene and +Dorothy in secret conference. Perhaps, in the roadside bushes she +would find the solution. Had the girls been Mary and Anne, Virginia +would never have questioned. Moreover, she would have felt like a spy +in suspecting their behavior. But Imogene had long given good cause +for righteous suspicion; and were not the Vigilantes pledged to guard +against evil-doers?</p> + +<p>She hurried across the pastures. The sun, which had been out of sight +all day, now at time of setting shone out clear and bright and was +reflected in every little pool. She reached the gate, closed it behind +her, and was about to turn down the road, when she saw sitting on a +rock by St. Helen’s gate a weary, worn-looking woman with a child. +Something in the woman’s expression made Virginia forget the errand +upon which she was bent. She looked more than discouraged—almost +desperate. The little girl by her side sat upon a shabby satchel, and +regarded her mother with sad, questioning eyes. There was something +about them so lonely and pathetic that Virginia’s eyes filled with +quick tears. She crossed the road and went up to them.</p> + +<p>“Are—are you in any trouble?” she asked hesitatingly. “Can I help +you?”</p> + +<p>The woman in turn hesitated before she answered. But this young lady +was apparently not like the two who had passed her but a moment +before. She looked at her little girl, whose tired eyes were red from +crying. Then she answered Virginia.</p> + +<p>“I’m in a deal of trouble,” she said slowly. “I’ve been sick, and +we’ve spent our money; and because we were three months back on the +rent, we were turned out this morning. I’m looking for work—any kind +will do—and I came to Hillcrest because I was hoping to get it at the +school there. I’ve heard tell of how Miss King is very kind; but the +two young ladies, who passed here just a few minutes ago, said there +was no work there at all. I guess they didn’t have much time for the +likes of me. Do you go there, too?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Virginia. “But they don’t know whether there’s any work or +not at St. Helen’s. I don’t know either; but I know Miss King would +like to find some for you if she could. Anyway, I want you to come to +our cottage to supper with me. You are my guests—you and—what is the +little girl’s name?”</p> + +<p>“Mary. And I’m Mrs. Michael Murphy. But, miss, you don’t mean come to +supper with you? You see, we ain’t fit.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you are perfectly fit. Saturday night no one dresses up. Please +come, and then you can see Miss King after supper. You’d like to come, +wouldn’t you, Mary?”</p> + +<p>Poor little Mary cared not for etiquette. Besides, she was plainly +hungry. She pulled her mother’s dress.</p> + +<p>“Please go, mother. Please!”</p> + +<p>Virginia smiled at her eagerness. “Of course you’ll come, Mrs. Murphy. +My name’s Virginia—Virginia Hunter. Let me help with your satchel, +please. Come on, Mary.”</p> + +<p>With one hand she helped Mrs. Murphy with the satchel, while she gave +the other to Mary, and they started up the hill—Virginia never once +thinking that her new friends would not be as welcome guests as those +who were often bidden to The Hermitage, Mary, untroubled by +conventions and happy at the thought of supper, Mrs. Michael Murphy, +secretly troubled, but compelled to snatch at any hope of work.</p> + +<p>“You’re not from these parts, I take it from your talk,” Mrs. Murphy +remarked as they neared the campus.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m from Wyoming. It’s a long way from here.”</p> + +<p>“You’re sure—I’m afraid—the ladies at your cottage mightn’t like Mary +and me coming this way.”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t think that, Mrs. Murphy,” Virginia reassured her. “We’re +always allowed to invite guests to supper. It’s quite all right, +truly.”</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Murphy in her secret heart was not assured. She looked really +frightened as they neared The Hermitage; but Virginia, talking with +Mary, did not notice, nor did she heed the astonished and somewhat +amused looks of the girls whom they passed.</p> + +<p>The supper-bell was ringing just as they opened the door, and stepped +into the living-room. Mary and Anne were at the piano, and Virginia +beckoned to them, and introduced her new friends. The surprised Mary +and Anne managed to bow and smile; and were frantically searching for +topics of conversation, when the girls began to come down-stairs, just +as Miss Wallace, with Miss King, who was staying to supper, opened the +door of Miss Wallace’s room.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Michael Murphy was perhaps the most uncomfortable of them +all, for the others were mainly surprised. The girls stared, Imogene +and Dorothy giggled audibly, Miss King looked puzzled, Miss Wallace +sympathetic. Virginia could not understand the manifest surprise, +mingled with disapproval, on the faces around her. Could she have done +anything wrong? They certainly would not think so, if they knew.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” she said, “will you please introduce my friends to the girls, +while I speak a moment with Miss King and Miss Wallace?”</p> + +<p>Mary, who began to see through the situation, managed to introduce the +painfully embarrassed Mrs. Murphy and shy little Mary to girls who, +with the exception of Imogene, responded civilly enough. Cordiality +certainly was lacking, but that was largely due to surprise. +Meanwhile, Virginia had explained matters to Miss King and Miss +Wallace, who, when they heard the story, lost their momentary +astonishment in sympathy. Of course such a proceeding was slightly out +of the course of ordinary events at The Hermitage; but Virginia’s +thoughtfulness, though perhaps indiscreet, was not at the present to +be criticised. They came forward and shook hands heartily with the +guests, much to Virginia’s comfort. It must be all right after all, +she concluded.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Murphy laid off her hat and shawl, Virginia took Mary’s coat and +hood, and the family and guests passed to the supper table. +Conversation languished that evening. The girls talked among +themselves, but only infrequently. Even Miss Wallace and Miss King +apparently found it difficult to think of topics for general +conversation. But Virginia, true to her duties as hostess, chatted +with Mrs. Michael Murphy until the embarrassed, troubled little woman +partially regained her composure. As for little Mary, she was fully +occupied in devouring the first square meal she had had for days.</p> + +<p>But Virginia was not unconscious of the atmosphere. Something was +wrong. Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Murphy had been right when she said +the ladies of The Hermitage mightn’t like to have her and Mary coming +this way. She could not understand it. At home in Wyoming the stranger +was always made a friend, and the unfortunate a guest. Hospitality was +the unwritten law of the land.</p> + +<p>She was rather glad when supper was over. The girls immediately went +up-stairs, only Mary, Anne, and Priscilla lingering to say good-night +to her guests. Virginia stayed upon Miss King’s invitation, for she +and Miss Wallace were to talk with Mrs. Murphy concerning work at St. +Helen’s. Little Mary, tired out but satisfied, fell asleep, her head +in Virginia’s lap. To Virginia’s joy, and to the unspeakable gratitude +of Mrs. Michael Murphy, whom the world had used none too kindly, Miss +King decided that St. Helen’s needed just such a person to do +repairing and mending; and Mrs. Murphy, her face bright with +thankfulness, was installed that very evening in her new and +comfortable quarters.</p> + +<p>An hour later, Virginia, the supper table atmosphere almost forgotten +in her glad relief over Mrs. Murphy’s immediate future, ran up-stairs +and down the hall to her own room. The door opposite opened a little, +and some one said in a biting voice:</p> + +<p>“I suppose, Miss Hunter, we entertain Wyoming cow-boys before long?”</p> + +<p>In Virginia’s eyes gleamed a dangerous light, but she answered +quietly:</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid not, Miss Meredith. The Wyoming cow-boys whom I know are +accustomed to eat with ladies.”</p> + +<p>Still, her delight over Mrs. Murphy’s freedom from care could not +quite banish the feeling of puzzled sadness with which she wrote these +words in her “Thought Book”:</p> + +<p>“The world is a very strange place. God may be no respecter of +persons, but people are. It is a very sad thing to be obliged to +believe, but I am afraid it is true.”</p> + +<p>The next morning the two Vigilantes, obtaining permission to walk to +church a little earlier than the others, stopped by the roadside at +the spot where yesterday Virginia had noted suspicious behavior, and +thoroughly investigated. A rough path had apparently been recently +broken through the alders. At the end of the path by the fence stood a +big, white birch, and on the smooth side of the birch farthest from +the road were many pin-pricks. One pin remained in the tree, and it +still held a tiny scrap of white paper, apparently the corner of a +sheet, the rest of which had been hurriedly torn away. The Vigilantes, +thinking busily, went on to church. It is needless to say that they +found it difficult to listen to the morning’s sermon.</p> + +<h2 id='ch15'>CHAPTER XV—VESPER SERVICE</h2> + +<p>The Sunday following the Vigilantes’ mysterious discovery by the +roadside, and immediately preceding the Easter holidays, was Palm +Sunday. It dawned beautiful—warm and sunny as a late spring clay—and +as the hours followed one another, each seemed more lovely than the +last. Song sparrows sang from budding alder bushes, and robins flew +hither and thither among the elms and maples, seeking suitable notches +in which to begin their homes. As if by magic, purple and golden +crocuses lifted their tiny faces on the southern sides of the cottage +lawns; and the buds of the lilac trees, warmed and encouraged by +yesterday’s showers, burst into leaf before one’s very eyes.</p> + +<p>The world seemed especially joyous to the girls, as they roamed the +woods in search of wild flowers, or sought about the campus for fresh +evidences of spring. The long winter months had gone; Easter +home-going was but five days away; and when they returned after two +weeks at home, spring would have really come, bringing with it all the +joys and festivities and sadnesses of the Commencement season.</p> + +<p>At four o’clock, as the westward-moving sun gleamed through the pines, +and fell in wavering lights and shadows on the brown needles beneath, +they gathered for their vesper service, coming from all directions, +their hands filled with pussy-willows, hepaticas, and mayflowers, +their faces glowing with health and happiness, in their eyes the old +miracle of the spring. To Virginia, as to many of the others, this +Sunday afternoon hour was the dearest of the week. She loved the +gray-stone, vine-covered Retreat, and its little chapel within; she +loved the sound of its organ, and the voices of the girls singing; and +most of all, she loved the little talks which Miss King gave on Sunday +afternoons—dear, close, helpful talks of things which she had learned, +and by which she hoped to make life sweeter for her girls.</p> + +<p>To-day the chapel was especially lovely, for the altar rail was banked +with palms, Easter lilies stood upon the white-covered altar, and the +sun, shining through the high, narrow windows, flooded all with golden +light. Virginia sat between Dorothy and Priscilla, holding a hand of +each. It was so lovely to be there together! In her secret heart she +was glad that Imogene’s mother had sent for her to come home the day +before, for when Imogene was away Dorothy seemed to belong again to +them.</p> + +<p>Since St. Helen’s held no Easter service, as the girls were always at +home, Miss King spoke to-day of Easter—how it had always seemed to her +the real beginning of the New Year; how it signified the leaving off +of the old and the putting on of the new; how it meant the awakening +of new thoughts, and the renewed striving after better things.</p> + +<p>“So, if we could only understand,” she said in closing, while +the girls listened earnestly, “that Easter is far more than a +commemoration, that it is a condition of our hearts, then we should, +I think, reverence the day rightly. For as beautiful as is the story +of the risen Christ, we do not keep Easter sacred merely by the +remembrance of that story. The risen Christ is as nothing to us +unless in our own hearts the Christ spirit rises—the spirit of love +and service, of unselfishness and goodness. When that spirit awakens +within us, then comes our Easter day. It may be many days throughout +the year; it might be—if we could only rightly appreciate our +lives—it might be every day. For every day is a fresh beginning, an +Easter day, when we may decide to cast off the old and to put on the +new, the old habits of selfishness and jealousy, of insincerity and +thoughtlessness—all those petty, little things that mar our lives; and +to put on our new and whiter robes of unselfishness and simple +sincerity. If the thousands who next Sunday morning will sing of the +risen Christ, might all experience within themselves their own Easter +mornings, then this world of ours would have realized its +resurrection.</p> + +<p>“Let the hepaticas which you hold in your hands give you the only +Easter lesson worth the learning—the lesson which your pagan +forefathers in the forests of Germany taught their children centuries +ago on their own Easter festival. You know how each spring the +clusters beneath the pines are larger, if you are careful as you pick +the blossoms not to disturb the roots. The long months of fall and +winter are not months of sleep and rest for the hepaticas. Beneath the +snow in the winter silence they are at work, sending out their +rootlets through the brown earth, avoiding the rocks and sandy places, +but taking firm hold upon that which will nourish them best. Thus do +they grow year by year, at each Easter time showing themselves larger +and more beautiful than the spring before.</p> + +<p>“This is the Easter lesson which I wish you girls might all take to +yourselves. As in the winter silence of the earth, the hepaticas send +out their rootlets toward the best soil, so in the silence of your own +inner lives are you here and now also sending out rootlets, either +toward the soil which will give you a healthful, wholesome growth, or +toward the barren places where you must cease to grow. Avoid the rocks +of indolence and evil influence, the waste places of selfishness; but +reach far out for the good, wholesome soil of good books, of a love +and knowledge of the out-of-doors, of friends who make you better, of +study which will enrich your lives. And as the flowers find themselves +more firmly rooted year by year, so will you find yourselves growing +in strength and self-control, in sincerity and firmness of purpose. +Then, and only then, will you experience the real Easter—the awakening +to the realization in your hearts that you, through your own seeking, +have found that better part, which can never be taken away from you.”</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed, while the organ played softly, Virginia +touched with gentle fingers the tiny hepaticas in her lap. Was she +sending out rootlets toward the right soil, she wondered? In the years +to come would people seek her, as she sought the hepaticas in the +spring, because she had found that “better part”? “That is why we go +to Miss King and Miss Wallace,” she thought to herself, “because they +have found the best soil, and have grown sweeter every year.” And, +deep in her heart, she resolved to try harder than ever to avoid the +rocks and the sand, and to send her rootlets deep down into the soil +which Miss King had described.</p> + +<p>Then she heard Dorothy by her side ask if they might sing the hymn of +her choosing, and they rose to sing words which somehow held to-day a +new and deeper meaning:</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“Dear Lord and Father of mankind,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Forgive our feverish ways;</div> +<div class='verse'>Re-clothe us in our rightful mind,</div> +<div class='verse'>In purer lives Thy service find,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>In deeper reverence, praise.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Silently they all passed out of the little chapel, and turned +homeward. The sun, sinking lower, cast long shadows among the pines, +and gilded with a farewell glow the chapel windows. Virginia, +Priscilla, and Dorothy took the woodsy path that led to the campus. No +one cared to talk very much. When they reached The Hermitage Dorothy +went with them to their room; and as they filled bowls of water for +the tired little hepaticas, and arranged them thoughtfully, for they +some way seemed more like persons than ever before, she said all at +once—looking out of the window to hide her embarrassment:</p> + +<p>“I just thought I’d tell you that I know I haven’t been growing in +very good soil this year; but I’m going to put out new roots now, and +I’m not going to send them into sand either.”</p> + +<p>The two Vigilantes dropped the hepaticas and hugged Dorothy hard +without saying a word. Then, with their arms around one another’s +shoulders, they stood by the western window, and watched the sun set +behind the hills—happier than they had been for weeks.</p> + +<h2 id='ch16'>CHAPTER XVI—A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE</h2> + +<p>“You don’t mean you’re going to back out now, Vivian, when we’ve made +all arrangements, and you’ve promised to go?”</p> + +<p>“I—I didn’t say I was going to back out, Imogene. I just said I wished +I hadn’t promised. It doesn’t seem nearly so much fun as it did, and, +besides, I know I’ll get caught!”</p> + +<p>“Of course you will, if you lose your nerve like that. But if you do +as we’ve planned, there isn’t a chance in a thousand. No one will +wonder why you’re not at supper, because you’re absent so often; and +it will be easy enough to slip out while we’re eating. Then by the +time you’re driving off, we’ll all be at that Art lecture; and with +the lights off and only the stereopticon, no one will miss you. And by +the time we get home, you’ll be here in bed. Why, it’s as smooth as a +whistle, and you ought to be everlastingly grateful to Dot and me for +fixing it up for you. No other girl in St. Helen’s has ever gone out +driving with a man, and you’ll have the story to tell your children.”</p> + +<p>Poor Vivian looked for a moment as though she doubted her future +children’s pride in their mother’s achievement; but she had long ago +put her hand to the plow, and there seemed no turning back.</p> + +<p>“Of course I’m going now that it’s gone so far, and I’ve promised,” +she said desperately. “But I don’t believe Dorothy thinks it’s so much +as she did. She said to-day she sort of wished we hadn’t done it.”</p> + +<p>Imogene looked uncomfortable. Dorothy’s strange disloyalty during the +weeks since the Easter holidays had greatly disturbed her.</p> + +<p>“Dot needn’t act so righteous all of a sudden,” she said bitterly. +“I’d like to know who planned this whole thing if she didn’t. I’d +certainly never have thought of the birch tree post-office; and she’s +been mail-carrier more than half the time. It’s a late day to back out +now.”</p> + +<p>“She isn’t backing out, Imogene. She only said she wished we hadn’t +planned it in the first place; but since we had, of course we’d have +to see it through. I don’t think you and she need worry anyway. It’s I +that’s going to get the blame; and I shan’t tell on you even if I am +caught.”</p> + +<p>“Tell on us!” Imogene’s tone was more biting than ever. “Well, I +should hope you wouldn’t! Who’s superintended this thing, I’d like to +know? Who’s been bringing boxes of candy from him all the way up here +to you, and running the risk of being caught? Who’s been posting your +notes for you all winter long?”</p> + +<p>After listening to this exoneration, Vivian was on the point of tears, +and Imogene, feeling that her room-mate’s courage must be kept up at +any cost, changed her tone.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow you’ll be laughing up your sleeve, and saying what a +splendid time you had. Besides, think what fun it’s been all along. +We’ve fooled every one in school. No one has suspected a thing! And +think of all the candy you’ve had. Of course, he’ll have another box +to-night.”</p> + +<p>The unhappy Vivian dried her tears, but her face did not brighten. In +fact, she did not look at all like a person who was about to enjoy a +long-anticipated evening drive.</p> + +<p>“Imogene,” she said, and there was an unusual tone of self-assertion +in her voice, which surprised her room-mate, “Imogene, I want you to +know that a hundred boxes of candy don’t make one feel right inside.”</p> + +<p>While this conversation was taking place behind a closed door in The +Hermitage, there was another person in the woods by the Retreat, who +likewise did not feel right inside. The other person was Dorothy. She +had declined Virginia’s and Priscilla’s invitation to go after +violets, much as she would have liked to accept, in the hope of easing +her conscience; curtly refused to walk with Imogene; and studiously +sought to evade the accusing eyes of Vivian. Seizing her opportunity, +she had run away from them all, and now sat alone under the pines by +the Retreat, trying to think of a way out of her difficulty—a way that +would save Vivian from the consequences of an act for which she was +really not to blame.</p> + +<p>Ever since September Dorothy had sent her rootlets into the waste +places of indolence and poor companionship; and now that she had truly +resolved to change it seemed to her discouraged heart almost too late. +She and Imogene were to blame for the situation which confronted +her—not Vivian. Ever since the sallow, white-coated Leslie had entered +the employ of the “Forget-me-not,” she and Imogene had directed +susceptible Vivian’s attention toward his evident admiration. It was +they who had all through the winter and early spring transported his +gifts to Vivian; they, who, weary of the monotony which through +idleness they made themselves, had seized upon Dorothy’s idea of a +secret post-office; and finally, they who had proposed through the +means of the post-office that the enamored Leslie take Vivian for an +evening drive. Now the crisis was at hand, and what could she do to +avert it?</p> + +<p>She sat in a wretched little heap beneath the pines, and thoroughly +despised Dorothy Richards. She had made a failure of the whole year—in +grades, in conduct, in character. The first was bad enough, for she +knew that Mary was right. It was she who was helping The Hermitage +lose the cup—the scholarship cup which it had determined to win from +Hathaway. The second was worse, for she had forfeited Miss Wallace’s +confidence, and had aroused the righteous suspicion of the girls. But +the last was worst of all! She had allowed herself to be weakly +influenced by Imogene, had been disloyal to Priscilla and Virginia, +had been very nearly dishonest, if not quite so, and had pitiably lost +her own self-respect. And now, even though she was tired of it all, +even though she desired deep in her heart to turn her rootlets into +better soil, perhaps it was too late. Perhaps, after all, she was not +strong enough.</p> + +<p>A brown thrasher, who sat on her newly-made nest in a near-by thicket +and watched the girl beneath the pines, wondered perhaps at the +strange ways of mortals. For even though the sun was bright and the +whole world filled with joy, this girl all at once burst into tears, +and cried between her sobs:</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, what shall I do? I’ll never be any different—never! And +Priscilla and Virginia will never like me again when they know about +tonight!”</p> + +<p>But remorse, though quite appropriate under the circumstances, and +doubtless likely to bear fruit in the future, was useless just at +present. Dorothy soon realized that, and sat up again, much to the +relief of the brown thrasher, who felt safer now that this strange +person sobbed no more. A situation confronted her and must be met. Was +there any way to save Vivian, and at the same time not implicate +Imogene? Were Dorothy alone to blame, she would go to Miss Wallace and +tell the whole story; but she knew that Miss Wallace had previously +suspected Imogene with good cause, and she did not wish to run the +risk of getting Imogene into further trouble, even though she might +richly deserve it. Of course, Vivian might be easily persuaded to stay +at home and not meet her knight-errant of the soda-fountain, who was +to find her at seven o’clock by the birch tree; but that meant anger +and certain revenge on the part of Imogene, besides the probability of +the disappointed Leslie communicating his disappointment in such a way +as would eventually reach the ears of some member of St. Helen’s +faculty.</p> + +<p>The five-thirty warning bell found the question unsolved, and a sadly +troubled Dorothy walked slowly homeward. She was purposely late to +supper, for she did not wish to encounter Imogene or Vivian. As she +left the wood-path and came out upon the campus, she saw hurrying down +the hill a short, plump figure in a red sweater. Vivian, on the way to +meet her knight!</p> + +<p>At supper Dorothy tried in vain to eat the food upon her plate. +Impossible schemes, each vetoed as soon as concocted, were born but to +die. It was only when Priscilla and Virginia, excused early for +tennis, left the table, that an inspiration seized her. Almost without +waiting for Miss Wallace’s nod of permission, she ran from the +dining-room, flew up the stairs, and burst into Priscilla’s and +Virginia’s room, where they, surprised, paused in the act of lacing +their tennis shoes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Virginia,” she cried, “go quick! Vivian will listen to you, and +she won’t to me, because I’ve been so mean. Oh, lace your shoes +quickly! She is down by the birch tree, just beyond the gates on the +road to Hillcrest, waiting for—for that silly Leslie, who’s coming to +take her to drive. And it’s not her fault, because we—I mean I—put her +up to do it. And you can hate and despise and detest me, if you want +to, only hurry, and make him go away!”</p> + +<p>The founder of the Vigilantes needed no further explanation. So this +was the meaning of her discovery a month ago! She sprang to her feet, +raced through the hall, down the stairs, and across the campus toward +the road, while the contrite Dorothy remained to confess the whole +miserable story to Priscilla. It was Friday evening and there was no +study hour after supper, so that Virginia could leave The Hermitage +without exciting surprise. Moreover, the girls in the cottages were +all at supper, and there was no one to note her hurried flight down +the hill. Dorothy had not said at what hour Vivian’s cavalier would +arrive, and there was no time to be lost. Even then they might be +driving away. Almost out of breath she raced down the hill, through +the pine woods, out the stone gates, and into the main road. A quarter +of a mile away, coming from the direction of Hillcrest, she saw a +runabout, in which sat a solitary figure, who seeing her at that +distance waved his hand as a signal.</p> + +<p>“It’s that silly thing!” breathed Virginia to herself. “He thinks I’m +Vivian. Oh, I’m glad I’m not too late!”</p> + +<p>She dashed down the road and into the rude path through the alders to +the birch tree. There, at its base, hidden by the alders from the view +of those who passed, crouched poor, trembling Vivian. She had half +risen, as Virginia crashed through the bushes, thinking that her +cavalier was approaching; but at the sight of the panting Virginia, +she shrank back against the tree.</p> + +<p>“Why—why, Virginia,” she stammered. “Why—why, what do you want?”</p> + +<p>Virginia was almost too breathless to answer.</p> + +<p>“I’ve—come—to meet—your friend, Vivian,” she managed to gasp. “He’s +coming now. He’ll be here in a moment.”</p> + +<p>“I—I think I’m scared,” gasped Vivian in her turn, shrinking farther +back against the tree. “Aren’t you, Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said her deliverer, gaining breath at every moment, “no, Vivian, +I certainly am not scared. I feel as brave as Theseus, though Leslie +isn’t much of a Minotaur, I must say!”</p> + +<p>The sound of a horse’s feet-came nearer and nearer, then stopped. A +carriage creaked as some one jumped from it; twigs snapped as some one +came crashing through them. Vivian hugged the old tree for support, +and turned her face toward the pasture. Virginia braced herself for +the attack, her back against the tree, her arms folded Napoleon-wise, +her head high, her eyes flashing. As the bushes parted and the +soda-fountain clerk emerged and stepped into the trysting-place, a +more surprised youth could not have been found in the State of +Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>Arrayed in a new and gallantly worn linen duster, his hat on the side +of his head, a box of candy under one arm, he stood as though rooted +to the spot, an amazed and sickly smile playing over his more sickly +countenance. What had happened? Was he to escort two ladies instead of +one? His eye-glasses, attached by a gold chain to his ear, trembled as +his pale gaze, expressionless save for surprise, tried to encompass +the figure who still embraced the tree. But all in vain, for ever he +encountered a pair of flashing gray eyes, which, steady and +disdainful, never once left his own.</p> + +<p>“You may go now,” said the owner of the eyes, after what seemed long +minutes to the faithful Leslie, “and don’t you ever come here again! +This isn’t a post-office any longer. You’re too unspeakably silly for +any use, and Vivian thinks so just the same as the rest of us. You +belong to a soda-fountain, for you’re just as sickish as vanilla +ice-cream, and as senseless as soda-water. Now go!”</p> + +<p>The subdued Leslie needed no second bidding. He went. They heard his +hurrying feet crash through the roadside thicket, the creaking of his +carriage as with one bound he leaped into it, and the crack of the +whip, as he warned his steed to do no tarrying in that locality. Then +Virginia turned her attention to Vivian who by this time was in an +hysterical little heap at the foot of the big old tree.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, Vivian,” she said, with her arms around Vivian’s +shaking shoulders. “He’s gone and he won’t come back. He’ll be in New +York by midnight, if he keeps on going. Please don’t cry any more.”</p> + +<p>But Vivian could not stop just then. To be sure, the result of her +foolishness had been checked before it was too late; but nothing could +blot out the foolishness itself; and it was that which was breaking +her heart.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m not crying about him!” she said between her sobs. “I despise +him! I’m crying because I’ve been so silly, and nobody’ll ever forget +it. I don’t care what Dorothy and Imogene say. It’s what’s inside of +me that hurts! And everybody’ll know how silly I’ve been! Oh, why +can’t I be different than I am?”</p> + +<p>“Everybody won’t know, Vivian. Oh, please don’t cry so! Nobody’ll know +except Priscilla and me, and we’ll think all the more of you. And +Dorothy feels worse than you, because she’s been even more to blame. +’Twas she that told me, and made me come to help you.”</p> + +<p>Vivian stopped crying from sheer surprise. So Dorothy felt bad inside +too, and had tried to help her. That was comforting.</p> + +<p>“And as for Imogene,” Virginia continued, “if she once dares to tease +you for trying not to be foolish any more,—if she dares,—well. I +shouldn’t want to say what might happen!”</p> + +<p>The distant sound of a bell rang through the still air.</p> + +<p>“Now, Vivian, there’s the lecture bell, and if we don’t go, somebody +will suspect. You’ll feel better inside, if you just make up your mind +that you’re not going to be silly any longer. I’m your true friend, +and so is Priscilla; and, if you’ll let us, we’ll try to help you +to—to find better soil for your roots, just the way we’re trying to +do.”</p> + +<p>So the world looked a little brighter to Vivian as she left the hated +post-office and walked back toward St. Helen’s with her “true +friend’s” arm around her. Perhaps, after all, if she tried hard, she +might, some day, be a little different. As they turned into St. +Helen’s gateway, they met Dorothy and the Senior monitor, walking arm +in arm. Dorothy’s eyes were red from crying, and the face of the +Senior monitor was stern, though it grew kind again as she came up to +Vivian and Virginia.</p> + +<p>“It’s going to be all right, Vivian,” she said, “and we’re every one +your friends. Don’t you feel bad any more.”</p> + +<p>“And I’m going to begin all over again and be your friend, Vivian,” +said Dorothy, tears very near the surface again, “if you’ll forgive +me, and let me try. But if you won’t, I’ll never blame you, because +I’ve been so frightfully miserable to you!”</p> + +<p>But Vivian, feeling undeservedly rich, put her arm close around +Dorothy, while Mary went to Virginia’s side, and the four of them +climbed the hill toward St. Helen’s together. There were yet fifteen +minutes before the lecture, and those fifteen minutes were spent, with +the addition of Priscilla, in Imogene Meredith’s room. The Senior +monitor spoke more plainly than they had ever heard her speak before +during that secret and never-to-be-forgotten session, and Imogene, for +at least once in her life, felt with the fabulous barnyard fowls in +the old tale, quite as though her “sky were falling.” A week later, to +the surprise of all St. Helen’s, except perhaps the faculty, Mrs. +Meredith arrived. She had decided to take Imogene to the mountains, +she said, for the remainder of the year. Her health seemed failing, +and she feared a nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>As for the chivalrous Leslie, the “Forget-me-not” knew him no more; +for on the very day after his sudden departure from the +trysting-place, when the girls went to Hillcrest to indulge in the +inevitable Saturday afternoon sundae, they were served by a +gray-haired stranger, who wore Leslie’s coat with ease, but who looked +unromantic in the extreme.</p> + +<h2 id='ch17'>CHAPTER XVII—THE VIGILANTES INITIATE</h2> + +<p>“Ad, ante, con, de, in, inter,—” recited Virginia. “Priscilla, do you +always remember the difference between gerunds and gerundives now +you’re a Junior?”</p> + +<p>“Always remember! Why, I <i>never</i> do! I think it’s a point of ignorance +to be proud of. It’s depressing to remember so many unvital things. +That’s one.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes’ silence, punctuated by Priscilla’s sighs over Cicero, and +Virginia’s whispered prepositions.</p> + +<p>“The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been +very inhuman.”</p> + +<p>“She was! ’Twas Greenie! We’re studying now in blessed memory of her!”</p> + +<p>“I wonder where she is.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the +Acropolis! I’m glad it’s the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I +can’t study another second, and it isn’t three o’clock for fifteen +minutes. You haven’t shown me how you’ve changed the Constitution yet, +and we’re going to start at three. I don’t see but that we both have +to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We’ve just about +time to read it over.”</p> + +<p>Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the +afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes +until she found what she sought—a somewhat rumpled piece of paper.</p> + +<p>“This is the original, you know,” she said. “I’m keeping it for my +Memory Book, and I’ll make a copy for yours. I made the new one +different as we planned. I took out the ‘evil influence’ part, because +there isn’t any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those +we were especially guarding. I don’t think Dorothy and Vivian had best +know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to +know we’d been watching them especially.”</p> + +<p>“No, we won’t say anything about that part. They’re going to be one of +us now, and trying for the same thing. We’ll keep the real reason for +the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. +I’ll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have +come out the way they have. Isn’t it splendid about Dorothy’s grades? +Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets <i>A’s</i> in everything all the +quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps +up as well, we’ll really have a chance of winning the cup from +Hathaway.”</p> + +<p>“Vivian’s doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class +to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She’s so +quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. +Priscilla, do you really suppose that—?” Virginia’s voice was +mysteriously lowered.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” answered Priscilla in a whisper. “Of course, no one will +ever know; but I’m sure Imogene didn’t know her mother was coming, and +we all know Imogene wasn’t sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or +maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen’s +always does things quietly; but I’ll always think that Imogene +was—expelled!”</p> + +<p>“Maybe Vivian knows, and that’s why she feels so bad. And, besides, +it’s lonesome rooming all alone. I’ll read you the new Constitution, +and then we’ll go and get them both. Where shall we go?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. +No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our +meeting-place. Read on. It’s five minutes to three now.”</p> + +<p>Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby +announce that we are the sole members of the Order of +Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of +January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia +Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of +the West—those brave men, who in the early days of our +Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor +to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. +Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all +times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one +another in every way we can to live up to the principles +of our order. As stated above, we are the only real +Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to +Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance.”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“Now, we’ll sign our names, Priscilla, and I’ll take my fountain pen +so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It’s after three now.”</p> + +<p>They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep +the mysterious appointment with them at three o’clock, and together +they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking.</p> + +<p>“That’s queer. She can’t be asleep. She said she’d be ready.”</p> + +<p>They knocked again—louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then +they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked.</p> + +<p>“Why, where can she be? You don’t suppose she’s sick or something, do +you?” asked Priscilla. “She wouldn’t lock the door if she went out. +Let’s go around the porch and look in the windows.”</p> + +<p>They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the +porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian’s room, they found +the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a +good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, +and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another +in amazement. Vivian’s trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the +middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall +decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the +dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its +afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, “For any +one who wants it.”</p> + +<p>“Why, why, she’s gone!” gasped Virginia, the first to speak. “Oh, we +must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think—quick!”</p> + +<p>But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an +utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one +another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla’s +eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an +envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk.</p> + +<p>“It’s for you, Virginia,” she cried, passing the envelope to her +room-mate. “Oh, read it, quick!”</p> + +<p>Virginia lost no time in tearing open the envelope and unfolding the +paper within.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>‘Dear Virginia,’ she read in a trembling voice to those who +listened, ‘I know you’ll all think I’m sillier than ever, but +I can’t stand being miserable any longer. You’ve all been good +to me, especially you, and I’ll never, <i>never</i>, <i>never</i> forget +it, so long as I live! You’re the best friend I ever had. (A +sob from Dorothy.) But it is very hard to hate yourself every +minute; and, besides, I can’t forget what Imogene said to me +when she went away. So I’m going home, and maybe next year +when people have forgotten my silliness, Miss King will let me +come back. Perhaps, I’ll be different then, but I can’t +promise; and maybe, after all, she won’t let me come back, +when she knows I’ve run away.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right;'>“Vivian.</p> + +<p>“‘P. S. Please tell Miss Wallace I’m sorry I deceived her +by telling her I had a headache, and asking if I could +study in the woods. I did have a headache; and there wasn’t +any other way I could get the train without somebody finding +out.’—V. E. W.’”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Still they stood in poor, discouraged Vivian’s deserted room, and +looked at one another. Virginia’s face was sad from sympathy, +Priscilla looked puzzled and thoughtful, Dorothy was crying.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I ought to have gone away along with +Imogene! I haven’t been a friend to Vivian, and now I’ll never have a +chance!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you will, too,” cried Priscilla, coming out of her reverie, +“because she can’t take the train after all. There isn’t any three +o’clock. It’s been taken off. Miss Wallace told me so yesterday, when +she was thinking of going away for over Sunday. The next one doesn’t +go till five, and if Vivian’s anywhere around, we’ll find her and +bring her back. Let’s not say a word to any one, but just hunt till we +find her. The door’s locked and we can draw the curtains, and no one +will ever know.”</p> + +<p>Without wasting any precious moments they hurried out the way they had +entered, drawing the curtains before closing the windows and screens, +ran down-stairs and across the campus to the road, running the +gauntlet of all who called to them by maintaining a discreet and +somewhat exclusive silence. At the top of the hill, Priscilla reviewed +her forces.</p> + +<p>“Let’s each take a different direction. She’s around the woods +somewhere, because she wouldn’t dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of +meeting the girls, and there aren’t any woods the other side of the +village. I’ll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the +Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go +through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, +though she’s not likely to be there. And let’s all remember that if +any girl tries to join us, we’re to treat her abominably, so she’ll +know she isn’t wanted. It’s mean, but there’s no other way to do, +because Vivian’ll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. +Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick +succession; and if by any chance we don’t any of us find her, we’re +all to meet at the station for the five o’clock. But I know we’ll be +successful.”</p> + +<p>They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried +through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever +found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had +passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of +the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees +hid her quite from sight.</p> + +<p>When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no +train before five o’clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She +could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of +the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and +to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from +there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to +retrace her steps toward St. Helen’s, and hide in the woods until time +for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of +meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was +fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would +be through with study hour and out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, +still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless +be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as +she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be +surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity +Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at +her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It +would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them +understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. +Helen’s with the remembrance of Imogene’s words in her ears.</p> + +<p>Out of breath, she sat down by the roadside to rest for a few minutes. +No, she could never forget Imogene’s words! She saw her dressed ready +to go, remembered how she had risen to kiss her, and how, instead of +kissing her, Imogene had said, “Of course, you realize, Vivian, if you +hadn’t been such a little fool, and Dorothy such a coward, I wouldn’t +be going away like this!”</p> + +<p>So they had really sent Imogene away—<i>expelled</i> her! And Imogene had +said that she was to blame, had gone without kissing her, had never +written her in all that long week! No, it was all too much to be +borne! Besides, it did not matter how good the girls had been to her +since the evening when Virginia had rescued her from the carrying out +of her foolish plan, she felt sure that in their hearts they despised +her for having been so weak and so easily influenced. And now she +could never show them that she meant to be different! Even Virginia +and Priscilla whom she so dearly loved would never know! But she saw +no other way.</p> + +<p>Rising, she hurried on. The school clock struck three. She dashed +through the gates and into the woods by the Retreat. In a few minutes +the girls would be passing along the road, and she was in danger of +being seen. Looking around for a hiding-place, she espied the big rock +back of the Retreat, the very rock which the Vigilantes had chosen for +their initiation ceremonies. A great pine which grew close by overhung +it with wide-spreading, feathery branches. Vivian hastily climbed upon +the rock, and, crawling in among the pine branches, was quite +concealed from the sight of all except the most careful observer.</p> + +<p>It was but a few moments before she heard voices—on the meadow, in the +road, even in the very woods about her. Study hour was over, and the +girls were free. Well, if by any chance they drew near her place of +concealment, she could take her Caesar from her pocket and begin to +study. That would tend to dispel suspicion. How jolly and merry they +sounded! She could hear Bess Shepard’s laugh, and some lusty shouts, +which, of course, came from the Blackmore twins. She had had lovely +times at St. Helen’s. Of course even now, she might—but no, it was too +late! Without doubt, by now some one had discovered her room, and +everybody would know!</p> + +<p>A loud crackling of twigs sounded to the right. Some one was coming in +her direction—yes, some one in a red sweater, for she could +distinguish that color through the thicket. She crouched lower under +the pine branches. Then, seeing that it was of no use to hide, for the +sweater was unmistakably coming through the bushes, she sat up-right +with a beating heart and drew Caesar from her pocket—just as Dorothy +broke through the last blackberry bush and saw her on the rock. And +though she tried her utmost to gaze at Caesar, she just couldn’t help +seeing the joy and gladness that swept over Dorothy’s anxious face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Vivian!” she cried. “Oh, Vivian! I’ve found you, and I’m so glad! +And you’re going to forgive me, and give me another chance to be your +friend, aren’t you? Oh, say you’re not going away!”</p> + +<p>In another moment Dorothy was on the rock beside her, and poor Caesar +had fallen into a rose-bush, where he lay forgotten. The five o’clock +train was forgotten, too; for as Vivian sat there with Dorothy’s arms +around her, she knew she wouldn’t do anything else in the world but go +back and begin all over again.</p> + +<p>“My!” said Dorothy, after they had talked everything over for the +third time at least. “My! I forgot to give the signal, and Priscilla +and Virginia are very likely half-dead from fright by now!”</p> + +<p>She gave the three short calls agreed upon, which were immediately +answered; and in less than five minutes the two Vigilantes, very much +alive and very, very happy, were also sitting on the very rock chosen +but two hours before. Then, after all the crooked things had been made +straight, after the world seemed beautiful again, and friendship +sweeter than before—then, with the ceremony befitting its importance, +the Vigilante Order was explained in full to the chosen initiates, and +its purpose made plain. With serious faces they signed their names,</p> + +<p class='center mtb0'>Vivian Evelyn Winters</p> +<p class='center mtb0'>Dorothy Richards</p> + +<p>below the signatures of the charter members.</p> + +<p>“Everything’s over now,” said the real originator of the order with a +happy little sigh, as she folded the Constitution and placed it in her +pocket. “Everything’s over, and in another way, everything nicest is +just beginning. There’s certainly strength in numbers, and we’ll all +help one another to be real Vigilantes.”</p> + +<p>“We ought to have a watchword,” proposed Priscilla. “I was thinking of +one when I heard Dorothy call. Do you think ‘Ever Vigilant’ is any +good?”</p> + +<p>They all thought it just the thing.</p> + +<p>“And I’ve been, wondering just this minute,” said Dorothy, “about +something else; but I’m a new member, and if you don’t like my plan, I +hope you’ll say so. I was thinking about having an emblem. Most orders +do, you know. Don’t you think it-would be rather nice to have the +hepatica, and have it stand for what Miss King said—sending our +rootlets into good soil? You see, I thought of it because—well, +because I’ve felt so ashamed of—of the way my rootlets have been +growing, and lately I’ve—I’ve been trying—” She hesitated, +embarrassed.</p> + +<p>Virginia had listened, her eyes growing brighter every moment.</p> + +<p>“I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea, Dorothy,” she said, while +Priscilla and Vivian nodded their approval. “And I’ve a secret just +born—a lovely, lovely one—and it’s going to happen before very long! +It just came with your thought of the hepatica!”</p> + +<p>The others were properly mystified, but the owner of the secret would +divulge nothing; and half an hour later, Caesar, having been rescued +from the rose-bush, the four Vigilantes went home to help Vivian +unpack.</p> + +<h2 id='ch18'>CHAPTER XVIII—THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE</h2> + +<p>“Lucile, are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“Virginia, if you ask me that again, I’ll believe you think I fib. Of +course I’m sure!”</p> + +<p>“Did you see him more than once, Lucile?”</p> + +<p>“Priscilla, I’ve told you a dozen times that I saw him one whole +afternoon long at Versailles. Isn’t that long enough to remember him, +I’d like to know?”</p> + +<p>“And Miss Wallace said when she introduced him—just what did she say, +anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“Vivian Winters, you make me sick! You really do! She said—and this is +the twentieth time I’ve told you—she said, ‘Lucile, I want you to meet +my dear friend, Mr. Taylor.’”</p> + +<p>“And what did he say?”</p> + +<p>“Will you please listen this time, Dorothy, for it’s positively the +last time I shall tell you. He said, ‘Any friend of Miss Wallace’s is +my friend, too.’ And he gazed at her with his very soul. You forgot he +had eyes at all!”</p> + +<p>The exasperated Lucile leaned back among her pillows, and munched the +candy with which she had generously supplied herself.</p> + +<p>“You really all do make me tired,” she said between her bites. “I’ve +told you over and over again that any one could see that he loved her +from the way he gazed at her; that the picture she’s had all the year +up to six weeks ago on her dresser was his; and that I know her heart +is broken. Now, what more can I say?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that we don’t believe you, Lucile,” Virginia hastened to +explain. “It’s just—well, you see you do have a very romantic +tendency, and—”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I do. It’s my temperament. I’ve heard father say so a +dozen times. Besides, I’ve lived in Paris, and the very stones of +Paris breathe romance!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I really think Lucile is right, sad as it seems. Miss Wallace +hasn’t been herself since Easter; and it was just then that the +picture disappeared from her dresser. Of course Lucile couldn’t have +been with him a whole afternoon and not know his face; and, naturally, +she would know how he treated her.” This announcement from Priscilla +was not without effect.</p> + +<p>“Of course I would,” reiterated the encouraged Lucile. “Didn’t I see +him gaze at her, and call her ‘Margaret,’ and her, when she called him +‘Bob’?”</p> + +<p>“Did you see him do anything but gaze?” asked Dorothy, still a little +incredulous. “He seems to have gazed all the time.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, right at Versailles, he wouldn’t have taken her hand, +or anything like that. A gaze can speak volumes, I’ll have you to +know. But when we sailed from Havre, and he stayed to study at the +Sorbonne, he put his arms around her and kissed her. It was +thrilling!”</p> + +<p>This new piece of information was indisputable proof, which, placed by +the side of the strange disappearance of the said Mr. Taylor’s +picture, and the strange and unwonted sadness of Miss Wallace, formed +a bulk of evidence, to disbelieve which was folly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m afraid it’s true,” said Virginia, echoing the misgivings of +her room-mate. “She looks so quiet and sad, it just breaks my heart. I +actually know she’d been crying the other day when I saw her coming +out of the Retreat. Probably she went there for comfort. Poor thing! +How could he have been so cruel?”</p> + +<p>“Why, maybe it wasn’t he. Maybe he’s suffering, and pacing the streets +of Paris this moment, preferring death to life.” Lucile’s imagination, +so fruitless in the channels of academic thought, was certainly +prolific in the flowery paths of Romance. “Perhaps Miss Wallace felt +the call to service, broke her engagement, and has decided to give her +very life to help others.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think Miss Wallace would do that,” Virginia said +thoughtfully. “Not that it isn’t a wonderful thing to do; but I feel +some way as though she’d rather be a mother. One evening last +Thanksgiving I was in her room, and we were talking about the things +girls could do in the world. I asked her what she thought was the +noblest thing; and she said in the sweetest voice, ‘A real mother, +Virginia.’”</p> + +<p>“And she is just a born mother,” added Priscilla. “Mother said so at +Thanksgiving. Oh, dear! Why did it have to happen?”</p> + +<p>No one pretended to know. Lucile was inclined to attribute it to Fate; +while Dorothy advanced the thought that it might be a trial sent to +prove Miss Wallace’s strength.</p> + +<p>“And it’s wonderful how strong she is,” she said. “She’s usually so +jolly at table; and last night she was the very life of the party. One +would never have known.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and she probably went home to a sleepless night,” suggested +Lucile, “and tossed about till morning.”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me she’s been happier lately.”</p> + +<p>“She’s probably learning to bear it better—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“She’s never worn an engagement ring, has she?” asked the practical +Vivian.</p> + +<p>“No, but of course she wouldn’t wear it here. It would excite too much +comment,” Priscilla explained.</p> + +<p>“Without doubt she had one, and wore it around her neck, before it +happened,” Lucile again suggested.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if we could only show her in some way that we’re sorry for her! +That would, perhaps, help a little,” said Virginia. “Do you suppose +she’d feel we were interfering if we sent her some flowers? We needn’t +say a thing, but just write ‘With sympathy’ or ‘With love’ on a card, +and she’d understand. Do you think she’d like it, Priscilla?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, I think she would. And ’twould relieve our minds. We’d know +we’d done all we could. I suppose time will make it easier for her to +bear.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding, and they’ll come together again, +when they see they can’t live without each other,” said Vivian +hopefully.</p> + +<p>“Maybe, but I feel that it’s the end! And oh, if you girls could only +have seen them together and known that they were made for each other! +Fate is cruel!” wailed Lucile tragically.</p> + +<p>“Well, are we going to send the flowers?” asked Virginia. She was +aching for Miss Wallace, but Lucile’s romantic ravings were a little +tiring. “If we do, let’s not say a word to any one. Miss Wallace, +being in The Hermitage, belongs to us more anyway; and I think we +ought to love her enough to guard her secret. I know she wouldn’t wish +it known. Of course, as things have happened, we can’t help knowing, +but we can help talking about it to others. You haven’t told any one +else, have you, Lucile?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. Don’t you suppose I know better than all of you that +life would be simply impossible to her if she thought the world knew. +Remember, <i>I’ve</i> seen them together!”</p> + +<p>“What kind of flowers do you think we’d better send?”</p> + +<p>“Pink carnations.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, carnations are too common!”</p> + +<p>“Violets then.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, spare her that! He gave her violets that afternoon at +Versailles!”</p> + +<p>“Roses, why not?”</p> + +<p>“Anything but red roses. They mean undying love, and hers is dead.”</p> + +<p>“Why not send her daffodils?” proposed Virginia. “They’re so cheery +and hopeful, and look like spring.”</p> + +<p>Every one seemed agreed that, under the circumstances, Virginia’s +choice was the most appropriate. It was thereupon decided that +daffodils be sent to Miss Wallace; but that, to save her possible +embarrassment, the names of the donors be kept secret. Dorothy and +Vivian were delegated to go to Hillcrest and make the purchase, while +the others tried to enliven their sympathetic hearts by tennis.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, during this session of sympathy in her behalf, Miss Wallace +sat in her school-room, correcting an avalanche of themes, which +seemed to have no end. “Dear me!” she sighed to herself, “no girl in +this whole school will be so glad of vacation as I. I’ve never taught +through such a year.”</p> + +<p>It certainly had been a hard and trying year. In the fall Miss Green’s +tactlessness had required an extra amount of discretion on the part of +Miss Wallace; in the winter the German Measles had broken into the +regularity necessary for good work; and all through the year she had +been required to watch, which occupation she found harder than any +other—watch a girl, to whom she had never been able to come close, and +whom she had failed to influence toward better things. She could not +really blame herself for her failure in helping Imogene, but she felt +sorry, because, knowing Imogene, she feared that life would never hold +what it might for her. Altogether, it had been a hard year; and she +would not have been human had she not at times looked tired, +thoughtful, and even sad.</p> + +<p>“You need a rest, my dear,” said the old Hillcrest doctor, meeting her +one day in the village. “You’re quite tired out, working for those +nice girls up there.” But that pile of themes did not look like +immediate rest; and, sharpening her red pencil, she went to work +again.</p> + +<p>She left the school-room just as the warning-bell was ringing and +crossed the campus to The Hermitage, longing for letters. On her desk +she found a package and a telegram, which, when she had read it, made +her tired face glow with happiness. “Dear Bob!” she said to herself. +“He deserves it all. I’m so glad!”</p> + +<p>“His picture has come back, too,” she added, untying the package, +“just in time for the good news. You dear old fellow! You deserve a +silver frame, and the nicest girl in the world.”</p> + +<p>There came a knock at her door just then, and the maid passed her a +long box from the florist’s. Surprised, she opened it to find dozens +of yellow daffodils, and a card, which said in carefully disguised +handwriting, “With deepest love, and tenderest sympathy.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what can it mean?” she thought mystified. “I always need the +love, but I certainly don’t need sympathy. I never was so happy in my +life!”</p> + +<p>The supper-bell rang just then, and put a stop to her wonderings. She +dressed hurriedly, placed some daffodils at her waist, and descended +to the dining-room, a trifle late, but wholly radiant.</p> + +<p>“She surely doesn’t look sad to-night,” mused more than one at the +table. “Could the flowers have made her happier so soon, or what is +it?”</p> + +<p>Half an hour before study hour, Miss Wallace called Virginia to her +room.</p> + +<p>“I know you love daffodils, Virginia,” she said, “and I want you to +see this gorgeous quantity which some mysterious person has sent me. +And the strangest part about it is that they come with ‘tenderest +sympathy.’ It’s especially funny to-night, because I’m so happy. I +think I really must tell you about it.”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s heart beat fast with excitement. Was this beloved teacher +of hers really going to confide in her? Her eyes followed Miss +Wallace’s to the dresser, and there, reclothed in a shining silver +frame, was Mr. Taylor—Miss Wallace’s own Mr. Taylor! So it had been +only a misunderstanding after all! The dream of Miss Wallace’s life +was not dead, but living, and she was happy! One glance at her face +was proof of that! Virginia was so happy herself that she longed to +tell her so; but perhaps she had best not just now. Besides, what was +Miss Wallace saying?</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I’ve ever told you about my cousin, Robert Taylor, +Virginia. You’ve seen his picture of course—that is till recently when +I sent it away to have it framed. To-night I had a cable from him, +telling me that he’s actually engaged to the dearest girl I know. +We’ve both been hoping for it for months—I almost as much as he—and +Mary’s just decided that she can’t get along without him. I’m so +delighted!”</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible that Virginia’s heart could have undergone such a +metamorphosis as it had in the last minute.</p> + +<p>“Is—? is—he your cousin?” she asked in a queer, strained little voice. +But Miss Wallace was so happy that she did not notice it.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, he’s really my cousin, but he seems like my brother, for +his mother died when he was a baby, and my mother brought him up. So +we’ve always lived together, just like brother and sister, and I never +think of any difference. Why, my dear, where are you going? The bell +hasn’t rung.” For Virginia was half way out of the door.</p> + +<p>“I—must go,” she stammered. “The girls are waiting for me up-stairs.”</p> + +<p>Four more crestfallen and unromantic girls never existed than those +which looked at one another at the conclusion of Virginia’s story.</p> + +<p>“I never felt so silly in my life!” she added, after the last +rainbow-colored bubble had been burst.</p> + +<p>“Nor I!” cried Priscilla.</p> + +<p>“Let’s be everlastingly grateful we didn’t sign our names,” said +Dorothy.</p> + +<p>“And he was just away being framed!” moaned Vivian.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Lucile?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s probably moaning in her room over Fate!”</p> + +<p>“She needs a tonic!” said Priscilla. “Let’s go and tell her so.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t do a bit of good,” Virginia observed, as they started down +the hall to employ the remaining five minutes in disciplining Lucile. +“It’s her temperament, you know; and, besides, the very stones of +Paris breathe Romance!”</p> + +<h2 id='ch19'>CHAPTER XIX—THE SENIOR PAGEANT</h2> + +<p>Commencement came with hurrying feet, showing little regard for +Seniors, who daily visited the old haunts, grown so dear to them, and +hourly hated worse the thought of leaving St. Helen’s. Every spot +seemed dearer than ever before—the cottages, which had been their +homes, the Retreat, filled with the memories of chapel and vespers, +every path in the woods, every spot where certain flowers grew. It +would be hard to leave them all; but far harder to say good-by to one +another, and to the teachers and girls who were to return; for, as +Anne said on every possible occasion, “There’s no use talking! It +never will seem the same again!” So in all the festivities of the +closing days there was a sadness—a strange hollow feeling in one’s +body, a lump which often came unexpectedly into one’s throat.</p> + +<p>To Virginia, this season of her first Commencement was one of +conflicting emotions. She was torn between a joy in the perfect June +days, and a sorrow that they must soon come to an end; between the +happy anticipation of seeing her father, who, with her grandmother and +Aunt Nan, was to be at St. Helen’s for the closing week, and the sad +realization that St. Helen’s would never seem the same without the +Seniors, and that The Hermitage would be a sadly different place +without Mary and Anne.</p> + +<p>She found studying during those last few weeks the most difficult +thing in the world; and had it not been for the cup competition +between Hathaway and The Hermitage, which was daily growing more +close, she, like many of the others, would have been sorely tempted to +take a vacation. It would be so much more “vital,” she said to +herself, and ten times more appropriate, to close her geometry and +walk through the woods with Priscilla, or sit in Mary’s room, and plan +for the wonderful days to come; for Mrs. Williams had “found a way,” +and Jack and Mary were actually to spend the month of August in +Wyoming with Virginia and Donald. The trip was to be their +Commencement gift, for Jack was likewise graduating that year from the +Stanford School. “It’s too good to be true,” Virginia kept saying to +herself, “it’s too good to be true,” and deep in her heart she hoped +and hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop might consent to Priscilla’s +going also. They had said they would “think about it,” and that, so +Priscilla said, was a hopeful sign.</p> + +<p>As she bent over her geometry, preparing for the final examination, +there would come before her eyes in place of circles and triangles and +parallelograms, visions of sunny August days riding over the +foothills, and starlit August nights about a camp-fire in the canyon. +It would be such fun for her and Don to show Mary and Jack all the +loveliest places in their country. And she would teach Mary to +shoot—Mary, who had never in her life held a rifle! Oh, if only the +other Vigilantes might come! But she knew that Dorothy was to be in +California with her father; and as to Vivian, Virginia could somehow +easily picture the horror on timid Mrs. Winter’s face at the thought +of Vivian shooting and camping in a canyon! But this was not mastering +geometry, and there was the cup! The Hermitage must win it from +Hathaway, and the winning or the losing depended upon the success or +failure of each one. So, banishing dreams, she went to work again.</p> + +<p>There were but ten days more. Already it was examination week; already +many of the traditional ceremonies and closing occasions had taken +place. The Juniors had “picnicked” the Seniors, and the Seniors the +Juniors; the cottage tennis finals had been played off, Overlook +winning the doubles, and Bess Shepard being proclaimed the champion in +the ensuing singles; the Senior ivy had been planted against the wall +of the Retreat, and the old trowel presented with fitting remarks to +the Junior president. By the cottages the Senior occupants had each +planted her own slip of ivy, her name placed in a securely corked +bottle, and buried beneath the roots of her plant. Thus in our own +minds do we become immortal!</p> + +<p>But the occasion upon which all thoughts were centered, and toward +which all energies were bent, was the Senior Pageant, to be held on +Tuesday afternoon of the closing week. On preceding Commencements, an +out-of-door play had been the choice of the graduating class; but this +year the Seniors, who had been throughout their four years unusually +interested in History, had determined to give in place of the play a +Historical Pageant. Each was to represent some character of History, +legendary or ancient, mediaeval or modern, design and make her own +costume, and dramatize the certain scene or scenes which she had +chosen to portray. The Juniors and members of the lower classes, +though not of importance as prominent characters, were yet of +indispensable value as retainers, henchmen, pages, and the like.</p> + +<p>“In fact,” said the Blackmore twins, who were the blindfolded +headsmen, leading the procession of the doomed Mary Stuart to the +block; “in fact, we may not seem very important, but we’re the setting +and they couldn’t do without us!”</p> + +<p>For weeks, even for months, they had been making preparations and +holding rehearsals. The place chosen for the pageant was the level +strip of meadow south of the campus. Directly back of it lay the +Retreat woods, which were very convenient for the disappearance of the +characters when their parts were finished, and especially so for +Martin Luther, who had to nail his ninety-five theses on the door of +the Retreat. On the left the road led to St. Helen’s; on the right +stretched more woodland; while immediately in front of the ground +chosen for the performance, a gently sloping hillside formed a +splendid amphitheater from which the audience was to view the pageant. +Nature had surely done her best to provide an ideal situation; and the +girls were going to try to do as well.</p> + +<p>Virginia had found her services in great demand, and she was glad and +proud to give them. Anne had determined to be her beloved Joan of Arc, +and had planned to appear in three scenes—in the forest of Domremy, +where she listened to the voices; in the company of the old village +priest, with whom she talked of her visions; and finally on the +journey toward the Dauphin, whom she was to recognize among his +courtiers. In the last scene a horse was necessary, for Joan, clad in +armor, rode, accompanied by the old priest and two knights. Also, the +Black Prince clamored for a war-horse; Augustus said he never could be +august without one; and Roland refused to die in the Pass of +Roncesvalles, unless he could first fall from his panting steed! +Matters early in the spring having come to a halt over the horse +problem, Miss King was consulted, and upon Virginia’s assurance, ably +seconded by that of Mr. Hanly, that Napoleon would be a perfectly safe +addition to the troupe, his services were engaged for rehearsals and +final performance alike, and he was installed in St. Helen’s stable, +so as to be on hand whenever desired.</p> + +<p>Joan, never having been on a horse before, though born and bred in the +South, needed considerable instruction, as did the other equestrian +actresses; and Virginia found herself installed as riding-mistress for +a good many hours each week. Napoleon did not seem averse to his part +in the pageant, though sometimes he shook his head disdainfully when +the Black Prince strapped some armor over it, and objected slightly to +the trappings which Augustus felt necessary for his successful entry +into Rome. Virginia’s saddle, bedecked for the occasion, was found +adequate for all the riders; and after many, many attempts, followed +by very frank criticisms from the riding-mistress, most of the +performers could mount and dismount with something resembling ease. +Virginia, knowing well Napoleon’s variety of gaits, did not hope for +equestrianism on the part of the riders. If they could only get on +safely, sit fairly straight, and get off without catching their feet +or clothing, she would rest content; and though Roland and the Black +Prince were determined to use their spurs and come out from the forest +on the gallop, Virginia, having raised them from the ground after two +of these disastrous attempts, urged them with all her might to allow +Napoleon to walk, which he was very glad to do.</p> + +<p>But Joan, it must be admitted, found her last act a trying one. Though +she mounted in the recesses of the forest, and could have all the +assistance she needed, to ride before the audience, holding her spear +aloft in one hand, and driving with the other was well-nigh +impossible, especially when she longed to grasp the saddle-horn; and +lastly, to dismount safely, without catching on some part of that +fearful saddle and irretrievably loosening her armor, was an act she +feared and dreaded day and night.</p> + +<p>“Oh, why did I choose to be Joan!” she cried, as Virginia, at a +private rehearsal, raised her from the ground after at least the +twentieth attempt to dismount. “I just can’t do it!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can,” encouraged her instructor, who, when occasion +demanded, coached the dramatic appearance as well as the equestrian. +“You’re beautiful when you hear the voices in the forest, and when you +talk with the old priest, you’re thrilling! Only, I do wish Lucile +would be more priestly. Of course, she speaks French wonderfully, but +she isn’t one bit like a priest. It’s too bad, when you’re so +wonderful in that scene.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, she didn’t want to be the priest, anyway. She wanted +to be the Black Prince’s sweetheart.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t have a sweetheart, did he?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem as though he would at seventeen. But +she wanted him to, anyway, and say farewell to her in England.”</p> + +<p>“She does make me sick! Now, Anne, I’ve just one criticism. You’re +going to learn to dismount all right; but if you’d only look less +scared when you ride toward the Dauphin! You know you ought to look +soulful, as though you were seeing a distant vision, but you don’t. +You look frightened to death.”</p> + +<p>“Then I look just the way I feel, Virginia. I’d rather ride an +elephant than that Napoleon. I am scared of him, and I may as well +admit it. He’s the most terrorizing animal I’ve ever known!” And +nothing that Napoleon’s trainer could say as to his harmlessness and +even amicability of disposition, could convince the trembling Joan, +who, in perseverance and fear, still continued to make herself +dismount.</p> + +<p>But when the last Saturday came, all difficulties seemed overcome. +Joan had actually dismounted successfully half a dozen times; the +Black Prince had, after all, decided that he was more impressive when +his charger walked; and Queen Elizabeth had ridden three times in her +carriage, borne by eight staggering retainers, without its once +breaking down. No more rehearsals were to be held until the final one +on Tuesday morning; and costumes were packed away, while Napoleon +gratefully munched his oats in St. Helen’s stable, and wondered at the +unaccustomed respite he was enjoying.</p> + +<p>On that Saturday came Virginia’s father with her Grandmother Webster +and Aunt Nan. She had never been so happy in her life, she thought, as +she walked excitedly up and down the platform, and waited for the +train. Would her father find her much changed, she wondered, and would +he look the same? Never before in their lives had they been separated, +and nine months seemed a very long time. His letter of yesterday had +been written from Vermont where he had visited a week, and where, he +told her, he had been very happy. And her grandmother had also +written, saying how much they were enjoying him. She was so glad, she +said to herself, as the train whistled in the distance—so thankful +that at last Grandmother Webster was beginning to appreciate her +father. If it were really true, she simply couldn’t be any happier.</p> + +<p>It was really true! Of that she was assured. For after her father had +jumped from the train to hold his little daughter close in his arms +for a moment, he had turned to help her grandmother, who was just +alighting, and whom, to Virginia’s great joy, he called “Mother.” Then +her grandmother kissed her, and said to her father, “John, hasn’t she +grown?”; and jolly Aunt Nan, who came up in the rear, hugged her hard, +and said in the most understanding kind of way, “Now this whole family +is together at last!” Finally, as if to add the finishing touch and +make everything complete, Grandmother Webster, after she and Aunt Nan +had greeted Miss King, who stood on the platform, said, “And I think, +years ago, you met my son, Virginia’s father.”</p> + +<p>The next three days were like the perfect realization of a dream. “The +whole family” roamed together about the campus; listened to the +farewell sermon, which the white-haired bishop gave on Sunday morning +in the chapel, and the last vesper service, at which every one cried; +heard the Senior essays on Monday afternoon; and attended Miss King’s +reception on Monday evening. It seemed like a great family reunion +with all the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters; and it took no +time at all for everybody to become acquainted with everybody else. +Virginia proudly introduced her father to all the girls; and it was +not long before the four Vigilantes and their adviser were listening +to tales of the real Vigilante days.</p> + +<p>“And I hope you’ll every one come to Wyoming for August,” he said +genially, “You’ll be well-chaperoned, for Virginia’s Aunt Nan is +coming, and there’s room and a welcome for all.”</p> + +<p>That night Priscilla, before they went to sleep, confided her hopes to +Virginia.</p> + +<p>“I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, +when we were helping serve,” she whispered, “and I know they were +talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I’ll be there?”</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking on it every minute I have,” came back the whispered +answer. “Aunt Nan’s going will make a big difference; and some way I +just know you’re coming, Priscilla!”</p> + +<p>Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which +had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to +study the heavens. At ten o’clock a strictly private dress rehearsal +was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s +pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode +Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin +Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon +the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration +denounced the sale of “Indulgences ”; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was +led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had +invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History +teacher, declared herself delighted.</p> + +<p>“It’s perfect!” she said enthusiastically. “Now you may go where you +like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try +that dismounting again, Anne, and don’t let your voice tremble when +you address the Dauphin.”</p> + +<p>“My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever,” +thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on +the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who +kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon’s heels. She drew +near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and +prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell +to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved +it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking +on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan +released Anne’s foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized.</p> + +<p>Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That +was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second +acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene +with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the +circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be +found, must be omitted.</p> + +<p>Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan +rubbed her aching ankle.</p> + +<p>“I think it’s really providential,” she said, “because I’d have been +sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. +My costume will fit her all right, and I’m quite content with hearing +the voices and talking with the priest. You’ll do it, won’t you, +Virginia?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn’t +like yours, Anne. Oh, I’m so sorry it happened!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s fortunate we have you, Virginia,” said Miss Allan. “You +know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. +Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it.”</p> + +<p>Joan was lifted on Napoleon, where, having no spear to carry and both +hands free to clutch the saddle, she felt quite fearless, especially +since Virginia led her steed; and, followed by a train of sympathetic +courtiers, was carried to The Hermitage, where her ankle, which was +not badly hurt, was carefully bandaged. Meanwhile, Virginia, raised +all at once to the dignity of a Senior, rehearsed her lines, and tried +with the help of Lucile to pronounce the impossible French syllables.</p> + +<p>By three o’clock that afternoon the hillside amphitheater was crowded +with guests, the number of relatives and friends being increased by +many Hillcrest residents, who never failed to enjoy the Commencement +“doings.” Prominent among those who awaited appearance of the pageant, +was a tall, soldierly-looking gentleman, who sat beside Virginia’s +father, and seemed to enjoy talking of a certain little girl, with +whom he had journeyed East nine months before. Every now and then he +bestowed proud glances upon his grandson, who had accompanied him, and +who had already found in Jack Williams a pleasant companion.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t resist bringing my grandson to meet Miss Virginia,” the +old gentleman explained, “and I’m doubly glad I did come, for I’m +delighted to meet her father.”</p> + +<p>Virginia’s father evidently enjoyed Colonel Standish, for they found +many subjects of conversation, and talked until a herald, clad in +crimson and white, the Senior colors, appeared from the forest, and +blowing a trumpet, announced in quaint language that the pageant was +about to begin:</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“Lords and ladies, passing fair,</div> +<div class='verse'>I would now to you declare</div> +<div class='verse'>That before your very eyes</div> +<div class='verse'>Those from out the past arise.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The first to arise from out the shadowy past were Hector and +Andromache, clad in Trojan costumes. In Homer’s tongue they bade each +other farewell, while Andromache lifted her infant son (the janitor’s +baby, borrowed for the occasion) to kiss his fierce father, armed with +helmet, shield, and spear, before he should go out to fight the great +Achilles. True to the Homeric legend, the baby cried in fright, and +was hurriedly returned to the janitor’s wife, who waited in the shadow +of the trees. Demosthenes hurled in good Greek a “philippic” against +the Macedonian King, and Cicero cursed Cataline in fiery Latin. Then +followed the great Augustus, who sat upon the much-bedecked Napoleon +and gloried in his triumph; Roland, who fell gallantly from his steed +in the Pass of Roncesvalles, blowing his horn with his last breath to +warn the soldiers of Charlemagne of his disaster; and the Black +Prince, who, on his way to Crecy, paused to give an oration on the +valor of the English.</p> + +<p>Now it was time for Joan of Arc, who, her peasant robes covering her +bandaged ankle, sat in the forests of Domremy, and with sweet, +up-turned face listened to the voices of angels. Convinced that she +had a mission to perform, she sought the old priest as he walked one +day in the forest, and told him of her visions; but he, in perfect +though rather halfhearted French, discouraged her, and sent her home +to help her mother in the kitchen. A year passed, and Joan having at +last convinced the priest and the governor of Domremy, was allowed to +proceed to the Dauphin, and declare her message from God.</p> + +<p>In the last scene, a new Joan, clad in a shining helmet, a suit of +armor, and bearing a shield and spear, rode from the wood into the +meadow. She sat her horse like a knight of old, holding her reins in +her left hand, on which arm she bore her shield, and in her right hand +bearing her spear aloft. In her gray eyes was the memory of the +Domremy visions; on her face the determination to save her country. +Before her walked the little priest, who could not resist glancing +back every now and then to be sure Napoleon was not too near his +heels. Behind her on either side came two armed retainers.</p> + +<p>As the Maid of Orleans neared the audience, she was greeted by +applause, which pleased her even less than it pleased a certain little +group in the center of the gathering. She rode on toward the end of +the meadow, where next the woods stood the disguised Dauphin and his +courtiers. As she reached the first of the Dauphin’s men-at-arms, she +halted her steed, swung her armor-clad body lightly to the ground, and +advanced with intent gaze toward him, whom she knew to be Charles, the +future king.</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-006.jpg' id='i006' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“She sat her horse like a knight of old.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Meanwhile, Napoleon, weary of this pomp and pageantry, and feeling his +back free at last from knights and emperors, moved slowly to a near-by +birch tree, and began to nibble at its fresh new leaves. Joan’s +retainers had followed her, and as there was no one to forbid him to +take refreshment, he ate on undisturbed. Suddenly at his very nose +sounded a blare of trumpets. They proclaimed the Domremy peasant girl +to be what she had declared herself—the deliverer of her country. But +Napoleon knew nothing of proclamations or deliverers. All he knew was +that he had been rudely disturbed and needlessly startled—he, who had +uncomplainingly worn trappings of every description and borne Augustus +and Roland, the Black Prince and Joan!</p> + +<p>The trumpets sounded again in his ears. This time he answered with a +terrifying snort, kicked up his heels and started down the meadow, his +tasseled blanket, for with this new Joan he wore no saddle, dragging +on the ground. Joan, in the act of receiving the homage of the Dauphin +and his court, saw him go. She sprang to her feet, mediaeval manners +forgotten, threw aside her spear and shield, and started in pursuit. +She forgot that she was to save France; but she knew she was to save +the Earl of Leicester embarrassment from having no steed to ride, when +he should advance in the next act to greet Queen Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>The progress of Napoleon was somewhat lessened by his robes in which +he became often entangled, and by his desire for more fresh birch +leaves. Within five minutes Joan was near him, her helmet long since +gone, her armor more or less depleted, her hair streaming in the wind. +She was no longer the gentle maid of Domremy; she was a Wyoming girl +who was catching her horse.</p> + +<p>“Oh, John!” cried Grandmother Webster, who with frightened eyes +watched her granddaughter in this somewhat strange proceeding. “Oh, +John, how can you laugh! She’ll be hurt!”</p> + +<p>“No, she won’t, mother,” her father answered. “She’s used to that sort +of thing. Don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“She’s the pluckiest girl I ever saw in my life!” cried the Colonel, +slapping his knee. “Joan of Arc wasn’t in it!” And his grandson, who +had risen to his feet and was cheering as though he were at a +foot-ball game, kept shouting between his cheers:</p> + +<p>“Say, but she’s a corker!”</p> + +<p>Now she was running beside Napoleon. Suddenly she grasped his reins, +and stopped him just as he was nearing the road, and thinking without +doubt that he would escape to his Hillcrest stable where pageantry was +unknown. She straightened his bedraggled robes as well as she could, +then with one hand on his neck, sprang to his back with as much ease +as though he had been a Shetland pony, and, amid the cheers of the +audience, rode back to receive the homage, not only of the Dauphin, +but of the gathering at large.</p> + +<p>The pageant proceeded. Queen Elizabeth, borne by her eight retainers, +was received by a somewhat trembling Earl of Leicester, who did not +seem at all sure of his steed; Mary Stuart was dignity and courage +itself as she marched to the scaffold, led by two perfectly serious +headsmen; and Martin Luther eclipsed even his rehearsal of the +morning. But none like the second Joan was prompted by necessity to +forget the bonds of History, and establish a new tradition to add to +the hundreds already clustering about St. Helen’s.</p> + +<p>“For,” said the white-haired bishop, shaking hands with her, as she +stood in her page’s costume of doublet and hose, surrounded by an +admiring group, “St. Helen’s girls will never forget this Joan, though +their memory may be hazy as to her of Domremy; just as they’ll always +remember St. Helen’s champion chimney-sweep, and probably forget all +about Charles Kingsley’s. Isn’t that so, my dear?” And he turned with +a quizzical smile toward the Blackmore twin, who had dropped into the +grate before his astonished eyes the year before.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Carver Standish III, as bearing Joan’s spear and shield, +he accompanied her across the campus, “well, all I’ve got to say is, +Miss Hunter, you surely are a winner! And I’m some glad grandfather +brought me over to meet you!”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad, too,” answered the happy Joan, “but I’m not Miss Hunter, +I’m just Virginia. You see I’m especially anxious not to be a young +lady when I get back home.”</p> + +<h2 id='ch20'>CHAPTER XX—THE VIGILANTES’ LAST MEETING</h2> + +<p>“It’s absolutely unbelievable!” cried Priscilla.</p> + +<p>“It’s a fairy-tale!” said Vivian.</p> + +<p>“I’ll just count the minutes till August!” declared Virginia.</p> + +<p>“Mine is a reward for getting all <i>A’s</i>,” said Priscilla. “My! but I’m +glad I worked!”</p> + +<p>“I’m thankful papa came for Commencement,” said Vivian. “Mamma would +never have said ‘Yes.’ She still thinks I’m going to be killed. Are +you sure you have room for us all, Virginia? Is a ranch large?”</p> + +<p>“Of course we have room. Besides, I sleep in a tent summers.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, may we, too?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, if you like. Mary wants to. It’s lovely out-of-doors.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t there any rattle-snakes around?”</p> + +<p>“Only on the hills, and in rocky and sandy places. Oh, Dorothy, we’re +selfish talking like this when you can’t come!”</p> + +<p>“No, you’re not. I dote on hearing about it. I wish I could come, but +I’m glad I’m going to be with father. It makes me frightfully proud to +think he wants me to keep house for him; and we’re going to have a +heavenly little bungalow right by the ocean. It will be lovely, I +think; and we haven’t been together for so long, it will be like +getting acquainted over again.”</p> + +<p>“I think it’s splendid, Dorothy,” said Priscilla, “and I’m so proud of +you! Mother is too—she said so. And being all Vigilantes, we’ll be +together in thought, anyway. Oh, Virginia, I think your father was +perfectly lovely to give us our pins!”</p> + +<p>“Wonderful!” cried Dorothy.</p> + +<p>“They’re the sweetest things!” said Vivian.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t that your secret when we held our first meeting in May?” asked +Dorothy.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that was it. When you mentioned the hepatica, I thought how +lovely it would be to have little hepatica pins. I wrote father all +about it, and he said he’d love to have them made for us as a gift +from him. They are sweet! I love them!”</p> + +<p>She lifted hers from her blouse and examined it, while the other +Vigilantes did the same. They were little hepaticas in dull gold. In +the heart of each glowed three small pearls; and in a circle around +the pearls were engraved in tiny letters the words, “Ever Vigilant.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll be such a help to us this summer, I think,” said Dorothy. “I +know mine will. It will help me remember—lots of things.”</p> + +<p>They were sitting on their rock back of the Retreat. It was afternoon +of the day following the pageant, and this was their last Vigilante +meeting.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it seem as though everything had come out just right?” asked +Priscilla after a little pause. “This morning in chapel when Miss King +announced that we’d won the cup, I could have screamed, I was so glad! +And that’s due to you, Dorothy, more than to any one else. Just think +of your Latin examination! Miss Baxter has put it in the exhibit of +class work. I’m so glad!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help feeling glad, too. But then it isn’t any more than I +ought to have done toward my share of winning the cup. I helped toward +losing it the first of the year.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t let’s talk about that part—ever again!” cried the founder +of the Vigilantes. “It’s never going to happen any more, and that’s +what makes me so happy, because now we understand each other, and next +year we’ll all be working for the same thing! Oh, I get happier every +minute!”</p> + +<p>“Won’t it be lovely to have the Blackmores in The Hermitage?”</p> + +<p>“Has Miss King really said they could come?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jess told me this morning after chapel. At least, she’s going to +try them for three months.”</p> + +<p>“They’re going to Germany this summer. I wonder what they’ll learn to +do over there!”</p> + +<p>“You can depend upon it they’ll learn something! You’ll have enough to +do to keep them straight, Priscilla.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear,” said Priscilla. “Why did you ever choose me monitor? I’ll +probably get into more scrapes than any one else, especially with the +Blackmores around. I’ll try to be like Mary, but I know I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, won’t we miss Mary and Anne?”</p> + +<p>“Anne’s going abroad, too, with her mother; and then she’s going to +college in the fall with Mary.”</p> + +<p>“College seems so far away, and so big some way. I’m glad we’re going +to be at St. Helen’s.”</p> + +<p>A bell sounded across the campus.</p> + +<p>“It’s time for the Senior song,” said Priscilla. “We must go in a +minute. I’m going to take a piece of pine for my Memory Book to +remember the last meeting.”</p> + +<p>They all followed her example. Then, standing on the big rock with +their arms around one another’s shoulders, they repeated earnestly +their Vigilante principles:</p> + +<p>“We stand for fair play and true friendship.”</p> + +<p>“And for taking care of our roots,” added Virginia, as a postscript.</p> + +<p>Then they scrambled down from the rock, and ran through the wood path +to the campus, where the lower classes were gathering for the annual +Senior song, which was held the last day of Commencement. From the +woods north of the campus came the twenty Seniors in white dresses. +They marched two by two between long lines of crimson ribbon, which +they held. As they drew near the campus where the other classes +awaited them, they sang their Senior song.</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“We’re the St. Helen’s Seniors,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>The crimson and the white,</div> +<div class='verse'>We stand for fun and friendship,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>For loyalty and right,</div> +<div class='verse'>We’ll ever praise St. Helen’s,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Her wisdom and her fame,</div> +<div class='verse'>The only school in all this land</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Our loyalty can claim.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Cheers from Juniors, Sophomores, and Freshmen greeted them. They +marched to all the buildings, before each one singing farewell songs, +written by Senior poets; and then back again to the gathering-place of +the admiring lower classes, who, as they approached, rose, and with +greater volume, but no greater feeling, saluted them with a song, also +written expressly for the occasion.</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='stanza'> +<div class='verse'>“Farewell to the Seniors,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>We’ll surely miss you sore</div> +<div class='verse'>When we come back again next fall,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>And find you here no more.</div> +<div class='verse'>We’ll try to follow in your steps,</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>Of loyalty and right,</div> +<div class='verse'>And never, never will forget</div> +<div class='verse-in2'>The crimson and the white.”</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<h2 id='ch21'>CHAPTER XXI—HOME ONCE MORE</h2> + +<p>“Oh, father, it looks just the same! There are our mountains that +Colonel Standish and I said good-by to. Oh, daddy, I’ve missed the +mountains so! And there are the foot-hills! Aren’t they green? And see +the flowers on them! Oh, there’s a shooting star! I saw it in the +hollow as we passed. And aren’t the grain fields lovely with the wind +sweeping over them? Oh, father, won’t the girls just love it? And +won’t it be perfectly lovely to have them? I never saw any one so +happy as Carver Standish when he said you had asked him. The Colonel +was smiling all over, too. It will be a regular house-party, won’t it? +And isn’t it wonderful that Aunt Nan’s coming with all of them? Oh, +father, weren’t we happy in Vermont, and isn’t it just the loveliest +thing in all the world that we have grandmother and Aunt Nan for our +very own? I know mother would be happy, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure she would be very happy, dear. It’s what we used to hope for +years ago. And I’m the happiest man in all Wyoming to have my little +daughter back, and I’m more glad than ever that I sent her away to +school.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad that I can’t help thinking about it. Just think if +I’d never gone, I’d never have known Priscilla—isn’t she dear, +father—or Dorothy, or Mary and Anne, or those dear, funny Blackmore +twins, or Vivian—Vivian seems silly, father, but she isn’t really, +she’s fine underneath, you’ll see—or Miss King, or darling Miss +Wallace—oh, daddy, wasn’t she too dear for anything when she said +good-by? She kissed me twice. It’s selfish to notice, but I couldn’t +help it. She’s one of my very dearest friends. Didn’t you like her +especially?”</p> + +<p>“Very much, dear. See, we’re coming nearer. We’ve crossed the creek +bridge. Better put on your hat.”</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later they had left the dingy little station and were +driving along the country road between fields of waving grain, the +proud Dick being holder of the reins. Virginia plied him with eager +questions.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dick, how is the colt?”</p> + +<p>“Fine, Miss Virginia. We put him on the range last month.”</p> + +<div class='image-center'> + <img src='images/img-007.jpg' id='i007' class='img-limits' alt=''/> + <div class='caption'> + <p>“The road lay at the very base of the greenfoot-hills.”</p> + </div> +</div> + +<p>“And how’s Pedro?”</p> + +<p>“He’s fine, too.”</p> + +<p>“Have the little collies grown much?”</p> + +<p>Dick laughed. “They’re not little any more, Miss Virginia.”</p> + +<p>“And how are Alec and Joe and Hannah and Mr. Weeks and William?”</p> + +<p>“They’re first-rate, and all anxious to see you.”</p> + +<p>Virginia clung closer to her father’s hand. “It seems strange, doesn’t +it, father,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “and—and sad not to +have Jim drive us home?”</p> + +<p>For miles they drove across the broad prairies, past grain fields and +through barren, unirrigated stretches. Then at last they turned a bend +in the road, and there before them lay the nearer foot-hills, with the +higher ranges above, and far above all the mountains—still +snow-covered.</p> + +<p>“They look really friendly this morning with the sun on them,” said +Virginia, “and they ought to when I love them so, and am coming back +to them.”</p> + +<p>They turned again. This time the road lay at the very base of the +green foot-hills, upon which cattle and horses were feeding. On the +side of one of the hills rose a great spruce, and on the ground near +it, Virginia’s quick eyes caught a glow of color.</p> + +<p>“Is that—?” she whispered to her father.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s where Jim lies. We fenced in the range +for a good distance all around the tree so the cattle couldn’t go +there; and William tended some plants all winter so that he could put +them there early in the spring. They’re all in blossom now, you see.”</p> + +<p>Virginia could not speak. She watched the great spruce and the color +beneath it, until they rounded the hill and both were hidden from +sight. Then she put her head against her father’s shoulder, while he, +understanding, held her close. Jim’s absence was the only shadow upon +her home-coming. Nothing would seem the same without him; and now that +he was gone, the girls would never understand why it was that she had +loved him so. If they could only have seen him, then they would have +known!</p> + +<p>“You can see home now, little girl,” said her father.</p> + +<p>She raised her head eagerly. Yes, there it was—the green wheat fields, +the avenue of tall cottonwoods whose leaves were fluttering in the +wind, the long white ranch-house, from the window of which some one +was waving a red handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“Hannah!” cried Virginia, as she waved her own handkerchief in answer.</p> + +<p>A few minutes more and they were driving beneath the cottonwoods. +Around the corner of the house bounded the collie dogs, the pups +indistinguishable from their mother, to give them welcome; in the +doorway stood Hannah, her face bright with joy; and by Virginia’s +flower-bed, in which spikes of blue larkspur, reaching to her window, +were brave with bloom, stood William—a new William, with the sadness +and the failures quite gone from his face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William,” cried Virginia, jumping from the carriage, and running +up to him; “Oh, William, it’s next best to having Jim to have you—like +this!”</p> + +<hr class='tb'/> + +<p>That afternoon Elk Creek Valley lay bathed in June sunshine. It had +never seemed so beautiful—at least to a certain boy and girl, who +rested their horses on the brow of the Mine, and looked off across a +creek bordered by cottonwoods and merry, laughing quaking-asps, across +a blue-green sea of waving grain, to the distant, snow-furrowed +mountain peaks. Some magpies flew chattering over the prairie and +among the quaking-asps; a meadow lark sang from a near-by tree-stump; +and two cotton-tail rabbits chased each other across the open space +between the creek and the foot-hills, and played hide-and-seek behind +the sage-brush.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it the loveliest place in all the world, Don?” the girl almost +whispered. “I know I’ll not be any happier when I get to Heaven. And +some way the mountains are friendlier than ever. Perhaps because I +love them better now I’m home again.”</p> + +<p>“It is lovely,” the boy answered. “The finest country anywhere! I’m +mighty glad you’re home again, Virginia; but the thing I’m most glad +about is, that you aren’t a young lady after all!”</p> + +<p class='center mtb0'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>SIX STAR RANCH</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>Another success by the author of the wonderful GLAD Books</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>“Pollyanna: The GLAD Book”</p> +<p class='center mtb0'>“Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second GLAD Book”</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>With frontispiece in full color from a painting by R. +Farrington Elwell and six spirited drawings by Frank J. Murch. +Bound uniform with the POLLYANNA books in silk cloth, with a +corresponding color jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p>The year we published POLLYANNA, THE GLAD BOOK, we published +another book by the same author, but as it is contrary to our +policy to issue two books by one writer in a year, we +published the second book under the pseudonym “Eleanor +Stuart.”</p> + +<p>As we are not going to publish a new book of Mrs. Porter’s +this year, we have decided to announce the publication of SIX +STAR RANCH under the name of its real author. The success of +her previous books is practically unparalleled in the history +of American publishing, POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK, having +already sold 300,000 copies—an average of more than 100,000 +copies for three consecutive years—and POLLYANNA GROWS UP: THE +SECOND GLAD BOOK, having sold nearly 150,000 copies in nine +months.</p> + +<p>SIX STAR RANCH is a charming story, in the author’s best +vein, of a dear little Texas girl, who plays “the glad game” +made famous by POLLYANNA, and plays it with a charm which will +put her on the same pinnacle, side by side with POLLYANNA.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>A Sequel to “Sylvia’s Experiment, The Cheerful Book”</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>By Margaret R. Piper</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, +decorative jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p>In THE CHEERFUL BOOK Sylvia Arden proved herself a messenger +of joy and cheerfulness to thousands of readers. In this new +story she plays the same rôle on Arden Hill during her summer +vacation and is the same wholesome, generous, cheerful young +lady who made such a success of the Christmas Party. She +befriends sick neighbors, helps “run” a tea-room, brings +together two lovers who have had differences, serves as the +convenient bridesmaid here and the good Samaritan there, and +generally acquits herself in a manner which made of her such a +popular heroine in the former story. There is, of course, a +Prince Charming in the background.</p> + +<p>“The SYLVIA books should be read by all the exponents of +POLLYANNA of THE GLAD BOOKS,” says Mr. H. V. Meyer of the +American Baptist Publication Society.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>By Mary Ellen Chase</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, +net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p>At the beginning of the story, Virginia Hunter, a bright, +breezy, frank-hearted “girl of the Golden West,” comes out of +the Big Horn country of Wyoming to the old Bay State. Then +“things begin,” when Virginia,—who feels the joyous, +exhilarating call of the Big Horn wilderness and the outdoor +life,—attempts to become acclimated and adopt good old New +England “ways.”</p> + +<p>Few stories reveal a more attractive heroine, and the joyous +spirit of youth and its happy adventures give the story an +unusual charm.</p> + +<p>“The book has natural characters, fresh incidents, and a +general atmosphere of sincerity and wholesome understanding of +girl nature. Virginia may well become as popular as ‘Miss +Billy’ or irresistible Anne.”—<i>New York Sun</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>THE VIOLIN LADY</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>A Sequel to “The Fiddling Girl” and “The Proving of Virginia”</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>By Daisy Rhodes Campbell</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Frontispiece in full color from a painting by F. W. Read, and +six black and white illustrations by John Goss, decorative +jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p>This new story continues the adventures of the once little +Fiddling Girl and tells of her triumphs and hardships abroad, +of her friends, her love affairs, and finally of Virginia’s +wedding bells and return to America. The previous two books in +this series have been pronounced excellent and uplift stories, +but “The Violin Lady” is far ahead of both in interest and +charm.</p> + +<p>The press has commented on the author’s previous stories as +follows:</p> + +<p>“A delightful story told in a charming manner. The Page +Company does a real service indeed in the publication of so +many of these excellent stories.”—<i>Zion’s Herald, Boston</i>.</p> + +<p>“A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of +sympathetic comprehension.”—<i>Boston Herald</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>MAN PROPOSES</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>Or, The Romance of John Alden Shaw</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>By Elliot H. Robinson</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color and +other illustrations by William Van Dresser, net $1.25; +carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p>The story of John Alden Shaw is in many respects unique. +Containing an enigma of an unusual nature, an odd legal tangle +and a deep moral problem, the plot holds the reader’s +attention to the very end. Quite as interesting as the major +theme of the story are the minor incidents, for the greater +part of the action occurs in gay Newport during “tennis week” +and one somewhat unusual feature of the book is the +introduction of several real and widely known +characters—chiefly tennis stars of international +reputation—and actual happenings, which give the tale peculiar +realism. As the author is recognized as one of our leading +writers on tennis, the scenes at the famous Casino during one +of the national championships are particularly well drawn.</p> + +<p>While primarily a problem love story, Man Proposes is +essentially a book “with a difference.” The heroine is a +charming Southern girl, decidedly American in her ideas, while +John is himself a very real sort of young man, and though +possessed of sterling qualities which bring him victoriously +through his great test, is no paragon of virtues.</p> + +<p>“Man proposes, but God disposes!”—Thomas a Kempis.</p> + +<p>“Prithee, why don’t you speak for yourself, +John?”—<i>Longfellow</i>.</p> + +<p>As the story unfolds the reader will appreciate the +significance of the above lines.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class='pb'/> + +<p class='center mtb0'>ANNE’S WEDDING</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>A Blossom Shop Romance</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>A Sequel to “The Blossom Shop” and “Anne of the Blossom Shop”</p> +<p class='mtb0'> </p> +<p class='center mtb0'>By Isla May Mullins</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from +a fainting by Gene Pressler, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40</p> + +<p> This new book continues the story of a delightful Southern +family of unique combinations, which have been introduced to +thousands of interested readers through the two preceding +volumes, <i>The Blossom Shop</i> and <i>Anne of the Blossom +Shop</i>. The new volume promises to be by far the most popular +of the three—which is saying a good deal—for these stories, +sweet and clean, with their picturesque Southern setting, have +charmed both old and young. In the new volume Anne, May and +Gene, three girls of varying types from lovely Mrs. Carter’s +garden of girls, touch life in new and vital ways which +develop sterling character and set promising and full-blown +romance to stirring.</p> + +<p> “There is so much of sunshine in its pages that it sheds its +cheerfulness upon the reader, making life seem brighter and +convincing us that this world is a pleasant place to live in +and full of delightful, kind-hearted people.”—<i>Boston Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class="pg"> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 42287-h.txt or 42287-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/2/8/42287">http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/2/8/42287</a></p> +<p> +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p> +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Farrington Elwell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Girl from the Big Horn Country + + +Author: Mary Ellen Chase + + + +Release Date: March 9, 2013 [eBook #42287] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN +COUNTRY*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 42287-h.htm or 42287-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h/42287-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42287/42287-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration: "Rode down the hill into the valley."] + + +THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + +by + +MARY ELLEN CHASE + +Illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell + + + + + + + +The Page Company +Boston--MDCCCCXVI + +Copyright, 1916, +by the Page Company + +All rights reserved + +First Impression, January, 1916 +Second Impression, March, 1916 +Third Impression, May, 1916 +Fourth Impression, June, 1916 +Fifth Impression, August, 1916 + +Presswork by +The Colonial Press + +C. H. Simonds Company, Boston, U. S. A. + + + + + TO THE MEMORY + OF MY FATHER + WHO, PERHAPS, KNOWS, AND IS GLAD + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER I--VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY + CHAPTER II--THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + CHAPTER III--THE JOURNEY EAST + CHAPTER IV--VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + CHAPTER V--THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS + CHAPTER VI--ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE + CHAPTER VII--"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM" + CHAPTER VIII--THE LAST STRAW + CHAPTER IX--THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + CHAPTER X--THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XI--THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + CHAPTER XII--THE VIGILANTES + CHAPTER XIII--THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + CHAPTER XIV--WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + CHAPTER XV--VESPER SERVICE + CHAPTER XVI--A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + CHAPTER XVII--THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + CHAPTER XVIII--THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + CHAPTER XIX--THE SENIOR PAGEANT + CHAPTER XX--THE VIGILANTES' LAST MEETING + CHAPTER XXI--HOME ONCE MORE + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + "Rode down the hill into the valley." + "Forded the creek in a mad splash of water." + "Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair and stood + facing his audience." + "Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a gray shawl." + "Virginia knelt by the altar rail." + "She sat her horse like a knight of old." + "The road lay at the very base of the green foot-hills." + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +VIRGINIA'S COUNTRY + + +A September afternoon in the Big Horn mountains! The air crystal +clear; the sky cloudless; the outlines of the hills distinct! Elk +Creek Valley lay golden in the sunshine, silent save for the incessant +hum of locust and cricket, the hurrying of the creek waters, and the +occasional bellowing of steers on the range beyond the foot-hills; +deserted except for the distant cattle, a coyote stealing across the +hills, a pheasant scurrying through the buck-brush by the creek, and +some cotton-tail rabbits and prairie dogs, who, sure of safety, meant +to enjoy the sunshine while they might. + +The foot-hills more than half-encircled the Valley. North, east, and +south they tumbled, their brown, closely-cropped sides glowing here +and there with the yellow of the quaking-asps, the red of hawthorn, +and the bronze of service-berry. Above them rose the higher ranges, +clothed in gray-green sagebrush and scant timber, and cut by +canyon-forming mountain storms, invisible from the Valley; and far +above all, seemingly near, but in reality miles away, the mountains +extended their blue, snow-furrowed summits toward a bluer sky. Peak +above peak they rose--some isolated and alone, others leaning upon the +shoulders of the higher--all silent, majestic, mysterious, as though +they held in their great hearts the secrets of the world--secrets of +which Elk Creek Valley could never know. Yet the Valley looked very +happy and content. Perhaps it had lain so long beneath their +protection that it knew no fear. + +The creek, rushing madly from the northern foothills, and fed by +melting snow from the higher mountains, had cut a canyon for itself in +its tumultuous journey from the hills; but as the land became more +level, it slackened its pace, content to make but a slight depression +through the Valley. Across it toward the west, beyond a great gap in +the foothills, stretched an open plateau, which rose in undulations, +and extended as far as one could see toward other far distant +mountains, on less clear days dim and hazy of outline, to-day almost +as blue and distinct as the nearer ranges, though sixty miles away. +This great sea of open prairie rolling westward was cut in as many +pieces and bore as many colors as a patchwork quilt. Golden +wheat-fields, the wheat shocked and piled in wigwams on the plain, met +acres of black, freshly-plowed soil, which, in turn, bordered upon the +tender green of alfalfa and of newly grown winter grain. Scattered +over the prairie stretches, at intervals of a mile, perhaps of +several, were homes--here, large ranch houses with out-lying +buildings--there, the rough shack of a lone homesteader. + +Yes, it was a golden land--smiling and peaceful in the September +sunshine. Save for horses and cattle dotted here and there, the +prairie seemed almost as deserted as Elk Creek Valley, though its +homes promised inhabitants, and a blue line of distant smoke showed +where the threshers were at work. Moreover, on the barely visible +brown road that threaded its way across the prairie, two specks were +moving rapidly in the direction of the Gap. The specks took form, +became two riders, a boy and a girl, on wildly galloping horses, +which, neck to neck, tore at last through the Gap, forded the creek in +a mad splash of water, stirrup-high, and dashed away up the Valley. +Reaching the foot-hills a trifle in advance of his companion, the boy +pulled in his restive horse, and called over his shoulder to the girl +just behind. + +"Are Pedro's feet all right, Virginia?" + +"Yes, Don. Jim fixed them yesterday." + +"Let's take the Mine then, shall we?" + +"Yes, let's!" + +And away they went, allowing the sure-footed horses to have their way +up one of the foot-hills, called the "Mine," because some lone +prospector, dreaming of a fortune, had dug from its side some poor +coal; and then, perhaps discouraged, had abandoned the fruit of his +labors, leaving the black heap as a monument to his zeal, and a +testimony to the vanity of mere dreams. + +They reached the hill-top almost at the same instant, their good +steeds panting; they quite undisturbed, and, turning their horses' +heads, drew rein and looked across the Valley. They were a +robust-looking pair, red-cheeked and khaki-clad, and as good riders as +Wyoming could produce. The boy was seventeen, or thereabouts, +well-knit and tall for his years, with dark, heavy hair and clear, +blue eyes that looked bluer through his coat of tan. His features were +cleanly-cut and strong, and his mouth had a laugh in the corners. A +merry, honest, manly-looking lad--Donald Keith by name, and the son of +a ranchman on the other side of the Valley. + +[Illustration: "Forded the creek in a mad splash of water."] + +She--Virginia Hunter--was a year younger, and for sixteen as tall and +strong as he for seventeen. She was not pretty, but there was +something singularly attractive about her clear, fresh skin, brown +now, except for the red of her cheeks, her even white teeth, and her +earnest gray eyes, at times merry, but often thoughtful, which looked +so straight at you from under brows and lashes of black. Her +golden-brown hair curled about her temples, but it was brushed back +quite simply and braided down her back where it was well out of her +way. A person riding could not bother about her hair. She sat her +horse as though he were a part of her, holding her reins loosely in +her brown left hand, her right hanging idly at her side. The wind blew +back the loosened hair about her face, and the ends of the red +handkerchief, knotted cow-boy fashion, under the collar of her khaki +shirt. She, like the boy, seemed a part of the country--free, natural, +wholesome--and she shared its charm. + +They had been comrades for years--these two--for, in the ranch country, +homes are often widely separated, and the frequent society of many +persons rare. Virginia's home lay up the Valley, beyond the first +range of the foot-hills, while the Keith ranch was situated on the +prairie, west beyond the Gap. Three miles apart across country, four +by the road; but three or four miles in Wyoming are like so many +squares in Boston, and the Keiths and Hunters considered themselves +near neighbors. This afternoon Virginia had ridden over to say good-by +to all the dear Keiths--Mr. David, Mother Mary, Donald's older brother +Malcolm, and his younger, Kenneth, the farm-hands busy with the +threshing, and the men in from the range to help with the wheat; for +they were all her friends, and now that she was going so far away to +school, they seemed nearer and dearer--indeed, next to her father and +those upon their own ranch, the dearest of her world. + +They had been quite as sad as she to say good-by. "The country won't +be the same without you, my lass," Mr. David had said in his genial +Scotch way; and Donald's mother, whom Virginia had called "Mother +Mary," since the death of her own dear mother six years ago, had +kissed her quite as though she were her own daughter. Even Malcolm had +come in from the wheat field to shake her by the hand and wish her +good luck, and little Kenneth's feelings had been quite wounded +because Virginia felt she must decline to carry one of his pet foxes +away with her to boarding-school. Then Donald's father had granted the +request in the boy's eyes that he might be excused from threshing to +ride up the Valley and home with Virginia. So now their horses, good +friends, too, stood side by side on the brow of the Mine, while their +riders looked down the Valley, beyond the cottonwood-bordered creek, +and across the wide, rolling prairie to the far away mountains; and +then, turning in their saddles, to those ranges and peaks towering +above them. + +Virginia drew a long breath. + +"We're like Moses on Mount Nebo, looking away into the Promised Land, +aren't we, Don?" Then, as he laughed, "Do you suppose there's any +country so lovely as ours? Is there anything in the East like this? Do +you think I'll be homesick, Don?" + +He laughed again, used to her questions. + +"I suppose every fellow thinks his own State is the best, Virginia, +but I don't believe there can be any lovelier than this. You know I +told you about spending a vacation when I was at school last year with +Jack Williams in the Berkshires. Some of those hills aren't higher +than the Mine, you know, and he called them mountains. It seemed like +a mighty small country to me, but he thought there was no place like +it. I wish he could get this sweep of country from here. No, the East +isn't like this,--not a bit--and maybe you won't like it, but you're too +plucky to be homesick, Virginia." + +Little did Virginia realize how often those words would ring in her +ears through the months that were to follow. She drew another long +breath--almost a sigh this time. + +"Oh, I wish you were going East again, Don, instead of to Colorado! +'Twould be such fun traveling together, and you could tell me all +about the states as we went through them. But, instead, I'm going all +alone, and Aunt Louise has warned me a dozen times about talking to +strangers. Four days without talking, Don! I shall die! Is it very bad +taste to talk to good, oldish-looking people, do you think?" + +"_I_ think your aunt's mighty particular, if you ask me," the boy said +bluntly. "You'll have to talk to some one, Virginia. You'll never last +four days without it, and I don't think it's any harm. But, you see, +your aunt's from the East, and they're not so sociable as we are out +here. I thought she was going East with you." + +"No, she decided not to, and went to Los Angeles this morning; but I'm +bursting with watch-words that she left. All the way to your house I +said them over, and I nearly ran Pedro into a prairie dog's hole, I +was thinking so hard. I. _It is very bad form to talk to strangers._ +II. _Try to be as neat in appearance on the train as you are at home._ +(Aunt Lou really means neater, Don.) III. _Don't forget to tip the +waiter after each meal in the dining-car._ IV. _Be polite to your +traveling companions, but not familiar._ That's all for the journey, +but I've heaps more for Vermont and for school. Oh, why did you choose +Colorado, Don?" + +"Oh, I don't know, except that it's nearer home, and since I'm going +there to college in another year, I may as well get used to it. The +East is all right, Virginia, but some way I like it out here better. +I'm a rank cow-boy, I guess. That's what they used to call me at +school. Then, besides, the Colorado fellows ride a lot, and they don't +in the East--that is, so much, you know," he added hastily, as he saw +the dismay on her face. + +"Don't ride, Don! Why, I can't stand it not to ride! Don't they have +horses? Don't they--know how to ride?" + +Her genuine distress disturbed him, and he hastened to reassure her as +best he could. + +"You'll find something to ride, I'm sure," he said. "Don't worry. +Maybe the horses won't be like Pedro, but they'll do. You see, your +school's in a larger town than mine. You'll write me all about it, +won't you, Virginia?" + +"Of course, I will--every little thing. If the boys thought you were a +cow-boy, the girls will probably think I'm very queer, too." + +"Oh, no, they won't! You're--you're different some way. And, anyway, +they won't be as nice as you," he finished awkwardly. + +Virginia, full of questions, did not heed the honest compliment. + +"What are Eastern girls like, Don? Have you seen many? You see, I've +never known one, except in books. Margaret Montfort certainly was +different. Besides, you know what a time Peggy had when she went East +to school, and she was only from Ohio." + +Donald knew nothing of Margaret or Peggy, and felt incompetent to +remark upon them; but he answered Virginia's questions. + +"I used to see them last year at school," he said, "at the dances and +at Commencement. And in the Berkshires, I knew Jack's sister, Mary. +She's great, Virginia. I hope there are some like her. She's at some +school, but I forget where. Oh, I guess they're nice. You see, at +parties, when they're all dressed up, you can't get real +well-acquainted." + +"Dressed up!" cried Virginia. "Don, you ought to see the clothes I've +got! And trunks like closets?--two of them! Aunt Lou bought my things +in Chicago for father. He told her to get what I'd need, and when all +the boxes came, he grew more and more surprised. He thought they had +sent a lot for us to choose from; and when Aunt Lou told him it was +only my 'necessary wardrobe,' he just sat down and laughed. Then I had +to try them all on--six pairs of shoes, and sailor-suits, and coats and +sweaters and dinner dresses, and goodness knows what all! It took the +whole afternoon. That was the one last week, you know, when I didn't +get to go hunting prairie chickens with you. And Aunt Lou made me walk +back and forth in the dinner dresses until I could 'act natural,' she +said." She paused laughing, and the boy looked at her, his face +troubled. + +"I hope all those things and going away off there won't make you +different, Virginia," he said, a little wistfully. + +"Of course, they won't!" she told him. "I couldn't be any different, +Don. If it weren't for the fun of wondering about things, I'd never +want to go even a little, but it will be new and interesting. Besides, +you know Aunt Lou says it's 'imperative' that I go. I heard her say +that to father one night this summer. 'It's imperative that Virginia +go,' she said. 'She's getting really wild out here with just you men, +and that woman in the kitchen.' 'That woman' means old Hannah, who's +been so good to us ever since mother died!" + +Donald looked angry for a moment. Apparently he did not care a great +deal for Virginia's Aunt Louise. + +"What did your father say?" + +"He didn't say anything, like he doesn't when he's thinking or +troubled; but, next morning, he told me he was going to send me East +to mother's old school. He said he guessed I needed to see different +things. Aunt Lou was there when he told me, and she said, 'It will be +the making of you, Virginia,--a very broadening experience!'" + +"I don't think I'd like your aunt very well," Donald announced +bluntly. + +Virginia was not surprised. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't, and I don't +think she'd like you either. That is, she _ought_ to like you, and +maybe she would, but she probably wouldn't approve. She's a person +that doesn't often approve of things. She doesn't approve of my +shooting, or of Jim teaching me to lasso the steers in the corral; and +that afternoon when I wanted to go rabbit hunting with you instead of +trying on dresses, I heard her tell father that I was getting to be +rather too much of a young lady to ride the country over with you. But +father laughed and laughed, and said he'd as soon have me with you as +with himself." + +Donald looked pleased. Then-- + +"I hope you won't get to be too much of a young lady while you're +gone, Virginia," he said, "so you won't care for hunting and--and +things like that, next summer." + +"Don't worry," she said. "I won't be a young lady for years. I hate to +even think of it! But we must go down, Don. The sun says five o'clock, +and it's my last evening with father." + +Her gray eyes, thoughtful and almost sad, swept the country before +her. + +"I hate to leave you all," she said softly, a little catch in her +voice. "The valley and the creek and the cottonwoods and the +prairie--all of you. And, most of all, the foot-hills. You know, Don," +she continued, turning toward him, "I think I like the foot-hills +best. They're so sort of friendly, and they don't make you feel little +like the mountains. You know what I mean!" + +He nodded with quick understanding. They turned their horses to look +at the peaks towering above them. + +"Sometimes they really scare me," she said almost in a whisper. +"They're so big, and look as though they knew so many things. +Sometimes I wish they'd talk, and then I know if they did, I'd run and +hide, I'd be so frightened at what they were going to say." Her eyes +left the mountains and swept across the nearer hills. Suddenly she +grasped his arm, all excitement. "Hst, Don!" she whispered, her eyes +gleaming. "There! Behind that clump of pine on the range! Not a +quarter of a mile away! Bess and the new colt! I know the way she +holds her head. Wait a minute! There she is! She's seen us, and there +she goes!" + +With a wild snort, which they could hear distinctly in the clear air, +and a mad kick of the heels, the horse tore away across the range, her +colt trying manfully with his long ungainly legs to keep near his +mother. Months on the range had transformed Bess from a corral pet to +a wild steed, suspicious even of her mistress, and mindful only of her +safety and that of her colt. + +"A nice colt," said Don, "and now she's down this far she won't go far +away. Doesn't your father brand this week? They'll probably mark the +little fellow with the rest." + +"Yes, I suppose they will. That's one thing I can't bear to see--the +branding. Father and Jim will be so glad to know about the colt. You +can break it for me, Don, when it's two years old." + +"All right, I'll not forget," he promised. + +Then they turned again, and rode down the hill into the valley. This +time they did not ford the creek, but turned north, following an old +trail up the valley and through another gap in the hills a mile above. +This brought them again to the open, where Virginia's home lay--a long, +rambling house with its back against the foot-hills and its front +looking westward across the prairie. Tall cottonwoods shaded the brown +road that led to it; and down this road, beneath the trees, they rode, +more slowly now. + +A tall man, reading on the broad front porch, rose as they drew rein +under the cottonwoods. + +"Come in to supper, Don," he called cordially. "It's all ready, and +we're glad to have you." + +"Thank you, Mr. Hunter, but I can't. I've got to be making for home. +Good-by, Virginia," he said, jumping from his horse to shake hands +with her, as she stood beside her father. "I'm going to be lonesome +without you. Don't forget us, will you?" + +"Good-by, Don." She had the same little catch in her voice as upon the +hills, and her eyes were grave again. "I'll miss you, and, of course, +I won't forget. And, Don," she called, as he swung himself into his +saddle and galloped away, "remember, I'll not be a young lady when I +come back!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LAST NIGHT AT HOME + + +In the mountain country the twilights are longer and the sunset colors +lovelier than anywhere else. Long after Virginia and her father, +supper over, had come out upon the porch to sit together, the golden +light lingered in the western sky, making more blue the far distant +mountains, throwing the prairie into shadow, and casting upon the +nearer eastern foot-hills a strange, almost violet glow. Slowly the +gold changed to the deep, almost transparent blue of the mountain sky +at night. The sunset light faded to give place to the stars, which, +when the twilight was almost gone, seemed to shine out all at once, as +if fearful of the sunset's lingering too long. + +It was very still everywhere. Virginia sat in her favorite way--on a +low stool by her father's chair, her head upon his knees, his hand in +hers. Together they watched the light fade and the stars come out, as +they had done for so many nights. No sound anywhere, except Hannah's +steps in the kitchen, an occasional distant laugh or song from the men +in the bunk-house, and the night noises--the stirring of the +cottonwoods and the singing of the insects. + +For a long time neither of them spoke, and the realization coming +closer every moment that this evening would be their last chance to +talk together for many months, did not seem to make conversation +easier. The big man in his chair was reviewing the years--thinking of +the time, twenty-five years back, when he had first come to this +country--then wild and unbroken like its own animals and roaming +horses. He had come like countless other young men, seeking a new +life, adventure, fortune; and he had stayed, having found an abundance +of the first two, and enough of the last. In the darkness he saw the +distant, widely separated lights of the homes on the prairie--that +prairie which he as a young man had ridden across, then +sagebrush-covered, the home of the antelope, the prairie dog, and the +rattler; now, intersected with irrigation ditches, covered with wheat +fields, dotted with homes. Yet the land possessed its old charm for +him. It was still a big country. The mountains had not changed; the +plains, though different in feature, stretched as wide; the sky was as +vast. He loved this land, so much that it had become a part of him; +but his little daughter at his feet he was sending away that she might +know another life. + +He looked down at her. She was thinking, too--filled with a great +desire to stay in her own dear, Western country, and with another as +great to experience all the new things which this year was to bring +her. Homesickness and anticipation were fighting hard. She looked up +at her father, and even in the darkness saw the sadness in his face. +Lost in her own thoughts, she had left him out--him, whose loneliness +would be far greater than her own. She sprang up from her stool and +into his lap, as she had always done before the years had made her +such a big girl; and he held her close in his strong arms, while she +cried softly against his shoulder. + +"Daddy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Daddy, dear, do you +suppose people often want two different things so much that they can't +tell which they want the most? Did you ever?" + +He held her closer. "Yes, little girl. I expect many people do that +very thing when it comes to deciding. And your dad is doing that very +thing this minute. He thinks he wants to keep you right here with him, +but he knows away down deep that he wouldn't let you stay if he could. +He knows he wants his little daughter to go away to her mother's +school, and to have everything this big world can give her." + +"But it's going to be so lonely for you, father. I'm so selfish, just +thinking of me, and never of you. I can't leave you all alone!" And +the tears came again. + +Silently he smoothed her hair, until with a choking little laugh she +raised her head. + +"Don would call me a quitter, I guess," she said. "I'm homesick +already, and he said to-day of course I'd be too plucky to be +homesick." She laughed again. "I'm not going to cry another tear. And +there are so many things I want to ask you. Father, tell me truly, do +you like the folks in Vermont? Will I like them, do you think?" + +She waited for what seemed to her long minutes before he answered her. + +"Virginia," he said at last, "your mother's people are not like us +away out here. They are of New England stock and know nothing of our +life here, and it naturally seems rough to them. Your mother seemed to +have a different strain in her, else she had never come to Wyoming, +and stayed to marry a ranchman like me. But they are your mother's +people, and as such I honor and respect them. And I want you to like +them, Virginia, for your mother's sake." + +"I will, father," she whispered, clinging to him. "I promise I will!" +A minute later she laughed again. + +"I've written down all of Aunt Lou's warnings, and I'll learn them all +on the train. Are grandmother and Aunt Nan like Aunt Lou, father?" + +"I don't quite remember. Your grandmother is a lady, and looks it. +Your Aunt Nan was but a little girl of your age when I saw her, but I +think she's--well, a little less particular than your Aunt Lou, judging +from her letters. I have been wrong," he continued after a pause, "in +not sending you on to them in the summers, but I could not go, and it +seemed a long way to have you go without me. And though we've always +asked them, none of them has ever come here, until your Aunt Lou came +this summer." + +"Why didn't mother go oftener?" + +He hesitated a moment. "Some way she didn't want to leave for so long. +She loved this Big Horn country as much as you and I. We went together +once before you came; and then the summer you were five years old she +took you and went again. But that was the last time. Do you remember +it?" + +"I remember the tall clock on the stairs. I held the pendulum one day +and stopped it, and grandmother said it had not stopped for +seventy-five years. Then she scolded me, and told mother I was a +little wild thing--not a bit like my mother--and mother cried and said +she wished we were back home with you." + +They were silent again, listening to the wind in the cottonwoods. A +long silence, then her father said quietly, + +"Your grandmother was wrong. You are very like your mother. But I am +sorry you had to look like your dad. It will disappoint them in +Vermont." + +Virginia's eyes in the darkness sparkled dangerously. She sat up very +straight. + +"If they don't like the way I look," she announced deliberately, "I'll +go on to school, and not trouble them. I'm proud of looking like my +father, and I shall tell them so!" + +Her father watched her proudly. Back through the years he heard her +mother's voice: + +"If they don't like the man I've married, we'll come back to the +mountains, and not torment them!" + +A creaking sound, occurring regularly at intervals of a few seconds, +came from the road back of the house leading to the ranch buildings, +and gradually grew more distinct. + +"Jim's coming," said Virginia. "He isn't going on the round-up +to-morrow, is he, father? Don't let him go, please!" + +The creaking drew nearer, accompanied by hard, exhausted breathing. + +"No," her father told her, his voice low. "I'm not going to let him +go. He's too worn out and old for that work, though it's wonderful how +he rides with that wooden leg; but I can't tell him he shan't take +charge of the branding. He couldn't stand that disappointment. Come +on, Jim," he called cheerily. "We're on the porch." + +Virginia echoed her father. "Come and talk with us, Jim." + +"I'm a-comin'," came from the corner of the porch, "fast as this old +stick'll bring me. Ain't much the way I used to come, is it, sir? But +stick or leg, I'm good for years yet. Lord, Miss Virginia, I'm a-goin' +to teach your boys and girls how to throw the rope!" And talking as he +wheezed and creaked, Jim reached the porch and laboriously stumped up +the steps. + +Jim was an old man, fifty of whose seventy years had been spent on the +ranges and ranches of the Great West. He had grown with the country, +moving westward as the tide moved, from Iowa to Kansas and Nebraska, +Nebraska to the Dakotas, and from the Dakotas to Montana and Wyoming. +No phase of the life West had escaped Jim. He had fought Indians and +cattle-thieves, punched cattle and homesteaded, prospected and mined. +Twenty years before, seeking more adventure, he had made his way on +horseback through the mountains to Arizona. Whether he found what he +sought, he never told, but five years later, he appeared again in +Wyoming, and since that time he had been with Mr. Hunter, whom he had +known when the country was new. Had his education equaled his honesty +and foresight, Mr. Hunter would long ago have made him foreman, for he +had no man whom he so fully trusted; but Jim's limited knowledge of +letters and figures prohibited that distinction, and he remained in +one sense an ordinary ranch-hand, apparently content. Still, in +another sense, there was something unique about his position. The +younger men looked up to him, because of his wide experience and fund +of practical knowledge; Mr. Hunter relied implicitly upon his honesty, +and consulted him upon many matters of ranch management; and, next to +her father, there was no one in all Wyoming whom Virginia so loved. + +Jim had taught her to ride when her short legs could hardly reach the +stirrups; had told her the names of every tree, bush, and flower of +the hills and plains; and had been her guard and companion on +expeditions far and wide. As she grew older, he gave and taught her +how to use her small rifle; and of late had even given her lessons in +swinging the lasso in the corral, in which art he was dexterity +itself. And last winter Virginia had been able to repay him,--though +all through the years she had given him far more than she knew,--for in +the autumn round-up, Jim, galloping over the range, had been thrown +from his horse, when the animal stumbled into a prairie dog's hole, +and the fall had broken his leg. + +The chagrin of the old cow-puncher was more pitiable to witness than +his pain, when the boys brought him in to the ranch. That he, the +veteran of the range, should have behaved thus--"like the rankest +tenderfoot"--was almost more than his proud spirit could withstand; and +later, when the doctor said the leg below the knee must be sacrificed, +the pain and loss, even the necessity of stumping about the rest of +his days, seemed as nothing to him compared with the shame he felt +over his "tenderfoot foolishness." + +The winter days would have been endless, indeed, had not Virginia been +there to cheer him. Mr. Hunter would not hear of his staying in the +bunk-house, but brought him to the ranch,--and there, under Hannah's +faithful nursing, and Virginia's companionship, the old man forgot a +little of his chagrin and humiliation. Virginia read to him by the +hour, nearly everything she had, and her books were many. Seventy is a +strange age to receive a long-deferred education, but Jim profited by +every chapter, even from "David Copperfield," who, he privately +thought, was "a white-livered kind of fool" and his patience in +listening to David, Virginia rewarded by the convict scene in her own +dear "Great Expectations," or by "Treasure Island," both of which he +never tired. + +Then, when he was able to sit up, even to stump about a little, +Virginia, having reviewed the venture in her own mind, suggested +bravely one day that he learn to read, for he barely knew his letters, +so that while she was at school the hours might not drag so wearily +for him. A little to her surprise, the old man assented eagerly, and +took his first lesson that very hour, He learned rapidly, to write as +well as read, and now that his labors on the ranch were so impaired he +had found it a blessing, indeed. + +Of Jim's early life no one knew. He was always reticent concerning it, +and no one safely tried to penetrate his reserve. His accent betokened +Scotch ancestry, but his birth-place, his parents, and his name were +alike a mystery. He was known to miles of country as "Jim." That was +all. Enough, he said. + +As he stood there in the open doorway, the light falling upon his bent +figure, and bronzed, bearded face, Virginia realized with a quick pang +of how much of her life Jim had been the center. She realized, too, +how worn he looked, and how out of breath he was, and she sprang from +her father's lap. + +"Come in, Jim," she said, taking his hand in hers. "It's cold out +here. Come, father." + +They went into the big, low-storied living-room, where Hannah had +lighted a fire in the great stone fire-place. The spruce logs were +burning brightly, and Virginia drew her father's big arm-chair toward +the fire. + +"Sit here, Jim, where it's warm, and rest." + +Jim about to sit down, hesitated. "You see, sir, I come up on an +errand with a message from the boys. If it's all well and pleasin' to +you both, they'd like to beg permission to come up for a minute. You +see, they're leavin' early in the mornin' for the round-up, and they +want to wish Miss Virginia good luck. If they was to come, I wasn't to +go back." + +"Why, of course, they're to come!" cried Virginia, while her father +nodded his approval. "I'd forgotten they go so early on the range, and +I wouldn't go for the world without seeing them all. Sit down, Jim. +Do! Will they be right up?" + +Jim sank gratefully into the big chair, placed his broad-brimmed hat +on his knee, and gave a final twist to his clean bandanna. + +"They was a-sprucin' up when I left the bunk-house, kind o' reckonin' +on your sayin' to come along. Beats all how walkin' with a stick takes +your wind." He was still breathing hard. Virginia watched him +anxiously. + +"Jim," said Mr. Hunter, after a pause, "I wish you'd look out for the +place to-morrow. I've some matters in town to attend to after taking +Virginia in for the train, and it may be late when I get back. A man +from Willow Creek thought he'd be around this week to look at some +sheep. I'm thinking of selling one hundred or so of that last year +lot, and I'll leave the choice and price to your judgment." + +"All right, sir." This helped matters considerably. Jim himself had +decided that he could not go upon the range, but here was afforded a +valid excuse to give the boys. His tired face brightened. + +"And, Jim," continued Virginia, eagerly, "I almost forgot to tell you. +Don and I spied Bess and the colt to-day on the lower range, not two +miles from the corral. The colt's black like Bess, and a darling! +Don't hurt it any more than you can help when you brand it, will you, +Jim? Does it hurt much, do you suppose?" + +"Sho' now, don't you worry, Miss Virginia. You see, brandin's like +most other things that don't hurt nearly so much as you think they're +goin' to. It ain't bad after a minute. I'll be careful of the little +fellow. Here come the boys." + +Five stalwart forms passed the window and came to the porch, cleaning +their feet carefully upon the iron mud-scraper screwed to the side of +the lowest step for that very purpose. Then, a little embarrassed, +they filed up the steps and into the house, the two last bearing +between them a large box which they placed near the door. They were +hardy men, used to a rough life, of ages varying from young Dick +Norton, who was eighteen and a newcomer, to John Weeks, the foreman, a +man of fifty. Roughly dressed though they were, in flannel shirts and +knee-boots, they were clean, having, as Jim said, "spruced up" for the +occasion. For a moment they stood ill at ease, sombreros in their +hands, but only for a moment, for Mr. Hunter found them chairs, +talking meanwhile of the round-up, and Virginia ran to the kitchen to +ask Hannah for cider and gingerbread. + +"Come in yourself, Hannah," she said to the kind soul, who sat by the +spotless pine table, knitting busily; and she begged until Hannah +changed her apron and joined the circle about the fire. + +"Joe," said Virginia to a big man of thirty, whose feet worried him +because they demanded so much room. "Joe, you'll keep an eye on the +littlest pup, won't you? He has a lump in his throat, and the others +pick on him. I wish you'd rub the lump with liniment; and don't forget +to tell me how he is." + +Joe promised. If the service had been for the Queen, he could not have +been more honored. + +"And, Alec," to a tall Scotchman, who had a wife and family in the +nearest town, "I'm leaving my black Sampson and all his clothes to +little David. You'll take them when you go in Saturday night?" + +Alec beamed his thanks. + +"I wish you'd use Pedro all you can, Dick." This to the young lad, who +colored and smiled. "He gets sore if he isn't used; and give him some +sugar now and then for me. He'll miss me at first." + +She turned toward the farthest corner of the room where a man sat +apart from the others--a man with a kind, almost sad face, upon the +features of which the town saloon had left its mark. This was William, +one of the best cattle hands in the county when he could keep away +from town. To every one but Virginia he was "Bill," but Virginia said +he needed to be called William. + +"William," she said, "if you kill any snakes, I wish you'd save me the +rattles. I'm collecting them. And, if you have any time, I wish you'd +plant some perennial things in the bed under my window, so they'll +bloom early in June. You choose whatever you like. It'll be more fun +not to know, and then see them all in blossom when I get home. Don't +you think it would be a good plan?" + +William's tired face, on which were written the records of many hopes +and failures, grew so bright with interest that he did not look like +"Bill" at all. Moreover, he loved flowers. + +"Just the thing, Miss Virginia," he said. "I'll have it ready for you +in June, and I won't forget them rattles, either." + +She thanked him. "And oh, Mr. Weeks," she said, for she dignified the +foreman by a title, "you won't let father work too hard, will you? +Because I shall worry if you don't promise me." + +So the delighted Mr. Weeks promised, while they all laughed. Then the +men looked from one another to Jim with shy, embarrassed glances, as +though they were waiting for something. Jim was equal to the occasion. + +"You, Joe and Dick, bring that box in front of the fire while I get +up." + +Joe and Dick, glad of something to do, obeyed, lifting the big box +before the fire, while Virginia stared in surprise, and her father +smiled, watching her. Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his +chair and stood facing his audience, but his eyes were on Virginia. + +"Miss Virginia," he began, while the boys fumbled with their hats, +"none of us ain't forgot what you've been to us while you've been +a-growin' up. Some of us have been here a good while, and some ain't +been so long, but we've all been long enough to think a deal o' you. +You've always treated us like gentlemen, and we ain't them that +forget. This old ranch ain't goin' to seem the same without you, but +we're glad you're goin' to be educated in that school your mother went +to, for those of us who knowed her, knowed a lady. + +"Now there ain't a better rider in all this country than yourself, +Miss Virginia, and I can just see how you'll make them Easterners' +eyes stick out. And we boys don't want you to have to ride on any o' +them flat-seated English saddles, that ain't fit for any one but a +tenderfoot. So we've just took the liberty of gettin' you a little +remembrance of us. Joe and Dick, suppose you lift the cover, and show +Miss Virginia her present." + +[Illustration: "Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair +and stood facing his audience."] + +Joe and Dick raised the cover of the box, and lifted from it before +Virginia's shining eyes a new Western saddle. It was made from russet +leather with trappings complete, and could not be surpassed in design +and workmanship. On its brass-topped saddle-horn were engraved the +letters "V. H."; the same monogram was embroidered on the four corners +of the heavy brown saddle blanket; and the brass of the bridle, +suspended from the saddle-horn, was cunningly engraved with the same +design. + +Virginia gazed at the saddle, at her father, at the men, one by one, +at Hannah, who was wiping her eyes; and then suddenly the tears came +into her own eyes, and her voice, when she tried to thank them, broke +at every word. + +"Oh, I--just--can't--thank--you--" she managed to say, while the men's +rough faces twitched, and tears filled the furrows of Jim's cheeks, +"but I'll--never forget you, never, because you're my very best +friends!" And she went from one to the other, shaking hands with each, +while her father followed her example, for he was quite as touched and +delighted as she. + +Then, after she had examined all over again every part of the saddle; +after Jim had explained how they were to pack and ship it so that it +would reach school by the time she arrived; after gingerbread and +cider had helped them all to regain composure, Virginia went to her +room and returned with a tiny box, and her fountain pen. + +"Aunt Lou says that every girl who goes away to school must have +calling cards," she explained, "and I'm going to use mine for the very +first time to-night to write my address for each one of you. And every +time you look at it, please remember how much I thank you every one, +and how much I'm missing you." + +So when the men went back to the bunk-house, after an hour they would +always remember, each carried in the pocket of his flannel shirt a +calling-card, given by a "lady" to a "gentleman." + +"Oh, daddy," cried Virginia, as the last faint creak of Jim's stick +died away on the road to the bunk-house. "Oh, daddy, why did they ever +do it for me? And I've never done a thing for them, except perhaps +reading to Jim!" + +Her father gathered her in his lap for the last few minutes before the +fire. + +"Virginia," he said, "I learned long ago that we often help others +most by just being ourselves. When you grow older, perhaps you'll +understand what the men mean." They sat silently for a while, neither +wanting to leave the fire and each other. From the bunk-house came the +sound of voices singing some lusty song of the range. The boys +apparently were happy, too. "And now, little girl, it's a long drive +to-morrow, and we must be off early. Kiss your father, and run to +bed." + +Closely she clung to him, and kissed him again and again; but when the +lump in her throat threatened to burst with bigness, she ran to her +own room, leaving her father to watch the fire die away and to think +of many things. Pinned to her pillow, she found a brown paper parcel, +with "From Hannah" written in ungainly characters upon it. Inside were +red mittens, knitted by the same rough fingers that had penned the +words. The lump in Virginia's throat swelled bigger. She ran across +the hall to the little room where Hannah, muffled in flannel gown and +night-cap, lay in bed, and kissed her gratefully. + +"Run to bed, dearie," muttered the old servant. "It's cold these +nights in the mountains." + +But Virginia's mind was too full of thoughts for sleep. She reviewed +her ride with Donald, her talk with her father, all the dear events of +the evening with its crowning joy. It seemed hours when she heard her +father go to his room, and yet she could not sleep. At last she sat up +in bed, bundling the covers about her, for the air was cold, and +looked out of her window. At night the mountains seemed nearer still, +and more friendly--more protecting, less strange and secretive. She +looked at them wondering. Did they really know all things? Were they +millions of years old, as she had read? Did they care at all for +people who looked at them, and wondered, and wanted to be like them? + +"To-night I half believe you do care," she whispered. "Anyway, I'm not +frightened of you at all. And oh, do take care of those I love till I +come back again!" + +Then she lay down again, and soon was fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE JOURNEY EAST + + +As the great Puget Sound Limited was about to pull out of the little +Wyoming way-station to which Virginia and her father had driven in the +early morning, a white-haired, soldierly looking gentleman in gray +overcoat and traveling cap watched with amused interest a gray-eyed +girl in a blue suit, who, leaning over the railing of the observation +car, gave hurried and excited requests to her father who stood alone +on the station platform. + +"Father, dear," she begged, "don't work too hard or read too late at +night; and don't forget to take the indigestion tablets. And, father, +I think it would be fine if Jim could have my room when it gets cold. +The bunk-house is bad for his rheumatism. And I do hope you can keep +William away from town. You'll try hard, won't you?" The train slowly +began to move, but she must say one thing more. "Daddy," she called, +beckoning him nearer, and making a trumpet of her hands; "daddy, you +trust me, don't you, to use my judgment about talking on the journey?" + +The man on the platform smiled and nodded. Then, taking his +handkerchief from his pocket, he waved to his little daughter, who, +waving her own, watched him until the now rapidly moving train quite +hid his lonely figure from sight. Then she sighed, tucked her +handkerchief in her coat pocket, and sat down beside the old +gentleman, who was apparently still amused and interested, perhaps +also touched. + +"Well," he heard her say to herself with a little break in her voice, +"it's all over and it's just begun." Then she settled herself back in +her chair, while her neighbor wondered at this somewhat puzzling +remark. + +"How can it be all over and at the same time just begun, my dear?" he +ventured to ask, his kind blue eyes studying her face. + +Virginia looked at him. They two were quite alone on the platform. The +old gentleman, having heard her last request of her father, concluded +that she was using her judgment and deciding whether or not she had +best talk to him. His conclusion was quite right. "He certainly is +oldish, and very kind looking," Virginia was thinking. "I guess it +wouldn't be familiar." + +"Why, you see, sir," she answered, having in her own mind satisfied +herself and her father, and allowing herself to forget all about Aunt +Lou, "it's all over because I've said good-by to father, and it's just +begun--that is, the making of me is just begun--because I'm on my way +East to school." + +"So going East to school is going to be the making of you, is it?" + +"That's what Aunt Lou says; and, besides, 'a very broadening +experience.'" + +"I see; and who is Aunt Lou?" + +"She's my mother's sister from Vermont. You see, my mother lived in +Vermont when she was a girl, and went to St. Helen's, too; but when +she got older, she came to Wyoming to teach school and married my +father. My mother is dead, sir," she finished softly. + +His eyes grew kinder than ever. "I'm sorry for that," he said softly, +too. + +She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly even +Aunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped he +was going all the way East. + +The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was no +station near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentleman +followed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a dark +object was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near it +slowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia's +quick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder was +branded a horseshoe with a "C" in the center. + +"My!" she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companion +in the gray coat. "That's a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range. +Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He'll +say there's rustlers around Elk Creek." She laughed. + +"How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what's a +rustler?" + +Virginia laughed again. "You're like me," she said frankly. "I ask +questions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman who +lives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to him +because I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a +'C' in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. There +used to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their own +brands on young cattle and colts. But there aren't any more now, you +see, because the range isn't open like it used to be. There are too +many people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattle +which are branded already. You see," she went on, "Mr. Cunningham's +mean, though he's very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattle +ever so many times even when they're not branding or shipping, so he +can tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, because +people in our country think it's very small to make such a fuss over +one steer when you have hundreds." + +"I should think so. And how many cattle have you?" + +"Oh, not so many now as we used to have," she explained, while he +listened interested. "You see, sir, the range isn't so open any more, +because people are taking up the land from the government every year; +and so there isn't so much room for the cattle. Besides, we've been +irrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and by +almost all the cattle land that's good for grain will be gone. The +boys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps a +thousand. Does that seem many to you?" she added, because the old +gentleman looked go surprised. + +Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he was +accustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New England +pasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the land +about, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wished +he were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived in +Boston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his married +daughter, and was now returning home. "Then he will go all the way," +thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that he +looked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in the +Civil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel Carver +Standish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one of +her new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, she +concluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quite +simply: + +"And my name is Virginia Hunter," which pleased the old Colonel far +better than a calling card would have done. + +"And now, Miss Virginia," he said, "if you will pardon me for what +looks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? I +couldn't exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hope +you'll excuse me?" + +Virginia smiled. She did enjoy being treated like a young lady. +"Certainly," she said. And she told him all about poor old Jim, his +wooden leg, the accident that necessitated it, his learning to read, +which greatly interested the old Colonel, and his kindness to her ever +since she was a little girl. Then, seeing that he really liked to +know, she told him of the evening before, and the new saddle which the +boys had given her. + +"Capital!" cried the Colonel, slapping his knee in his excitement, +quite to the amusement of a little boy, who had come out-of-doors and +who sat with his mother on the other side of the platform. "Capital! +Just what they should have done, too! They must be fine fellows. I'd +like to know them." + +"Oh, you would like them!" she told him. "I know you would! I love +them all, but Jim the best. And this morning, Colonel Standish" (for +if he called her by name she must return the courtesy), "this morning +when the other men had all gone to the round-up, Jim harnessed the +horses for father to drive me to the station. But he felt so bad to +have me go away that he couldn't bear to bring the horses up to the +door, so he tied them and called to father; and when we drove away and +I looked back, he was leaning all alone against the bunk-house. And, +some way, I think he was crying." + +She looked up at the Colonel, her eyes filled with tears. The Colonel +slapped his knee again, and blew his nose vigorously. + +"I shouldn't wonder a bit if that's what he was doing, Miss Virginia," +he said. "Fine old man! And what about William?" he asked after a few +moments. + +"Oh, William," said Virginia. "You'd like William; and I'm sure you +wouldn't call him 'Bill' like some do. It makes such a difference to +him! If you call him 'Bill' most of the time, he's just Bill, and it's +a lot easier for him to stay around the saloon. But if you say +'William,' it makes it easier for him to keep away--he told me so one +day. And in his spare time, he loves to take care of flowers, and +plant vines and trees." + +The Colonel liked William. Indeed, he liked him so thoroughly that he +asked question after question concerning him; and then about Alec and +Joe and Dick. It was amazing how the time flew! Another hour passed +before either of them imagined it. The country was changing. Already +it was becoming more open, less mountainous. Some peaks towered in the +distance--blue and hazy and snow-covered. + +"We can see those from home," Virginia told the Colonel. "They're the +highest in all the country round. They're the last landmark of home +I'll see, I suppose," she finished wistfully, and was sorry when a +bend of the road hid them from sight. + +"You love the mountains?" he said, half-questioning. + +"Oh, yes," she cried, "better than anything!" And then they talked of +the mountains, and of how different they were at different times, like +persons with joys and disappointments and ideals. How on some days +they seemed silent and reserved and solemn, and on others sunny and +joyous and almost friendly; and how at night one somehow felt better +acquainted with them than in the day-time. + +"But the foot-hills are always friendly," Virginia told him. "And +they're really more like people, because you can get acquainted with +them more easily. The mountains, after all, seem more like God. Don't +you think so?" + +The Colonel did think so, most decidedly, now that he thought at all +about it. He admitted to himself that perhaps in his long journeys +across the mountains and through the foot-hills on his visits West, he +had not thought much about them, especially as related to himself. He +wished he had had this gray-eyed girl with him for she breathed the +very spirit of the country. It had been rare good fortune for him that +by chance he was standing on the platform when she said "Good-by" to +her father, else he had missed much. It was dinner time before either +of them realized how quickly the morning had passed; and Virginia ran +to wash her hands, after the Colonel had raised his cap with a +soldierly bow, saying that he hoped to see her again in the afternoon. + +He did see her again in the afternoon, for they discovered that their +sections were in the same car, in fact, directly opposite; and again +the next morning, until by the time they reached Omaha they were old +friends. They talked more about the country, which, after leaving the +mountains, was new to Virginia's interested eyes; and then about +books; and after that about the war, the old soldier telling a most +flattering listener story after story of his experiences. + +The conductor, coming through the car with telegrams at Omaha, found +them both so interested that he was obliged to call her name twice +before her astonished ears rightly understood him. + +"Aren't you Miss Virginia Hunter?" he asked amused. + +"Yes, sir," she managed to say. "But it can't be for me, is it? I +never had a telegram in my life." + +"It's for you," he said, more amused than ever, while the Colonel +smiled, too, at her surprise, and left the yellow envelope in her lap. + +"Whom can it be from?" she asked herself, puzzled. "The spell of +having a real telegram is so nice that I almost hate to break it by +finding out. But I guess I'd best." + +She tore open the envelope, and drew out the slip inside. When she had +read it, she gazed perplexed at the Colonel. She was half-troubled, +half-amused, but at length she laughed. + +"I'll read it to you, I think," she said, "because in a way it's about +you." The Colonel in his turn looked amazed. "You see," she went on, +"it's from my Aunt Lou, and she warned me about talking to strangers +on the way. I suppose she thought I'd forget, and so she sent this." +She again unfolded the telegram, and read to him: + + "Los Angeles, Cal., Sept. 15. + + "I hope you are remembering instructions, and + having a pleasant journey. + + "Aunt Louise." + +"But I'm sure she would approve of you," she assured him; "and I've +talked with almost no one else, except the baby in the end of the car +and his mother; and babies certainly would be exempt, don't you think? +No one could help talking to a baby." + +He agreed with her. "Aren't you going to send her a wire in return?" +he asked. + +"Why, I never thought of that. Could I? Is there time? What can I tell +her?" + +"Of course, you could, and there's plenty of time. Ten minutes yet. +I'll get you a blank, and you can be thinking what you'll tell her." + +While he was gone, Virginia studied her aunt's message, and decided +upon her own. She was ready when he returned. + +"Don't go away, Colonel Standish, please," she said, when he would +have left her to complete her message. "I never sent a telegram +before, and besides I want you to tell me if you think this is all +right. I've said: + + "Delightful journey. No talking except with + baby, mother, and oldish gentleman." + +The Colonel slapped his knee, and laughed. "Capital!" he said. +"Capital! You've got us all in." He laughed again, but stopped as he +noted her puzzled expression. "Not satisfied, Miss Virginia?" + +"Not quite," she admitted. "You see it doesn't sound exactly honest. +I've said, 'No talking ex-cept--' Now that sounds as though I'd talked +only occasionally with the three of you, and most of the time sat by +myself, when really I've talked hours with you. I think I'll change +the 'No talking,' and say, 'Have talked with baby, mother, and oldish +gentleman.' I'd feel better about it." She paused, waiting his +approval. + +"If I'd feel better about it, Miss Virginia, I'd surely make the +change," he said approvingly. "That queer thing inside of us that +tells us how to make ourselves most comfortable, is a pretty safe +guide to follow." + +So she rewrote the message, while he waited, and while he went to +attend to its dispatch, wondered how Aunt Lou would feel when she +received it. + + * * * * * + +At Chicago, Miss Cobb, a friend of Aunt Louise, met her and took her +across the city to the station from which she was to take the Eastern +train; and though Virginia had said "Good-by" to the Colonel until +they should again meet two hours later, it so happened that he was in +the very bus which took them with others across the city. Virginia +introduced him to Miss Cobb, and under her breath, while the Colonel +was looking out of the window, asked if Aunt Lou could possibly object +to her talking with such an evident gentleman. Miss Cobb, who, +perhaps, fortunately for herself, was not quite so particular as +Virginia's aunt, felt very sure there could not be the slightest +objection, of which she was more than ever convinced after a half +hour's talk with the gentleman in question. + +So Virginia with a clear conscience continued her journey from Chicago +on, and enjoyed the Colonel more than ever. As they went through the +Berkshires on the last day of the journey, she told him more about +Donald, his experience at school, and how he couldn't seem to feel at +home. + +"I wish my grandson knew that fellow," said the old gentleman. "Just +what he needs. Too much fol-de-rol in bringing up boys now-a-days, +Miss Virginia. The world's made too easy for them, altogether too +easy!" And he slapped his knee vigorously to emphasize his remark. "By +the way, what's the name of that school of yours?" + +"St. Helen's at Hillcrest, sir." + +"Exactly. Just what I thought you told me the first day I saw you. If +I'm not mistaken, that's in the neighborhood of the very school that +grandson of mine attends. And if you'll allow me, Miss Virginia, some +day when I'm there I'm going to bring that boy of mine over to see +you. You'd do him good; and I want him to see a girl who thinks of +something besides furbelows." + +Virginia smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing the Colonel again. + +"I'd love to have you come to see me," she said, "and bring him, too, +if he'd like to come. What is his name, and how old is he?" + +"Why, he has my name, the third one of the family, Carver Standish, +and he's just turned seventeen. He has two more years at school, and +then he goes up to Williams where his father and I were educated. He's +a good lad, Miss Virginia, if they don't spoil him with too much +attention and too much society. I tell you these boys of to-day get +too much attention and too few hard knocks. I want this fellow to be a +man. He's the only grandson I've got." + +So they talked while the train bore them nearer and nearer Springfield +where Virginia's grandmother and aunt were to meet her. At last there +were but a few minutes left, and she ran to wash and brush her hair, +so that she might carry out the first of Aunt Lou's instructions: "Be +sure you are tidy when you meet your grandmother." + +She was very "tidy," at least so the Colonel thought, when, with +freshly brushed suit and hat, new gloves and little silk umbrella, she +stood with beating heart and wide-open, half-frightened eyes on the +platform of the slowly moving train. The Colonel was behind her with +her bag. + +"You see," she told him, a little tremulously, "I'm so anxious for +them to approve of me." + +"Well, if they don't--" he ejaculated almost angry, and perhaps it was +just as well that the train stopped that moment. + +Virginia's eyes were searching the faces about her for those who might +be her grandmother and aunt; and, at the same time, farther up the +platform, the eyes of a stately, white-haired lady in black and of a +fresh-faced younger woman in blue were searching for a certain little +girl whom they had not seen for years. + +"There she is, mother," cried the younger woman at last, quickening +her steps, "there in the blue suit. She walks with her head high just +as Mary did." + +Tears came into the eyes of the white-haired lady. "But there's a +gentleman with her, Nan. Who can he be?" + +"Oh, probably just some one she's met. If she's like her mother, she'd +be sure to meet some one." + +She hurried forward, and so sure was she that the girl in the blue +suit was Virginia, that she put both arms around her, and kissed her +at once without saying a word. + +"Oh, Aunt Nan," breathed Virginia, her heart beating less fast. She +knew that moment that she should love Aunt Nan. But her heart beat +fast again, as Aunt Nan drew her forward to meet her grandmother, who +was drawing near more slowly. + +"And this is Virginia," said that lady, extending her perfectly gloved +hand, and kissing Virginia's cheek. "I am glad to see you, my dear. +Mary's little girl!" she murmured to herself, and at that tears came +again to her eyes. + +Virginia liked her for the tears, but could somehow find nothing to +say in response to her grandmother's greeting. She stood embarrassed; +and then all at once she remembered the Colonel. He stood, hat in +hand, with her bag--a soldierly, dignified figure, who must impress her +grandmother. + +"I--I beg your pardon, grandmother," she stammered. "This is my friend, +Colonel Standish, who has been kind to me on the way." + +Her grandmother acknowledged the introduction, her Aunt Nan also. The +Colonel shook hands with Virginia, and reiterated his intention to +call upon her at school. "With your permission, my dear madam," he +added, by his cultured manner quite convincing Mrs. Webster that he +was a gentleman. Then he hurried aboard his train, and left a +gray-eyed girl with a heart beating tumultuously inside a blue suit to +go on a waiting northbound train toward Vermont. As his train pulled +out from the station, the Colonel completed his sentence. + +"If they don't approve of that little girl," he said to himself, with +an emphatic slap upon his knee; "if they don't approve of her, then +they're-they're hopeless, as that grandson of mine says, and I +shouldn't care to make their acquaintance further." + +Meanwhile Virginia was fixedly gazing out of the window, as the train, +leaving Springfield, carried them northward. She tried to be +interested in the strange, new country about her; but some way, +instead of the crimson maples and yellow goldenrod, there would come +before her eyes a cottonwood bordered creek, a gap between brown +foothills, a stretch of rolling prairie land, black and green and +gold, and in the distance the hazy, snow-covered summits of far away +mountains. But with the picture came again Donald's words--words that +made her swallow the lump in her throat, and smile at her grandmother +and Aunt Nan. + +"No, the East isn't like this--not a bit, and maybe you won't like it; +but you're too plucky to be homesick, Virginia!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +VERMONT AS VIRGINIA SAW IT + + +It was not until the afternoon of the second day in Vermont that +Virginia wrote her father. The evening before she had said +"Good-night" as early as she thought polite to her grandmother, Aunt +Nan, and the minister who had come to call, and, upon being asked, +willingly stayed to tea, and had gone up-stairs to the room which had +been her mother's to write her father about everything. But somehow +the words would not come, though she sat for an hour at the quaint +little mahogany desk and tried to write; and it all ended by her going +to bed, holding close her mother's old copy of "Scottish Chiefs," +which Aunt Nan had placed in her room, and forgetting in sleep the +thoughts that would come in spite of her. + +But now that the hardest first night was over, and the first forenoon, +which she had spent walking with Aunt Nan, had gone, she must write +him all about it. She sat down again at the quaint little desk, over +which hung the picture of a girl of sixteen with clear, frank eyes, +and began: + + "Webster, Vermont, Sept. 18, 19-- + + "Father dearest: + + "Do you remember how the poor queen in the fairy tale dreaded + to meet the dwarf because she knew she didn't know his name? + Well, that was just like me when the train was near + Springfield. If it hadn't been for the dear Colonel, whom I + told you about in my train letter, I don't believe I could + ever have been as calm as I truly _outwardly_ was; because, + daddy, I felt as though I didn't know grandmother at all, any + more than the poor queen, and I did dread seeing her. But I + was tidy, and my heart didn't beat on the outside, for which + blessings I could well be thankful. The Colonel carried my bag + for me, and that made it easier, for, of course, family pride + forbade my allowing him to see that my grandmother and I + weren't really well acquainted. + + "And, after all, it wasn't so bad. Aunt Nan is dear, father, + like mother, I know, and I love her already. She is not so + _proper_ as grandmother. _I_ kissed Aunt Nan, and + _grandmother_ kissed me. That explains the way they made me + feel, Grandmother _is_ handsome, isn't she? And stately, like + an old portrait. But when you talk with her you feel as though + there were some one else inside your skin. + + "I do hope they don't disapprove of me now, and will by and by + care for me for mother's sake and yours. Aunt Nan likes me + now, I am sure, and grandmother, I am reasonably sure, doesn't + dislike me, though I think she considers me somewhat puzzling. + She looks at me sometimes like we used to look at the tame + foxes, when we weren't sure what they were going to do next. + + "Do you remember how the country looked coming from + Springfield to Webster, when you came with mother? It was in + September when you came, you said, and I remembered it. The + creeks, which they call 'brooks' here, are lovely, though not + so swift as ours, and the oaks and maples are a wonderful + color in among the fir trees. I know you remember the + goldenrod and asters, because mother always told about them. + Didn't you miss the quaking-asps, father? I did the first + thing, and asked grandmother about them,--if none grew in + Vermont. She didn't know what I was talking about. She had no + idea it was a tree, and thought I meant a bug, like that which + killed poor Cleopatra. But I missed them, and I think the fall + is sadder without them, because they are always so merry. I + missed the cottonwoods, too. Aunt Nan said there were a few of + those in New England, but they called them Carolina poplars. + + "The little villages in among the hills are pretty, aren't + they?--so clean and white--but they don't seem to care about the + rest of the world at all, it seems to me. Webster is like + that, too, I think, though it is lovely. If you remember how + it looked when you were here, then I don't need to describe + it, for Aunt Nan says it hasn't changed any. When we reached + here, and were driving up towards the house, grandmother asked + me how I liked Webster, and I said it was beautiful, but it + seemed very small. She couldn't understand me at all, and said + she didn't see how it could seem small to me when we didn't + live in a town at all in Wyoming. I was afraid I had been + impolite, and I was just trying to explain that I meant it + seemed shut in because you couldn't see the country all around + like you could at home, when we stopped at the house, and saw + a gentleman coming toward us with a black suit and a cane. + Grandmother looked at Aunt Nan, and Aunt Nan at grandmother, + and they both said at once, 'Dr. Baxter!' + + "'We must invite him to tea,' said grandmother. 'It would + never do not to!' + + "'Nonsense!' said Aunt Nan. 'I don't see why.' + + "Well, he came up to the carriage just as grandmother finished + whispering, 'Our pastor, Virginia,' and handed grandmother + out, and then Aunt Nan, and lastly me. I tried to be + especially polite when grandmother introduced me, remembering + how she had warned me that he was the minister; but somehow + all I could think of was the parson in the 'Birds of + Killingworth,' because, when I first saw him coming down the + street, he was hitting the goldenrod with his cane, and some + way I just know he preaches about the 'wrath of God,' too, + just like the Killingworth parson. He did stay to tea, though + I'm sure Aunt Nan didn't want him, and I, not being used to + ministers, didn't want him either; but I put on one of my new + dresses, as grandmother said, and tried to be an asset and not + a liability. But, father, I know grandmother was troubled, + and, in a way, displeased, because of the following incident: + + "Dr. Baxter is bald and wears eye-glasses on a string, and the + end of his nose quivers like a rabbit's, and he rubs his + hands, which are rather plump, together a great deal. Some + way, father, you just feel as though he didn't care away down + deep about you at all, but was just curious. I am sorry if I + am wrong about him, but I can't help feeling that way. All + through tea he talked about the Christianizing of Korea, and + the increased sale of the Bible, and how terrible it was that + China wasn't going to make Christianity the state religion. He + didn't pay much attention to me, and I thought he had + forgotten all about me, when all at once he looked at me + across the table and said: + + "'And to what church do you belong, Miss Virginia?' + + "Poor grandmother looked so uncomfortable that I felt sorry + for her, and after I had said, 'I don't belong to any, Dr. + Baxter,' she tried to explain about our living on a 'large + farm' (I don't believe grandmother thinks ranches are real + _proper_) and not being near a church. + + "Aunt Nan tried to change the subject, but Dr. Baxter just + wouldn't have it changed, and after looking at me thoughtfully + for a few moments, he said: + + "'I wonder that our Home Mission Board does not send + candidates to that needy field. Do you have no traveling + preachers, Miss Virginia?' + + "Grandmother looked so uneasy that I did try to say just the + right thing, father, but I guess I made a mistake, because I + told him that we did have traveling preachers sometimes, only + we didn't feel that we needed just the kind of preaching they + gave. His nose quivered more than ever, and grandmother tried + to explain again only she didn't know how, and at last he + said: + + "'If the Word is not appreciated in Wyoming, it is elsewhere, + thank God!'--just as though Wyoming were a wilderness where + 'heathen in their blindness bow down to wood and stone.' + Grandmother looked more mortified than ever, and the silence + grew so heavy that you could hear it whirring in your ears. By + and by we did leave the table, and then I excused myself to + write to you, but I couldn't seem to write at all, I felt so + troubled about mortifying poor grandmother. This morning I + thought she would speak of it, but she didn't, and perhaps, if + I make no more slips, she will forget about it. It is very + difficult to be a constant credit to one's family, especially + when it requires so much forethought. + + "Grandmother feels very bad because she has no son to carry on + the family name. When she and Aunt Nan and Aunt Lou die, she + says 'the name will vanish from this town where it has been + looked up to for two hundred years.' + + "It makes a great difference in Webster _how_ one does + things--even more than _what_ one does. This morning, when Aunt + Nan and I were going to walk, Aunt Nan said, 'I think we'll + run in to see Mrs. Dexter, mother. She'll want to see + Virginia.' And grandmother said, 'Not in the morning, Nan. It + would never do!' So we have to go in the afternoon. I told + Aunt Nan when we were walking that at home we called on our + friends any time, and she said she wished she lived in + Wyoming! _She_ could 'belong' to us, father, but I'm afraid + grandmother never could enjoy Jim and William and the others. + She is too Websterized. + + "Wasn't it thoughtful of Aunt Nan to put mother's old + 'Scottish Chiefs' on my table? It has all her markings in it. + Last night--but I won't tell you, because you will think I am + homesick, and I'm not! Please tell Don. + + "Do you remember the view of the Green Mountains from the + window in mother's room? I can see them now as I write you. + They are beautiful, but so dressed up with trees that they + don't seem so friendly and honest as our little brown + foot-hills. Oh, daddy, I do miss the mountains so, and our + great big country! Last night when I tried to write you and + couldn't, I stood by the window and watched the moon come up + over the hills; and I couldn't think of anything but a poem + that kept running through my head like this: + + To gaze on the mountains with those you love + Inspires you to do right; + But the hills of Vermont without those you love + Are but a sorry sight! + + "Aunt Nan is waiting for me down-stairs. I can hear her and + grandmother talking together. Oh, I wonder if they do approve + of me! + + "Father, dear, give my love to Jim and Hannah and Mr. Weeks + and Alec and William and Joe and Dick and all the Keiths, and + tell them I think of them every day. Give Pedro sugar as often + as you remember, won't you?--and if the lump in the littlest + collie's throat doesn't go away soon, please kill him, because + I don't want him to suffer. + + "I do love you so much, father dearest, that if I tell you any + more about it, I'll quite break my promise to myself. + + "Virginia. + + "P. S. Just think, daddy, Aunt Nan says you must come East + in June to get me and visit them. She said also when we + were walking that you were a fine-looking man; and I told + her that you were not only that, but that you were fine + all the way through, and that every one in Sheridan County + knew it!--V. W. H." + +And while Virginia wrote her letter to her father in the room which +had been her mother's, downstairs, in the library, her grandmother and +Aunt Nan talked together. + +"I must admit, Nan, she isn't nearly so wild as I expected after +having been brought up in that wilderness." + +"Wild, mother? She's a dear, that's what she is! And Wyoming isn't a +wilderness. You must remember the country has grown." + +"I know, but it can hardly afford the advantages of New England. I +mean in a cultural way, my dear." + +Aunt Nan actually sniffed. "Maybe not, mother. I'm sick of culture! I +like something more genuine. And as to good manners, I'm sure Virginia +has them." + +"Yes," her mother assented. "And I must say I'm surprised after what +Louise wrote as to the ranch life. Mary's husband has done well by +Virginia, I must grant that." + +"Lou is too particular for any use, mother. I've always said so. And +as for Virginia's father, you've never half appreciated him!" + +Virginia's grandmother felt rebuked--perhaps, a little justly. + +"Of course," she said, a little deprecatingly, "there are crudities. +Now as to that matter last evening with Dr. Baxter. I fear he was +rather--" + +"Shocked!" finished Aunt Nan. "And I'm glad he was! Virginia only told +the truth. If he knew more about Wyoming geography and less about +Korean idolatry, he'd appear to better advantage! He needs shocking!" + +"My dear Nan!" interposed her mother. + +"Well, he does, mother, and I hope he's so shocked that he won't come +to tea again for a month!" + +And with that Aunt Nan, leaving her mother somewhat disturbed in mind, +went to call her niece. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE "BROADENING EXPERIENCE" BEGINS + + +"I'm afraid it will look as though we didn't show proper interest, +Nan. Besides, I never did like the idea of a child starting out alone +for boarding-school. None of my children ever did. But what can we +do?" It was Virginia's grandmother who spoke. + +"Now, mother dear, don't worry about 'proper interest.' I've written +Miss King all about it, so that she understands. And since I was +careless enough to sprain my ankle, and you unfortunate enough to have +to entertain the Mission Circle, we can't do anything but let Virginia +go alone." This from Aunt Nan, who lay on the couch with a bandaged +ankle, the result of a bad wrench the day before. + +Virginia spoke next. "Don't worry at all, please, grandmother. It +isn't as though I hadn't traveled way from Wyoming. I'll be very +careful--truly, I will--and try to do everything just as you would +wish." + +"Oh, I don't suppose it's absolutely necessary that one of us go. It's +just that I have always considered it very essential that a young and +inexperienced girl should be accompanied by some member of her family +when she enters upon such an important step. But circumstances +certainly dictate the course of events, and it looks as though you +must go alone, Virginia. Miss King remembers your mother, and will +welcome you for her sake; and she assures me you are to room with a +wholly desirable girl of excellent family. My dear, you will try, I +know, to be a credit to the Websters!" + +Away back in Virginia's eyes gleamed a flash of light, but she +answered quietly: + +"Certainly, grandmother, and to the Hunters, too, because father is +just as anxious that I should do well as you and Aunt Nan and Aunt +Lou. Please don't forget how anxious he is," she finished, a little +wistfully. + +Aunt Nan gave her hand a friendly little squeeze. "Of course, he's the +most interested of us all," she said. "We mustn't be selfish, mother. +They'll send the carriage to meet you, Virginia, and Miss King will +understand about everything. It will seem strange at first, but you'll +soon get acquainted, and love it, I know you will." + +So it happened that on account of a sprained ankle and the Mission +Circle, Virginia again boarded the train after five days in Vermont, +and started with a heart filled with dreams and hopes to discover +whether school were really as dear and delightful as Peggy Montfort +had found it. + +Hillcrest was a five hours' journey from Webster, and to-day Virginia +could look at the countrysides which they passed with a less perturbed +spirit than that with which she had so unsuccessfully tried to watch +them nearly a week before. The visit in Vermont was over, and after +all it had not been so hard. She really loved dear, frank, funny Aunt +Nan very dearly, and she somehow felt sure that Aunt Nan loved her. As +for Grandmother Webster, perhaps she did not love her Wyoming +granddaughter just yet; but, Virginia assured herself, remembering her +grandmother's warm kiss at parting, she at least did not entirely +disapprove of her. After all, it was hard to have one's only +granddaughter from Wyoming--especially hard when one could not +understand that Wyoming was not a wilderness. + +But as she reviewed the five days, she could not find any glaring +improprieties or mistakes, except perhaps shocking poor Dr. Baxter. +But even then, she had only told the truth. After all, manners are +quite the same in Wyoming as in Vermont, she thought. To be sure her +_a's_ were hardly broad to suit Grandmother Webster, and her _r's_ +quite too prominent. In Vermont there were no _r's_--that is, where +they belonged. If used at all, they were hinged in the funniest sort +of way to the ends of words. Virginia laughed as she remembered how +grandmother had called her "Virginiar" and the maid "Emmar," but +pronounced Webster, which possessed a real _r_ at the end "Websta." +She wondered if the girls at St. Helen's would all speak like that. If +so, they would find her funny, indeed; but she did not mind. + +New England was lovely. She did not wonder that her mother had always +talked so much of its fir-covered hills, its rocky, sunny pastures, +its little white-churched villages nestling in the hollows, its +crimson maples, its goldenrod and asters. And this very journey to St. +Helen's, which she was now taking, her own mother years before had +taken many, many times in going back and forth to school before and +after vacations Quick tears filled her eyes as she remembered. Her +mother would be glad if she knew her little daughter was on her way to +her mother's old school. Perhaps she did know after all. And with this +thought came a resolve to be an honor and a credit to them all. + +At one of the larger stations where the train stopped longer than +usual was gathered on the platform a merry group of persons, saying +good-by to two girls, who were apparently going to take the train. +Perhaps they also were going to St. Helen's, thought Virginia, and she +studied the group as closely as politeness would allow. + +"Now, Priscilla, do be careful, and don't get into any more scrapes +this year," she heard a sweet-voiced, motherly-looking woman say, as +she kissed one of the girls good-by. + +"Mother dear, I'm going to be the model of the school, wait and see," +the girl cried, laughing. "Dorothy is, too, aren't you, Dot?" + +"Of course, I am, Mrs. Winthrop. Dad's going to cut down my allowance +if I don't get all A's. Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, I've had such a heavenly +time! Thank you so much for everything." + +"You must come again," said a tall gentleman in white flannels, +evidently Priscilla's father, as he shook hands, while his invitation +was echoed heartily by two jolly-looking boys--one of about Donald's +age, though not nearly so nice-looking, Virginia thought, and the +other younger. The train gave a warning whistle. + +"Priscilla, are you sure you haven't forgotten something?" + +"First time in her life if she hasn't!" + +"Have you your ticket and purse, daughter?" + +"And did you put your rubbers in your suitcase?" + +"Yes, mother, yes, daddy, I've got everything. Come on, Dot. The +conductor's purple with rage at us! Good-by." + +They hurried on board the train, and into the car in which Virginia +sat. Then the one they had called Priscilla apparently remembered +something, for she flew to the platform. Already the train was moving, +but she frantically shouted to her mother: + +"Oh, mother, my 'Thought Book' is under my pillow! I'd die without it! +Send it right away, please, and don't read a word on pain of death!" + +The younger boy on the station platform executed a kind of improvised +war-dance as he heard the words, meaning apparently to convey to his +troubled sister his intention of reading as soon as possible her +recorded thoughts. Priscilla returned to the car and took her seat, +directly opposite the interested Virginia. + +"If Alden Winthrop reads that 'Thought Book,' Dot, I'll never speak to +him again. 'Twould be just like him to make a bee line for my room, +and capture it, and then repeat my thoughts for years afterward!" + +"That's just the trouble with keeping a diary. I never do. My cousin +would be sure to find it. Besides, half the time I'm ashamed of my +thoughts after I write them down." + +Virginia, sitting opposite, could not resist stealing shy and hurried +glances at the two girls, because she felt sure that they also were +bound for St. Helen's. She liked them both, she told herself. They +were apparently about the same age--probably sixteen or thereabouts. +The one who had been so solicitous about the "Thought Book," and whom +they had called Priscilla, had brown eyes and unruly brown hair, which +would fall about her face. She was very much tanned, wore a blue suit, +and little white felt hat, and looked merry, Virginia thought, though +she could hardly be called pretty. The other, whose name evidently was +Dorothy, was very pretty. Virginia thought she had never seen a +prettier girl. Her complexion was very fair, her eyes a deep, lovely +blue, her hair golden and fluffy about her face, her features even, +and her teeth perfect. She was dressed in dark green, and to +Virginia's admiring eyes looked just like an apple-blossom. +Undeniably, she was lovely; but, as Virginia shyly studied the two +faces, she found herself liking Priscilla's the better. The other some +way did not look so contented, so frank, or so merry. Still, Virginia +liked Dorothy--Dorothy what--she wondered. + +As they continued talking, she became convinced that they were going +to St. Helen's, that they had been there a year already, and that +Dorothy had been visiting Priscilla for a month before school opened. +She longed to speak to them, but, remembering what Donald had said +about Easterners not being so sociable with strangers, she checked the +impulse, not knowing how they would regard it, and not wishing to +intrude. Still, she could not resist listening to the conversation, +which she could hardly have helped hearing, had she wished not to do +so. + +"Dear me! I wish now we hadn't been so silly, Dorothy, and done all +those crazy things. Then we could have roomed together this year." + +"I know. Maybe 'twas foolish, but I'll never forget them. Especially +the time when we dropped the pumpkin pie before Miss Green's door." +They both laughed. "And, anyway, Priscilla, with Greenie in The +Hermitage, if we'd been saints, we couldn't have roomed together. She +thinks we're both heathen, and I worse than you; and just because she +does think I'm so bad, I feel like being just as bad as I can be. I +wish Miss Wallace would have the cottage alone this year. She's such a +darling! I just adore her! I'd scrub floors for her! My dear, she +wrote me the most divine letter this summer! It absolutely thrilled +me, and I was good for a week afterward!" + +Virginia looked out of the window amused. What queer ways of saying +things! She had never heard a letter called "divine" before; nor had +she realized that scrubbing floors and adoring some one were +harmonious occupations. She listened again. Priscilla was talking this +time. + +"I adore Miss Wallace, too," she said. "She makes you want to be fine +just by never talking about it. I wish I could like poor Miss +Green--she seems so sort of left out some way--but she just goes at you +the wrong way. Mother and daddy think she must be splendid because she +enforces rules, and they say we're prejudiced; but I don't think they +understand. It isn't enforcing the rules; it's the way she has of +doing it." + +Dorothy acquiesced. "I suppose we'll have to make the best of her if +she's there. Miss Wallace's being there, too, will make it better. I'm +wondering whom I'll draw for a room-mate. Do you know who's yours?" + +"No, Miss King wrote mother and said she'd selected a wholly desirable +one for me. I do hope she doesn't chew gum, or want fish-nets up, or +like to borrow." + +Virginia recalled Miss King's words to her grandmother--"a wholly +desirable girl "--but then that was just a form of expression. There +was no reason to believe, much as she would like to hope, that +Priscilla was to be her room-mate. At all events, if such a thing by +any possibility should come to pass, she was glad she did not chew +gum. As to fish-nets, she had never heard of one in a room, and as for +borrowing, she had never had any one in her life from whom she might +borrow. + +At that moment she saw the girls looking at her. Perhaps they had +suspected that she, too, was a St. Helen's girl. They whispered one to +the other and exchanged glances, while Virginia, a little embarrassed, +looked out of the window. She only hoped they liked her half as much +as she liked them. They began to talk again. + +"My dear," this from the extravagant Dorothy, "when you see my Navajo +rug, your eyes will leave your head for a week! It's positively +heavenly! Daddy had it sent from California. Whoever my room-mate is, +she ought to be grateful for having that on the floor. It makes up for +me." + +"I won't hope for a Navajo just so long as I get some one I'll like." + +Virginia thought of her two Navajos in her trunk--one a gift from her +father, the other made and given her by a New Mexican Indian, whom she +had known from her babyhood. Oh, if only Priscilla might be the one! + +"Do you suppose Imogene and Vivian will be back?" Priscilla continued. + +"Imogene wrote me she was coming." Somehow Virginia detected +embarrassment in Dorothy's answer. Who was Imogene? she wondered. "You +know, Priscilla, Imogene's lots of fun. Of course, she isn't like you +or Mary Williams or Anne, but you can't help liking her all the same." + +"I know she's fun, Dot, but I don't think her fun is a very good kind; +and I don't like the way she influences Vivian. Vivian's a dear when +Imogene's not around; but the minute they're together she follows +Imogene's lead in everything." + +Somehow Virginia knew she should not care for Imogene. But where +before had she heard the name Mary Williams? Just then they passed a +tiny village surrounded by elm trees. + +"There's Riverside now," cried the girls opposite, "and Hillcrest is +the next." + +They hurriedly gathered together their belongings, and put on their +hats. Virginia did the same, and as they noticed her preparing to +leave the train, Priscilla smiled, and Dorothy looked at her with +interest. But there was little time for exchange of greetings, for the +train was already stopping. As they went with their suit-cases toward +the door, Virginia, following, heard Priscilla say, + +"Probably Mary Williams will be at the station. Senior officers +usually meet new girls." + +Then it all came back to her. Mary Williams was Jack Williams' sister, +the girl in the Berkshires whom Don had liked so much. Her heart beat +fast with excitement. Could she be the very same Mary Williams? + +A moment more and they were all on the platform; and while Virginia +stood a little shyly by her suit-case, she saw running down the +platform toward them a tall, golden-haired girl in a white sweater. +Priscilla and Dorothy dropped their luggage, and ran to meet her. + +"Oh, Mary, you darling!" they both cried at once, and embraced her +until the tall girl was quite smothered. + +"I knew you'd be down. I just told Dorothy." + +"How is every one?" + +"Is Greenie in The Hermitage?" + +"Is Miss Wallace back?" + +"Where's Anne?" + +"Oh, let me go, please, a minute!" begged the tall girl, looking at +Virginia. "I came down to meet a new girl. She must have come with you +on your train. Wait and see her." + +"I told you she was coming to St. Helen's," Priscilla whispered to +Dorothy, while the tall girl went up to Virginia. + +"You're Virginia Hunter, aren't you?" they heard her say cordially, +"from that wonderful Big Horn country I've heard so much about! Miss +King couldn't come down to-day, and the teachers in our cottage were +away, so she sent me. I'm Mary Williams." And she put out her hand, +which Virginia grasped heartily. + +"Oh," she cried, her eyes shining, "aren't you Jack Williams' sister, +and don't you live in the Berkshires, and don't you know Donald Keith. +He's my best friend. Oh, I do hope you're the one!" + +Mary's first surprise had turned to pleasure. She shook hands with +Virginia again, and more heartily. + +"Why, of course, I know Donald Keith! He's the most interesting boy I +ever met in my life. Why, now I remember, of course! When Miss King +told me your name I tried to think where I'd heard it before. Why, +you're the girl Donald talked about so much, who could ride so +wonderfully and shoot and lasso cattle and kill rattle-snakes!" + +Virginia blushed, a little embarrassed. She did not know how such +accomplishments would be regarded by Eastern girls. Mary apparently +admired them; but Virginia was not so sure of Priscilla and Dorothy. +They stood a little apart and listened, certainly with interest, but +whether with approval Virginia was not sure. However, she had little +time for wondering, for Mary drew her forward to where they stood. + +"Isn't it wonderful to have a girl way from Wyoming?" she said. "And +isn't it lovely that I know all about her? Her best friend is my +brother's best friend, too. This is Virginia Hunter, and these are +Priscilla Winthrop and Dorothy Richards. Why, I almost forgot! You and +Priscilla are room-mates. Miss King just told me." + +So the longed-for joy was to become a reality! Virginia was radiant. +She wondered if Priscilla were really glad. The handshake with which +she greeted her was surely cordial. Mary and Dorothy walked on ahead +toward the waiting carriage, and left the new room-mates to follow. + +"It's ever so interesting to room with a girl way from Wyoming," +Priscilla said sweetly. "You'll have to tell me all about it. I don't +know a thing!" + +"I will," said Virginia. Then she laughed. "And I really don't chew +gum, or borrow things. And what is a fish-net?" + +Priscilla laughed, too. "Oh, did you hear those silly things I said? +Why, a fish-net is a hideous thing to put pictures in. I loathe them!" + +"Besides, I have two Navajo rugs," Virginia continued. "I hope I +wasn't rude! I couldn't help hearing, really, and I was so +interested." + +"You weren't rude at all, and I'm wild over Navajos. Dorothy will be +plain peeved, because we have two in our room." + +Virginia gathered from the tone that "plain peeved" must mean +something akin to jealous. But she was so happy that she forgot all +about Navajos. + +"I'm so glad I'm going to room with you," she couldn't help saying. "I +knew I'd like you the moment you got on the train, and I like you +better every minute!" + +Priscilla in her turn was embarrassed. She was not used to such +frankness of speech, especially on first acquaintance. But very likely +the manner of speaking in Wyoming, just as Virginia's speech, so full +of _r's_ was different from her own. And she was ready to go half-way +at least. + +"Why," she stammered, "I--I'm--sure I'm glad, and I--I--know I'll like +you, too." Which was quite an admission for a member of the +conservative Winthrop family to make to a stranger! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE + + +St. Helen's lay a mile west of the station, and half a mile from the +village itself, through whose quiet, elm-shaded streets they were soon +driving in the big, open carriage. The girls pointed out to Virginia +the places of especial interest--the little white church which they +attended on Sundays; Mrs. Brown's cottage, where pumpkin pies and +"heavenly chocolate cake" might be purchased, if not too frequently; +and, chief of attractions, the "Forget-me-not," whose sundaes, once +eaten, were never forgotten. + +At the little post-office, another girl joined them, and was in turn +embraced quite as rapturously by Priscilla and Dorothy as Mary had +been. She was introduced to Virginia as Anne Hill, Mary's roommate, +and another Senior. + +"The two sharks and faculty pets of St. Helen's," observed Dorothy, +supplementing the introduction, and including Mary and Anne with a +wave of her pretty hand, + +Virginia had not the vaguest idea of what a shark might be. Most +apparently, not a fish; but she saw that Dorothy's remark embarrassed +both Mary and Anne. She liked Anne at once. She was rather short and +plump, with a sweet face and soft Southern accent. + +"She comes from Virginia," Priscilla said in a whisper to her new +room-mate, as they drove along. + +Virginia divided her attention between her great interest in the +country and her absorbing eagerness to hear all that the girls had to +say, for Mary and Anne were kept busy answering Priscilla's and +Dorothy's questions. Yes, Imogene Meredith had returned, and she and +Vivian Winters were rooming together as they did last year. Miss Green +was to be in The Hermitage--(a long sigh from Priscilla and +Dorothy)--but the adorable Miss Wallace was to be there likewise. The +fortunate girl, who was to be blessed with Dorothy's Navajo rug, and, +incidentally, with Dorothy herself, was new, and a protegee of Miss +Wallace's. (Sighs of envy from all.) Her name was Lucile Du Bose, and +Miss Wallace had become acquainted with her in France through mutual +friends. She was doubtless very nice, but a little shy and apparently +lonely, and Miss Wallace had asked as a special favor to herself that +the girls try to make her feel at home. Moreover, Miss Wallace had +proposed Dorothy as a room-mate. + +"That settles it," announced Dorothy. "I shall be angelic to Lucile, +even if she's positively hopeless; since I'm doing Miss Wallace a +favor!" + +"Who has the big up-stairs room?" asked Priscilla. + +Mary and Anne laughed. "Somebody very important," said Anne in her +pretty Southern accent. "She hasn't come herself, but she has trunks +and bags enough for the whole family, and they keep on coming. Up to +this noon there were three trunks, two bags, a shawl strap, and four +express packages. And the trunks and bags are all marked 'K. Van R.-- +New York' in big letters. Mary and I were so wild with curiosity that +we had the impoliteness to turn over one of the express packages to +see the name on it, and 'twas 'Miss Katrina Van Rensaelar.' We asked +Miss Green about her, but gleaned no information except that she would +be here in a few days, and was to room alone, as her guardian had +especially requested it." + +"Dear me! How select!" observed Dorothy. + +"She ought to be Katrina Van Tassel, like Katrina in 'The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow,'" said Virginia, whereupon every one laughed, and Mary +said that "Sleepy Hollow" would be a very appropriate name for the +room, as the girls who had it last year never heard the rising bell, +and were invariably late for breakfast. + +"We're getting very near now, Virginia," said her new room-mate. And, +a moment later, they drove through some stone gate-posts and up a +lovely curving road bordered by pines, which edged the woodland on +either side. + +"There are always hepaticas here in the spring the first of any +place," they told her. + +Then they crossed a rustic bridge over a little brook, after which the +pines gave way to maples and oaks, on either side of which were open +fields and meadows. They snow-shoed here, they told her; and in the +spring the ground was fairly blue with violets. Now the roadsides, as +well as the land near the brook, were yellow with goldenrod and purple +with asters, her mother's flowers. The road commenced to be more hilly +above the meadow, and as the horses walked slowly along, Virginia +noticed with interest the shrubs and trees which grew in tangled +masses on either side. She knew the sumac, now in its autumn scarlet, +and the birches; but there were many which she had never seen, and she +missed the service-berry and the buck-brush, which bordered the +Wyoming roads, the cottonwoods and her own dear quaking-asps, which +always seemed so merry and friendly in the fall. What a lovely place +for a school, she kept thinking to herself, as they climbed the hill, +and, suddenly leaving the wood road behind, came out upon an open +campus, dotted here and there with fine old elms and maples. + +"And this is St. Helen's," the girls told her, as they followed the +elm-shaded driveway, while her delighted eyes wandered across the +lawns to the gray stone buildings, upon which the ivy was already +turning red. + +"It's lovely," she said softly, "just as lovely as mother used to tell +me. You see, years ago my mother came here to school, too." + +Perhaps the softness of her voice told the girls more than she herself +had done, for they were silent for a moment. Then Mary said, + +"Miss King wanted me to bring Virginia over to the office as soon as +she came, so you girls can go on to The Hermitage. You might as well +leave your bag in the carriage, Virginia. They'll put it in your +room." + +Miss King's office was in the largest of the gray stone buildings, +which, Mary told Virginia, held the gymnasium, the big assembly hall, +some recitation rooms, and the offices of the principal and other +important personages. + +"You'll love Miss King," Mary reassured her, perhaps guessing that +Virginia felt a little shy. "You see, she doesn't teach any more, and +she leaves most of the care of the girls to the younger teachers; but +she always conducts chapel, and arranges with each girl separately +about her studies. It's wonderful how she knows every girl in St. +Helen's, and she's interested in every little thing that concerns us. +We just love her!" + +They went up the steps, and into a large, open hall, at the end of +which a fire blazed in a big stone fire-place. + +"We don't really need a fire now," Mary explained, "but Miss King says +it seems more homelike and cheerful when the girls come in." + +From the hall many doors led to different rooms, and through two big +central ones they passed into a large office. A young woman at the +desk rose to greet them. + +"You're to take the young lady to Miss King's private office, Miss +Williams," she said. + +Mary thanked her, and crossing the room, rapped upon the door of an +inner office. A sweet, cheery voice said, "Come in," and they entered +a large sunny room, by the western window of which sat a gray-haired +lady, who rose with girlish eagerness to greet them. + +"I have been waiting for you, my dears," she said, and Virginia +thought she had never heard such a sweet voice. "And I have been +waiting years for you, Virginia," she continued. "Come to the window. +I want to look at my dear Mary Webster's little girl." + +She took them by either hand, and drew them to the window. Then she +took off Virginia's hat, and with tears in her sweet, almost sad blue +eyes studied the girl's face. + +"My dear," she said at last, "you don't look like your mother, and yet +you do. Your eyes are gray, while hers were blue, but the light in +them is just the same, and your mouth is hers. But it is only fair +that you should look also like that fine father of yours whom your +mother brought to see me eighteen years ago. It was twenty years ago +that Mary Webster left St. Helen's the sadder for her leaving; and now +the same St. Helen's is gladder for her coming again in her little +daughter. Oh, my dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!" + +With that her blue eyes quite brimmed over with tears, and she held +Virginia close a moment and kissed her. + +A lump rose in Virginia's throat and she could not speak. The dear +memory of her mother, and more than all else, the genuine praise and +appreciation of her father, the first she had heard since she came +East, with the exception of Aunt Nan's compliment, quite overcame her. +Tears filled her eyes, and her chin quivered, when she tried to thank +Miss King. But the dear lady understood, and, still holding her hand, +turned to talk with Mary until Virginia should be herself again. + +"And, now," she said gayly, a few moments later, "you're both to have +tea with me, for I've told Miss Weston I'm not to be interrupted on +any condition. We don't have girls from Wyoming every day, do we, +Mary? You like my room, Virginia?" For Virginia's eyes were wandering +about the room, charmed with everything. + +"I just love it, Miss King," she said, in her natural, unaffected way. +"It makes me think of a sunny autumn afternoon at home. The walls are +just the color of our brown foot-hills, and the yellow curtains +against them are like the sunlight on the hills. And I love the +marigolds on the table, I always have them in mother's garden at home. +She loved them so." + +"I'm so glad it seems like that to you," Miss King told her, "because +it always makes me think of October, my favorite month." And she +looked about contentedly at the soft brown walls, the pale yellow silk +curtains, the darker furniture, and the bowl of yellow and brown +marigolds which saw their reflection in the polished table. The +pictures were largely soft landscapes in sepia, Corot's and Millet's; +but here and there was hung a water color in a sunny, golden frame. + +"I wanted a restful room with soft colors, and soothing pictures--not +profound, energy-inspiring ones--for in this room I rest and read and +talk with my girls. And some way it satisfies me--the way I have +furnished and arranged it. Now, Virginia, I want to know about that +wonderful country of yours. You must tell us while we drink our tea." + +Then followed one of the most memorable hours of Virginia's school +life. Years afterward the remembrance of it was to stay with her--a +sweet and helpful influence. They sat in the brown and gold room, +which the sun setting made more golden, and talked of school plans, of +the new girls, of the summer just passed, and most of all of +Virginia's country, which neither Miss King nor Mary had seen. The +subjects of their conversation were simple enough, but in some way the +gray-haired woman by the window made everything said doubly memorable +and precious; and when they left, as the school clock was striking +five, they felt, as many before them had felt, strangely helped and +strengthened. + +"Isn't she wonderful?" breathed Virginia, as they went down the steps +together. + +"Yes, she is," Mary said thoughtfully. "And after I've been with her I +wonder what it is about her that helps one so. She doesn't say very +much--she always makes you talk; but there's just something beautiful +about her that you always feel. I guess that's why St. Helen's is such +a fine school." + +They took the long way around the campus so that Virginia might see +the buildings. In addition to the large main one, there were two +others, also of gray stone--one for recitations and the other +containing the laboratories and Domestic Science rooms. There was +also, Mary told her, in the pine woods below the hill, a little gray +stone chapel, called St. Helen's Retreat, where they held their vesper +services, and where the girls were free to go when they wished. It was +the quietest, dearest place, Mary said. She did not see how she had +happened to forget to show Virginia the woodsy path that led to it, as +they came up the driveway. The cottages for the girls were scattered +about the campus. There were six of them,--King Cottage, West, +Overlook, Hathaway, Willow, and The Hermitage. Each accommodated +fifteen girls, with the exception of The Hermitage, which was smaller +than the others and held but nine. Miss King did not like dormitories, +Mary explained, as they went along. She thought they lacked a home +feeling, and so St. Helen's had never built dormitories for its girls. +Moreover, in spite of many requests, Miss King limited her number of +girls to eighty-five--a large enough family, she said, since she wished +to know each member of it. The cottages did look homelike certainly, +Virginia thought, with their wide porches, well-kept lawns, shrubs, +and garden flowers. The Hermitage was the tiniest of them all, and +stood quite apart from the others behind a clump of fir trees, through +which a gravel path led to the cottage itself. + +"Really, The Hermitage isn't a very appropriate name for a house full +of girls," Mary said, as they drew nearer the little cottage; "but one +of the older graduates gave the money for it and asked the privilege +of naming it herself. So she selected that name on account of the +location, forgetting that girls aren't a bit like hermits." + +Virginia thought the name and location alike lovely; and as they +passed through the fir trees and reached the porch which surrounded +the house, her satisfaction was complete. Inside, The Hermitage was +quite as attractive as its brown-shingled exterior. On the first floor +were the living-room, with a wide stone fire-place and book-lined +walls, the sunny, homelike dining-room, and the rooms of the two +teachers. Up-stairs were the four rooms of the girls, each large and +sunny, and opening upon a porch, and away up on the third floor was +one large room, which was this year to be occupied by the mysterious +Katrina Van Rensaelar. + +All was hurry and bustle on the second floor of The Hermitage as Mary +and Virginia went up the stairs. Five girls were frantically and +unsystematically unpacking--pausing every other minute to go the rounds +for the sake of exhibiting some new possession acquired during the +summer. Two of the girls Virginia had not seen, and her new room-mate +promptly introduced them. + +"These are our next door neighbors, Virginia," she said, "Imogene +Meredith and Vivian Winters. And this is Virginia Hunter from the Big +Horn Mountains in Wyoming." + +"Indeed?" remarked the one called Imogene, raising her eyebrows and +extending a rather languid hand. "Quite off the map, n'est-ce pas?" +and she laughed. + +She was tall with dark, extremely-dressed hair, and eyes that did not +meet your own. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and she wore +several pieces of expensive jewelry. Virginia was embarrassed by her +easy, uninterested manner, and her strange laugh. Vivian Winters she +liked better. Vivian was short with a sweet, childish face, and +wistful blue eyes. She, too, was dressed far too lavishly for school, +Virginia felt, but she liked her all the same, and did not feel at all +embarrassed in replying to her pleasant little welcome. As she looked +at them, she recalled the conversation she had heard between Priscilla +and Dorothy in the train, and she thought she understood Priscilla's +feeling toward Imogene. But, perhaps, they were both mistaken, and she +wouldn't begin by being prejudiced. Just then Dorothy called Imogene +to her room at the other end of the hall, and Priscilla took Virginia +to their own room. + +"There's a huge box here for you," she said, as they went down the +hall. "It nearly fills the room." + +"Oh, it's my saddle here already!" cried Virginia. "It is a huge box, +isn't it?" + +"Your--what?" asked the amazed Priscilla, and listened open-mouthed +while Virginia explained, and told her about Jim and the others. So +interested did she become that before they realized it, the +supper-bell had rung, and found them sitting side by side on the big +box, friends already. + +"I never heard anything so interesting in all my life," exclaimed +Priscilla, as they searched for hairbrushes and towels among their +confused luggage. "And will you really teach me to ride?" + +"Why, of course, I will. You'll love it! Oh, I'm sorry to be late the +very first night!" + +"That's the best time of all, because they expect it then. Besides, +Miss Green's dining out, and Miss Wallace--you'll love her!--took Lucile +Du Bose to town to see the oculist. Mary's in charge tonight, and +she'll excuse us." + +"Is Mary part teacher?" Virginia asked, puzzled. + +No, not that exactly, Priscilla explained; but each year the girls of +the different cottages elected one of their number who would be a +Senior the next year to be a kind of cottage monitor, to take charge +of the table and study hours when the teachers were out. + +It was an honor to be elected, because it meant that the girls +considered you trustworthy; and every one at St. Helen's knew and +trusted Mary Williams. + +Virginia admired Mary more than ever. It must be wonderful, she +thought as she tied her hair-ribbon and searched for a clean +handkerchief, to be trusted by every one in school. Could they say +that of her when she became a Senior? + +"What are you, Priscilla?" she asked as they went down-stairs. + +"I'm a Junior," said Priscilla, "and so are Dorothy and Imogene. Anne +is a Senior like Mary. Vivian's a Sophomore, and Lucile Du Bose, too, +they say. As for Miss Van Rensaelar, no one knows. Maybe she's a +post-grad. She sounds very grand." + +That evening they finished unpacking, and by nine o'clock their room +was quite settled. The Navajo rugs were on the floor--the envy of the +house. The saddle-box they had covered, and with pillows it made quite +a picturesque divan. Of course, the effect was lessened in the mind of +any one who might attempt to sink down upon it, but it looked well, +and there were chairs enough without it. Each cot was covered with +afghan and pillows. Even the pictures were hung, and their few +treasured books, of which Virginia discovered to her joy Priscilla was +as fond as she, were placed in the little wall book-case from +Virginia's room at home. Altogether the big room had a cheery, +homelike atmosphere, and they both felt very happy. + +Before going to bed they visited their neighbors. Mary and Anne's room +they found not unlike their own, only there were even more books +about, and an adorable tea-table with brass kettle and little alcohol +lamp, for Seniors were allowed to serve tea on Saturday afternoons. +Dorothy's room was in a sad state of upheaval, the Navajo rug, +carefully spread on the floor, being the only sign of an attempt at +settlement. Dorothy herself was curled up on the couch, deep in a +magazine. Her room-mate had not returned she said, so why arrange +things? Their ideas might not harmonize. + +The room opposite their own, occupied by Imogene and Vivian, was +settled in a most unsettled manner. Virginia thought as she entered +that never in her life had she seen so many things in one room. One +entire wall was festooned with a dreaded fish-net, in which were +caught literally hundreds of relatives, friends, and acquaintances; +the other walls were covered with pennants. The couches were so piled +with pillows that one could not find room to sit down; the dressers +were loaded with costly silver toilet articles, and more friends in +silver frames; even the curtains were heavy with souvenirs, which were +pinned to them. There were no books, except a few school-books, tucked +under the desk, and no pictures, save highly decorated posters, wedged +among the pennants, where a few inches of bare space had not been +allowed to remain uncovered. It all gave Virginia a kind of stifled +sensation, and she was glad to return to their own room when the +nine-thirty bell had rung. + +It was strange to crawl into her cot-bed opposite Priscilla; strange +to talk in whispers for a few moments, and then to say "Good-night." +For a few more moments she wondered with a wave of homesickness, more +for her father than for herself, what they were all doing at home. +Were they sleeping while the mountains kept their silent night watch? +No, that could not be, for the time was different. Colonel Standish +had explained that to her on the journey East. Dear Colonel Standish! +What was that difference? Was it two hours earlier at Hillcrest? Then +it would be only eight o'clock at home. Or was it--? But her tired +head, so weary from the day's excitement, refused to reckon +differences in time, and Virginia fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM" + + +The first two weeks of Virginia's life at St. Helen's passed without a +cloud. The hours were as golden as the October days themselves. She +and Priscilla liked each other better every day. She had already +become acquainted with many of the girls at the other cottages, and +she found them as jolly and merry as those at The Hermitage. She liked +them--almost every one--and although at first her frank way of speaking, +and the strangeness of her accent had puzzled and surprised them, they +liked Virginia. Of course, all things accepted, they might have +preferred being born in Massachusetts to Wyoming, for to many of them, +as to Grandmother Webster, Wyoming seemed more or less of a +wilderness, and a ranch rather a queer kind of home, but they had the +good sense, and better manners, not to announce their preferences to +Virginia; and as the days went by they liked her more and more. +Wyoming might be a wilderness, they said to themselves; but this +ranch-bred girl certainly was as cultured as any girl at St. Helen's. +So the letters which Virginia wrote almost daily to her father were +very happy ones, and she almost began to doubt the possibility of +being homesick in this beautiful place. Still, there were many weeks +yet to come! + +Her studies, with Miss King's help, had been pleasantly arranged; and, +thanks to her book of compositions she had brought, her wide reading, +and her year of Algebra in the country school, she found herself, to +her great joy, ranked as a Sophomore, and in classes with Lucile and +Vivian. She liked Vivian very much, and tried hard to like Imogene for +Vivian's sake. As for Lucile, she found her interesting in a queer +foreign kind of way, for Lucile's French father, and her years in +Paris and Lausanne, had given her ways hardly American. Besides, +Virginia agreed with Dorothy, she would like Lucile for Miss Wallace's +sake alone; for Virginia, as the prophets had foretold, already loved +Miss Wallace with unswerving loyalty. + +Two more different persons than Miss Margaret Wallace and Miss Harriet +Green would have been hard to find, especially housed beneath one +roof, and presumably dedicated to the same ideals. Miss Wallace was +young, enthusiastic, and attractive in appearance and personality; +Miss Green was middle-aged, languid, and unattractive, certainly in +appearance, and, as far as one could judge, in personality. Both were +scrupulously conscientious, but Miss Wallace enforced the rules +because she loved the girls, and Miss Green because it was her duty. +Moreover, Margaret Wallace, remembering her own recent college days, +trusted the girls before she suspected them; whereas Miss Green +reversed the proceedings, and watched them closely before she decided +to trust. The result of these different methods may be imagined. The +girls obeyed Miss Wallace, because she never expected them to do +otherwise. If they obeyed Miss Green, it was done unwillingly to save +trouble. + +Be it said to Miss Green's credit that she was an excellent teacher. +The colleges which the St. Helen's girls entered, expected and +received girls whose training in Latin and Greek was unexcelled. She +had been ten years at St. Helen's. Perhaps her superior teaching and +her unshaken faithfulness to duty, more than offset her failure, which +she herself did not perceive, as a disciplinarian. However that might +be, the girls at St. Helen's did not love Miss Green. + +Virginia, being a new-comer, resolved to like her; and to that end she +really strove, being the one girl in The Hermitage and often the only +one in school, who defended the teacher, whose strict adherence to her +own interpretation of duty brought with it sad mishaps, often for the +girls and sometimes for herself. Even Mary, who was Miss Green's +helper, though she did not say much at the indignation meetings of the +other girls, quite clearly did not like Miss Green. + +"I think it's sweet of you, Virginia, to stand up for her," Priscilla +announced one evening, as they wrestled with extra hard Latin lessons, +"but your time hasn't come yet. I hope you'll always be able to like +Greenie, but I have my doubts." + +"Well, I'm going to try hard, anyway. Of course, I shan't love her--I +don't hope for that--but she seems so left out with us all loving Miss +Wallace so much, that I'm going to try." + +"That's just what I thought when I came last year," observed the +experienced Priscilla. "But after she just the same as accused me of +borrowing the down-stairs ink-bottle and never returning it, I +couldn't like her any longer." + +Whether Miss Green liked the gray-eyed Western girl, who was trying so +hard in the face of so many odds to like her was not as yet known. +Perhaps she was slowly deciding whether or not Virginia might be +trusted; and very soon events were to come to pass requiring that +decision to be made. + +The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days began +to grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; and +the girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supper +around the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the third +week of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight to +nine o'clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of various +subjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among other +things they spoke of their "vocations" in life--each painting in +glowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach, +and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to look +toward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who sat +opposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as "doctoring" the girls +when they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer and +consolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning's "Court Lady," +though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go on +the stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, and +never take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have a +villa outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had come +to Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. She +had seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would give +them encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a little +embarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she must +admit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books that +should inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at once +squeezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also. +Imogene "hadn't decided," and Vivian made them all laugh by saying she +wanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies and +take care of them every one herself. + +Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, the +other with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls had +finished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty to +declare that dreams were fleeting, said, + +"You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen's 'Master Builder,' +you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I have +lived long enough to discover that one's vocation in life is usually +thrust upon her." + +"Horrors!" cried Dorothy. "Then I won't have any!" + +The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm. +Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, being +honestly interested in Miss Green's observation, and feeling +intuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence. + +"Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?" she asked politely. + +"It was," returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, but +Virginia mistook the tone for one of regret. + +"I'm so sorry," she said. "You can't be half so interested in it as +you would be if you could have chosen it. If I were you, I would +change, and choose another." + +An inadvertent giggle from Imogene broke the embarrassed silence which +followed Virginia's remark; and led Miss Green to mistake Virginia's +honest interest for ill-bred sarcasm. She gathered the gray knit +shawl, which she often wore, more closely about her shoulders, rose +from her chair and left the room, saying in a frigid tone as she went: + +"Will you come to my room, Virginia, immediately upon the ringing of +the study-bell?" + +"Why--certainly--Miss Green," stammered poor surprised Virginia. + +"Mean old thing!" muttered Dorothy, as a slam of Miss Green's door +announced her complete departure. "Virginia didn't--" + +"Dorothy," warned Miss Wallace quietly. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace. I forgot." + +Then Miss Wallace tactfully turned the conversation into other +channels, but Virginia could not enter into it with any interest. She +could not think how she had been impolite. Such a thought had never +entered her mind. Why had Imogene laughed? She caught Priscilla and +Mary looking reproachfully at Imogene. Even Dorothy seemed annoyed. +The study-bell put an end to the forced conversation, and as Virginia +went slowly toward Miss Green's room, after encouraging pats and +squeezes from the girls, who left her to go up-stairs, Miss Wallace +asked Imogene to remain a few moments with her. + +Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy and +forbidding than when she had hurried from the room. + +"Sit down, Virginia." Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch. + +"I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely." + +Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat. + +"I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry to +be obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school. +I cannot understand your rudeness of--" + +"But, Miss Green," Virginia interrupted, because she could not help +it, "really I--" + +"Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish." + +Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyes +bright, her heart rebellious. + +"Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation? +Will you attempt to justify Imogene's giggle? It all looks to me like +a contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak." + +But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all to +blame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it all +made her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears which +were blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. +Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginia +spoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school long +enough to know the meaning of diplomacy. + +"Miss Green," she said, "I think you are very unjust. I felt sorry for +you when you said your vocation had been thrust upon you. That is why +I said I thought you would be happier if you changed. I don't know why +Imogene laughed; but I think you are suspicious to think of a +conspiracy. I don't know what you mean." + +"Do not add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanors, Virginia." +Miss Green was becoming angry--calmly so, perhaps, but angry. + +"I do not mean to be impertinent, Miss Green. I--I--have been trying +hard to like you"--her voice quavered and broke--"but I think you are +unfair to me." + +Miss Green's eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. She had never +dreamed of such frankness in a pupil brought before her for a +reprimand! She fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps, this +interview had been long enough. It did not seem fruitful. + +"Do not try to like me, I beg of you, Virginia. You seem to find it +hard work. But I tell you, as I tell all my pupils, the day will come +when you will be deeply grateful to me for my correction." + +In her tumultuous heart Virginia doubted the arrival of that day of +gratitude. She waited for Miss Green to finish. + +"We will grant, perhaps, that you may not have meant rudeness. I will +give you the benefit of the doubt. But we must admit that you were +hardly decorous in your remarks. Have you anything to say?" + +Suddenly into Virginia's' mind there came an idea--so quickly that she +smiled a little, greatly to Miss Green's discomfiture. + +"Yes, please," she answered in reply to the question asked her. "I +can't seem to think. What is the noun for 'decorous'?" + +Miss Green's eyes and mouth again widened, this time in greater +astonishment. Evidently, this interview was not producing the desired +change of heart. It would far better be ended. She cleared her throat +again. + +"The noun for 'decorous' is 'decorum.' I am sorry my words have had no +greater effect. Goodnight." + +"Of course, it's decorum" said Virginia, as she went toward the door. +"How foolish of me to forget! You've really given me a brand new idea, +Miss Green. Good-night." And she went upstairs, leaving behind her a +puzzled and almost angry woman, whose knowledge of having done her +duty was in some way quite eclipsed by a strange, yet indisputable, +sense of having been badly beaten. + +Study hour was in session when Virginia hurried through the hall +toward her room; but two doors noiselessly opened as she passed, and +four hands extended notes, which she took wonderingly. The door +opposite her own did not open. In her room, Priscilla, instead of +studying, was writing furiously in her "Thought Book," which, +apparently unread, had been sent two weeks before. As Virginia came +in, she jumped up from the desk, and threw her arms around her. + +"You poor, dear thing!" she cried. "We're all furious! You didn't do +one thing but be polite. We're more furious at Imogene for giggling! +That only aroused Greenie's suspicions. What did she say? Was she +awful? I'm so glad you're not crying. You got the notes, didn't you?" + +"Yes," said Virginia, returning the embrace. She read the notes. All +expressed a mixture of fury, loyalty, and sympathy. Then she took down +her own "Thought Book," for she had also begun to keep one, and placed +the notes carefully between its pages. Priscilla watched her, puzzled. +Most of the girls were crying with rage when they came from Miss +Green's room. Virginia opened the back part of her "Thought Book," and +separated some thirty pages from those before. Then she dipped her pen +in the ink, but before writing, turned to Priscilla. + +"Priscilla," she said slowly, "she is a very unjust woman. I think she +is very nearly a cruel one. I shall _never_ try to like her again!" + +While Priscilla watched her, more puzzled than ever, she began to +write in large letters on the first of the pages thus separated. + + "'ALL TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED ONLY + THROUGH EXPERIENCE.'" + + "These pages will contain accounts of wisdom-giving + experiences, and will pertain especially to matters + of Decorum." + +"Experience I. Oct. 18. I have learned that the most careful +politeness may be called rudeness. Also that Pity is _not_ akin to +Love, even though the Bible says it is. Also, that remarks, intended +to be polite, about one's vocation, had best be avoided, especially +when it is previously known that one's vocation has been thrust upon +her. + + "Why these things are so, + I don't pretend to know." + +She closed the book, and replaced it in her desk. Afterward she sat +for a long moment watching a crescent moon sink below the horizon. + +"Are you going to study to-night, Priscilla?" she asked at last. + +Priscilla turned almost fiercely upon her. "I shall fail in Latin on +Monday and Tuesday, _anyway_," she said, with unreasoning loyalty, +"and maybe on Wednesday, and I'm not exactly sure about Thursday. I +know it will hurt _me_ and not _her_, but it doesn't seem as though I +could ever get a good lesson for her again." + +At nine there was an indignation meeting in their room, which every +one attended, except Imogene and Vivian, and at which Virginia, though +the center of attraction, said little. She appreciated their loyalty, +but somehow she could not talk. It had all surprised her too much. But +the others could talk. The room hummed with their vehement +whisperings. + +"It just shows how suspicious she is!" + +"Never mind, Virginia. It's no disgrace to you." + +"It's really Imogene's fault. Why did she giggle like that?" + +"Do you suppose it could have been on purpose?" Courageous Anne +ventured to give voice to a suspicion which, except for Dorothy, +seemed general enough. + +But Dorothy, though annoyed at Imogene's thoughtlessness, which had +caused trouble for Virginia, was loath to believe that it had arisen +from anything but thoughtlessness. To speak truly, Dorothy was +fascinated by Imogene--her wit, money, clothes, and, above all, by her +air of wisdom, and her "don't care" ways. Therefore she defended her +hotly. + +"Of course it wasn't on purpose, Anne!" she said indignantly. "Imogene +wouldn't do such a thing!" But the silence which followed seemed to +show that all did not share Dorothy's confidence; and Anne, growing +more courageous, said: + +"I'm not so sure about that." + +"I'd like to know what Miss Wallace said to her." + +"So should I." + +"She was plain mad when she came up-stairs, for she slammed the door +like anything." + +"Yes, and I heard her give Vivian fits for having the window open." + +But Imogene kept her own counsel, and no one knew what Miss Wallace +had said. Neither did they learn that night from Virginia of her +interview with Miss Green. Her strange silence during the conference +quelled the curiosity which prompted them to ask; and, when the +nine-thirty bell rang, they went home, feeling that she was queer some +way but that they liked her more than ever. + +The world had suddenly lost its brightness for Virginia. She undressed +in silence, and was in bed before Priscilla, who sat on the edge of +her cot a moment before going to her own, and hugged her room-mate +sympathetically. Virginia returned the hug with a bear-like one of her +own, and kissed Priscilla good-night, but still she could not talk. +Neither could she go to sleep. Long after Priscilla's breathing showed +that she had forgotten indignation and all else, Virginia lay awake, +choking back a great, obstinate lump of homesickness, which would rise +in her throat. She longed for her father. He would understand as no +one else could. She longed for Don, who would call Miss Green "an old +prune." Most of all she longed for her own big country, where, her +poor injured heart told her, people didn't look for impoliteness. And +just this morning she had been so happy! + +Then the tears came, and she sobbed into her pillow. "I'm not plucky +at all," she thought, "because I _am_ homesick, and I don't care if I +am!" She felt better after a good cry, and thought she could go to +sleep, but the room seemed warm and close, though the windows were +open. She got out of bed, put on her kimono, and went to the French +windows which opened upon the porch. The moon had set, but the sky was +clear and star-filled. Unhesitatingly she opened the doors and stepped +out. From where she stood no trees obstructed her view of the campus. +The buildings stood dark and dim among the trees. It was so still that +she could hear the brook falling over the stones, half a mile away. +She felt better out there under the sky--somewhat as she felt among the +mountains at home. + +All at once she heard steps on the gravel walk. Who could be out so +late. A bulky form emerging from the firs and coming along the walk +below where she stood answered her question. It was Michael, the old +night watchman. Were it not for fear of disturbing some one she would +call to him, for she liked his funny Irish ways, and already they had +become good friends. She went nearer the railing to watch him as he +walked slowly toward West Cottage, and as she moved a board in the +floor of the porch creaked. + +Michael looked up hastily, and descried her figure. He had been too +long at St. Helen's not to know that young ladies on porches at +midnight usually meant mischief, and he hurriedly retraced his steps +toward The Hermitage, rounded the cottage, and--truly Fate was +unkind!--rapped on Miss Green's instead of Miss Wallace's window. + +So perfectly innocent was Virginia that she did not for one moment +connect Michael's return with herself. Miss Green's room was on the +other side of the cottage from her own, and she could not hear +Michael's quiet warning. Therefore, she was surprised and not a little +startled when she found herself five minutes later enveloped in a +strange light. She turned around quickly to see in the doorway Miss +Green, clothed in a gray flannel wrapper, and armed with a miniature +search-light, which always accompanied her on her night journeyings. +Virginia felt a strange desire to laugh. Miss Green's scant locks were +arranged in curl-papers about her forehead; she still wore her +spectacles; and the combination gave the sinister effect of a beetle. +But the look on Miss Green's countenance checked the unborn laugh. + +"What are you doing here on the porch at midnight?" Miss Green's words +were punctuated with pauses of horror. + +"Something inside of me said I'd feel happier out here, Miss Green." + +Virginia's honest eyes looked into Miss Green's shrinking ones. Miss +Green apparently felt uncomfortable. She wrestled again with that +disagreeable sense of having been beaten. Slow as she was to perceive +honesty, she could not doubt this girl who faced her with flushed +cheeks and tear-swollen eyes. She stood aside, shivering in the night +air, to let Virginia enter her room. Then she followed her. Once +inside, she hesitated a moment, then locked the French windows, and +slipped the key into her capacious pocket. Virginia's unwavering eyes +watched her. She cleared her throat nervously. + +"I need hardly remind you, Virginia, that it is highly indecorous for +a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono! Moreover, +let us ever avoid all appearance of evil." + +Then she went. Virginia heard her padded footsteps stealing down the +stairs. Priscilla had, fortunately, not awakened. Virginia was too +surprised to be angry. Had it really happened, or was it just a dream? +She tried the French windows to make sure. They were securely locked. +Then she laughed as she remembered Miss Green's curlpapers and +spectacles and horrified expression. + +She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go to +sleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her "Thought Book." This +evening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turn +on the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling by +the window, she traced these words by the dim light: + +"Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highly +indecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a +kimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!" + +Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE LAST STRAW + + +No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green, +clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resist +relating such an experience as that of the night before to her +roommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she told +Priscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing her +to eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealed +whether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair. +They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a little +worry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in the +small hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case for +report. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicit +trust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. She +was still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled the +events of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would "bear +watching." + +Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. To +begin with, every one was late; and Miss Green's frigid manner really +did not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed upon +late comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse, +and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Mary +and Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the +"Continental Breakfast," and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, who +hoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogene +was not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in good +spirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green's curl-papers. +However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivened +by Miss Wallace's futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Green +felt Virginia's gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, and +apparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve. + +Poor Virginia, who upon awaking had decided to try to forget all the +discomfort of the evening before and be happy again, felt her +resolution impossible of fulfillment in this atmosphere; and by the +time breakfast was over (be assured it was a short repast) was as +discouraged and homesick as the night before. She declined Mary's and +Anne's invitation to walk with them and the sad-eyed Vivian to the +village after Saturday morning's house-cleaning; refused to play +tennis with Priscilla and the Blackmore twins (two jolly girls from +Hathaway); quite enraged Dorothy by discovering her and Imogene in +secret conversation, when she went to find her sweater which Lucile +had borrowed; and at last, completely discouraged, and sick of +everything, wandered off down the hill by herself, pretending not to +hear some girls from King Cottage, who called to her to wait. + +On the way she met the postman, who handed her three letters. She +stuffed them in her pocket; and then, for fear of being followed by +the King girls, hurried into the woods by a short cut she had already +discovered, and found her way to the little gray stone chapel. She +opened the door and went in, but it seemed cold and damp inside, and +she came out again into the sunshine. + +Here she was practically sure of being undisturbed, for the girls did +not often visit St. Helen's Retreat on Saturday morning. She sat down +on the stone steps and listened to the wind in the pine trees, which +completely surrounded the little chapel. Shafts of sunlight fell +through the branches upon the brown needles beneath. In among the +tangled thickets beyond the trees, the birds were gathering to go +southward. They seemed in a great bustle of preparation. Virginia +spied thrushes and tow-hees, brown thrashers and robins in great +numbers; also many bluebirds, whose color was not so brilliant as that +of their mountain bluebird at home. The English sparrows, however, +were undisturbed by thoughts of moving, and chattered about the eaves +of the Retreat, quite lazy and content. + +At any other time Virginia would have watched the birds with eager +interest, creeping through the thickets to observe them, for she was a +real little student of their ways, and loved them dearly. But to-day +the world was wrong, and birds were just birds, she told +herself,--nothing more! Besides, she had been treated unjustly and +unfairly, and she had a good cause for feeling blue. No one could +blame her--not even Donald, whose words kept coming to her. She wished +Don had never said them--they bothered her! + +She drew her letters from her pocket. In a way, she hated to read +them, she said to herself, because they would make her more homesick. +But in a very short time curiosity overcame her, and she began to open +them eagerly. Two were from her father and Don, the other from Aunt +Lou in California. She read Aunt Lou's first--saving the best for the +last. Aunt Lou was glad to hear such pleasing reports both from those +in Vermont, and from Miss King. From Grandmother Webster she had been +convinced that Colonel Standish was a gentleman though she would again +warn Virginia that one could not be too careful. She knew that St. +Helen's and her experiences there would surely be the making of +Virginia, etc., etc. + +Virginia folded the letter. In a way she could not help feeling glad +that her grandmother and Aunt Nan, and especially Miss King, were +pleased with her. Still, if Miss Green told, would Miss King +understand? But it was of no use to worry, and it was in a little +better humor that she opened Donald's letter. + +He had missed her, he said. Everything had seemed lost without her. It +was no fun riding alone, and he had been glad when October came, and +he had gone to Colorado. He liked it much better than the East. The +fellows were more his sort, and they rode a lot; but not one of them +could ride better than she. + +"I'm mighty glad," the letter ended, "that Mary Williams is in your +cottage. She's a peach, isn't she? Jack's all right, too. He wrote me +the other day that maybe he would come to Wyoming another summer. +Wouldn't it be great if Mary could visit you then? I'm glad you've got +a good room-mate. Don't forget though, you promised not to be a young +lady in June!" + +Before she opened her father's letter, Virginia felt decidedly better. +Wouldn't it be wonderful if Mary could go to Wyoming with Jack? +Maybe--of course, not probably, but maybe--Priscilla's father might let +her go, too. Dreams of glorious days in the mountains made her eyes +shine. She was almost happy again. + +Her father's dear fat letter was supplemented by a laboriously written +one from Jim, and a note--yes, actually a note from William. And +William could write a good hand, without misspelling a word! Jim's +letter told her that the little colt was growing beautifully, and was +the image of his mother; that he hadn't much minded the branding; and +that Joe sent his best regards and wished to say that the lump in the +littlest collie's throat had quite disappeared. His rheumatism got +worse, he said, with the colder weather, and he read her books a lot +for company. He closed by saying they all missed her worse every day, +and by asking her for them all how she liked the saddle, and "how it +set"? + +William's note told her that he should send by the next mail two sets +of rattles, whose former owners he had killed the week before; and +that he had already planted her garden with some perennials which he +knew she would like. He would not tell her what they were, as he +wanted to surprise her. + +She read her father's letter over and over again. It was filled with +pride, for he, too, had received a letter from Miss King, and--what was +stranger yet!--actually one from Grandmother Webster, telling of their +pleasure in Virginia. He was glad every day that she was so happy at +St. Helen's. Were she often homesick, he would be troubled; but her +happiness made his loneliness the less. + +The fall threshing was over, he said, and the round-up and branding +completed. The men were having a much-needed rest. William had not +gone to town once since she left, and if he continued in his +determination, she would not know him when she came home. Jim, he was +sorry to tell her, seemed far from well. The Keiths were also finished +with the hardest of the fall labor; and they had all decided to ride +up the canyon the next Saturday "To-day," thought Virginia--and camp +for over Sunday, just for a change. How they wished she and Don were +there to go along! + +Virginia folded the letter and jumped to her feet. An idea had seized +her, dispelling the few remaining blues, for to a nature like her own +a new idea is often a cure-all. Why had she not thought of it before? +She would ride to-day, just as they were doing at home. Not yet had +she used her new saddle, but really there had been little opportunity. +The days had been too filled with lessons and getting acquainted to +allow much time for riding; and they had now become so short that it +was impossible after supper. The first two Saturdays had been taken +up--one by a tennis tournament, the other by the Senior and Junior +basket-ball game--and this was only the third. + +But to-day she would ride. She would hurry home, learn her +lessons--yes, she even thought she might learn her Latin--and then after +luncheon have the man from the village stable bring up the horse he +had recommended at a previous interview. + +The atmosphere at luncheon was less chilled. Mary, Anne, and Vivian +brought from the village the glad tidings that the "Forget-me-not" +would be open all winter, and serve hot chocolate and cakes instead of +sundaes; Priscilla and Lucile had won four sets from the Blackmore +twins; and Virginia's spirits were certainly improved. Only Imogene +and Dorothy, who had been together all the morning, preserved, the one +a haughty, the other an embarrassed, silence. + +Virginia's announcement that she was to ride brought forth great +interest on the part of the girls, and solicitude on the part of Miss +Green. + +"You have permission, I presume, Virginia?" + +"Oh, certainly, Miss Green. I've talked with Miss King all about it," +answered Virginia, striving to be polite. Later, when she heard Miss +Green supplementing over the telephone her own directions to the +stable-man, and cautioning him to bring the safest horse in the +stable, she tried not to mind. + +The horse arrived. To The Hermitage girls, and several from Hathaway, +who had come over to watch the proceedings, and who, if they had +ridden at all, had mounted nothing larger than ponies, he was a huge +beast. They watched with great interest while Virginia herself threw +across his broad back her shining new saddle, and tightened the +girths. + +"What a queer saddle!" + +"What's that thing in front, Virginia?" + +"The saddle-horn." + +"Aren't you afraid you'll fall against it and hurt you?" + +Virginia laughed. "Oh, no!" + +"See the 'V. H.' on the brass, Anne. Some style to you, Virginia!" + +"What's the horse's name, Mr. Hanly?" asked Virginia, preparing to +mount. + +"Napoleon Bonaparte." + +The girls laughed. Virginia swung herself into the saddle. To the +admiring girls it seemed as though she had not touched the stirrup at +all. She gathered her reins in one hand. + +"Remember, you're to try him, Priscilla, when I get back," she called, +riding away. + +From one of the lower windows of the Hermitage, some, one cleared her +throat. + +"Use extreme caution, Virginia," some one called, but Virginia was +already out of hearing. + +She had intended to ride down to the gate-posts, and then farther out +into the country on the road which led away from Hillcrest. But by the +time she came in sight of the stone posts she had quite decidedly +changed her mind. Napoleon Bonaparte was hopeless! If he had not so +annoyed her she might have laughed at his combination of gaits. His +trot was torture; and it was only by the utmost urging that one could +prevail upon him to canter. This urging, Virginia discovered to her +surprise, was most effective when accomplished by yanking upon the +reins, a proceeding which a Western horse would not have borne at all. +His periods of willingness to canter were of short duration, for which +the rider at the end of the period usually felt thankful. Moreover, he +invariably stumbled when going down hill; and, to cap the climax, and +add the finishing touch, he had the asthma, and, after a few moments +of speed, sounded like a freight train. + +The gate-posts reached, Virginia was resolved upon one thing! She +could not ride Napoleon! She would ride to the village stable and see +if a change were possible. She turned Napoleon's heavy head, and rode +on, wondering what Donald would say if he could see her steed, and +greatly hoping that the village stable contained some improvement. + +Mr. Hanly, who had driven down with the mail-carrier just ahead of +her, met her at the stable door. + +"Anything the trouble, miss?" + +Virginia for the moment ignored his question. + +"Mr. Hanly, how old is Napoleon?" + +Mr. Hanly calculated. "About eighteen, miss." + +"Eighteen!" cried Virginia. "Then I don't wonder! Why, Mr. Hanly, he +can't go at all. He hasn't a gait to his name! Besides, he wheezes +terribly. Has he the asthma?" + +Mr. Hanly explained that for years Napoleon had been afflicted with a +chronic cold; but that he had been in his day a good saddle-horse, and +safe. + +"Oh, he's perfectly safe, Mr. Hanly! He's too safe! But, you see, I've +ridden all my life, and I can't ride him. I really can't! Haven't you +something else?" + +Mr. Hanly considered. Yes, he had a saddle-horse belonging to a +Hillcrest gentleman, who was away at present, but who had left word +that his horse might be exercised. Still, he would hardly venture to +saddle him for Virginia. He was safe enough, but inclined to take the +bit in his teeth. No, he would not dare to allow her to have him. +Still, she might look at him if she liked. + +Virginia swung herself off Napoleon, and went in the stable to view +the horse described. He was assuredly not in the same class as +Napoleon. She knew by his build that he was a good saddle-horse. She +must have him, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes later, the +persuaded, if not convinced, Mr. Hanly was somewhat dubiously removing +the saddle from poor, perspiring Napoleon, and strapping it, with +Virginia's help, on the back of the black horse. + +In another moment Virginia was up and away, leaving Mr. Hanly, who was +watching her, somewhat reassured in the doorway. + +This was something like riding, she told herself, as she cantered +along the country road. The black horse, though nothing like her own +Pedro, was still a good horse. He could even singlefoot, and did not +have the asthma. + +She rode miles into the country beyond St. Helen's. The afternoon was +perfect--one of those autumn afternoons when the summer lingers, loath +to go; when the leaves drift slowly down, and the air is filled with +an unseen chorus; and when all about an Unseen Presence makes itself +felt, and causes one to feel in harmony with the God of the +Out-of-doors. + +Virginia's cheeks were rosy red; her hair was flying in the wind, for +she had lost her ribbon, and had long since stuffed her cap in her +pocket; her eyes were glowing with happiness. She reached the Five +Mile Crossways and turned back toward home. Then the black horse +showed his paces. He fairly flew over the road, Virginia delighting in +his every motion. One mile--two--three--he galloped furiously. They were +within a mile of St. Helen's. Virginia sought to quiet him, but he was +on the homeward way, and he knew it. They rounded a curve, still on +the gallop, when some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl. It was Miss Green. Virginia strove with all her might to +pull the black horse into a walk so that she might speak, but he did +not choose to walk; and it was with a considerably lessened, but, to +the startled Miss Green, furious gallop that they passed, Virginia +waving her hand as her only means of salutation. She heard Miss +Green's peremptory and horrified command for her to stop, but she +could not heed it. Her mind was at that time completely occupied with +wondering if the horse would willingly turn into the avenue leading to +St. Helen's. Fortunately he did, perhaps imagining it for a new +entrance to his stable, and Virginia disappeared from sight among the +pines. + +[Illustration: "Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in a +gray shawl."] + +It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended the +hill leading to St. Helen's in such a short space of time. When she +arrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was just +preparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interested +audience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease until +she might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throat +vigorously: + +"Priscilla," she said, "dismount immediately. Virginia, tie that +dangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly to +come at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me to +Miss King's office!" + +The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, more +dazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stony +silence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King's gold and brown room. +Miss King sat by the western window, a book in her hand. She smiled as +they entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green's +face. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by the +window, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willful +disobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusal +to stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished, +she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or an +explanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however--very +quietly. + +"You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did not +understand matters--quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding, +I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know so +little of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. I +am sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fully +described to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I will +talk this matter over with you." + +Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia, +still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in her +cheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked together +of books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and the +mountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation of +Virginia's inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak of +horseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than when +she had entered. + +As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watched +the sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful--troubled, +perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to the +desk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight. + +"Harriet has been with me a long time," she said to herself at last. +"But neither because of her superior Latin instruction, nor for the +sake of our old friendship, can I any longer allow my girls in The +Hermitage to lack a home atmosphere. Perhaps, after all, Athens needs +Harriet. I may be doing the Ancient World a favor, who knows?" And the +little, gray-haired lady smiled to herself in the twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE THANKSGIVING ORATION OF LUCILE DU BOSE + + +"Dorothy, do you think it's fair?" + +The black eyes of Lucile Du Bose, ready at any moment to brim over +with discouraged tears, implored her room-mate, who lay upon the +couch, deep in a magazine. + +"Dorothy, do you?" + +Dorothy frowned. Apparently she had no thoughts on the subject, and +did not wish to be disturbed. + +"Do I what, Lucile? What's the matter, anyway?" + +Her tone was petulant and not conducive to conversation; but poor +Lucile was desperate. + +"Do you think it's fair for me to have to write an oration on the +Pilgrim Fathers? I don't know anything about them, Dorothy. Besides, +I'm most all French; and I don't know how to start an oration, +anyway!" + +"Why, of course, it's fair enough. The others all have to. Why not +you? No one's to blame because you're French." + +"But the rest don't all have to," persisted the injured Lucile, while +Dorothy began again to read. "The Blackmore twins were allowed to take +Ethan Allen, because he's their ancestor; and Miss Wallace told +Virginia she could write on the Pioneers. Who are the Pioneers, +Dorothy?" + +"Search me!" Dorothy was in a forbidding temper. Of late even her +devotion to Miss Wallace had not made her "angelic" to her room-mate. + +Lucile chewed her pen-stock savagely. Something must be done. Study +hour was nearly over, and Dorothy would be on her way to tennis or the +"Forget-me-not." She would try once more. + +"Dorothy?" + +"Well!" + +"Dorothy, if you'll tell me how an oration begins, I'll do your French +sentences every day for two weeks." + +Dorothy stopped reading. This was worth considering, since her rank in +French had been B for some time. Of late Dorothy's resolutions made in +the fall had been considerably bent if not broken. Still it would not +do to accept with too much alacrity. She closed the magazine. + +"I can't see, Lucile, how you can have been studying orations all the +fall with Miss Wallace, and not know what one is like. Don't you +listen in class?" + +"Of course I do; but they're so dry I forgot them. I know Napoleon's +'Address to his Troops,' but I can't understand Washington and +Webster. If I could just begin this I might go on. It's got to sound +patriotic, you know, and thrilling, like 'Soldiers! you have +precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines!'" + +"But you're not talking to any one. You're talking about the Pilgrim +Fathers. Now, why don't you begin like Lincoln? Of course, you can't +say, 'Fourscore and seven years ago,' but you can subtract 1620 from +now, and say--let me see-'Fourteen score and thirteen years ago.' Now, +I think that's original, Lucile." + +Lucile looked more hopeful, and blew her nose for the last time. Then +she began to write. After a few moments, + +"I've done three sentences, Dorothy. They're landed safely. Now what +shall I say?" + +Dorothy was plainly impatient. Still there were those French +sentences! + +"Well, I should think you'd tell how they overcame all the elements. +Something like this, 'Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing +high, or a stern and rockbound coast.' That's from a poem, you know, +called 'The Landing of the Pilgrims.' Then you might say something +about their fortitude being an inspiration to us. Orations are all +about that, you know,--bravery and inspiration and reverence and all +kinds of memories. But for goodness' sake, Lucile, don't put my words +down! I just suggest. You must write your own words." + +"Why, of course I will. I'm just putting it down roughly now, you see. +I'll do it all over this evening. Oh, dear, here's Virginia and +Priscilla and we're not half done. Do you suppose you'll have any +thoughts this evening?" + +"I can't tell. Come in!" + +"Walk down to the 'Forget-me-not' with us, you two," said Priscilla. +"My allowance has come, and I'm treating. This is the first hot +chocolate and cake day. Jess Blackmore was down yesterday, and they +told her. What's the matter, Lucile? You look sad." + +"I'll have to change my shoes," said Dorothy. "Will you wait?" + +"Yes, if you hurry. What's up, Lucile?" + +Lucile, glad of an audience, returned to her old grievance. + +"I don't think it's fair," she complained. "Virginia, if you had the +Pioneers, why need I have the Pilgrim Fathers?" + +"Why, I'd have soon had the Pilgrim Fathers," Virginia explained, "but +I think real Americans ought to be just as proud of the Pioneers, +because they were every bit as brave. They crossed the mountains to +find new lands, and made homes in the wilderness, and fought Indians +and wild animals. And no one here in New England seems to care about +them. So I asked if I mightn't take them myself to give them a +tribute." + +"Oh, that's what a Pioneer is," said Lucile reflectively. "Well, why +couldn't I take the Storming of the Bastille? My great grandfather +helped. The Blackmores have Ethan Allen." + +Dorothy sighed very audibly as she laced her boots. She was apparently +dead sick of the Pilgrim Fathers. + +"But, you see, Lucile," Virginia again explained, "Miss Wallace wants +you to be more American now you're here at school, because your mother +is American, and that's why she wants you to take the Pilgrim Fathers, +so you'll appreciate your country more." + +Lucile's black eyes snapped. She pushed her paper away, and went to +the closet, murmuring something in French under her breath that +sounded very much like "Vive la France!" + +Virginia's eyes fell on the crumpled and dog-eared piece of paper. + +"Why, haven't you more than that done, Lucile? They have to be given +to Miss Wallace to-morrow!" + +The angry Lucile stamped her foot. This was quite too much to be +borne. She was sick and tired of the Pilgrim Fathers, and all their +patronizing descendants. + +"No, I haven't," she cried. "And you needn't act as though you knew so +much, Virginia Hunter, just because you can write compositions. You're +out of it easy just because you've lived way out in the woods, and +know all about Indians and wild animals. But I've lived in Paris, and +there's a great difference between Wyoming and Paris, I'll have you to +know!" + +The scorn in Lucile's voice was not to be mistaken; but Virginia was +equal to the occasion. + +"Yes, of course there is a great difference," she said. "You see, +Paris is frightfully small compared to Wyoming--I don't mean in size, +you know, but in the way people look at things. In Paris, for +instance, one thinks about clothes and a good time and gayety; and in +the mountains you'd feel mean thinking about such frivolous things." + +Dorothy and Priscilla laughed, but Lucile grew angrier as Virginia +continued sweetly, + +"But I really wrote one on the Pilgrim Fathers, too, Lucile. Priscilla +and I both did, and then tried to thrill each other by giving them. +Would you like to hear mine? I have it right here in my blouse +pocket." + +Lucile's mind, slow to originate, was quick to grasp, and tenacious to +retain. An idea came to her with Virginia's question, but she was too +irritated to appear as eager as she really was to hear the oration. +Here might be a way out of her difficulty. She brushed her sweater +leisurely. + +"I'm sure I don't care. You may if you like," she said at length. + +"Oh, let's give those Pilgrim Fathers a rest!" cried the exasperated +Dorothy. "I'm tired to death of them, and there won't be a cake left. +Come on!" + +Priscilla gave her a warning nudge and a sly wink. "No, let's hear +Virginia first," she said. "It won't take five minutes, and her +oration's a peach! Go on, Virginia!" + +Virginia mounted the nearest chair, and drawing a crumpled paper from +her blouse pocket, began to read in a voice filled with emotion: + + "How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod were + thrilled when our Pilgrim forefathers first landed on the + stern shores of our vast continent, then unrevealed. + Methinks the ocean eagle himself burst into a paean of + praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise! No trumpet that sings + of fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums + saluted them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon + the naked solitude! + + "They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels + of the earth, nor did they seek king's wealth or war's + spoils, but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike + faith. + + "Aye, classmates, let us in sooth call this soil of our + dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and they left + us an unstained freedom to worship the God of our Fathers, + known of old!" + +With a quiver in her voice Virginia finished, bowed to her audience +and descended. Lucile was not blessed with a keen sense of humor. +Still, as eloquent as it sounded, it might be a joke. She glanced at +Virginia's and Priscilla's serious faces, and was reassured. + +"Oh, I wish I could do something like that!" she breathed. + +"Isn't it fine?" Priscilla asked excitedly. "I told Virginia it had a +real Patrick Henry ring. Don't you think so, Dorothy?" + +"Elegant!" said Dorothy, emerging crimson from the depths of the +closet. "Come on. Let's hurry!" + +Virginia threw the piece of mangled paper in the waste basket. "I've +another copy," she said carelessly, as they hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors. At the steps Lucile hesitated. + +"I'll catch up," she said. "I've forgotten something. Go on." + +She ran up-stairs while the three outside the fir trees laughed. + +"Didn't she bite easily, though? I never thought she would bite like +that. Poor Mrs. Hemans and Kipling!" + +"It way mean," admitted Virginia, "but I just couldn't resist after +that slam she gave Wyoming. I thought sure she'd see through +it--Dorothy was so red; and, of course, I thought she knew 'The +breaking waves dashed high.'" + +"The best part of it all is," Dorothy whispered, "she's gone up to +find that paper. Martha cleans this afternoon, you know, and Lucile +wants to use that oration. I'll bet I'm not asked for any thoughts +to-night!" + +"Oh, no, she won't!" cried Virginia. "Dorothy, do you suppose she +will?" + +"You wait and see! Of course she will. Lucile's queer. She doesn't +have any thoughts; and she can't see when a thing is funny. Miss +Wallace doesn't have them read aloud, does she, Priscilla? Lucile +especially asked that, and I told her she didn't." + +"She didn't last year. Oh, if she did!" + +They laughed again, but tried to calm down as Lucile, looking somewhat +embarrassed, emerged from the fir trees. Then they proceeded to the +"Forget-me-not," where they found most of St. Helen's assembled, and +toasted the different classes and cottages in hot chocolate, served by +a sallow youth with eye-glasses and a white duck coat, he evidently +being likewise an innovation, like the chocolate and cakes. + +On the way home Virginia's conscience pricked a little, and she +confessed a slight mean feeling to Priscilla. + +"You see, if I could be sure Miss Wallace wouldn't ask us to read them +in class, it wouldn't be so bad. It's bad enough, if Lucile really +uses that foolish thing, to have Miss Wallace read it alone; but, +really, 'twould be frightful if Miss Wallace should call on her to +read it. I don't know what I'd do! And every one would laugh! Oh, it +is mean, Priscilla!" + +"No, it isn't mean, it's just funny. You know things are different in +school, Virginia, though I can never make mother see it. Now jokes +aren't mean! Lucile just bit, and she'll learn in this way not to bite +so easily. Also, that you get in trouble using other folks' work. +Besides, if she's a sport, and takes it right, we'll all like her +better. It is mean to set traps deliberately to get other girls into +trouble, the way Imogene did to you the other night; and it's +miserably mean to try to throw blame on some one else for what you've +done yourself. Mother can't seem to see much difference, but dad and +the boys can. Only jokes aren't mean; and we'd have been too slow for +any use if we hadn't had some fun out of that oration when the chance +came like that." + +In study hour that evening, Lucile's conscience was also active, with +better reason. Dorothy, in her slippers, had stolen along the porch to +Imogene's room, a way she had of doing lately, though it was quite +against the rules. But Lucile did not need Dorothy's thoughts, for she +was copying furiously from a piece of yellow paper, which she had +taken from her handkerchief box. After all, she told her conscience, +it was perfectly excusable, for the whole thing had been unfair. To +expect her, whose great-grandfather had stormed the Bastille, to write +an oration on the Pilgrim Fathers! Moreover, Virginia wasn't going to +use it herself, she reasoned, so it really wasn't cheating; and she +could help Virginia on her French some day to balance the account. +Besides, Virginia would never know, because Miss Wallace never had +them read in class; and, after all, it was not all Virginia's work, +because Lucile must add some thoughts of her own to eke out the +required length. Lucile was not a prolific thinker, but with the help +of the Dictionary and "The Essentials of American History," she was +progressing. By the time Dorothy returned, the oration was completed, +though Lucile was strangely reticent concerning it. On her desk, +Dorothy found a neatly written French exercise. + +"Oh, Lucile, that's awfully good of you," she said, herself slightly +conscience stricken. + +"It's all right. You helped me, you know." + +"Is the oration all done?" + +"Yes. I--I wish I hadn't eaten those three cakes. I think I'll go to +bed early." + +Sophomore English recited from nine to ten, Miss Wallace desiring +minds as fresh as possible. The morning following Lucile's desperate +attempt and final accomplishment, a growing pile of manuscript on Miss +Wallace's desk proved that youthful orators had been busy. Lucile and +Virginia, coming a few moments late to class, deposited their papers +on the top of the pile and took their seats. The recitation began, and +for half an hour Miss Wallace questioned, listened, and explained. +Then she closed her book, and motioned the girls to do the same. + +"I'm going to introduce a custom which I have never introduced +before," she said with the smile that had made her beloved during her +three years at St. Helen's. "We have twenty-five minutes remaining. I +am going to ask that two or three of our orations be read before the +class. Virginia, you are on the top of the pile, perhaps a penalty for +being late. We will hear your oration." + +Virginia crossed the room, conflicting emotions sweeping over her. As +to reading her own composition, she was quite willing, since Miss +Wallace desired it; but she knew that Lucile's was next in order, and, +as she turned to face the others, she saw Lucile's agonized face. +Could she do anything to prevent her coming next? She hesitated. There +was nothing except to hope that Miss Wallace would note Lucile's fear, +and excuse her. Miss Wallace noticed the hesitation. + +"Come, Virginia. We are waiting." Virginia began to read, and as she +read, she forgot Lucile in the hope that those listening might realize +that the Pioneers of her own dear country were likewise Pilgrim +Fathers. Her voice, sweet and clear, rang out earnestly: + + "At this Thanksgiving season when we, as a nation, give honor + to those brave men and women who founded the New England + States, should we not also grant honor and homage to those + other founders of our country--the children of the Pilgrim + Fathers--the sturdy Pioneers of our Great West? In our praise + of the Pilgrim Fathers, we often forget, I think, that there + were other Pilgrims besides those at Plymouth Rock--other + wanderers, who, perhaps, did not seek freedom to worship God, + but who did seek better homes for their children, and who + tried by their discoveries to show that we had a bigger, + richer country than we knew about. They did not cross the + angry seas of water, but they crossed a sea of land, our great + prairies, where there were even more perils than those of the + Atlantic--perils of Indians, wild animals, cyclones, and + blizzards. They crossed the mountains, cutting their own + trails before them, protecting the tired women and helpless + children from danger; and those who went to the Far West + crossed the great deserts, suffering great hunger and worse + thirst, and sometimes leaving their bones upon the sands." + +Her voice as she read trembled with eagerness and pride. Into her mind +crept the pictures of "old timers" at home, and the tales of bravery +and endurance which they had told her. She read on, telling of more +hardships, of greater bravery, extolling the lonely lives in the +forests or mountains or on the great prairies. The girls listened +eagerly. Many of them had never considered the Pioneers before. After +all, they were worthy of praise. Virginia was holding her audience--all +save the cowering Lucile, who was miserably knotting her handkerchief. +The young orator closed with an appeal to her listeners: + + "Oh, let us who are so greatly blessed with homes and friends + and safety from the dangers that beset our forefathers, give + thanks to God at this Thanksgiving season! And let us + determine to show in our small lives the bravery and the + perseverance and the honesty and the fear of doing wrong, + which was shown by our Pilgrim forefathers of Massachusetts, + and by the Pilgrim pioneers of our mountain and prairie + States. Then shall we be more fit to be called real, true + Americans!" + +Virginia took her seat amid a burst of genuine applause, the most +precious of which was her beloved teacher's own commendation and look +of approval. + +"Now, Lucile, you are next," continued the merciless Miss Wallace; and +the trembling, cowering Lucile managed to cross the room, and take her +own paper from the desk. For a moment Miss Wallace may have been +tempted to withdraw her request. Virginia, whose pleasure in the +reception of her own oration had quite disappeared in her pity for +Lucile, kept hoping that she might reconsider; but she did not. Lucile +must take her chances with the others, she was thinking. Here was an +opportunity for overcoming her diffidence in class. + +Lucile faced her audience, her eyes half angry, half frightened, her +hands shaking. Her low trembling voice was hardly oratorical. + +"Louder, please, Lucile," commanded Miss Wallace. + +Virginia studiously looked out of the window. Lucile recommenced, and +this time, so absolutely astonished and overcome was Miss Wallace, +that the orator proceeded without interruption to the end. + + "Fourteen score and thirteen years ago," read the trembling + voice, "our Pilgrim forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The + exact date was the 20th of December in the year of our Lord + 1620. It was Monday when they got there and the women thought + they would wash. All American women have washed ever since. + Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing high, or a stern + and rockbound coast, which is from a poem called 'The Landing + of the Pilgrims.' They gave us bravery and inspiration and + reverence and all kinds of memories." + +The orator at this juncture cleared her throat desperately, and seemed +to gather strength. She proceeded more calmly, and in somewhat louder +tone. + + "How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod, situated + on the eastern coast of Massachusetts, and so named for the + fish that swim around it, were thrilled when our Pilgrim + Fathers first landed on the shores of our vast continent, then + unrevealed--America, named for a poor Italian author, Amerigo + Vespucci. Many persons think the name would be better if it + were Columbia, after the song, 'Columbia, the gem of the + ocean.' Methinks the ocean eagle, a bird once inhabitating the + shores of New England, but now extinct, himself burst into a + paean of praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a + stormy sky waved banners of praise. No trumpet that sings of + fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums saluted + them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon the naked + solitude! + + "They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels of + the earth, nor did they seek kings' wealth or war's spoils, + but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike faith. And + almost the very first building they erected was a church! + + "Aye, Sophomore classmates, I think you ought to call this + soil of your dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and + they have left you an unstained freedom to worship the God of + your Fathers, known of old!" + +The poor orator managed to reach her seat without encountering the +eyes of Virginia; but she could not be unconscious of the postures of +her classmates. Some with crimson cheeks and shaking shoulders were +studiously regarding their textbooks; others, with a complete +disregard either of hygiene or of good manners, were chewing their +handkerchiefs; the Blackmore twins were weeping on each others' +shoulders. Miss Wallace was fumbling in the drawer of her desk, and +striving hard to control her quivering lips. + +"This class is dismissed," she managed to say, without looking up, and +the class, unspeakably glad to be dismissed, literally ran from the +room, leaving poor Lucile, upon whom the joke was very slowly dawning, +to come out alone, cut her Latin recitation, and seek her room. Here +she locked the door against her room-mate, and packed her suit-case +for New York where she was to spend Thanksgiving, glad that a telegram +from relatives there had asked for her early departure on the +afternoon train. She did not appear at luncheon. + +"Poor thing! I guess she won't bite so easy next time," said +Priscilla, as they left the table, where Miss Wallace, still smiling, +was arranging a tray for the orator. "Let's be decent enough to play +tennis on the back court till she goes to the station. I know she +doesn't want to see us, and I don't blame her a bit. It'll be +forgotten when she gets back. You don't feel bad about it, do you, +Virginia?" + +"No, not now, but it was truly awful, Priscilla, when she looked so +scared in class. I felt like a criminal. But I feel better now I've +written the note." + +"What note?" + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you, and I signed your name, too; but I knew +you'd want to. You see, I thought 'twould be too bad to have her go +away for Thanksgiving, thinking we didn't like her and had been mean +to her, because, you know, I don't think Lucile is very quick about +seeing through things, and I wanted her to know we liked her all the +same. So I wrote a verse, and slipped it under her door. It said: + + Dear Lucile; + + It was a joke, and now it's made + We simply can't unmake it; + But we like you, and hope that you + Will be a sport and take it. + + Happy Thanksgiving! + + P. and V. + + You don't mind, do you?" + +Priscilla threw her arm over Virginia's shoulder, and drew her toward +the tennis court. + +"No, of course I don't mind. I think 'twas mighty sweet of you to do +it. You're queer, Virginia, but I like you, and I'm glad you're my +roommate." + +Virginia's eyes glowed with happiness. + +"Glad!" she cried. "I'm gladder every day! And I just love you, +Priscilla Winthrop!" + +That evening Virginia added Experience III to the Decorum Chapter of +her ever growing "Thought Book ": + +"In school it all depends upon how you feel inside when you do a thing +as to whether it's mean or not. Jokes are not mean, unless you feel +malicious when you conceive them. Also, it doesn't matter at all if a +joke is played upon you. All it matters is whether you are a good +sport and take it well." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THANKSGIVING AND MISS WALLACE + + +Going home for the Thanksgiving holidays, though not forbidden, was +discouraged at St. Helen's. The time was very short, there being less +than a week's vacation allowed; and it had long been the custom, +unless urgent demands came from home, for the girls to remain at +school. It was not at all a hardship, for every one had such a royal +good time. Moreover, the fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers and +friends of the girls were always welcome, as far as accommodations in +the village and at the school allowed; and for years Thanksgiving at +St. Helen's had been a gala season. + +This year it seemed even especially lovely. Indian summer had waited +to come with Thanksgiving, and every day of the vacation was a golden +one. Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop came to spend the holidays with Priscilla; +and Mrs. Williams, a sweet, motherly lady, whom Virginia loved at +once, came with Jack to see Mary. Virginia liked Jack, too, and the +four of them dreamed what Mary and Jack called "vain dreams" of a +summer in Wyoming with Donald and Virginia. But the dreams were lovely +anyway, and Mrs. Williams said with a mysterious smile that "perhaps +they were not all in vain," which remark straightway inspired the +youthful dreamers to build more air-castles. + +Virginia liked Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, also; and her heart beat fast +with happiness when Mrs. Winthrop told her how glad she was to have +her daughter room with Virginia. Mrs. Meredith, a flashily dressed +woman with too many jewels, came for a day to bring the already +over-supplied Imogene some new clothes and candy enough to make her +ill for a week. Vivian's mother came, too. She had the same wistful, +half-sad expression about her eyes which Vivian had, and Virginia +liked her in spite of her silly clothes, and nervous solicitude over +Vivian's every step. There was something pathetic about Mrs. Winters. +She might so easily have been so different! And she did truly want +Vivian to be the right kind of a girl. If only she didn't care so much +for dress and style, Virginia thought to herself, then she might see +that Imogene was not the best roommate for Vivian. + +On Thanksgiving morning, an hour before dinner, Virginia was called to +Miss King's room. Wonderingly she crossed the campus to the office, +where to her joy she found dear, brisk Aunt Nan, who had run down just +for the day to see how her niece was getting along. Apparently Miss +King had satisfied her before Virginia entered, for she seemed very +proud of the gray-eyed little girl, who was growing taller every week. + +"I really need to stay longer to let your dresses down, dear," she +said. "But at Christmas time we'll have a seamstress, and you can't +grow much in four weeks. Your grandmother and aunt can hardly wait for +Christmas, Virginia." + +This made Virginia happier than ever, for she had dreaded Christmas in +Vermont without her father. But now it was really something to look +forward to, since even grandmother wanted her so much. She and Aunt +Nan talked with Miss King for a while, and then walked about the +campus until time to dress for dinner. St. Helen's had changed a good +deal since Aunt Nan's day. There had been only thirty girls then, she +told Virginia, and two cottages, King and Willow. As they walked +about, the Williamses and Winthrops, together with Anne and Dorothy, +joined them, and Virginia proudly introduced Aunt Nan, who made them +all laugh with the tales of her experiences and escapades at St. +Helen's years ago. + +Then, the bell on the main building warning them, they hurried in to +dress for dinner, which The Hermitage girls and those of Hathaway +together with their friends were to have at Hathaway. Each year one +cottage was hostess to another. This year Hathaway had bidden The +Hermitage, Overlook was entertaining West, and King and Willow were +celebrating together. It was a merry, happy family that assembled in +Hathaway half an hour later. The tables, arranged in the form of a +hollow square, were gay with centerpieces of yellow chrysanthemums, +and strewn with yellow leaves, gathered weeks before and pressed for +the occasion. There were dainty place-cards upon which the Hathaway +girls with skillful fingers had drawn and painted pumpkins, +log-houses, turkeys, and miniature Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers; and as +each found her place at the table, she discovered also a slip of paper +with an appropriate Thanksgiving verse. This form of Thanksgiving +grace Miss King had originated. "Each one must give thanks for the +day," she always said; and before the table was seated, each read +aloud her verse or bit of prose. + +Miss King, who, year by year, dined with each cottage in turn, was +this year the guest of the proud Hathaway girls. It was she who gave +first the grace she had given on each Thanksgiving for many years: + + "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. + + "Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence + with singing. + + "Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made + us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep + of His pasture. + + "Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His + courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His + name. + + "For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His + truth endureth to all generations. Praise ye the Lord." + +The others followed. Virginia's was her favorite stanza from a new +poem, which Miss Wallace had read to her only the night before. Miss +Wallace must have selected it for her. She looked toward her +gratefully, as she read in her clear voice: + + "A haze on the far horizon, + The infinite, tender sky, + The ripe, rich tint of the corn-fields, + And the wild geese sailing high; + + "And all over upland and lowland + The charm of the goldenrod; + Some of us call it Autumn, + And others call it God." + +Each having read her selection, they sang all together, as on every +Thanksgiving Day for thirty years the St. Helen's girls had done, that +old, universal song of praise, which the world will never outgrow: + + "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, + Praise Him all creatures here below, + Praise Him above ye heavenly host, + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." + +Then, with a renewed feeling of thankfulness and happiness, every one +sat down, and the bountiful dinner was served. Virginia sat between +Aunt Nan and Mary, and opposite the Blackmore twins, whose father had +come to spend the day with them. He was the jolliest man imaginable, +"even though he is a minister," as Jean Blackmore often said, and kept +the entire table laughing over his jokes and funny stories. Virginia +mentally compared him with the Rev. Samuel Baxter, and could not +resist whispering to Aunt Nan: + +"Wouldn't Dr. Baxter be shocked if he were here?" + +"I wish he were!" Aunt Nan whispered back. "Maybe he'd be so shocked +he couldn't get back to Webster!" + +They sat for a long time after dinner was over, talking with each +other and enjoying the informal after-dinner speeches. As they left +the dining-room, and passed into the big living-room to listen to some +music, a large automobile stopped at the door, and a tall, +white-haired gentleman in a gray overcoat stepped out and was about to +ring the bell. But, before he had time, he was seized by a gray-eyed +girl in a white dress, who had burst open the door, crying: + +"Oh, Colonel Standish! Have you really, really come to see me?" + +"Why, Miss Virginia," said the Colonel, pausing to shake hands +cordially with Aunt Nan, "I've been having Thanksgiving dinner with +that grandson of mine at the Gordon school; and I told my man he must +drive around this way to give me just a glimpse of you before taking +me back to the city. And how goes everything, my dear? Is the 'making +of you' progressing?" And he smiled in remembrance of their journey +together. + +Virginia was so delighted to see him that she could hardly speak. + +"I think so, sir. Everything's lovely anyway. Oh, Priscilla, come +here!" + +"I wonder if you're not the girl who knows my grandson?" the Colonel +asked Priscilla. "He was telling me he knew a St. Helen's girl at +Vineyard Haven this summer named Priscilla Winthrop." + +"Do you mean Carver Standish, sir? Why, of course, I know him. He +taught me to swim this summer. I don't know why I didn't think of him +when Virginia told me that your name was Colonel Standish," said +Priscilla to Virginia's delight. To think Priscilla knew Colonel +Standish's grandson! + +Then the Winthrops must be introduced, and the Williamses and Anne and +Dorothy, together with Miss King and Miss Wallace, until the Colonel +declared that he felt quite at home. It seemed about a minute to +Virginia before he said that he must go, in spite of entreaties and +cordial invitations to share the festivities of the afternoon. But he +should come again, he said, and the next time he would bring his +grandson. Virginia watched the big car as it disappeared below the +hill; and later, as they drove together in the early evening to the +station, she told Aunt Nan that the Colonel's coming had made her day +complete. + +"Give my love to grandmother, Aunt Nan," she said, as they told each +other good-by, "and kiss her twice for me, if you think she'd like +it." + +"I'm sure she would, Virginia," answered Aunt Nan. "She's counting the +days until Christmas." And the train that carried Aunt Nan northward +left a very happy girl on the station platform. + +But of all the happiness which Thanksgiving brought, the loveliest was +the opportunity it gave her to know Miss Wallace better. Miss Green +had gone to Boston for the holidays, and since The Hermitage was +filled to overflowing, Priscilla and Virginia stayed in her room, +giving their own to the Winthrops. Miss Green's room was next to Miss +Wallace's; and since Priscilla was constantly with her father and +mother, Virginia, though always asked with Dorothy to join the party, +seized the privilege afforded her of being with Miss Wallace. Miss +Wallace was also glad, for she loved Virginia. Policy, when school was +in session, forbade, with total disregard for a teacher's preferences, +a greater intimacy with one girl than with another; but in the +vacation days following Thanksgiving, when Virginia was more or less +alone, their friendship grew and ripened into a close understanding +between them. + +Virginia discovered that Miss Wallace loved her best book +friends--"Pollyanna," Pip in "Great Expectations," poor Smike in +"Nicholas Nickleby," David Balfour, Sydney Carton, Sohrab, and dear +Margaret in "The Cloister and the Hearth." They spent two lovely long +evenings reading together before the open fire in Miss Wallace's +cheery room, and some hours out-of-doors. Also, to Virginia's great +delight, Miss Wallace expressed a desire to learn to ride; and +thereupon followed a lesson with Miss Wallace on Napoleon, who, to her +inexperienced eyes, was a veritable war-horse. + +She was doubly glad and thankful for Miss Wallace's interest and +friendship on the Monday following Thanksgiving. It was the last day +of the vacation, and golden like the others. The Winthrop family and +the Williamses, together with Anne and Dorothy, had motored to +Riverside, twenty miles distant, to take their homeward bound train +from there instead of Hillcrest. Virginia had been asked to join the +party, but had declined, preferring to ride, and secretly hoping that +Miss Wallace might be able to ride also. But Miss Wallace had papers +to correct, sorry as she was, and Virginia tried to be content with +the sunshine, the black horse, and a thick letter from her father, +which the postman gave her as she rode past him down the hill. + +Securing her reins to the horn of her saddle, she tore open her +letter. So motionless did she sit while she read its contents that the +black horse quite forgot he had a rider, and stopped to nibble at the +bare, wayside bushes. A few moments later he must have been surprised +to feel a pair of arms about his neck, and a head against his mane; +but he still nibbled on unconscious that the girl on his back was +sobbing, and saying between her sobs, + +"Oh, if you were Pedro, you might understand, but you haven't any +heart at all!" + +Still he chewed the alder bushes. It was not often that he was allowed +to take refreshment when this girl rode him, and he intended to make +the best of his advantages. He felt her raise her head after some long +moments; but as yet there was no signal for departure. Virginia was +reading her letter again through blinding tears. + +"I have something to tell you, my clear little daughter, which I know +will grieve you deeply," her father had written. It was this that had +at first made her heart stand still. "Still, I feel that I should tell +you, for sooner or later you must know. Dear old Jim left us last +night to begin life over again Somewhere Else. He had been gradually +failing for weeks, but he would not give up his work. Yesterday +morning Pedro was taken ill, and Jim refused to leave him, saying over +and over again that you had always trusted Pedro to him. He worked +over him all day, undoubtedly saving Pedro's life, and refusing to +leave him, even though the other men insisted upon his giving place to +them. At night the men left him to eat supper, for he still would not +leave his post; and when they had finished and went back to the +stable, Pedro was quite himself again, but they found Jim--asleep. + +"I think you will feel as I do, dear, that it was like Jim to go that +way--faithful to the end. We laid him to rest this morning in the side +of the Spruce Ridge, near the great old tree to which you and he used +to climb so often, especially when you were a little girl. You will +remember how he loved the sweep of country from there. The morning was +beautiful and clear--the very kind of day he loved best; and as we +carried him up the hill, and laid him to rest, a meadow-lark sat on +the stump of a quaking-asp and sang over and over again. That was the +only prayer there was--that and our thoughts--but I am sure Jim would +have chosen that for his farewell song." + +Virginia could read no more. She pulled the head of the startled black +horse away from the alders, and struck him with her spur. He started +furiously down the hill, through the pines, and out into the country +road. On and on they went, mile after mile, but still in Virginia's +ears rang her father's words, "Dear old Jim left us last night to +begin life over again Somewhere Else." Jim, the comrade of her life, +her trusted friend and adviser, whom she would never see again! + +Again she struck the black horse with her spur. But the pounding of +his feet on the hard road could not drown her father's words. And no +one would understand, she cried to herself--not even Mary and +Priscilla. To them Jim was a dear, interesting old man; to Dorothy a +"character"; to Imogene a "common hired helper"! They would not be +able to comprehend her grief, just as they had never been able to +understand her love for him. + +But riding did not help as she had hoped. She would go back. A half +hour later she left the horse at the stable, and walked homeward, +alone with her grief. She could not bear to see the girls just yet, so +she turned aside and followed the woodsy little path that led to St. +Helen's Retreat. It was still there--comfortingly still. She pushed +open the door, and entered the little chapel, through whose long and +narrow windows the sunlight fell in golden shafts upon the floor, and +upon the white cloth that covered the little altar. Obeying something +deep within her heart, Virginia knelt by the altar rail; and somehow +in the stillness, the beauty and faithfulness of Jim's honest life +overcame a little the sadness of his death. + +[Illustration: "Virginia knelt by the altar rail."] + +How long she knelt there she did not know, but all at once she felt an +arm around her, and heard Miss Wallace's voice say: + +"Why, my dear child, what is it? Come out into the sunlight and tell +me. You will take cold in here!" + +Together they went out under the pines where the sun was warm and +bright; and sitting there, with Miss Wallace's arms around her, +Virginia told of her sorrow, and of dear old Jim, of whom Miss Wallace +had already heard. Then she read her father's letter, and the tears +which stood in Miss Wallace's eyes quite overflowed when she came to +the part about the meadow-lark. + +"And he loved the meadow-lark so!" sobbed Virginia. "It seems as +though that one must have known!" + +"Perhaps it did," Miss Wallace said with dear comfort. "I like to +think that birds know many things that we cannot--many of the sweetest +things like that." + +"Oh, you're such a help!" breathed Virginia, the burden upon her heart +already lighter. "You see, the others can't understand why I loved him +so. But you just seem to know some way." + +"I think I do know, dear," Miss Wallace told her as they rose to go up +the hill. "I want you always to tell me the things that trouble you, +Virginia, and the things that make you glad, because we're real +friends now, you know; real friends for always!" + +And even in the midst of her grief, Virginia was happy--happy in the +knowledge that she had gained a friend--a "real friend for always." In +the hard days that followed, when so few understood why it was that +the merry girl from Wyoming had suddenly grown less merry, that +friendship was a tower of strength to Virginia--giving her courage and +happiness when she most needed both; and proving, as it has proven so +many times, that there is no sweeter, finer influence in life than the +mutual helpfulness born of a friendship between a teacher and one of +"her girls." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR + + +"On, of course, Dorothy, do as you like! If you'd rather play tennis +with the Wyoming Novelty than go down to the village with me, go +ahead. Don't think for a moment that I care!" + +Imogene leaned idly back among the pillows, while Dorothy studied the +rug with a flushed face. + +"You know it isn't that I'd rather, Imogene; but Virginia and I made +an agreement that I'd teach her some tennis serves, and she'd teach me +to ride. She's given me two lessons already, and now that the indoor +courts are fixed I thought we'd play this afternoon, that's all." + +"Go and play then. Don't mind me. I'm comfortable!" + +Dorothy was silent for a moment. "I don't see why you dislike Virginia +so, Imogene," she said at last. + +"Dislike her? I don't dislike her, or like her either for that matter. +I don't care one way or the other. My friends have never been brought +up in the backwoods, and don't weep over dead cow-boys; but, of +course, you're at liberty to choose yours wherever you like." + +The sarcasm in Imogene's tone was biting. Dorothy struggled with a +strong desire to defend Virginia, and another as strong to keep in +Imogene's favor. Completely ashamed of herself, she said nothing, and +Imogene mercifully changed the subject. + +"Has our Dutch aristocrat returned your penknife?" + +"Not yet. How about your hammer?" + +"I haven't seen it since she borrowed it, and I've ruined my nail-file +trying to open the box of cake mother sent. She has her nerve! I found +this on my desk this afternoon." + +She showed Dorothy a slip of paper on which was written in a heavy +black hand: + + "Have borrowed your ink for the afternoon. + + "K. van R." + +"You don't mean to say she came in when there was no one here, and +just took it!" gasped Dorothy. + +"Oh, Vivian was here, I guess, but Viv hasn't the nerve of a rabbit. +If Her Highness had chosen to take the room, Viv would have gone +along. But I'm going to do something very soon. I'm sick of this!" + +An imperious knock sounded on the door, and without waiting to be +bidden, the knocker entered. It was Miss Van Rensaelar herself, who, +late in coming to St. Helen's, had arrived two weeks before. She was +dressed in dark blue velvet with ermine furs, and looked undeniably +handsome, with her blue eyes and faultless complexion. In one +white-gloved hand she gingerly held an ink-bottle, which she extended. + +"Here is your ink," she announced somewhat haughtily. "I'm sure I'm +obliged. I forgot the hammer, but you can get it from my room if you +need it. I go to the city for dinner. Good-by." + +Imogene did not rise. "Good-by," she said in a tone which quite +matched Miss Van Rensaelar's. "You might have the goodness to place +the ink on my desk. It belongs there." + +"Indeed!" Miss Van Rensaelar sniffed the air, but crossed the room +with the ink-bottle, which she deposited upon the desk. Then she +crossed again, her head a trifle higher if possible, and went out the +door, which she left wide open. + +Imogene was furious. She rose from the couch to give vent to her +feelings by slamming the door, but encountered Priscilla and Virginia +just about to enter. Had she not wished to share her rage, she might +not have been so gracious. + +"Come in," she said, "and hear the latest!" + +"What's she done now?" Priscilla whispered. "We met her in the hall, +but she didn't deign to speak. Is she going to town to dine with the +Holland ambassador, or what?" + +"I don't know or care whom she's going to see," stormed Imogene, "but +I know one thing! I'm not going to stand this sort of thing any +longer. Borrowing everything is bad enough; but when it comes to +lording it over the whole house, it's time to do something! Besides, +she's a Freshman!" + +"She isn't exactly a Freshman," said Virginia, not noting Imogene's +displeasure. "Miss Wallace says she's been to several girls' schools +on the Hudson already, but she doesn't stay. She's sort of a special, +I guess. She's nearly eighteen, you know." + +"I wasn't favored with a knowledge of her age," Imogene continued +frigidly. "But I repeat, it's time to do something!" + +"But what can we do?" asked Priscilla. "Of course we can refuse to +lend our things, but that--" + +"That isn't what I mean. I mean we ought to show her that she isn't +everything in The Hermitage, or in all St. Helen's. She thinks she is! +But she isn't! In college she'd be made to black boots, or run +errands. I have a friend at Harvard and he told me all about the +things they make fresh Freshmen do." + +The thought of the haughty, velvet-clad Miss Van Rensaelar blacking +boots was too much for Virginia and she laughed, thereby increasing +Imogene's displeasure. Vivian arrived just at this point of the +conversation, falling over the rug as she entered, which awkward +proceeding greatly disturbed her room-mate. + +"For mercy's sake, Viv, save the furniture, and do close the door! +This isn't open house!" + +Poor Vivian, a little uncertain as to whether or not she was welcome, +straightened the rug and closed the door. Then she sat beside +Virginia, who had made room for her on the couch. + +"We might ask Mary. Maybe she'd have an idea," Priscilla suggested a +little timidly, but Imogene did not receive the suggestion very +kindly. + +"Oh, I'm sick of this monitor business! Don't say a word to Mary. +Whatever is done can be done without her first assistance. I'm going +to think of something before I go to bed to-night." + +"She makes me think of Dick when he first came to the ranch," said +Virginia. "He acted as though he were better than the other men, and +knew a lot more, though he was only eighteen. He used to like to dress +up and go to town at night, as though he were above them all. The men +grew tired of his overbearing ways, and Jim and Alex decided he needed +some discipline. So, one night when he had gone to town in his best +clothes, they placed a big bucket of water over the bunk-house door, +and arranged it so that when any one opened the door from the outside +it would fall and drench him. Dick came home about midnight; and the +men all lay in bed, waiting for him to open the door. He opened it, +and down came all the water. Jim told father the next day that Dick +just stood there wet through, and never said a word. But he +understood, and after that he wasn't snobbish any more, but just one +of the men, and they liked him a great deal better. I know I thought +'twas mean when Jim told father, but father said it was just what Dick +needed to help make a man of him." + +They had all listened to Virginia's story. Somehow they always did +listen when Virginia told a story for it was sure to be interesting. +Imogene, though she stared out of the window while Virginia told it, +was really listening most attentively of all; for, as Virginia talked, +into her scheming mind flashed an idea, by the carrying out of which +she might attain a two-fold purpose--namely, the desired disciplining +of Miss Van Rensaelar, and the revenging of certain wrongs for which +she held Virginia responsible. + +Imogene did dislike Virginia, for no other reasons in the world than +that the other girls liked her, and that their friendliness gave +Virginia prominence at St. Helen's. Virginia did not seek popularity +or influence, therefore she had both; but Imogene for two years had +sought for both, and moreover had used every means to attain them. +This year she saw her popularity waning. Even Dorothy did not seem to +care so much for her. Instead she liked Virginia--a bitter pill for +Imogene to swallow. As for influence, Imogene Meredith did possess a +strong influence over her associates, but its strength did not lie in +its goodness. Moreover, Imogene remembered a certain talk with Miss +Wallace on the occasion of Virginia's trouble with Miss Green; and the +memory of that talk still rankled bitterly. She _would_ get even with +Virginia, and show St. Helen's that this Wyoming girl was not such a +wonder after all. So as Virginia told her story and the others +listened, Imogene smiled to herself and planned her revenge, Miss Van +Rensaelar for the moment almost forgotten. + +"Aren't you going to play tennis, Dorothy?" Virginia asked as she +finished. + +Dorothy hesitated. "Can't we play to-morrow, Virginia?" she asked, +embarrassed. "I promised Imogene I'd walk to the village with her." + +"Of course. It doesn't matter. Come on, Vivian. Priscilla and you and +I'll play; and if Lucile doesn't want to make a fourth, we'll get Bess +Shepard from Overlook. She said this morning that she'd like to play." + +So while the others crossed the campus toward the gymnasium, Imogene +and Dorothy started for Hillcrest, and upon arriving went to the +"Forget-me-not," while the sallow-faced youth before mentioned served +them hot chocolate, and lingered unnecessarily in Imogene's +neighborhood. On the way home, peace having been restored between +them, Imogene divulged her secret plan to Dorothy, or at least the +half of it which she cared to divulge,--namely that upon their arrival +home while every one was preparing for dinner, a pail of water be +suspended over Miss Van Rensaelar's door, so that upon her return she +might be surprised into a more docile manner toward her housemates. + +Dorothy giggled at the picture of the soaked Katrina, but obstacles +presented themselves to her mind. + +"It will be funny, but I think you'll get the worst of it instead of +Katrina." + +"How, I'd like to know?" + +"Well, you're sure to be found out, because you can't fib about it, +and there's so few of us in The Hermitage that all of us will be +asked. Then, besides, it's funny, but I'm not so sure it's a joke. I +think it's sort of mean." Dorothy said the last somewhat hesitatingly, +noting the expression coming over Imogene's face. + +"Don't be such a wet-blanket, Dot! Besides, I don't see how you're so +sure I'll be found out. You certainly won't tell, and Viv won't dare +to; and you know how St. Helen's feels about telling tales anyway. +Besides, it's not my plan. You know who suggested it just this +afternoon." And into Imogene's eyes crept a crafty expression, which +told Dorothy more than her words. + +"Oh, Imogene!" she cried, really indignant. "You know that isn't true! +Virginia didn't propose it at all! She was just telling a story! You +don't mean you'd do it yourself, and then lay the blame on Virginia!" + +Imogene saw that she had made a mistake. + +"Who's talking about blaming anybody? I guess I'm willing to take the +blame for my own actions. Don't get so excited! I didn't exactly mean +she proposed it. I just meant that I'd never have thought of such a +good plan if it hadn't been for her." + +Dorothy was not convinced. She never felt quite sure of Imogene, +though she couldn't seem to help being fascinated by her. + +"You see," she said hesitatingly, "if you had meant that Virginia +suggested it, I'd think--" + +"Well, think what?" + +"I'd think that--? that maybe you laughed on purpose that night +down-stairs." + +Imogene shrugged her shoulders, and looked, for her, rather +uncomfortable. + +"Isn't any one allowed to laugh, if anything strikes her funny? You're +suspicious, Dorothy!" + +But quarreling would not do if Dorothy's help were to be relied upon. +Besides, the subject was distasteful, not to say dangerous. Imogene +changed it hurriedly, and, by the time they reached The Hermitage, the +plan had once more assumed at least an honest aspect, and Dorothy was +once more laughing at the thought of the drenched Katrina. + +Meanwhile Miss Van Rensaelar was being entertained in the city, and +regaling her friends with tales of the hopelessness of St. Helen's in +general, and The Hermitage in particular. Such regulations as to +hours! Such babyish girls! No style! No callers! No amusements, except +tennis and basketball, and riding on impossible horses! + +The truth was the trouble lay in Katrina Van Rensaelar, and not in St. +Helen's. Katrina, "on account of having been detained by illness at a +Long Island house-party," had not arrived at St. Helen's until after +Thanksgiving. She was too late to enter any of the regular classes, +and had been ranked as a "Special." The term really suited Katrina, +for she was a special type of girl to which St. Helen's had not often +been accustomed. She had too little desire for study and too much +money--too little friendliness and too many ancestors. + +Now, the possession of too many ancestors is difficult property to +handle, especially in boarding-school, unless you are very expert in +concealing your ownership. Katrina was not expert. On the contrary, +disdaining concealment, she openly avowed her ownership, and on the +few occasions in which she had been known to engage in conversation, +had announced that she was of the only original Dutch patroon stock of +New York. There were girls at St. Helen's who were every bit as +snobbish as Katrina with perhaps less to be snobbish about--Imogene was +one--but somehow they had learned that if one wished to be popular, she +concealed as far as possible her personal prejudices toward family and +fortune. + +Katrina, glad to be away from St. Helen's and to see some "life," as +she termed it, accepted with thanks an invitation to remain over night +in the city. Her friends telegraphed her intention to Miss King, +promising to bring her in by machine early in the morning. Miss Green +and Miss Wallace were accordingly informed of the fact that she would +not return, but, as such irregularities were not encouraged, said +nothing of her absence to the girls. + +That night Vivian was a trifle late for supper, for truth to tell it +had been Vivian whom Imogene had delegated to creep up-stairs with the +water-filled pail, and hang it on a nail already provided above the +door. + +"You're lighter on your feet than I am, Viv," she had explained, "and +no one will hear you. Just because you hang it there doesn't mean that +you're to blame at all. And remember, if to-night Miss Green questions +you, you're to say, 'That's the way they discipline snobbish cow-boys +in Wyoming.'" + +Poor, short-sighted little Vivian, glad to be again in the favor of +her adored Imogene, obediently hung the pail upon the nail, and +descended to the dining-room, looking embarrassed as she took her +seat. Miss Wallace's keen eyes noted the embarrassment, and caught +also a shade of disapproval cross Imogene's face. + +"You must have washed in a hurry, Vivian," whispered the unconscious +Virginia, who sat next her. "There are drops all over your collar." + +Vivian, more embarrassed than ever, raised her napkin to wipe the +drops. Supper proceeded, but Miss Wallace had her clew. + +All through study-hours, while the others worked, unconscious of any +excitement, Dorothy, Imogene, and Vivian waited with bated breath for +the return of Miss Van Rensaelar. But she did not come. At nine-thirty +she had not returned, and there was nothing to do but go to bed and +lie awake listening. The clock struck ten, and stealthy steps were +heard in the corridor. Could that be Katrina returning? No, for she +would never soften her tread for fear of disturbing the sleepers. Who +could it be? Whoever it was was going up the stairs, for they creaked +a little. The girls held their breaths for one long moment. Then--a +frightful splash, followed immediately by a crash and an unearthly +shriek, rent The Hermitage. Those awake and those who had been +sleeping rushed into the hall, in which the light was still burning. +Down the-stairs came a person in a gray flannel wrapper, which clung +in wet folds about her shivering figure, and from every fold of which +ran rivulets of water. The person's scant locks were plastered to her +head, save in front, where from every curl-paper dripped drops as from +an icicle. It was Miss Green! Frightened, furious, forbidding Miss +Green! + +Simultaneously the girls laughed--innocent and guilty alike. No one +could have helped it--at least not they, who were, for the most part, +completely surprised. And Miss Green, it must be admitted, was +excruciatingly funny. She stood in the middle of the hall, dripped and +glared. When she could command her trembling voice: + +"Mary Williams, you are a Senior monitor, and do you laugh at such +outrageous conduct?" + +"I--I beg your pardon, Miss Green," stammered Mary. "I really couldn't +help it. I'm sorry." + +"Will you explain this occurrence?" + +"I really can't, Miss Green. I don't know anything about it." + +At this juncture, hurried steps were heard on the stairs, and Miss +Wallace mercifully appeared. When she saw Miss Green, her own lips +quivered, but she restrained them. The shivering Miss Green explained +the situation in a voice quivering with cold and anger. Then, as if +her own conduct needed explanation: + +"I went up-stairs merely to--to see if the windows were lowered, and +this is what I received. Let us probe this disgusting matter to the +bottom, Miss Wallace." + +"I think you should first get into dry things," Miss Wallace suggested +gently. "Then we will talk matters over. Girls, please go to your +rooms." + +The girls obeyed. + +"One moment, please," Miss Green called imperiously. "Vivian, you were +late at supper. Can you explain this matter. Answer me, can you?" + +Poor frightened Vivian tried to look into Miss Green's glaring eyes, +but failed miserably. She stammered, hesitated, was silent. + +"Answer me, Vivian. What sort of a method of procedure is this?" + +"Please--please, Miss Green, it's--it's--" + +"Well, it's what?" + +"It's the way they discipline sn-snobbish c-cow-boys in Wyoming." + +Utter silence reigned for a few long seconds. Miss Green stared at +each of the mystified girls, until her eye fell upon Virginia, most +mystified of all. + +"For the present, Virginia," she said in measured tones, each one +distinct, "I will inform you that methods which are in vogue upon a +Wyoming ranch are not suitable in a young ladies' boarding-school. I +will see you later." + +She turned to go with Miss Wallace, still dripping, still glaring. +Miss Wallace's face had become stern. + +"Go to your rooms, girls. There will be no talking to-night. Please +remember, Mary." + +"Yes, Miss Wallace," promised the Senior monitor. + +But the mystified Virginia and her wholly indignant room-mate could +not resist some whispers. + +"It's Imogene," whispered Priscilla, on Virginia's bed. "She made +Vivian do it; and now she means to put the blame on you, just because +you told that story about Dick." + +"Oh, she couldn't be so mean, Priscilla!" + +"Yes, she could. She's just that kind. And if Miss Green blames you, +I'm going to tell. I am!" + +This, and much more, went on in whispers in their room, and, for that +matter, in every other. No one could sleep, and a half hour later +every girl heard Miss Wallace's voice at Imogene's door. + +"Imogene, you are to come to my room at once. No, I don't wish you, +Vivian. At once, please, Imogene." + +It was fully an hour later when they heard Imogene reenter her room, +but no one ventured either that night or in the morning to ask any +questions. As for Virginia, she was summoned to no interview, and +suffered no unjust reprimand, save Miss Green's piercing words, which +she wrote, with a half-smile, in the chapter, "Pertaining Especially +to Decorum": + +"I will inform you that methods in vogue upon a Wyoming ranch are not +suitable in a young ladies' boarding-school." + +Miss Van Rensaelar, who returned the next morning, never knew what +deluge she escaped. Imogene's manner forbade any interferences, but +apparently Vivian's life with her room-mate for the next few days was +anything but a happy one. Secret discussions were held in The +Hermitage, and likewise in the other cottages, for the news had +spread; but Imogene and Vivian never attended, and Dorothy, if +present, was silent and strangely embarrassed. + +A week later when the newness of the affair had passed away, and when +other topics occasionally came up for conversation, some news +announced by Miss Green to her classes swept through St. Helen's like +wild-fire. In recognition of years of faithful service, St. Helen's +had presented Miss Green with a fund, with the request that she go to +Athens for two years' study at the Classical School. + +"Another vocation thrust upon her! Horrors! What will she do?" +exclaimed Dorothy, at a meeting held in The Hermitage to discuss this +unexpected, and, I am forced to say, welcome piece of information. + +"Three cheers for St. Helen's!" cried one Blackmore twin. + +"And groans for Athens!" cried the other. + +So just before Christmas, Miss Green departed for Athens; and at the +same time, Katrina Van Rensaelar, deciding to seek education +elsewhere, left for a place in which her ancestors would be more +appreciated. + +"And to be perfectly frank, daddy dear," wrote Virginia, "it's a +welcome exodus!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE VIGILANTES + + +The weeks immediately following the Christmas holidays were always +hard ones at St. Helen's. This year was no exception to the experience +of every other year. The weather was cold and snowy, the girls were +homesick, or, as was too often the case, half ill and listless from +too many sweets and too much gayety during the vacation. Lessons were +often poorly learned or not learned at all. In short, the St. Helen's +faculty dreaded January, and the St. Helen's girls hated it. + +"It's the worst month in the whole year," remarked Priscilla, standing +by her window one Saturday afternoon, and watching a cold northeast +storm whirl the snow-flakes from a gray, forbidding sky. "January's +the out-of-sorts month, and every one in this whole school is +out-of-sorts, too. I wish it were Christmas over again!" + +"So do I," said Virginia from the other window. + +Virginia had just caught the out-of-sorts epidemic. For a week at +least after her return from Vermont, the memory of her own joyous +Christmas had kept her happy. It had been such a lovely two weeks! She +and her grandmother had grown to be such good friends. Virginia +actually dared believe that her grandmother did not now disapprove of +her in the least. She and Aunt Nan had had such a happy, jolly +vacation; and even the Rev. Samuel Baxter had been most gracious, not +once mentioning Korean missions or the sale of Bibles. But even +memories were not proof against a general atmosphere of discontent, +and she was beginning to be infected. + +"There goes Dorothy in all this snow," announced Priscilla a moment +later. "She's carrying books, too. Where's she going, I wonder?" + +She rapped on the window. Dorothy either did not hear or did not +choose to. The latter would be more thoroughly in keeping with her +January disposition. + +"I know. She's failed in geometry every day since we came back, and +has to take private lessons with Miss Wells. Of course she didn't tell +me, but I know she's failed because she's in my division. Bess Shepard +told me yesterday that Dorothy was going to take lessons with her of +Miss Wells in the afternoon. Bess was sick, you know, and she's making +up lost time. That's how I know." + +Priscilla turned suddenly from the window and sat down on the couch. + +"Virginia," she said, "I'm desperately worried about Dorothy. It isn't +being untrue to her to talk with you about her, because you are her +friend, too. She isn't a bit the way she was last year. She doesn't +seem to care about lots of things the way she did then and when she +was at our house this summer. Don't you think she's different from +what she was even in September?" + +Virginia left the window and sat beside her roommate. + +"Yes," she said, "she is different. She laughs at things now that she +didn't then; and she seems to be afraid of taking sides about things. +I mean, whether anything's fair or not. She never likes to say what +she thinks any more, like she used to." + +"That's Imogene. I think it's almost all Imogene." Priscilla's voice +was lowered to a whisper. "Dorothy likes Imogene because she has such +a don't-care way about things, and because she has so much money, and +dresses better than any girl in school, though _I_ think her clothes +are a sight! Mother thought Dorothy was different when she was here +Thanksgiving. She noticed it. I wish Imogene Meredith had never come +here!" + +Virginia's voice was also lowered. "She doesn't give Vivian a chance +either. I think Vivian's dear and sweet; but Imogene makes her do +everything she says, and poor Vivian's so easily influenced, she does +it. You know what I'm thinking about especially?" + +Priscilla nodded. She knew. They were both thinking of the "Flood," as +St. Helen's now termed it, and of how Imogene had tried to shift the +blame from her own shoulders on those of poor Vivian and unconscious +Virginia. + +"Of course I know. I told you then 'twas just like her. And Dorothy +knew about that, too. I'm sure she did! She's so quiet whenever it's +mentioned, and looks ashamed. And lately Dorothy's even been teasing +Vivian, just as Imogene does, about that silly Leslie, who always +gives Vivian extra large cakes at the 'Forget-me-not.' Oh, dear! I +don't suppose there's anything I can do, but it worries me. Dorothy's +my best friend along with you, and I don't want her to grow like +Imogene. Can you keep a secret if I tell you one?" + +"Of course, I can." + +"Well, Dorothy visited Imogene at Christmas time. Not the whole +vacation, because she spent most of it with her aunt in New York. You +know, her mother is dead, and her father is in California most of the +time, so she spends vacations with her aunt. She was there for a week +and a half, and then she went to Albany and visited Imogene, and that +is why they came back together. They were late, too, because they +stayed for a party Imogene gave. And the thing I mind most is that +Dorothy never told she'd been there at all, just as though it were a +secret. Only Vivian was at the party, and she mentioned it just as +though I knew. Mother asked Dorothy to come home with me--mother feels +sorry that she hasn't really any family like ours--but Dorothy said her +aunt wasn't going to let her go anywhere this vacation. It isn't that +I minded her not coming to us, you know, but I don't like to have her +so much with Imogene, and, besides, I can't see why they keep it so +secret." + +Priscilla finished, troubled. Virginia was troubled, too, for she +loved Dorothy, even though of late Dorothy had not seemed to care so +much for her. She remembered the day she had first seen Priscilla and +Dorothy at the station, and Dorothy's resolutions in regard to grades. + +"Dorothy hasn't gotten all _A's_ the way she planned in September, has +she?" + +"I think she had _B's_ on her fall card, because she was ashamed of +it, and wouldn't show it to mother at Thanksgiving. I know she hasn't +done so well in class as she did last year. Miss Wallace and Miss +Allan have reproved her more than once. And you know the house-meeting +we had when Mary said The Hermitage couldn't win the scholarship cup +away from Hathaway unless some of us who were getting _B's_, got _A's_ +for a change? Well, Dorothy just cut Mary for two days after that, and +she isn't nice to her now. It does seem too bad when we've decided to +try extra hard for the cup that Imogene and Dorothy pull us down. Even +Vivian's been getting _A's_, and Lucile's doing better all the time, +isn't she?" + +"Yes, she is. Even in English she's really trying; and she's fine in +French and Latin and geometry. Do you think Dorothy likes Miss Wallace +as much as she used?" + +"That's Imogene again. She called Miss Wallace Dorothy's 'idol' all +the fall in that sneering way she has, and now Dorothy acts ashamed to +show she loves Miss Wallace. She doesn't go to see her the way she did +last year. Last year, if she were troubled about anything, she went +right to Miss Wallace. Oh, dear, what shall we do?" + +Virginia did not answer for a moment. She was thinking. + +"Isn't life queer?" she said at last thoughtfully. "It all goes +crooked when you most want it to go straight. But I have an idea, +Priscilla. Let's be Vigilantes!" + +"Vi-gi-lan-tes! What's that?" + +"Why, don't you know about the Vigilantes? No, I don't suppose you do. +Even Miss Wallace didn't till I told her. Why, the Vigilantes were +brave men in the early days when the Pioneers were just going into +Montana and Wyoming and the other States out there. You see, when they +discovered that those States had such rich lands for wheat, and hills +for cattle, and gold mines--especially the gold--people just flocked +there by thousands. And, of course, there were many thieves and +cutthroats and lawless men who went, too, and they just became the +terror of the country. + +"They rode swift horses, and they knew all the passes in the +mountains. When they heard a train of men and horses was coming from +the mines, they would lie in wait in the mountains and come down upon +them, steal their gold and horses and murder any who resisted. It +wasn't safe to take any journeys in those days." + +"Well, but why did the people allow it? Why weren't they arrested?" +Priscilla in her interest had forgotten all about being out-of-sorts. + +"Why, you see the people couldn't help it at first. The country was so +very new that law hadn't been made. The government did send judges out +there; but there were so many lawless men that they threatened even +the judges; and, besides, these robbers were perfectly wonderful +shots, and they would scare the people so terribly that they were glad +to get away with their lives. + +"But by and by things grew so bad, and so many innocent persons who +dared oppose the robbers were shot down, that some men banded +together, and called themselves the Vigilantes. They pledged +themselves to watch out for evil-doers, to stand for fair play, and to +put a stop to robbery and murder. Of course, it was very hard at +first, and many of the Vigilantes lost their lives; but pretty soon +other bands were formed in the other towns, and they kept on, no +matter how discouraged they were at times. They used to post signs on +the roads that led to towns; and sometimes they would draw in red +chalk on a cliff or even on the paving in town, warning the robbers +and murderers that if they came into that place they would be +captured." + +"What did they do if they captured them?" + +"They most usually hung them to a tree. The big tall cottonwoods out +there are called 'gallows trees,' because they used to hang so many to +their branches. It seems wicked now, of course," Virginia explained, +seeing the horror on Priscilla's face, "to kill them like +that--sometimes even without a trial. But really, Priscilla, they +couldn't do anything else in order to save the good people from +danger." + +"No, of course, they couldn't. Mustn't it have been exciting?" + +"Exciting? I rather think it was exciting! Jim used to tell me about +it. There was one place in Montana named Virginia City where there +were many of the Vigilantes. You see, there were very rich gold mines +there, and that meant there were lawless men, too. Jim was there once, +and he could remember some of the Vigilantes. He said there was one +awful man who had killed scores of persons, and who was the terror of +the whole country. And the strangest part of it was, he was +nice-looking and talked like a gentleman. The Vigilantes watched for +him for ten years before they got him." + +"Did they hang him from a cottonwood, too?" + +"Yes; and Jim said when they had put the rope around his neck, and +were just going to lead his horse from under him he burst out laughing +at them all, and said, 'Good-by, boys. I'm mighty sorry I can't tell +you by and by how it feels to be hung. It's the only Western +experience I've never enjoyed.'" + +"After all he certainly was brave to die like that, laughing. He had +Margaret of Salisbury's spirit. I always loved her, especially when +she said if they wanted her head they must take it with her standing. +Virginia, you know more thrilling stories than any one I ever knew. It +just makes me wild to go away out there and visit you. Do you suppose +I ever shall?" + +"Yes, I just know you're coming. I shouldn't wonder if this very next +summer. I feel it inside me. We can be Vigilantes for sure out there. +That's just where they belong. But don't you think we could be sort of +Vigilantes here--standing as they did for fair play and "--she lowered +her voice "watching out for evil-doers?" + +Priscilla was enthusiastic over the idea. It seemed so different and +original. Besides, it really did mean something to try to stand for +fair play, and to watch out for anything--any evil influence, for +example--that might harm those you loved. + +"We'll especially try to see that Vivian isn't so easily influenced," +Virginia whispered, "and we'll try our best to help Dorothy to be like +she used to be. Only they mustn't know we're trying. That would spoil +it all." + +"Shall we ask any one else to join?" asked Priscilla. + +"We might ask Mary. She's really a Vigilante anyway, being a monitor." + +"Suppose we tell her about it, and ask her to be adviser. You see, +where she's monitor, she can't take sides just as we can, and maybe +she'd think she'd better not join. It's going to be a Secret +Organization, isn't it?" + +"Oh, of course. Secret things always seem more important. Let's draw +up the constitution this minute. I like to feel settled." + +Pen and ink were found, and within fifteen minutes the composition of +the organization was complete, Virginia being the Thomas Jefferson of +the occasion. + +"I'll read it aloud," said the author, "so that we can tell if it +sounds right. + + "'We, the undersigned, on this 20th day of a sad January, do + hereby announce in the sacred presence of each other, that we + are Vigilantes of St. Helen's. We are bound by our honor as + friends and room-mates to secrecy, and to an earnest + performance of our work as true Vigilantes. We deplore the + evil influence of ---- ----, and we promise to strive to off-set + that influence especially in regard to ---- ---- and ---- ----. + We are going to try to stand at all times for fair play, and + real friendship. We appoint ---- ---- as our trusted adviser. At + present we are the sole members of the Vigilante Order. + + "'Signed + "'Priscilla Alden Winthrop. + "'Virginia Webster Hunter.' + +"I put blanks instead of names," explained Virginia, signing her name +after Priscilla. "It seems more like an organization some way, and, +besides, we understand. Now, we are real Vigilantes, Priscilla." + +They shook hands solemnly. The paper was sealed with an extravagant +amount of sealing wax, and stuffed with much secrecy into a rent of +Virginia's mattress. Then the two Vigilantes, feeling much revived in +spirits, invited the disconsolate Vivian to join them, and went for a +walk in the snow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III + + +"Don't they hurt a bit, Jean?" + +"No, of course not." + +"Don't you feel at all sick either?" + +"No, just mad! What's in that bag, Virginia?" + +"Pop-corn. Can you eat it?" + +"I should say I can. Haven't had anything but disgusting cream toast +for four days. Put it under the letters so no one will see. What's +that in the box, Priscilla?" + +"Peggy Norris' white mice she bought down town. They're only a loan +for to-day. Open the box right off or they'll smother." + +"What do you do all day, Jean?" + +"Oh, learn things by heart mostly. Miss Wood won't let me read, so I +just glance and then recite. It's a comfort. I've learned the +Ninety-first Psalm and 'Annabel Lee' and 'Drink to Me Only with Thine +Eyes' and the 'Address at Gettysburg' and 'One Thought of Marcus +Aurelius.' I call that quite good." + +"How do you know you're going to have them anyway, Jean?" + +"Oh, you hate everybody for two days, and your eyes water the third. +Is it all ready? Shall I pull? Be sure the mice are right side up. +Here goes then!" + +The taller Blackmore twin in a red wrapper and a bandaged throat +leaned out of her window and pulled on a rope, at the end of which +dangled a waste-basket filled with bags, envelopes, and boxes. Below, +in the snow, stood half a dozen sympathizers who had brought the +"morning post" to their comrade, confined to her room with the German +Measles. + +Judging from the patient's alacrity in securing the basket she was not +suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the +morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom +in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the +basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice, +leaned farther out of the window. + +"Don't go. I'll look my mail over later. It's fine of you to come. Any +more caught?" + +"Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore +throat." + +"Then she's probably just starting out." + +"My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason." This from Vivian. + +"Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too." + +"Are you all over speckles, Jean?" + +"Pretty much so!" + +The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. +All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of +danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one +accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the +closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed +therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean's door. Then +Jean's voice, pathetically lowered, + +"Come in." + +The door opened. + +"Jeannette," said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees +recognized as Miss Wood's. "Jeannette, don't you feel the draught from +that open window?" + +"No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air." + +"Didn't I hear you talking a moment since?" + +"Perhaps," said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. "I recite a +great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words +to some of the girls who came beneath the window." + +"You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel +better this morning?" + +"Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you." + +Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient's head. + +"You seem very cool--a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste? +It's nourishing, and won't hurt your throat." + +"Oh, it would be delicious, I'm sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really +believe I'm a little hungry." + +Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly +recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that +cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she +once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood's +reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across +the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly "tidying" +of their rooms. + +"Virginia," said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some +letters, "I just know I'm going to have them. I was with Jean all one +afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you'll have them +when I do!" + +"So do I. 'Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one. +And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth +the regular measles, not to mention German. You don't feel +out-of-sorts yet, do you?" + +"No, I'll tell you when I do, or you'll probably know anyway. Isn't +Jean a scream? Probably she was in bed when Miss Wood got there." + +"She's dear. Why don't she and Jess room together?" + +"My dear, the whole faculty rose up in arms this year when they +suggested it. They tried it exactly three weeks last year, and Miss +Wood nearly resigned. One is bad enough, but the two are awful! They +think up the most fearful things to do. Why, the summer before last, +they'd been in England all summer, and had seen all kinds of new +things. Well, the first thing they did when they got back to St. +Helen's was to play chimney-sweep. Jess had seen them in London and +she couldn't rest to see how it felt to be in a chimney. So, one day, +she put on some black tights and an old Jersey of her brother's, and +made a tall hat out of paste-board. Then they went up on the roof of +Hathaway, and Jean helped her get up on the chimney, and she dropped +down. The chimney's wide, you know, and she dropped straight down, +making an awful noise and loosening all the soot, right into the +living-room fire-place. Miss King and Bishop Hughes were calling on +Miss Wood just then, though, of course, Jess didn't know that. Down +she came, feet first, into the grate, and scared Miss King and Miss +Wood and the Bishop all but to death. She was all over soot, and was a +sight! The Bishop laughs about it every time he comes." + +Virginia laughed and laughed. As long as she had been at St. Helen's +she had never heard that story. + +"The thing that Jean's crossest about," Priscilla continued, "is the +Gordon dance on Washington's Birthday. Her cousin asked her to come, +and she's afraid Miss Wood won't let her go." + +"Why, she'll be all right by then, won't she? The speckles are most +gone already, and the dance is two weeks off." + +"I know, but Miss Wood is very careful, and, besides, Jess told her +that Jean was subject to tonsillitis. Oh, dear, I was sort of hoping +that Carver Standish would invite me! You see, I've never been to a +really big dance in the evening in my life. But I guess he's not going +to. Jean got her invitation yesterday." + +But when they reached The Hermitage and their own room, Priscilla +found the coveted envelope, with a card bearing the name "Carver +Standish III," and a note saying it would be "downright rotten," if +anything prevented her coming. Priscilla ran at once to ask for Miss +Wallace's chaperonage, but, when she returned, a worried expression +had replaced the joyous one on her face. + +"Won't she go with you?" + +"Yes, she'll go; but, Virginia, I just remembered the German Measles. +They don't look so much like a blessing as they did a few minutes ago. +What if I do get them? Oh, Virginia, what if I do? If I'm going to +have them, I wish I'd get them right away, and then I'd be all over +them in a week. Isn't there some way they can be hurried up if they're +inside of you?" + +Virginia was for a few moments lost in contemplation. Then apparently +she remembered. + +"Why, of course, there is," she said. "I remember all about it now. If +they're really inside of you, hot things will bring them out. When +they thought I had the mumps once, Hannah said 'Steam them out, dear. +If they're there, they'll come.' And they did come out. I've heard +Hannah say that over and over again. Don't you worry, Priscilla. We'll +use all the hot things we know, and try to bring them out, and, if +they don't come, you can be reasonably sure they're not inside of you. +If I were you, I'd begin right off. I'd put on a sweater, and sit over +the register. I'd just bake! To-night we'll get extra blankets and hot +water bottles, and in a day or two I believe we'll have them out. It's +lucky to-morrow is Sunday." + +"I just know they're inside," wailed Priscilla, buttoning her sweater, +as she sat over the register. "My! It's hot here! Would you think of +hot things, too? You know we said we believed that thoughts were +powerful." + +"I certainly do believe it. Yes, I believe I'd let my mind dwell on +Vesuvius and the burning of Rome, and things like--like crematories and +bonfires and the Equator. If there's anything in thought suggestion +that certainly will help. It won't harm anyway. Are you awfully +uncomfortable?" + +"Very hot. Would you really stay here all the afternoon?" + +"Yes, I would, and most of to-morrow. If, by to-morrow night, there +aren't any signs, I'll believe the danger's past Let's not tell +anybody what we're doing. If Miss Wallace thought you expected them, +she might think you ought not to go." + +"Does Hannah know all about sickness?" + +"She certainly does. Why, everybody for miles around comes to her for +advice, and trusts her just as though she were a doctor. Really, +Priscilla, I know she'd do just this way if she were here." + +The reassured Priscilla sweltered over the register most of the +afternoon. When evening came, she was somewhat out-of-sorts. "Maybe +the hating everybody has begun," thought her room-mate as she filled +hot water-bottles. They had borrowed all in The Hermitage, except Miss +Wallace's and Miss Baxter's (Miss Baxter was Miss Green's more popular +successor)--much to the unsatisfied wonder of the household. Priscilla +turned uneasily all night in a nest of hot water-bottles and extra +blankets. In the morning there were no signs of measles, except +perhaps a somewhat peevish disposition. + +"And that's not measles, Virginia, I'll have you to know!" the owner +of the disposition announced fretfully. "It's just from being burned +alive! Now, I'm not going to do another thing, so you might just as +well put away those two suits of underwear. One's enough!" + +"Well," said Virginia a little doubtfully, as she folded the extra +suit and replaced it in the drawer; "well, it does seem as though if +they'd been coming they would have come after all that steaming. I +wish Hannah were here! She'd know. But, if I were you, Priscilla, I'd +just keep thinking I wasn't going to have them. That will probably +help." + +This prescription compared to the preceding one was easy to follow, +and all through the next two weeks Priscilla, when she remembered it, +maintained that she was not to have the German Measles! For the rest +of the time, which was by far the larger portion, she was perfectly +oblivious as to even the possibility of her having them, so elated was +she over her preparation for the Gordon dance. She and Miss Wallace +and Jean Blackmore, who was really to be allowed to go after all, were +to make the journey, a distance of twenty-five miles, by automobile. +The two weeks dragged their days slowly along, but at last Thursday +night arrived, and Priscilla, with a happy heart, surveyed for the +last time that day her new dress, which her mother had sent from home. + +"Just one more night to wait," she said, as she got into bed. "Oh, +Virginia, I wish you were a Junior! I don't see why Miss King won't +let new girls go. Carver said if you only could, he would have asked +you, because his grandfather had told him so much about you, and his +room-mate, Robert Stuart, whom I've met, would have asked me. Then we +could have gone together." + +"I don't mind. It's been such fun getting you ready. Maybe next year +we'll both go. Isn't it the luckiest thing you haven't had them at +all?" + +"It certainly is! It just shows how powerful thought is! Really, I +have more faith in it than ever. You see, if they were inside of me, +they didn't get any attention, and probably decided not to come out." + +"Well, if they'd been there, they would have come out with all that +heat, I'm sure," said Virginia, still faithful to Hannah. "But it +doesn't matter whether they were there or not, just so long as they're +not here. Good-night." + +In the gray early morning Virginia was rudely awakened by some one +shaking her. She sat up in bed to find Priscilla desperately shaking +her with one hand and the witch-hazel bottle with the other. Priscilla +was apparently in trouble. What could be the matter? She sat up, +dazed, half-asleep. + +"Why, what is it? What's the matter? Was the dance lovely? Did you +have a good time?" + +At these last remarks Priscilla wept. + +"Oh, wake up!" she cried. "It's only Friday. I haven't been to the +dance at all, and probably I can't go, because I've got them; yes, I +have! My head aches, and my throat's sore, and I'm hot, and my eyes +run, and I hate everybody, and I'll be lumpy and speckled right away--I +_know_ I shall! Oh, what shall I do?" + +The last sentence ended in a long, heart-broken wail, which brought +the still dazed Virginia thoroughly to her senses. She sprang from +bed, turned on the light, and scrutinized the disconsolate Priscilla. +Yes, her cheeks were most assuredly flushed, and her eyes were +watery--from tears. Virginia was mistress of the situation. + +"Now, Priscilla," she commanded, "you go back to bed. You're _going_ +to that dance. Remember that! I've got an idea. If heat will bring the +things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We'll fill the hot +water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you'll feel +better. See if you don't. And you won't get speckled to-day anyway, +because Jean Blackmore didn't till two days after they started; and +even if you do behind your ears it won't matter. Stop crying, or +somebody'll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you're sick." + +This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to +the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By +breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and +she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after +each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for +the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia +tacked an "Asleep" sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous +treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time +filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An +ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room, +adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes. +The poor child's thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward +Eskimos and the Alps, and "such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and +icebergs." For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read "Snowbound" +to her. + +But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable +speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere. +Priscilla's cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her +head ached; but her spirit was undaunted. + +"My dear, you don't look well," Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they +left the dining-room, and went to dress. "Are you sure you're well?" + +"Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I'm just hot because I'm excited. My cheeks +always get red then What time does the machine come?" + +"In an hour, I think. You're sure you're all right, Priscilla?" + +"Oh, yes, thank you!" Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before +Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. "Come +on, Virginia, and help me dress." + +Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she +did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to +St. Helen's relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to +three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little +over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There +was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began +to dress. + +Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was +dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further +speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into +bed, where she most assuredly belonged. + +"Don't you feel a single bit better, dear?" + +"Oh, yes, I guess so--I don't know. I feel sort of loose inside, as +though I weren't connected. But I'll feel better driving over. Oh, +Virginia, talcum powder my ears. They're perfect danger signals. _Is_ +that a speckle on my neck? Oh, say it isn't!" + +"Of course, it isn't! It's only a wee pimple. I'll talcum powder it, +too. There! You look just lovely! Shan't I let the others in now? +They're cross as hops, because we've both been so secret, and we don't +want to rouse suspicion." + +Priscilla assented, and Virginia unlocked the door to the house in +general. + +"Too bad you're so exclusive!" + +"Even if we're not asked, we might see the fun of getting ready." + +"You look perfectly heavenly, Priscilla!" + +"It's a love of a dress!" + +"Mercy, Priscilla, what makes your ears so red?" + +"I'll bet you've gotten them frost-bitten!" + +"They certainly look it!" + +"Your cheeks are red, too, but it's becoming!" + +"What makes your eyes shine so?" + +Here the uneasy Virginia felt as though a reply were necessary. + +"Why, because she's happy, of course. You act just like Red Riding +Hood talking to the wolf, Dorothy." + +Fortunately, just when inquiries were becoming too personal, Jean +Blackmore entered, and claimed attention. + +"Jean, you're actually pretty!" + +"You really are, Jean." + +"Thank you. I'm sure that's nice of you." + +"That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an +apple-blossom." + +"You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here's the machine now, and +Miss Wallace is calling." + +They went down-stairs, the house following. + +"Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!" + +The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old +blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla's gift, at her +waist. + +"Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!" + +"You're just beautiful, Miss Wallace!" + +"No one will think you're a chaperon." + +"They'll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace." + +"Oh, girls, you'll quite spoil me," said the chaperon, and looked more +charming than ever. "Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat +collar. I'm afraid you've caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that +scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter's out. But I know +you will. Good-night." + +The car rolled away into the darkness, and the girls went up-stairs, +talking things over as they went. + +"Isn't Miss Wallace the sweetest thing?" + +"Something's the matter with Priscilla. She wasn't talking. What is +it, Virginia?" + +"Oh, she's excited, and perhaps--perhaps, she doesn't feel exactly +well." Virginia felt more free, now that Priscilla was safely on her +way. + + * * * * * + +At the Gordon school all was excitement. Boys in white trousers waited +impatiently at the gates, as the automobiles and carriages approached, +to greet their friends and conduct them to the brilliantly lighted and +beautifully decorated gymnasium. This annual dance on Washington's +Birthday was the one real social function, outside Commencement, +allowed at Gordon, and its importance was greatly felt by the young +hosts. + +Priscilla, strangely shivery, tried to reply easily to Carver's +remarks, as they went up the walk toward the gymnasium. + +"Isn't it lucky you didn't catch those things? I was dead scared you +would when you wrote me." + +"Yes, it's--it is lucky." + +"My! Your cheeks are red, Priscilla. Just the way they used to be +after swimming. Say, but you're looking great!" + +"Am I?" + +"Isn't Bob Stuart a corker? He decorated the whole gym. Never saw +flags look any better, did you?" + +"No, it's awfully pretty. I--I think I'll sit down, Carver, till +dancing begins." + +"Sure. Of course. I'll run and get Bob. He has three with you. Excuse +me just a moment." + +How Priscilla ever managed to dance the ten dances before +intermission, she never knew. Her cheeks grew redder, her eyes +brighter, her poor head spun as though never-ending wheels, eternally +wound up, were to whirl around forever. Sometimes the lights of the +gymnasium blurred, and something sang in her ears; but still she +smiled and moved her feet. At the end of each dance when her charge +was returned to her to await the arrival of her partner for the next, +Miss Wallace grew more and more anxious. + +"Priscilla dear, I'm sure you're ill. What is it?" + +"Really, Miss Wallace, I've just a headache. Oh, don't make me stop, +please!" + +But at intermission--that blessed time when one could rest and close +her eyes when nobody looked her way--at intermission while they sat in +Carver's study and ate ice-cream and cake, Priscilla all at once gave +a little worn-out sigh, and fainted quite away. Poor Carver Standish +III was all consternation. Had he tired her out? Hadn't there been +enough air in the room? Had he done anything he shouldn't? He plied +Miss Wallace with anxious questionings while a guest, who by good +fortune happened to be a doctor, bent over Priscilla. + +But Priscilla, coming to herself just then, answered his questions. + +"No, you haven't done a thing, Carver. It's the German Measles. They +wouldn't stay frozen in!" + +Then, to the greatly amused doctor, and to the greatly disturbed Miss +Wallace, and the greatly relieved Carver, the patient told in a weak +little voice of how they had tried two weeks ago to steam them out; +and how, when they had unexpectedly come that morning, they had, with +doubtful logic, striven to freeze them in. The doctor, though he +looked grave, laughed as though he never could stop; and it all ended +by his taking her and Miss Wallace home in his own machine, leaving +Jean to be chaperoned by her aunt, and a sympathetic but indignant +host, who thought they ought to let him go along. + +Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called +upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven +o'clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was +unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried +in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress--a figure, who cried in a +muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her: + +"Oh, Virginia, 'twas no use. They came out all the same!" + +"So this is the other member of the new medical school," announced the +gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. "Miss Virginia, I'm +honored to meet you!" + +The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace's +room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady +returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be +much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour +later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen's nurse, in +charge. + +But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had +been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate. + +"Oh, Priscilla," she moaned. "I'm so sorry! I thought 'twas just the +right thing to do." + +"It was," said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to +steaming had been prescribed. "It was, Virginia! Else I never could +have gone, and I wouldn't have missed the one half I had for the +world. Only I've just thought of the awful result! I've probably given +them to Carver and all the others; and he'll never invite me again! +Oh, why didn't we think?" + +Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss +Wallace's room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the +awful consequences to Colonel Standish's grandson. But both she and +Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the +solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers +and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had +ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note: + + "Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19--. + + "Dear Priscilla: + + "I've got them, and so has Bob, and the four other + fellows you danced with. Don't mind, because we're + all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort, + let us out of the February exams and we're some happy, + I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of + new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you + were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob + and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom + grandfather's always cracking up to me. + + "Your speckled friend, + "Carver Standish." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WYOMING HOSPITALITY. + + +The March days came hurrying on--gray and wind-blown and showery--but +rather merry for all that. All signs bore tokens of an early spring. A +flock of geese had already gone over, crows were flapping across St. +Helen's snow-freed meadow, and robins and song-sparrows felt quite at +home. There was a misty, indistinct blur in the tops of the maple +trees, quite as though wet buds were swelling. Under the pine trees by +the Retreat, tiny, furry heads were peeping above the needles, +hepaticas just awakening. The waters of the brook, freed from ice, +tore boisterously through the meadow; and along its weedy edges the +water-rats, having left their tunnels in the banks, scurried on +secret, silent errands. Everywhere there was a strange fragrance of +freshly-washed things--soft brown earth, buds ready to burst, tender +shoots of plants. Yes, spring was unmistakably near, and the St. +Helen's girls were ready for its coming. + +It was on a Saturday afternoon, the last in March, that Virginia +walked alone down the hill, through the pine woods, and across the +road to the pastures and woodlands opposite. She would have loved +company, but Priscilla, Lucile, and the Blackmore twins were playing +tennis finals in the gym, the Seniors were enjoying an afternoon tea, +Vivian was nowhere to be found, and, in the hope of persuading Dorothy +to go with her, she had again interrupted a secret conference between +Dorothy and Imogene, which conferences, to the watchful and troubled +Vigilantes, were becoming more and more frequent. The whole campus +seemed deserted, she thought, as she started from The Hermitage. +Perhaps, the opening of the "Forget-me-not" soda fountain--another sign +of spring--accounted for that. + +It was wet underfoot and gray overhead, but she did not mind. She was +bound for the pastures on the other side of the road leading to +Hillcrest, for there Miss Wallace had said she might even this early +find the mayflowers of which her mother had so often told her. As she +went along, jumping over the little spring brooks and pools in the +hollows, she thought of how spring was also coming to her own dear +country. Her father's letter that morning had told her of budding +quaking-asps, of red catkins on the cottonwoods, of green foot-hills, +and of tiny yellow butter-cups and the little lavender pasque-flowers, +which came first of all the spring blossoms. In a few weeks more those +foot-hills would be gay with violets and spring beauties, anemones and +shooting-stars. + +She crawled between the gray, moss-covered bars of a fence which +separated the two pastures, and went toward some deeper woodland where +pines and firs grew. Here, Miss Wallace said, she would be likely to +find them. She looked sharply for brown, clustered leaves, which +always deceived one as to the wealth beneath them. At last on a little +mossy knoll, in a clearing among the pines, she found what she sought. +Kneeling eagerly on the damp ground, she searched with careful fingers +through the brown leaves. Green leaves revealed themselves. She +smelled the sweetest fragrance imaginable--the fragrance of flowers and +brown earth and fresh leaves all in one. She looked beneath the green +leaves; and there, with their pale pink faces almost buried in the +moss, she found the first mayflowers of the spring. + +Tenderly she raised the tendrils from the moss and grass, and examined +the tiny blossoms, in whose centers the hoar frost of winter seemed to +linger. These then were the flowers her New England mother had so +loved. Years before, perhaps in this very spot, her mother had come to +search for them. She almost hated to pluck them--they looked so cozy +lying there against the brown earth, but she wanted to send them to +her grandmother for her mother's birthday. On other knolls and around +the gray pasture rocks, even at the foot of the fir trees, she found +more buds and a few opened blossoms. Her mother had long ago taught +her Whittier's "Song to the Mayflowers," and she said some of the +verses which she still remembered, as she sat beneath the trees, and +pulled away the dead leaves from the flowers' trailing stems. + + "O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine dark glen. + + "Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + "So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers." + +For an hour she roamed about the woods, finding evergreen to line her +box for the flowers, and some cheery partridge vine, whose green +leaves and red berries seemed quite untouched by the winter's snow. It +was quiet in among the trees. She was glad after all that she had come +alone. At school one needed to be away from the girls once in a while +just to get acquainted with oneself. + +She climbed upon a great gray rock in the open pasture, and sat there +thinking of the months at St. Helen's--remembering it all from the day +she had left her father. She was glad that she had come--glad that in +her father's last letter he had said she was to return after a summer +at home. Priscilla was to return, too, a Senior--perhaps, she would be +monitor like Mary--and they were to room together as they had this +year. The Blackmore twins had petitioned for Mary and Anne's room, +promising upon their sacred honor to be models of behavior; and Miss +King and Miss Wallace were considering their request. Virginia did +hope it would be granted, for she loved Jess and Jean clearly. Dorothy +would return. Would Imogene, too, she wondered? It might be mean to +hope that she would not, but she did hope that. + +From the rock where she sat a portion of the Hillcrest road was +visible. She was still thinking of Imogene and Dorothy, when a red and +a white sweater appeared on the distant road moving in the direction +of St. Helen's. "Dorothy and Imogene on the way home from Hillcrest," +she thought to herself. They were walking very close together, +apparently reading something, for Virginia could see something white +held between them. All at once they stopped, looked up and down the +road, and then disappeared among the bushes that edged the roadside. +Virginia was about to call them, thinking perhaps they had seen her, +and were coming through the pastures to where she was; but before she +had time even to call, they reappeared, and walked more hurriedly +toward the school. This time they were not close together, and the +paper had disappeared. + +The founder of the Vigilantes, perplexed by this strange behavior, did +not move until the two girls had turned into the driveway of St. +Helen's. Then she jumped from the rock. She would go back across the +pastures to the gate which she had entered, then turn down the road +and investigate. She felt like a true Vigilante, indeed! Something was +in the air! She had felt it the moment she discovered Imogene and +Dorothy in secret conference. Perhaps, in the roadside bushes she +would find the solution. Had the girls been Mary and Anne, Virginia +would never have questioned. Moreover, she would have felt like a spy +in suspecting their behavior. But Imogene had long given good cause +for righteous suspicion; and were not the Vigilantes pledged to guard +against evil-doers? + +She hurried across the pastures. The sun, which had been out of sight +all day, now at time of setting shone out clear and bright and was +reflected in every little pool. She reached the gate, closed it behind +her, and was about to turn down the road, when she saw sitting on a +rock by St. Helen's gate a weary, worn-looking woman with a child. +Something in the woman's expression made Virginia forget the errand +upon which she was bent. She looked more than discouraged--almost +desperate. The little girl by her side sat upon a shabby satchel, and +regarded her mother with sad, questioning eyes. There was something +about them so lonely and pathetic that Virginia's eyes filled with +quick tears. She crossed the road and went up to them. + +"Are--are you in any trouble?" she asked hesitatingly. "Can I help +you?" + +The woman in turn hesitated before she answered. But this young lady +was apparently not like the two who had passed her but a moment +before. She looked at her little girl, whose tired eyes were red from +crying. Then she answered Virginia. + +"I'm in a deal of trouble," she said slowly. "I've been sick, and +we've spent our money; and because we were three months back on the +rent, we were turned out this morning. I'm looking for work--any kind +will do--and I came to Hillcrest because I was hoping to get it at the +school there. I've heard tell of how Miss King is very kind; but the +two young ladies, who passed here just a few minutes ago, said there +was no work there at all. I guess they didn't have much time for the +likes of me. Do you go there, too?" + +"Yes," said Virginia. "But they don't know whether there's any work or +not at St. Helen's. I don't know either; but I know Miss King would +like to find some for you if she could. Anyway, I want you to come to +our cottage to supper with me. You are my guests--you and--what is the +little girl's name?" + +"Mary. And I'm Mrs. Michael Murphy. But, miss, you don't mean come to +supper with you? You see, we ain't fit." + +"Yes, you are perfectly fit. Saturday night no one dresses up. Please +come, and then you can see Miss King after supper. You'd like to come, +wouldn't you, Mary?" + +Poor little Mary cared not for etiquette. Besides, she was plainly +hungry. She pulled her mother's dress. + +"Please go, mother. Please!" + +Virginia smiled at her eagerness. "Of course you'll come, Mrs. Murphy. +My name's Virginia--Virginia Hunter. Let me help with your satchel, +please. Come on, Mary." + +With one hand she helped Mrs. Murphy with the satchel, while she gave +the other to Mary, and they started up the hill--Virginia never once +thinking that her new friends would not be as welcome guests as those +who were often bidden to The Hermitage, Mary, untroubled by +conventions and happy at the thought of supper, Mrs. Michael Murphy, +secretly troubled, but compelled to snatch at any hope of work. + +"You're not from these parts, I take it from your talk," Mrs. Murphy +remarked as they neared the campus. + +"No, I'm from Wyoming. It's a long way from here." + +"You're sure--I'm afraid--the ladies at your cottage mightn't like Mary +and me coming this way." + +"Please don't think that, Mrs. Murphy," Virginia reassured her. "We're +always allowed to invite guests to supper. It's quite all right, +truly." + +But Mrs. Murphy in her secret heart was not assured. She looked really +frightened as they neared The Hermitage; but Virginia, talking with +Mary, did not notice, nor did she heed the astonished and somewhat +amused looks of the girls whom they passed. + +The supper-bell was ringing just as they opened the door, and stepped +into the living-room. Mary and Anne were at the piano, and Virginia +beckoned to them, and introduced her new friends. The surprised Mary +and Anne managed to bow and smile; and were frantically searching for +topics of conversation, when the girls began to come down-stairs, just +as Miss Wallace, with Miss King, who was staying to supper, opened the +door of Miss Wallace's room. + +Poor Mrs. Michael Murphy was perhaps the most uncomfortable of them +all, for the others were mainly surprised. The girls stared, Imogene +and Dorothy giggled audibly, Miss King looked puzzled, Miss Wallace +sympathetic. Virginia could not understand the manifest surprise, +mingled with disapproval, on the faces around her. Could she have done +anything wrong? They certainly would not think so, if they knew. + +"Mary," she said, "will you please introduce my friends to the girls, +while I speak a moment with Miss King and Miss Wallace?" + +Mary, who began to see through the situation, managed to introduce the +painfully embarrassed Mrs. Murphy and shy little Mary to girls who, +with the exception of Imogene, responded civilly enough. Cordiality +certainly was lacking, but that was largely due to surprise. +Meanwhile, Virginia had explained matters to Miss King and Miss +Wallace, who, when they heard the story, lost their momentary +astonishment in sympathy. Of course such a proceeding was slightly out +of the course of ordinary events at The Hermitage; but Virginia's +thoughtfulness, though perhaps indiscreet, was not at the present to +be criticised. They came forward and shook hands heartily with the +guests, much to Virginia's comfort. It must be all right after all, +she concluded. + +Mrs. Murphy laid off her hat and shawl, Virginia took Mary's coat and +hood, and the family and guests passed to the supper table. +Conversation languished that evening. The girls talked among +themselves, but only infrequently. Even Miss Wallace and Miss King +apparently found it difficult to think of topics for general +conversation. But Virginia, true to her duties as hostess, chatted +with Mrs. Michael Murphy until the embarrassed, troubled little woman +partially regained her composure. As for little Mary, she was fully +occupied in devouring the first square meal she had had for days. + +But Virginia was not unconscious of the atmosphere. Something was +wrong. Perhaps, after all, Mrs. Murphy had been right when she said +the ladies of The Hermitage mightn't like to have her and Mary coming +this way. She could not understand it. At home in Wyoming the stranger +was always made a friend, and the unfortunate a guest. Hospitality was +the unwritten law of the land. + +She was rather glad when supper was over. The girls immediately went +up-stairs, only Mary, Anne, and Priscilla lingering to say good-night +to her guests. Virginia stayed upon Miss King's invitation, for she +and Miss Wallace were to talk with Mrs. Murphy concerning work at St. +Helen's. Little Mary, tired out but satisfied, fell asleep, her head +in Virginia's lap. To Virginia's joy, and to the unspeakable gratitude +of Mrs. Michael Murphy, whom the world had used none too kindly, Miss +King decided that St. Helen's needed just such a person to do +repairing and mending; and Mrs. Murphy, her face bright with +thankfulness, was installed that very evening in her new and +comfortable quarters. + +An hour later, Virginia, the supper table atmosphere almost forgotten +in her glad relief over Mrs. Murphy's immediate future, ran up-stairs +and down the hall to her own room. The door opposite opened a little, +and some one said in a biting voice: + +"I suppose, Miss Hunter, we entertain Wyoming cow-boys before long?" + +In Virginia's eyes gleamed a dangerous light, but she answered +quietly: + +"I'm afraid not, Miss Meredith. The Wyoming cow-boys whom I know are +accustomed to eat with ladies." + +Still, her delight over Mrs. Murphy's freedom from care could not +quite banish the feeling of puzzled sadness with which she wrote these +words in her "Thought Book": + +"The world is a very strange place. God may be no respecter of +persons, but people are. It is a very sad thing to be obliged to +believe, but I am afraid it is true." + +The next morning the two Vigilantes, obtaining permission to walk to +church a little earlier than the others, stopped by the roadside at +the spot where yesterday Virginia had noted suspicious behavior, and +thoroughly investigated. A rough path had apparently been recently +broken through the alders. At the end of the path by the fence stood a +big, white birch, and on the smooth side of the birch farthest from +the road were many pin-pricks. One pin remained in the tree, and it +still held a tiny scrap of white paper, apparently the corner of a +sheet, the rest of which had been hurriedly torn away. The Vigilantes, +thinking busily, went on to church. It is needless to say that they +found it difficult to listen to the morning's sermon. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +VESPER SERVICE + + +The Sunday following the Vigilantes' mysterious discovery by the +roadside, and immediately preceding the Easter holidays, was Palm +Sunday. It dawned beautiful--warm and sunny as a late spring clay--and +as the hours followed one another, each seemed more lovely than the +last. Song sparrows sang from budding alder bushes, and robins flew +hither and thither among the elms and maples, seeking suitable notches +in which to begin their homes. As if by magic, purple and golden +crocuses lifted their tiny faces on the southern sides of the cottage +lawns; and the buds of the lilac trees, warmed and encouraged by +yesterday's showers, burst into leaf before one's very eyes. + +The world seemed especially joyous to the girls, as they roamed the +woods in search of wild flowers, or sought about the campus for fresh +evidences of spring. The long winter months had gone; Easter +home-going was but five days away; and when they returned after two +weeks at home, spring would have really come, bringing with it all the +joys and festivities and sadnesses of the Commencement season. + +At four o'clock, as the westward-moving sun gleamed through the pines, +and fell in wavering lights and shadows on the brown needles beneath, +they gathered for their vesper service, coming from all directions, +their hands filled with pussy-willows, hepaticas, and mayflowers, +their faces glowing with health and happiness, in their eyes the old +miracle of the spring. To Virginia, as to many of the others, this +Sunday afternoon hour was the dearest of the week. She loved the +gray-stone, vine-covered Retreat, and its little chapel within; she +loved the sound of its organ, and the voices of the girls singing; and +most of all, she loved the little talks which Miss King gave on Sunday +afternoons--dear, close, helpful talks of things which she had learned, +and by which she hoped to make life sweeter for her girls. + +To-day the chapel was especially lovely, for the altar rail was banked +with palms, Easter lilies stood upon the white-covered altar, and the +sun, shining through the high, narrow windows, flooded all with golden +light. Virginia sat between Dorothy and Priscilla, holding a hand of +each. It was so lovely to be there together! In her secret heart she +was glad that Imogene's mother had sent for her to come home the day +before, for when Imogene was away Dorothy seemed to belong again to +them. + +Since St. Helen's held no Easter service, as the girls were always at +home, Miss King spoke to-day of Easter--how it had always seemed to her +the real beginning of the New Year; how it signified the leaving off +of the old and the putting on of the new; how it meant the awakening +of new thoughts, and the renewed striving after better things. + +"So, if we could only understand," she said in closing, while +the girls listened earnestly, "that Easter is far more than a +commemoration, that it is a condition of our hearts, then we should, +I think, reverence the day rightly. For as beautiful as is the story +of the risen Christ, we do not keep Easter sacred merely by the +remembrance of that story. The risen Christ is as nothing to us +unless in our own hearts the Christ spirit rises--the spirit of love +and service, of unselfishness and goodness. When that spirit awakens +within us, then comes our Easter day. It may be many days throughout +the year; it might be--if we could only rightly appreciate our +lives--it might be every day. For every day is a fresh beginning, an +Easter day, when we may decide to cast off the old and to put on the +new, the old habits of selfishness and jealousy, of insincerity and +thoughtlessness--all those petty, little things that mar our lives; and +to put on our new and whiter robes of unselfishness and simple +sincerity. If the thousands who next Sunday morning will sing of the +risen Christ, might all experience within themselves their own Easter +mornings, then this world of ours would have realized its +resurrection. + +"Let the hepaticas which you hold in your hands give you the only +Easter lesson worth the learning--the lesson which your pagan +forefathers in the forests of Germany taught their children centuries +ago on their own Easter festival. You know how each spring the +clusters beneath the pines are larger, if you are careful as you pick +the blossoms not to disturb the roots. The long months of fall and +winter are not months of sleep and rest for the hepaticas. Beneath the +snow in the winter silence they are at work, sending out their +rootlets through the brown earth, avoiding the rocks and sandy places, +but taking firm hold upon that which will nourish them best. Thus do +they grow year by year, at each Easter time showing themselves larger +and more beautiful than the spring before. + +"This is the Easter lesson which I wish you girls might all take to +yourselves. As in the winter silence of the earth, the hepaticas send +out their rootlets toward the best soil, so in the silence of your own +inner lives are you here and now also sending out rootlets, either +toward the soil which will give you a healthful, wholesome growth, or +toward the barren places where you must cease to grow. Avoid the rocks +of indolence and evil influence, the waste places of selfishness; but +reach far out for the good, wholesome soil of good books, of a love +and knowledge of the out-of-doors, of friends who make you better, of +study which will enrich your lives. And as the flowers find themselves +more firmly rooted year by year, so will you find yourselves growing +in strength and self-control, in sincerity and firmness of purpose. +Then, and only then, will you experience the real Easter--the awakening +to the realization in your hearts that you, through your own seeking, +have found that better part, which can never be taken away from you." + +In the silence that followed, while the organ played softly, Virginia +touched with gentle fingers the tiny hepaticas in her lap. Was she +sending out rootlets toward the right soil, she wondered? In the years +to come would people seek her, as she sought the hepaticas in the +spring, because she had found that "better part"? "That is why we go +to Miss King and Miss Wallace," she thought to herself, "because they +have found the best soil, and have grown sweeter every year." And, +deep in her heart, she resolved to try harder than ever to avoid the +rocks and the sand, and to send her rootlets deep down into the soil +which Miss King had described. + +Then she heard Dorothy by her side ask if they might sing the hymn of +her choosing, and they rose to sing words which somehow held to-day a +new and deeper meaning: + + "Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our feverish ways; + Re-clothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise." + +Silently they all passed out of the little chapel, and turned +homeward. The sun, sinking lower, cast long shadows among the pines, +and gilded with a farewell glow the chapel windows. Virginia, +Priscilla, and Dorothy took the woodsy path that led to the campus. No +one cared to talk very much. When they reached The Hermitage Dorothy +went with them to their room; and as they filled bowls of water for +the tired little hepaticas, and arranged them thoughtfully, for they +some way seemed more like persons than ever before, she said all at +once--looking out of the window to hide her embarrassment: + +"I just thought I'd tell you that I know I haven't been growing in +very good soil this year; but I'm going to put out new roots now, and +I'm not going to send them into sand either." + +The two Vigilantes dropped the hepaticas and hugged Dorothy hard +without saying a word. Then, with their arms around one another's +shoulders, they stood by the western window, and watched the sun set +behind the hills--happier than they had been for weeks. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A SPRING-TIME ROMANCE + + +"You don't mean you're going to back out now, Vivian, when we've made +all arrangements, and you've promised to go?" + +"I--I didn't say I was going to back out, Imogene. I just said I wished +I hadn't promised. It doesn't seem nearly so much fun as it did, and, +besides, I know I'll get caught!" + +"Of course you will, if you lose your nerve like that. But if you do +as we've planned, there isn't a chance in a thousand. No one will +wonder why you're not at supper, because you're absent so often; and +it will be easy enough to slip out while we're eating. Then by the +time you're driving off, we'll all be at that Art lecture; and with +the lights off and only the stereopticon, no one will miss you. And by +the time we get home, you'll be here in bed. Why, it's as smooth as a +whistle, and you ought to be everlastingly grateful to Dot and me for +fixing it up for you. No other girl in St. Helen's has ever gone out +driving with a man, and you'll have the story to tell your children." + +Poor Vivian looked for a moment as though she doubted her future +children's pride in their mother's achievement; but she had long ago +put her hand to the plow, and there seemed no turning back. + +"Of course I'm going now that it's gone so far, and I've promised," +she said desperately. "But I don't believe Dorothy thinks it's so much +as she did. She said to-day she sort of wished we hadn't done it." + +Imogene looked uncomfortable. Dorothy's strange disloyalty during the +weeks since the Easter holidays had greatly disturbed her. + +"Dot needn't act so righteous all of a sudden," she said bitterly. +"I'd like to know who planned this whole thing if she didn't. I'd +certainly never have thought of the birch tree post-office; and she's +been mail-carrier more than half the time. It's a late day to back out +now." + +"She isn't backing out, Imogene. She only said she wished we hadn't +planned it in the first place; but since we had, of course we'd have +to see it through. I don't think you and she need worry anyway. It's I +that's going to get the blame; and I shan't tell on you even if I am +caught." + +"Tell on us!" Imogene's tone was more biting than ever. "Well, I +should hope you wouldn't! Who's superintended this thing, I'd like to +know? Who's been bringing boxes of candy from him all the way up here +to you, and running the risk of being caught? Who's been posting your +notes for you all winter long?" + +After listening to this exoneration, Vivian was on the point of tears, +and Imogene, feeling that her room-mate's courage must be kept up at +any cost, changed her tone. + +"To-morrow you'll be laughing up your sleeve, and saying what a +splendid time you had. Besides, think what fun it's been all along. +We've fooled every one in school. No one has suspected a thing! And +think of all the candy you've had. Of course, he'll have another box +to-night." + +The unhappy Vivian dried her tears, but her face did not brighten. In +fact, she did not look at all like a person who was about to enjoy a +long-anticipated evening drive. + +"Imogene," she said, and there was an unusual tone of self-assertion +in her voice, which surprised her room-mate, "Imogene, I want you to +know that a hundred boxes of candy don't make one feel right inside." + +While this conversation was taking place behind a closed door in The +Hermitage, there was another person in the woods by the Retreat, who +likewise did not feel right inside. The other person was Dorothy. She +had declined Virginia's and Priscilla's invitation to go after +violets, much as she would have liked to accept, in the hope of easing +her conscience; curtly refused to walk with Imogene; and studiously +sought to evade the accusing eyes of Vivian. Seizing her opportunity, +she had run away from them all, and now sat alone under the pines by +the Retreat, trying to think of a way out of her difficulty--a way that +would save Vivian from the consequences of an act for which she was +really not to blame. + +Ever since September Dorothy had sent her rootlets into the waste +places of indolence and poor companionship; and now that she had truly +resolved to change it seemed to her discouraged heart almost too late. +She and Imogene were to blame for the situation which confronted +her--not Vivian. Ever since the sallow, white-coated Leslie had entered +the employ of the "Forget-me-not," she and Imogene had directed +susceptible Vivian's attention toward his evident admiration. It was +they who had all through the winter and early spring transported his +gifts to Vivian; they, who, weary of the monotony which through +idleness they made themselves, had seized upon Dorothy's idea of a +secret post-office; and finally, they who had proposed through the +means of the post-office that the enamored Leslie take Vivian for an +evening drive. Now the crisis was at hand, and what could she do to +avert it? + +She sat in a wretched little heap beneath the pines, and thoroughly +despised Dorothy Richards. She had made a failure of the whole year--in +grades, in conduct, in character. The first was bad enough, for she +knew that Mary was right. It was she who was helping The Hermitage +lose the cup--the scholarship cup which it had determined to win from +Hathaway. The second was worse, for she had forfeited Miss Wallace's +confidence, and had aroused the righteous suspicion of the girls. But +the last was worst of all! She had allowed herself to be weakly +influenced by Imogene, had been disloyal to Priscilla and Virginia, +had been very nearly dishonest, if not quite so, and had pitiably lost +her own self-respect. And now, even though she was tired of it all, +even though she desired deep in her heart to turn her rootlets into +better soil, perhaps it was too late. Perhaps, after all, she was not +strong enough. + +A brown thrasher, who sat on her newly-made nest in a near-by thicket +and watched the girl beneath the pines, wondered perhaps at the +strange ways of mortals. For even though the sun was bright and the +whole world filled with joy, this girl all at once burst into tears, +and cried between her sobs: + +"Oh, dear, what shall I do? I'll never be any different--never! And +Priscilla and Virginia will never like me again when they know about +tonight!" + +But remorse, though quite appropriate under the circumstances, and +doubtless likely to bear fruit in the future, was useless just at +present. Dorothy soon realized that, and sat up again, much to the +relief of the brown thrasher, who felt safer now that this strange +person sobbed no more. A situation confronted her and must be met. Was +there any way to save Vivian, and at the same time not implicate +Imogene? Were Dorothy alone to blame, she would go to Miss Wallace and +tell the whole story; but she knew that Miss Wallace had previously +suspected Imogene with good cause, and she did not wish to run the +risk of getting Imogene into further trouble, even though she might +richly deserve it. Of course, Vivian might be easily persuaded to stay +at home and not meet her knight-errant of the soda-fountain, who was +to find her at seven o'clock by the birch tree; but that meant anger +and certain revenge on the part of Imogene, besides the probability of +the disappointed Leslie communicating his disappointment in such a way +as would eventually reach the ears of some member of St. Helen's +faculty. + +The five-thirty warning bell found the question unsolved, and a sadly +troubled Dorothy walked slowly homeward. She was purposely late to +supper, for she did not wish to encounter Imogene or Vivian. As she +left the wood-path and came out upon the campus, she saw hurrying down +the hill a short, plump figure in a red sweater. Vivian, on the way to +meet her knight! + +At supper Dorothy tried in vain to eat the food upon her plate. +Impossible schemes, each vetoed as soon as concocted, were born but to +die. It was only when Priscilla and Virginia, excused early for +tennis, left the table, that an inspiration seized her. Almost without +waiting for Miss Wallace's nod of permission, she ran from the +dining-room, flew up the stairs, and burst into Priscilla's and +Virginia's room, where they, surprised, paused in the act of lacing +their tennis shoes. + +"Oh, Virginia," she cried, "go quick! Vivian will listen to you, and +she won't to me, because I've been so mean. Oh, lace your shoes +quickly! She is down by the birch tree, just beyond the gates on the +road to Hillcrest, waiting for--for that silly Leslie, who's coming to +take her to drive. And it's not her fault, because we--I mean I--put her +up to do it. And you can hate and despise and detest me, if you want +to, only hurry, and make him go away!" + +The founder of the Vigilantes needed no further explanation. So this +was the meaning of her discovery a month ago! She sprang to her feet, +raced through the hall, down the stairs, and across the campus toward +the road, while the contrite Dorothy remained to confess the whole +miserable story to Priscilla. It was Friday evening and there was no +study hour after supper, so that Virginia could leave The Hermitage +without exciting surprise. Moreover, the girls in the cottages were +all at supper, and there was no one to note her hurried flight down +the hill. Dorothy had not said at what hour Vivian's cavalier would +arrive, and there was no time to be lost. Even then they might be +driving away. Almost out of breath she raced down the hill, through +the pine woods, out the stone gates, and into the main road. A quarter +of a mile away, coming from the direction of Hillcrest, she saw a +runabout, in which sat a solitary figure, who seeing her at that +distance waved his hand as a signal. + +"It's that silly thing!" breathed Virginia to herself. "He thinks I'm +Vivian. Oh, I'm glad I'm not too late!" + +She dashed down the road and into the rude path through the alders to +the birch tree. There, at its base, hidden by the alders from the view +of those who passed, crouched poor, trembling Vivian. She had half +risen, as Virginia crashed through the bushes, thinking that her +cavalier was approaching; but at the sight of the panting Virginia, +she shrank back against the tree. + +"Why--why, Virginia," she stammered. "Why--why, what do you want?" + +Virginia was almost too breathless to answer. + +"I've--come--to meet--your friend, Vivian," she managed to gasp. "He's +coming now. He'll be here in a moment." + +"I--I think I'm scared," gasped Vivian in her turn, shrinking farther +back against the tree. "Aren't you, Virginia?" + +"No," said her deliverer, gaining breath at every moment, "no, Vivian, +I certainly am not scared. I feel as brave as Theseus, though Leslie +isn't much of a Minotaur, I must say!" + +The sound of a horse's feet-came nearer and nearer, then stopped. A +carriage creaked as some one jumped from it; twigs snapped as some one +came crashing through them. Vivian hugged the old tree for support, +and turned her face toward the pasture. Virginia braced herself for +the attack, her back against the tree, her arms folded Napoleon-wise, +her head high, her eyes flashing. As the bushes parted and the +soda-fountain clerk emerged and stepped into the trysting-place, a +more surprised youth could not have been found in the State of +Massachusetts. + +Arrayed in a new and gallantly worn linen duster, his hat on the side +of his head, a box of candy under one arm, he stood as though rooted +to the spot, an amazed and sickly smile playing over his more sickly +countenance. What had happened? Was he to escort two ladies instead of +one? His eye-glasses, attached by a gold chain to his ear, trembled as +his pale gaze, expressionless save for surprise, tried to encompass +the figure who still embraced the tree. But all in vain, for ever he +encountered a pair of flashing gray eyes, which, steady and +disdainful, never once left his own. + +"You may go now," said the owner of the eyes, after what seemed long +minutes to the faithful Leslie, "and don't you ever come here again! +This isn't a post-office any longer. You're too unspeakably silly for +any use, and Vivian thinks so just the same as the rest of us. You +belong to a soda-fountain, for you're just as sickish as vanilla +ice-cream, and as senseless as soda-water. Now go!" + +The subdued Leslie needed no second bidding. He went. They heard his +hurrying feet crash through the roadside thicket, the creaking of his +carriage as with one bound he leaped into it, and the crack of the +whip, as he warned his steed to do no tarrying in that locality. Then +Virginia turned her attention to Vivian who by this time was in an +hysterical little heap at the foot of the big old tree. + +"It's all right, Vivian," she said, with her arms around Vivian's +shaking shoulders. "He's gone and he won't come back. He'll be in New +York by midnight, if he keeps on going. Please don't cry any more." + +But Vivian could not stop just then. To be sure, the result of her +foolishness had been checked before it was too late; but nothing could +blot out the foolishness itself; and it was that which was breaking +her heart. + +"Oh, I'm not crying about him!" she said between her sobs. "I despise +him! I'm crying because I've been so silly, and nobody'll ever forget +it. I don't care what Dorothy and Imogene say. It's what's inside of +me that hurts! And everybody'll know how silly I've been! Oh, why +can't I be different than I am?" + +"Everybody won't know, Vivian. Oh, please don't cry so! Nobody'll know +except Priscilla and me, and we'll think all the more of you. And +Dorothy feels worse than you, because she's been even more to blame. +'Twas she that told me, and made me come to help you." + +Vivian stopped crying from sheer surprise. So Dorothy felt bad inside +too, and had tried to help her. That was comforting. + +"And as for Imogene," Virginia continued, "if she once dares to tease +you for trying not to be foolish any more,--if she dares,--well. I +shouldn't want to say what might happen!" + +The distant sound of a bell rang through the still air. + +"Now, Vivian, there's the lecture bell, and if we don't go, somebody +will suspect. You'll feel better inside, if you just make up your mind +that you're not going to be silly any longer. I'm your true friend, +and so is Priscilla; and, if you'll let us, we'll try to help you +to--to find better soil for your roots, just the way we're trying to +do." + +So the world looked a little brighter to Vivian as she left the hated +post-office and walked back toward St. Helen's with her "true +friend's" arm around her. Perhaps, after all, if she tried hard, she +might, some day, be a little different. As they turned into St. +Helen's gateway, they met Dorothy and the Senior monitor, walking arm +in arm. Dorothy's eyes were red from crying, and the face of the +Senior monitor was stern, though it grew kind again as she came up to +Vivian and Virginia. + +"It's going to be all right, Vivian," she said, "and we're every one +your friends. Don't you feel bad any more." + +"And I'm going to begin all over again and be your friend, Vivian," +said Dorothy, tears very near the surface again, "if you'll forgive +me, and let me try. But if you won't, I'll never blame you, because +I've been so frightfully miserable to you!" + +But Vivian, feeling undeservedly rich, put her arm close around +Dorothy, while Mary went to Virginia's side, and the four of them +climbed the hill toward St. Helen's together. There were yet fifteen +minutes before the lecture, and those fifteen minutes were spent, with +the addition of Priscilla, in Imogene Meredith's room. The Senior +monitor spoke more plainly than they had ever heard her speak before +during that secret and never-to-be-forgotten session, and Imogene, for +at least once in her life, felt with the fabulous barnyard fowls in +the old tale, quite as though her "sky were falling." A week later, to +the surprise of all St. Helen's, except perhaps the faculty, Mrs. +Meredith arrived. She had decided to take Imogene to the mountains, +she said, for the remainder of the year. Her health seemed failing, +and she feared a nervous breakdown. + +As for the chivalrous Leslie, the "Forget-me-not" knew him no more; +for on the very day after his sudden departure from the +trysting-place, when the girls went to Hillcrest to indulge in the +inevitable Saturday afternoon sundae, they were served by a +gray-haired stranger, who wore Leslie's coat with ease, but who looked +unromantic in the extreme. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE VIGILANTES INITIATE + + +"Ad, ante, con, de, in, inter,--" recited Virginia. "Priscilla, do you +always remember the difference between gerunds and gerundives now +you're a Junior?" + +"Always remember! Why, I _never_ do! I think it's a point of ignorance +to be proud of. It's depressing to remember so many unvital things. +That's one." + +Ten minutes' silence, punctuated by Priscilla's sighs over Cicero, and +Virginia's whispered prepositions. + +"The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been +very inhuman." + +"She was! 'Twas Greenie! We're studying now in blessed memory of her!" + +"I wonder where she is." + +"Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the +Acropolis! I'm glad it's the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I +can't study another second, and it isn't three o'clock for fifteen +minutes. You haven't shown me how you've changed the Constitution yet, +and we're going to start at three. I don't see but that we both have +to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We've just about +time to read it over." + +Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the +afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes +until she found what she sought--a somewhat rumpled piece of paper. + +"This is the original, you know," she said. "I'm keeping it for my +Memory Book, and I'll make a copy for yours. I made the new one +different as we planned. I took out the 'evil influence' part, because +there isn't any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those +we were especially guarding. I don't think Dorothy and Vivian had best +know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to +know we'd been watching them especially." + +"No, we won't say anything about that part. They're going to be one of +us now, and trying for the same thing. We'll keep the real reason for +the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. +I'll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have +come out the way they have. Isn't it splendid about Dorothy's grades? +Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets _A's_ in everything all the +quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps +up as well, we'll really have a chance of winning the cup from +Hathaway." + +"Vivian's doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class +to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She's so +quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. +Priscilla, do you really suppose that--?" Virginia's voice was +mysteriously lowered. + +"Yes, I do," answered Priscilla in a whisper. "Of course, no one will +ever know; but I'm sure Imogene didn't know her mother was coming, and +we all know Imogene wasn't sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or +maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen's +always does things quietly; but I'll always think that Imogene +was--expelled!" + +"Maybe Vivian knows, and that's why she feels so bad. And, besides, +it's lonesome rooming all alone. I'll read you the new Constitution, +and then we'll go and get them both. Where shall we go?" + +"Let's choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. +No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our +meeting-place. Read on. It's five minutes to three now." + +Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read: + + "We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby + announce that we are the sole members of the Order of + Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of + January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia + Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of + the West--those brave men, who in the early days of our + Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor + to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. + Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all + times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one + another in every way we can to live up to the principles + of our order. As stated above, we are the only real + Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to + Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance." + +"Now, we'll sign our names, Priscilla, and I'll take my fountain pen +so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It's after three now." + +They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep +the mysterious appointment with them at three o'clock, and together +they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking. + +"That's queer. She can't be asleep. She said she'd be ready." + +They knocked again--louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then +they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked. + +"Why, where can she be? You don't suppose she's sick or something, do +you?" asked Priscilla. "She wouldn't lock the door if she went out. +Let's go around the porch and look in the windows." + +They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the +porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian's room, they found +the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a +good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, +and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another +in amazement. Vivian's trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the +middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall +decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the +dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its +afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, "For any +one who wants it." + +"Why, why, she's gone!" gasped Virginia, the first to speak. "Oh, we +must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think--quick!" + +But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an +utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one +another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla's +eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an +envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk. + +"It's for you, Virginia," she cried, passing the envelope to her +room-mate. "Oh, read it, quick!" + +Virginia lost no time in tearing open the envelope and unfolding the +paper within. + + 'Dear Virginia,' she read in a trembling voice to those who + listened, 'I know you'll all think I'm sillier than ever, but + I can't stand being miserable any longer. You've all been good + to me, especially you, and I'll never, _never_, _never_ forget + it, so long as I live! You're the best friend I ever had. (A + sob from Dorothy.) But it is very hard to hate yourself every + minute; and, besides, I can't forget what Imogene said to me + when she went away. So I'm going home, and maybe next year + when people have forgotten my silliness, Miss King will let me + come back. Perhaps, I'll be different then, but I can't + promise; and maybe, after all, she won't let me come back, + when she knows I've run away. + + "Vivian. + + "'P. S. Please tell Miss Wallace I'm sorry I deceived her + by telling her I had a headache, and asking if I could + study in the woods. I did have a headache; and there wasn't + any other way I could get the train without somebody finding + out.'--V. E. W.'" + +Still they stood in poor, discouraged Vivian's deserted room, and +looked at one another. Virginia's face was sad from sympathy, +Priscilla looked puzzled and thoughtful, Dorothy was crying. + +"Oh, it's my fault," she sobbed. "I ought to have gone away along with +Imogene! I haven't been a friend to Vivian, and now I'll never have a +chance!" + +"Yes, you will, too," cried Priscilla, coming out of her reverie, +"because she can't take the train after all. There isn't any three +o'clock. It's been taken off. Miss Wallace told me so yesterday, when +she was thinking of going away for over Sunday. The next one doesn't +go till five, and if Vivian's anywhere around, we'll find her and +bring her back. Let's not say a word to any one, but just hunt till we +find her. The door's locked and we can draw the curtains, and no one +will ever know." + +Without wasting any precious moments they hurried out the way they had +entered, drawing the curtains before closing the windows and screens, +ran down-stairs and across the campus to the road, running the +gauntlet of all who called to them by maintaining a discreet and +somewhat exclusive silence. At the top of the hill, Priscilla reviewed +her forces. + +"Let's each take a different direction. She's around the woods +somewhere, because she wouldn't dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of +meeting the girls, and there aren't any woods the other side of the +village. I'll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the +Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go +through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, +though she's not likely to be there. And let's all remember that if +any girl tries to join us, we're to treat her abominably, so she'll +know she isn't wanted. It's mean, but there's no other way to do, +because Vivian'll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. +Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick +succession; and if by any chance we don't any of us find her, we're +all to meet at the station for the five o'clock. But I know we'll be +successful." + +They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried +through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever +found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had +passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of +the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees +hid her quite from sight. + +When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no +train before five o'clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She +could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of +the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and +to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from +there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to +retrace her steps toward St. Helen's, and hide in the woods until time +for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of +meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was +fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would +be through with study hour and out-of-doors. + +She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, +still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless +be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as +she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be +surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity +Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at +her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It +would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them +understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. +Helen's with the remembrance of Imogene's words in her ears. + +Out of breath, she sat down by the roadside to rest for a few minutes. +No, she could never forget Imogene's words! She saw her dressed ready +to go, remembered how she had risen to kiss her, and how, instead of +kissing her, Imogene had said, "Of course, you realize, Vivian, if you +hadn't been such a little fool, and Dorothy such a coward, I wouldn't +be going away like this!" + +So they had really sent Imogene away--_expelled_ her! And Imogene had +said that she was to blame, had gone without kissing her, had never +written her in all that long week! No, it was all too much to be +borne! Besides, it did not matter how good the girls had been to her +since the evening when Virginia had rescued her from the carrying out +of her foolish plan, she felt sure that in their hearts they despised +her for having been so weak and so easily influenced. And now she +could never show them that she meant to be different! Even Virginia +and Priscilla whom she so dearly loved would never know! But she saw +no other way. + +Rising, she hurried on. The school clock struck three. She dashed +through the gates and into the woods by the Retreat. In a few minutes +the girls would be passing along the road, and she was in danger of +being seen. Looking around for a hiding-place, she espied the big rock +back of the Retreat, the very rock which the Vigilantes had chosen for +their initiation ceremonies. A great pine which grew close by overhung +it with wide-spreading, feathery branches. Vivian hastily climbed upon +the rock, and, crawling in among the pine branches, was quite +concealed from the sight of all except the most careful observer. + +It was but a few moments before she heard voices--on the meadow, in the +road, even in the very woods about her. Study hour was over, and the +girls were free. Well, if by any chance they drew near her place of +concealment, she could take her Caesar from her pocket and begin to +study. That would tend to dispel suspicion. How jolly and merry they +sounded! She could hear Bess Shepard's laugh, and some lusty shouts, +which, of course, came from the Blackmore twins. She had had lovely +times at St. Helen's. Of course even now, she might--but no, it was too +late! Without doubt, by now some one had discovered her room, and +everybody would know! + +A loud crackling of twigs sounded to the right. Some one was coming in +her direction--yes, some one in a red sweater, for she could +distinguish that color through the thicket. She crouched lower under +the pine branches. Then, seeing that it was of no use to hide, for the +sweater was unmistakably coming through the bushes, she sat up-right +with a beating heart and drew Caesar from her pocket--just as Dorothy +broke through the last blackberry bush and saw her on the rock. And +though she tried her utmost to gaze at Caesar, she just couldn't help +seeing the joy and gladness that swept over Dorothy's anxious face. + +"Oh, Vivian!" she cried. "Oh, Vivian! I've found you, and I'm so glad! +And you're going to forgive me, and give me another chance to be your +friend, aren't you? Oh, say you're not going away!" + +In another moment Dorothy was on the rock beside her, and poor Caesar +had fallen into a rose-bush, where he lay forgotten. The five o'clock +train was forgotten, too; for as Vivian sat there with Dorothy's arms +around her, she knew she wouldn't do anything else in the world but go +back and begin all over again. + +"My!" said Dorothy, after they had talked everything over for the +third time at least. "My! I forgot to give the signal, and Priscilla +and Virginia are very likely half-dead from fright by now!" + +She gave the three short calls agreed upon, which were immediately +answered; and in less than five minutes the two Vigilantes, very much +alive and very, very happy, were also sitting on the very rock chosen +but two hours before. Then, after all the crooked things had been made +straight, after the world seemed beautiful again, and friendship +sweeter than before--then, with the ceremony befitting its importance, +the Vigilante Order was explained in full to the chosen initiates, and +its purpose made plain. With serious faces they signed their names, + + Vivian Evelyn Winters + Dorothy Richards + +below the signatures of the charter members. + +"Everything's over now," said the real originator of the order with a +happy little sigh, as she folded the Constitution and placed it in her +pocket. "Everything's over, and in another way, everything nicest is +just beginning. There's certainly strength in numbers, and we'll all +help one another to be real Vigilantes." + +"We ought to have a watchword," proposed Priscilla. "I was thinking of +one when I heard Dorothy call. Do you think 'Ever Vigilant' is any +good?" + +They all thought it just the thing. + +"And I've been, wondering just this minute," said Dorothy, "about +something else; but I'm a new member, and if you don't like my plan, I +hope you'll say so. I was thinking about having an emblem. Most orders +do, you know. Don't you think it-would be rather nice to have the +hepatica, and have it stand for what Miss King said--sending our +rootlets into good soil? You see, I thought of it because--well, +because I've felt so ashamed of--of the way my rootlets have been +growing, and lately I've--I've been trying--" She hesitated, +embarrassed. + +Virginia had listened, her eyes growing brighter every moment. + +"I think it's a perfectly lovely idea, Dorothy," she said, while +Priscilla and Vivian nodded their approval. "And I've a secret just +born--a lovely, lovely one--and it's going to happen before very long! +It just came with your thought of the hepatica!" + +The others were properly mystified, but the owner of the secret would +divulge nothing; and half an hour later, Caesar, having been rescued +from the rose-bush, the four Vigilantes went home to help Vivian +unpack. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE HEART-BROKEN MISS WALLACE + + +"Lucile, are you sure?" + +"Virginia, if you ask me that again, I'll believe you think I fib. Of +course I'm sure!" + +"Did you see him more than once, Lucile?" + +"Priscilla, I've told you a dozen times that I saw him one whole +afternoon long at Versailles. Isn't that long enough to remember him, +I'd like to know?" + +"And Miss Wallace said when she introduced him--just what did she say, +anyhow?" + +"Vivian Winters, you make me sick! You really do! She said--and this is +the twentieth time I've told you--she said, 'Lucile, I want you to meet +my dear friend, Mr. Taylor.'" + +"And what did he say?" + +"Will you please listen this time, Dorothy, for it's positively the +last time I shall tell you. He said, 'Any friend of Miss Wallace's is +my friend, too.' And he gazed at her with his very soul. You forgot he +had eyes at all!" + +The exasperated Lucile leaned back among her pillows, and munched the +candy with which she had generously supplied herself. + +"You really all do make me tired," she said between her bites. "I've +told you over and over again that any one could see that he loved her +from the way he gazed at her; that the picture she's had all the year +up to six weeks ago on her dresser was his; and that I know her heart +is broken. Now, what more can I say?" + +"It isn't that we don't believe you, Lucile," Virginia hastened to +explain. "It's just--well, you see you do have a very romantic +tendency, and--" + +"Of course, I do. It's my temperament. I've heard father say so a +dozen times. Besides, I've lived in Paris, and the very stones of +Paris breathe romance!" + +"Well, I really think Lucile is right, sad as it seems. Miss Wallace +hasn't been herself since Easter; and it was just then that the +picture disappeared from her dresser. Of course Lucile couldn't have +been with him a whole afternoon and not know his face; and, naturally, +she would know how he treated her." This announcement from Priscilla +was not without effect. + +"Of course I would," reiterated the encouraged Lucile. "Didn't I see +him gaze at her, and call her 'Margaret,' and her, when she called him +'Bob'?" + +"Did you see him do anything but gaze?" asked Dorothy, still a little +incredulous. "He seems to have gazed all the time." + +"Why, of course, right at Versailles, he wouldn't have taken her hand, +or anything like that. A gaze can speak volumes, I'll have you to +know. But when we sailed from Havre, and he stayed to study at the +Sorbonne, he put his arms around her and kissed her. It was +thrilling!" + +This new piece of information was indisputable proof, which, placed by +the side of the strange disappearance of the said Mr. Taylor's +picture, and the strange and unwonted sadness of Miss Wallace, formed +a bulk of evidence, to disbelieve which was folly. + +"Oh, I'm afraid it's true," said Virginia, echoing the misgivings of +her room-mate. "She looks so quiet and sad, it just breaks my heart. I +actually know she'd been crying the other day when I saw her coming +out of the Retreat. Probably she went there for comfort. Poor thing! +How could he have been so cruel?" + +"Why, maybe it wasn't he. Maybe he's suffering, and pacing the streets +of Paris this moment, preferring death to life." Lucile's imagination, +so fruitless in the channels of academic thought, was certainly +prolific in the flowery paths of Romance. "Perhaps Miss Wallace felt +the call to service, broke her engagement, and has decided to give her +very life to help others." + +"I don't think Miss Wallace would do that," Virginia said +thoughtfully. "Not that it isn't a wonderful thing to do; but I feel +some way as though she'd rather be a mother. One evening last +Thanksgiving I was in her room, and we were talking about the things +girls could do in the world. I asked her what she thought was the +noblest thing; and she said in the sweetest voice, 'A real mother, +Virginia.'" + +"And she is just a born mother," added Priscilla. "Mother said so at +Thanksgiving. Oh, dear! Why did it have to happen?" + +No one pretended to know. Lucile was inclined to attribute it to Fate; +while Dorothy advanced the thought that it might be a trial sent to +prove Miss Wallace's strength. + +"And it's wonderful how strong she is," she said. "She's usually so +jolly at table; and last night she was the very life of the party. One +would never have known." + +"Yes, and she probably went home to a sleepless night," suggested +Lucile, "and tossed about till morning." + +"It seems to me she's been happier lately." + +"She's probably learning to bear it better--that's all." + +"She's never worn an engagement ring, has she?" asked the practical +Vivian. + +"No, but of course she wouldn't wear it here. It would excite too much +comment," Priscilla explained. + +"Without doubt she had one, and wore it around her neck, before it +happened," Lucile again suggested. + +"Oh, if we could only show her in some way that we're sorry for her! +That would, perhaps, help a little," said Virginia. "Do you suppose +she'd feel we were interfering if we sent her some flowers? We needn't +say a thing, but just write 'With sympathy' or 'With love' on a card, +and she'd understand. Do you think she'd like it, Priscilla?" + +"Why, yes, I think she would. And 'twould relieve our minds. We'd know +we'd done all we could. I suppose time will make it easier for her to +bear." + +"Maybe it's just a misunderstanding, and they'll come together again, +when they see they can't live without each other," said Vivian +hopefully. + +"Maybe, but I feel that it's the end! And oh, if you girls could only +have seen them together and known that they were made for each other! +Fate is cruel!" wailed Lucile tragically. + +"Well, are we going to send the flowers?" asked Virginia. She was +aching for Miss Wallace, but Lucile's romantic ravings were a little +tiring. "If we do, let's not say a word to any one. Miss Wallace, +being in The Hermitage, belongs to us more anyway; and I think we +ought to love her enough to guard her secret. I know she wouldn't wish +it known. Of course, as things have happened, we can't help knowing, +but we can help talking about it to others. You haven't told any one +else, have you, Lucile?" + +"Of course not. Don't you suppose I know better than all of you that +life would be simply impossible to her if she thought the world knew. +Remember, _I've_ seen them together!" + +"What kind of flowers do you think we'd better send?" + +"Pink carnations." + +"Oh, no, carnations are too common!" + +"Violets then." + +"Oh, spare her that! He gave her violets that afternoon at +Versailles!" + +"Roses, why not?" + +"Anything but red roses. They mean undying love, and hers is dead." + +"Why not send her daffodils?" proposed Virginia. "They're so cheery +and hopeful, and look like spring." + +Every one seemed agreed that, under the circumstances, Virginia's +choice was the most appropriate. It was thereupon decided that +daffodils be sent to Miss Wallace; but that, to save her possible +embarrassment, the names of the donors be kept secret. Dorothy and +Vivian were delegated to go to Hillcrest and make the purchase, while +the others tried to enliven their sympathetic hearts by tennis. + +Meanwhile, during this session of sympathy in her behalf, Miss Wallace +sat in her school-room, correcting an avalanche of themes, which +seemed to have no end. "Dear me!" she sighed to herself, "no girl in +this whole school will be so glad of vacation as I. I've never taught +through such a year." + +It certainly had been a hard and trying year. In the fall Miss Green's +tactlessness had required an extra amount of discretion on the part of +Miss Wallace; in the winter the German Measles had broken into the +regularity necessary for good work; and all through the year she had +been required to watch, which occupation she found harder than any +other--watch a girl, to whom she had never been able to come close, and +whom she had failed to influence toward better things. She could not +really blame herself for her failure in helping Imogene, but she felt +sorry, because, knowing Imogene, she feared that life would never hold +what it might for her. Altogether, it had been a hard year; and she +would not have been human had she not at times looked tired, +thoughtful, and even sad. + +"You need a rest, my dear," said the old Hillcrest doctor, meeting her +one day in the village. "You're quite tired out, working for those +nice girls up there." But that pile of themes did not look like +immediate rest; and, sharpening her red pencil, she went to work +again. + +She left the school-room just as the warning-bell was ringing and +crossed the campus to The Hermitage, longing for letters. On her desk +she found a package and a telegram, which, when she had read it, made +her tired face glow with happiness. "Dear Bob!" she said to herself. +"He deserves it all. I'm so glad!" + +"His picture has come back, too," she added, untying the package, +"just in time for the good news. You dear old fellow! You deserve a +silver frame, and the nicest girl in the world." + +There came a knock at her door just then, and the maid passed her a +long box from the florist's. Surprised, she opened it to find dozens +of yellow daffodils, and a card, which said in carefully disguised +handwriting, "With deepest love, and tenderest sympathy." + +"Why, what can it mean?" she thought mystified. "I always need the +love, but I certainly don't need sympathy. I never was so happy in my +life!" + +The supper-bell rang just then, and put a stop to her wonderings. She +dressed hurriedly, placed some daffodils at her waist, and descended +to the dining-room, a trifle late, but wholly radiant. + +"She surely doesn't look sad to-night," mused more than one at the +table. "Could the flowers have made her happier so soon, or what is +it?" + +Half an hour before study hour, Miss Wallace called Virginia to her +room. + +"I know you love daffodils, Virginia," she said, "and I want you to +see this gorgeous quantity which some mysterious person has sent me. +And the strangest part about it is that they come with 'tenderest +sympathy.' It's especially funny to-night, because I'm so happy. I +think I really must tell you about it." + +Virginia's heart beat fast with excitement. Was this beloved teacher +of hers really going to confide in her? Her eyes followed Miss +Wallace's to the dresser, and there, reclothed in a shining silver +frame, was Mr. Taylor--Miss Wallace's own Mr. Taylor! So it had been +only a misunderstanding after all! The dream of Miss Wallace's life +was not dead, but living, and she was happy! One glance at her face +was proof of that! Virginia was so happy herself that she longed to +tell her so; but perhaps she had best not just now. Besides, what was +Miss Wallace saying? + +"I don't know that I've ever told you about my cousin, Robert Taylor, +Virginia. You've seen his picture of course--that is till recently when +I sent it away to have it framed. To-night I had a cable from him, +telling me that he's actually engaged to the dearest girl I know. +We've both been hoping for it for months--I almost as much as he--and +Mary's just decided that she can't get along without him. I'm so +delighted!" + +It seemed impossible that Virginia's heart could have undergone such a +metamorphosis as it had in the last minute. + +"Is--? is--he your cousin?" she asked in a queer, strained little voice. +But Miss Wallace was so happy that she did not notice it. + +"Why, yes, he's really my cousin, but he seems like my brother, for +his mother died when he was a baby, and my mother brought him up. So +we've always lived together, just like brother and sister, and I never +think of any difference. Why, my dear, where are you going? The bell +hasn't rung." For Virginia was half way out of the door. + +"I--must go," she stammered. "The girls are waiting for me up-stairs." + +Four more crestfallen and unromantic girls never existed than those +which looked at one another at the conclusion of Virginia's story. + +"I never felt so silly in my life!" she added, after the last +rainbow-colored bubble had been burst. + +"Nor I!" cried Priscilla. + +"Let's be everlastingly grateful we didn't sign our names," said +Dorothy. + +"And he was just away being framed!" moaned Vivian. + +"Where's Lucile?" + +"Oh, she's probably moaning in her room over Fate!" + +"She needs a tonic!" said Priscilla. "Let's go and tell her so." + +"It won't do a bit of good," Virginia observed, as they started down +the hall to employ the remaining five minutes in disciplining Lucile. +"It's her temperament, you know; and, besides, the very stones of +Paris breathe Romance!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SENIOR PAGEANT + + +Commencement came with hurrying feet, showing little regard for +Seniors, who daily visited the old haunts, grown so dear to them, and +hourly hated worse the thought of leaving St. Helen's. Every spot +seemed dearer than ever before--the cottages, which had been their +homes, the Retreat, filled with the memories of chapel and vespers, +every path in the woods, every spot where certain flowers grew. It +would be hard to leave them all; but far harder to say good-by to one +another, and to the teachers and girls who were to return; for, as +Anne said on every possible occasion, "There's no use talking! It +never will seem the same again!" So in all the festivities of the +closing days there was a sadness--a strange hollow feeling in one's +body, a lump which often came unexpectedly into one's throat. + +To Virginia, this season of her first Commencement was one of +conflicting emotions. She was torn between a joy in the perfect June +days, and a sorrow that they must soon come to an end; between the +happy anticipation of seeing her father, who, with her grandmother and +Aunt Nan, was to be at St. Helen's for the closing week, and the sad +realization that St. Helen's would never seem the same without the +Seniors, and that The Hermitage would be a sadly different place +without Mary and Anne. + +She found studying during those last few weeks the most difficult +thing in the world; and had it not been for the cup competition +between Hathaway and The Hermitage, which was daily growing more +close, she, like many of the others, would have been sorely tempted to +take a vacation. It would be so much more "vital," she said to +herself, and ten times more appropriate, to close her geometry and +walk through the woods with Priscilla, or sit in Mary's room, and plan +for the wonderful days to come; for Mrs. Williams had "found a way," +and Jack and Mary were actually to spend the month of August in +Wyoming with Virginia and Donald. The trip was to be their +Commencement gift, for Jack was likewise graduating that year from the +Stanford School. "It's too good to be true," Virginia kept saying to +herself, "it's too good to be true," and deep in her heart she hoped +and hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop might consent to Priscilla's +going also. They had said they would "think about it," and that, so +Priscilla said, was a hopeful sign. + +As she bent over her geometry, preparing for the final examination, +there would come before her eyes in place of circles and triangles and +parallelograms, visions of sunny August days riding over the +foothills, and starlit August nights about a camp-fire in the canyon. +It would be such fun for her and Don to show Mary and Jack all the +loveliest places in their country. And she would teach Mary to +shoot--Mary, who had never in her life held a rifle! Oh, if only the +other Vigilantes might come! But she knew that Dorothy was to be in +California with her father; and as to Vivian, Virginia could somehow +easily picture the horror on timid Mrs. Winter's face at the thought +of Vivian shooting and camping in a canyon! But this was not mastering +geometry, and there was the cup! The Hermitage must win it from +Hathaway, and the winning or the losing depended upon the success or +failure of each one. So, banishing dreams, she went to work again. + +There were but ten days more. Already it was examination week; already +many of the traditional ceremonies and closing occasions had taken +place. The Juniors had "picnicked" the Seniors, and the Seniors the +Juniors; the cottage tennis finals had been played off, Overlook +winning the doubles, and Bess Shepard being proclaimed the champion in +the ensuing singles; the Senior ivy had been planted against the wall +of the Retreat, and the old trowel presented with fitting remarks to +the Junior president. By the cottages the Senior occupants had each +planted her own slip of ivy, her name placed in a securely corked +bottle, and buried beneath the roots of her plant. Thus in our own +minds do we become immortal! + +But the occasion upon which all thoughts were centered, and toward +which all energies were bent, was the Senior Pageant, to be held on +Tuesday afternoon of the closing week. On preceding Commencements, an +out-of-door play had been the choice of the graduating class; but this +year the Seniors, who had been throughout their four years unusually +interested in History, had determined to give in place of the play a +Historical Pageant. Each was to represent some character of History, +legendary or ancient, mediaeval or modern, design and make her own +costume, and dramatize the certain scene or scenes which she had +chosen to portray. The Juniors and members of the lower classes, +though not of importance as prominent characters, were yet of +indispensable value as retainers, henchmen, pages, and the like. + +"In fact," said the Blackmore twins, who were the blindfolded +headsmen, leading the procession of the doomed Mary Stuart to the +block; "in fact, we may not seem very important, but we're the setting +and they couldn't do without us!" + +For weeks, even for months, they had been making preparations and +holding rehearsals. The place chosen for the pageant was the level +strip of meadow south of the campus. Directly back of it lay the +Retreat woods, which were very convenient for the disappearance of the +characters when their parts were finished, and especially so for +Martin Luther, who had to nail his ninety-five theses on the door of +the Retreat. On the left the road led to St. Helen's; on the right +stretched more woodland; while immediately in front of the ground +chosen for the performance, a gently sloping hillside formed a +splendid amphitheater from which the audience was to view the pageant. +Nature had surely done her best to provide an ideal situation; and the +girls were going to try to do as well. + +Virginia had found her services in great demand, and she was glad and +proud to give them. Anne had determined to be her beloved Joan of Arc, +and had planned to appear in three scenes--in the forest of Domremy, +where she listened to the voices; in the company of the old village +priest, with whom she talked of her visions; and finally on the +journey toward the Dauphin, whom she was to recognize among his +courtiers. In the last scene a horse was necessary, for Joan, clad in +armor, rode, accompanied by the old priest and two knights. Also, the +Black Prince clamored for a war-horse; Augustus said he never could be +august without one; and Roland refused to die in the Pass of +Roncesvalles, unless he could first fall from his panting steed! +Matters early in the spring having come to a halt over the horse +problem, Miss King was consulted, and upon Virginia's assurance, ably +seconded by that of Mr. Hanly, that Napoleon would be a perfectly safe +addition to the troupe, his services were engaged for rehearsals and +final performance alike, and he was installed in St. Helen's stable, +so as to be on hand whenever desired. + +Joan, never having been on a horse before, though born and bred in the +South, needed considerable instruction, as did the other equestrian +actresses; and Virginia found herself installed as riding-mistress for +a good many hours each week. Napoleon did not seem averse to his part +in the pageant, though sometimes he shook his head disdainfully when +the Black Prince strapped some armor over it, and objected slightly to +the trappings which Augustus felt necessary for his successful entry +into Rome. Virginia's saddle, bedecked for the occasion, was found +adequate for all the riders; and after many, many attempts, followed +by very frank criticisms from the riding-mistress, most of the +performers could mount and dismount with something resembling ease. +Virginia, knowing well Napoleon's variety of gaits, did not hope for +equestrianism on the part of the riders. If they could only get on +safely, sit fairly straight, and get off without catching their feet +or clothing, she would rest content; and though Roland and the Black +Prince were determined to use their spurs and come out from the forest +on the gallop, Virginia, having raised them from the ground after two +of these disastrous attempts, urged them with all her might to allow +Napoleon to walk, which he was very glad to do. + +But Joan, it must be admitted, found her last act a trying one. Though +she mounted in the recesses of the forest, and could have all the +assistance she needed, to ride before the audience, holding her spear +aloft in one hand, and driving with the other was well-nigh +impossible, especially when she longed to grasp the saddle-horn; and +lastly, to dismount safely, without catching on some part of that +fearful saddle and irretrievably loosening her armor, was an act she +feared and dreaded day and night. + +"Oh, why did I choose to be Joan!" she cried, as Virginia, at a +private rehearsal, raised her from the ground after at least the +twentieth attempt to dismount. "I just can't do it!" + +"Yes, you can," encouraged her instructor, who, when occasion +demanded, coached the dramatic appearance as well as the equestrian. +"You're beautiful when you hear the voices in the forest, and when you +talk with the old priest, you're thrilling! Only, I do wish Lucile +would be more priestly. Of course, she speaks French wonderfully, but +she isn't one bit like a priest. It's too bad, when you're so +wonderful in that scene." + +"Well, you see, she didn't want to be the priest, anyway. She wanted +to be the Black Prince's sweetheart." + +"He didn't have a sweetheart, did he?" + +"I don't know. It doesn't seem as though he would at seventeen. But +she wanted him to, anyway, and say farewell to her in England." + +"She does make me sick! Now, Anne, I've just one criticism. You're +going to learn to dismount all right; but if you'd only look less +scared when you ride toward the Dauphin! You know you ought to look +soulful, as though you were seeing a distant vision, but you don't. +You look frightened to death." + +"Then I look just the way I feel, Virginia. I'd rather ride an +elephant than that Napoleon. I am scared of him, and I may as well +admit it. He's the most terrorizing animal I've ever known!" And +nothing that Napoleon's trainer could say as to his harmlessness and +even amicability of disposition, could convince the trembling Joan, +who, in perseverance and fear, still continued to make herself +dismount. + +But when the last Saturday came, all difficulties seemed overcome. +Joan had actually dismounted successfully half a dozen times; the +Black Prince had, after all, decided that he was more impressive when +his charger walked; and Queen Elizabeth had ridden three times in her +carriage, borne by eight staggering retainers, without its once +breaking down. No more rehearsals were to be held until the final one +on Tuesday morning; and costumes were packed away, while Napoleon +gratefully munched his oats in St. Helen's stable, and wondered at the +unaccustomed respite he was enjoying. + +On that Saturday came Virginia's father with her Grandmother Webster +and Aunt Nan. She had never been so happy in her life, she thought, as +she walked excitedly up and down the platform, and waited for the +train. Would her father find her much changed, she wondered, and would +he look the same? Never before in their lives had they been separated, +and nine months seemed a very long time. His letter of yesterday had +been written from Vermont where he had visited a week, and where, he +told her, he had been very happy. And her grandmother had also +written, saying how much they were enjoying him. She was so glad, she +said to herself, as the train whistled in the distance--so thankful +that at last Grandmother Webster was beginning to appreciate her +father. If it were really true, she simply couldn't be any happier. + +It was really true! Of that she was assured. For after her father had +jumped from the train to hold his little daughter close in his arms +for a moment, he had turned to help her grandmother, who was just +alighting, and whom, to Virginia's great joy, he called "Mother." Then +her grandmother kissed her, and said to her father, "John, hasn't she +grown?"; and jolly Aunt Nan, who came up in the rear, hugged her hard, +and said in the most understanding kind of way, "Now this whole family +is together at last!" Finally, as if to add the finishing touch and +make everything complete, Grandmother Webster, after she and Aunt Nan +had greeted Miss King, who stood on the platform, said, "And I think, +years ago, you met my son, Virginia's father." + +The next three days were like the perfect realization of a dream. "The +whole family" roamed together about the campus; listened to the +farewell sermon, which the white-haired bishop gave on Sunday morning +in the chapel, and the last vesper service, at which every one cried; +heard the Senior essays on Monday afternoon; and attended Miss King's +reception on Monday evening. It seemed like a great family reunion +with all the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters; and it took no +time at all for everybody to become acquainted with everybody else. +Virginia proudly introduced her father to all the girls; and it was +not long before the four Vigilantes and their adviser were listening +to tales of the real Vigilante days. + +"And I hope you'll every one come to Wyoming for August," he said +genially, "You'll be well-chaperoned, for Virginia's Aunt Nan is +coming, and there's room and a welcome for all." + +That night Priscilla, before they went to sleep, confided her hopes to +Virginia. + +"I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, +when we were helping serve," she whispered, "and I know they were +talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I'll be there?" + +"I'm thinking on it every minute I have," came back the whispered +answer. "Aunt Nan's going will make a big difference; and some way I +just know you're coming, Priscilla!" + +Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which +had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to +study the heavens. At ten o'clock a strictly private dress rehearsal +was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth's +pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode +Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin +Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon +the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration +denounced the sale of "Indulgences "; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was +led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had +invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History +teacher, declared herself delighted. + +"It's perfect!" she said enthusiastically. "Now you may go where you +like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try +that dismounting again, Anne, and don't let your voice tremble when +you address the Dauphin." + +"My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever," +thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on +the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who +kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon's heels. She drew +near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and +prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell +to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved +it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking +on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan +released Anne's foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized. + +Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That +was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second +acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene +with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the +circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be +found, must be omitted. + +Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan +rubbed her aching ankle. + +"I think it's really providential," she said, "because I'd have been +sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. +My costume will fit her all right, and I'm quite content with hearing +the voices and talking with the priest. You'll do it, won't you, +Virginia?" + +"Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn't +like yours, Anne. Oh, I'm so sorry it happened!" + +"Well, it's fortunate we have you, Virginia," said Miss Allan. "You +know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. +Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it." + +Joan was lifted on Napoleon, where, having no spear to carry and both +hands free to clutch the saddle, she felt quite fearless, especially +since Virginia led her steed; and, followed by a train of sympathetic +courtiers, was carried to The Hermitage, where her ankle, which was +not badly hurt, was carefully bandaged. Meanwhile, Virginia, raised +all at once to the dignity of a Senior, rehearsed her lines, and tried +with the help of Lucile to pronounce the impossible French syllables. + +By three o'clock that afternoon the hillside amphitheater was crowded +with guests, the number of relatives and friends being increased by +many Hillcrest residents, who never failed to enjoy the Commencement +"doings." Prominent among those who awaited appearance of the pageant, +was a tall, soldierly-looking gentleman, who sat beside Virginia's +father, and seemed to enjoy talking of a certain little girl, with +whom he had journeyed East nine months before. Every now and then he +bestowed proud glances upon his grandson, who had accompanied him, and +who had already found in Jack Williams a pleasant companion. + +"I couldn't resist bringing my grandson to meet Miss Virginia," the +old gentleman explained, "and I'm doubly glad I did come, for I'm +delighted to meet her father." + +Virginia's father evidently enjoyed Colonel Standish, for they found +many subjects of conversation, and talked until a herald, clad in +crimson and white, the Senior colors, appeared from the forest, and +blowing a trumpet, announced in quaint language that the pageant was +about to begin: + + "Lords and ladies, passing fair, + I would now to you declare + That before your very eyes + Those from out the past arise." + +The first to arise from out the shadowy past were Hector and +Andromache, clad in Trojan costumes. In Homer's tongue they bade each +other farewell, while Andromache lifted her infant son (the janitor's +baby, borrowed for the occasion) to kiss his fierce father, armed with +helmet, shield, and spear, before he should go out to fight the great +Achilles. True to the Homeric legend, the baby cried in fright, and +was hurriedly returned to the janitor's wife, who waited in the shadow +of the trees. Demosthenes hurled in good Greek a "philippic" against +the Macedonian King, and Cicero cursed Cataline in fiery Latin. Then +followed the great Augustus, who sat upon the much-bedecked Napoleon +and gloried in his triumph; Roland, who fell gallantly from his steed +in the Pass of Roncesvalles, blowing his horn with his last breath to +warn the soldiers of Charlemagne of his disaster; and the Black +Prince, who, on his way to Crecy, paused to give an oration on the +valor of the English. + +Now it was time for Joan of Arc, who, her peasant robes covering her +bandaged ankle, sat in the forests of Domremy, and with sweet, +up-turned face listened to the voices of angels. Convinced that she +had a mission to perform, she sought the old priest as he walked one +day in the forest, and told him of her visions; but he, in perfect +though rather halfhearted French, discouraged her, and sent her home +to help her mother in the kitchen. A year passed, and Joan having at +last convinced the priest and the governor of Domremy, was allowed to +proceed to the Dauphin, and declare her message from God. + +In the last scene, a new Joan, clad in a shining helmet, a suit of +armor, and bearing a shield and spear, rode from the wood into the +meadow. She sat her horse like a knight of old, holding her reins in +her left hand, on which arm she bore her shield, and in her right hand +bearing her spear aloft. In her gray eyes was the memory of the +Domremy visions; on her face the determination to save her country. +Before her walked the little priest, who could not resist glancing +back every now and then to be sure Napoleon was not too near his +heels. Behind her on either side came two armed retainers. + +As the Maid of Orleans neared the audience, she was greeted by +applause, which pleased her even less than it pleased a certain little +group in the center of the gathering. She rode on toward the end of +the meadow, where next the woods stood the disguised Dauphin and his +courtiers. As she reached the first of the Dauphin's men-at-arms, she +halted her steed, swung her armor-clad body lightly to the ground, and +advanced with intent gaze toward him, whom she knew to be Charles, the +future king. + +[Illustration: "She sat her horse like a knight of old."] + +Meanwhile, Napoleon, weary of this pomp and pageantry, and feeling his +back free at last from knights and emperors, moved slowly to a near-by +birch tree, and began to nibble at its fresh new leaves. Joan's +retainers had followed her, and as there was no one to forbid him to +take refreshment, he ate on undisturbed. Suddenly at his very nose +sounded a blare of trumpets. They proclaimed the Domremy peasant girl +to be what she had declared herself--the deliverer of her country. But +Napoleon knew nothing of proclamations or deliverers. All he knew was +that he had been rudely disturbed and needlessly startled--he, who had +uncomplainingly worn trappings of every description and borne Augustus +and Roland, the Black Prince and Joan! + +The trumpets sounded again in his ears. This time he answered with a +terrifying snort, kicked up his heels and started down the meadow, his +tasseled blanket, for with this new Joan he wore no saddle, dragging +on the ground. Joan, in the act of receiving the homage of the Dauphin +and his court, saw him go. She sprang to her feet, mediaeval manners +forgotten, threw aside her spear and shield, and started in pursuit. +She forgot that she was to save France; but she knew she was to save +the Earl of Leicester embarrassment from having no steed to ride, when +he should advance in the next act to greet Queen Elizabeth. + +The progress of Napoleon was somewhat lessened by his robes in which +he became often entangled, and by his desire for more fresh birch +leaves. Within five minutes Joan was near him, her helmet long since +gone, her armor more or less depleted, her hair streaming in the wind. +She was no longer the gentle maid of Domremy; she was a Wyoming girl +who was catching her horse. + +"Oh, John!" cried Grandmother Webster, who with frightened eyes +watched her granddaughter in this somewhat strange proceeding. "Oh, +John, how can you laugh! She'll be hurt!" + +"No, she won't, mother," her father answered. "She's used to that sort +of thing. Don't worry." + +"She's the pluckiest girl I ever saw in my life!" cried the Colonel, +slapping his knee. "Joan of Arc wasn't in it!" And his grandson, who +had risen to his feet and was cheering as though he were at a +foot-ball game, kept shouting between his cheers: + +"Say, but she's a corker!" + +Now she was running beside Napoleon. Suddenly she grasped his reins, +and stopped him just as he was nearing the road, and thinking without +doubt that he would escape to his Hillcrest stable where pageantry was +unknown. She straightened his bedraggled robes as well as she could, +then with one hand on his neck, sprang to his back with as much ease +as though he had been a Shetland pony, and, amid the cheers of the +audience, rode back to receive the homage, not only of the Dauphin, +but of the gathering at large. + +The pageant proceeded. Queen Elizabeth, borne by her eight retainers, +was received by a somewhat trembling Earl of Leicester, who did not +seem at all sure of his steed; Mary Stuart was dignity and courage +itself as she marched to the scaffold, led by two perfectly serious +headsmen; and Martin Luther eclipsed even his rehearsal of the +morning. But none like the second Joan was prompted by necessity to +forget the bonds of History, and establish a new tradition to add to +the hundreds already clustering about St. Helen's. + +"For," said the white-haired bishop, shaking hands with her, as she +stood in her page's costume of doublet and hose, surrounded by an +admiring group, "St. Helen's girls will never forget this Joan, though +their memory may be hazy as to her of Domremy; just as they'll always +remember St. Helen's champion chimney-sweep, and probably forget all +about Charles Kingsley's. Isn't that so, my dear?" And he turned with +a quizzical smile toward the Blackmore twin, who had dropped into the +grate before his astonished eyes the year before. + +"Well," said Carver Standish III, as bearing Joan's spear and shield, +he accompanied her across the campus, "well, all I've got to say is, +Miss Hunter, you surely are a winner! And I'm some glad grandfather +brought me over to meet you!" + +"I'm glad, too," answered the happy Joan, "but I'm not Miss Hunter, +I'm just Virginia. You see I'm especially anxious not to be a young +lady when I get back home." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE VIGILANTES' LAST MEETING + + +"It's absolutely unbelievable!" cried Priscilla. + +"It's a fairy-tale!" said Vivian. + +"I'll just count the minutes till August!" declared Virginia. + +"Mine is a reward for getting all _A's_," said Priscilla. "My! but I'm +glad I worked!" + +"I'm thankful papa came for Commencement," said Vivian. "Mamma would +never have said 'Yes.' She still thinks I'm going to be killed. Are +you sure you have room for us all, Virginia? Is a ranch large?" + +"Of course we have room. Besides, I sleep in a tent summers." + +"Oh, may we, too?" + +"Why, yes, if you like. Mary wants to. It's lovely out-of-doors." + +"Aren't there any rattle-snakes around?" + +"Only on the hills, and in rocky and sandy places. Oh, Dorothy, we're +selfish talking like this when you can't come!" + +"No, you're not. I dote on hearing about it. I wish I could come, but +I'm glad I'm going to be with father. It makes me frightfully proud to +think he wants me to keep house for him; and we're going to have a +heavenly little bungalow right by the ocean. It will be lovely, I +think; and we haven't been together for so long, it will be like +getting acquainted over again." + +"I think it's splendid, Dorothy," said Priscilla, "and I'm so proud of +you! Mother is too--she said so. And being all Vigilantes, we'll be +together in thought, anyway. Oh, Virginia, I think your father was +perfectly lovely to give us our pins!" + +"Wonderful!" cried Dorothy. + +"They're the sweetest things!" said Vivian. + +"Wasn't that your secret when we held our first meeting in May?" asked +Dorothy. + +"Yes, that was it. When you mentioned the hepatica, I thought how +lovely it would be to have little hepatica pins. I wrote father all +about it, and he said he'd love to have them made for us as a gift +from him. They are sweet! I love them!" + +She lifted hers from her blouse and examined it, while the other +Vigilantes did the same. They were little hepaticas in dull gold. In +the heart of each glowed three small pearls; and in a circle around +the pearls were engraved in tiny letters the words, "Ever Vigilant." + +"They'll be such a help to us this summer, I think," said Dorothy. "I +know mine will. It will help me remember--lots of things." + +They were sitting on their rock back of the Retreat. It was afternoon +of the day following the pageant, and this was their last Vigilante +meeting. + +"Doesn't it seem as though everything had come out just right?" asked +Priscilla after a little pause. "This morning in chapel when Miss King +announced that we'd won the cup, I could have screamed, I was so glad! +And that's due to you, Dorothy, more than to any one else. Just think +of your Latin examination! Miss Baxter has put it in the exhibit of +class work. I'm so glad!" + +"I can't help feeling glad, too. But then it isn't any more than I +ought to have done toward my share of winning the cup. I helped toward +losing it the first of the year." + +"Oh, don't let's talk about that part--ever again!" cried the founder +of the Vigilantes. "It's never going to happen any more, and that's +what makes me so happy, because now we understand each other, and next +year we'll all be working for the same thing! Oh, I get happier every +minute!" + +"Won't it be lovely to have the Blackmores in The Hermitage?" + +"Has Miss King really said they could come?" + +"Yes, Jess told me this morning after chapel. At least, she's going to +try them for three months." + +"They're going to Germany this summer. I wonder what they'll learn to +do over there!" + +"You can depend upon it they'll learn something! You'll have enough to +do to keep them straight, Priscilla." + +"Oh, dear," said Priscilla. "Why did you ever choose me monitor? I'll +probably get into more scrapes than any one else, especially with the +Blackmores around. I'll try to be like Mary, but I know I can't." + +"Oh, won't we miss Mary and Anne?" + +"Anne's going abroad, too, with her mother; and then she's going to +college in the fall with Mary." + +"College seems so far away, and so big some way. I'm glad we're going +to be at St. Helen's." + +A bell sounded across the campus. + +"It's time for the Senior song," said Priscilla. "We must go in a +minute. I'm going to take a piece of pine for my Memory Book to +remember the last meeting." + +They all followed her example. Then, standing on the big rock with +their arms around one another's shoulders, they repeated earnestly +their Vigilante principles: + +"We stand for fair play and true friendship." + +"And for taking care of our roots," added Virginia, as a postscript. + +Then they scrambled down from the rock, and ran through the wood path +to the campus, where the lower classes were gathering for the annual +Senior song, which was held the last day of Commencement. From the +woods north of the campus came the twenty Seniors in white dresses. +They marched two by two between long lines of crimson ribbon, which +they held. As they drew near the campus where the other classes +awaited them, they sang their Senior song. + + "We're the St. Helen's Seniors, + The crimson and the white, + We stand for fun and friendship, + For loyalty and right, + We'll ever praise St. Helen's, + Her wisdom and her fame, + The only school in all this land + Our loyalty can claim." + +Cheers from Juniors, Sophomores, and Freshmen greeted them. They +marched to all the buildings, before each one singing farewell songs, +written by Senior poets; and then back again to the gathering-place of +the admiring lower classes, who, as they approached, rose, and with +greater volume, but no greater feeling, saluted them with a song, also +written expressly for the occasion. + + "Farewell to the Seniors, + We'll surely miss you sore + When we come back again next fall, + And find you here no more. + We'll try to follow in your steps, + Of loyalty and right, + And never, never will forget + The crimson and the white." + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +HOME ONCE MORE + + +"Oh, father, it looks just the same! There are our mountains that +Colonel Standish and I said good-by to. Oh, daddy, I've missed the +mountains so! And there are the foot-hills! Aren't they green? And see +the flowers on them! Oh, there's a shooting star! I saw it in the +hollow as we passed. And aren't the grain fields lovely with the wind +sweeping over them? Oh, father, won't the girls just love it? And +won't it be perfectly lovely to have them? I never saw any one so +happy as Carver Standish when he said you had asked him. The Colonel +was smiling all over, too. It will be a regular house-party, won't it? +And isn't it wonderful that Aunt Nan's coming with all of them? Oh, +father, weren't we happy in Vermont, and isn't it just the loveliest +thing in all the world that we have grandmother and Aunt Nan for our +very own? I know mother would be happy, don't you?" + +"I'm sure she would be very happy, dear. It's what we used to hope for +years ago. And I'm the happiest man in all Wyoming to have my little +daughter back, and I'm more glad than ever that I sent her away to +school." + +"Oh, I'm so glad that I can't help thinking about it. Just think if +I'd never gone, I'd never have known Priscilla--isn't she dear, +father--or Dorothy, or Mary and Anne, or those dear, funny Blackmore +twins, or Vivian--Vivian seems silly, father, but she isn't really, +she's fine underneath, you'll see--or Miss King, or darling Miss +Wallace--oh, daddy, wasn't she too dear for anything when she said +good-by? She kissed me twice. It's selfish to notice, but I couldn't +help it. She's one of my very dearest friends. Didn't you like her +especially?" + +"Very much, dear. See, we're coming nearer. We've crossed the creek +bridge. Better put on your hat." + +Fifteen minutes later they had left the dingy little station and were +driving along the country road between fields of waving grain, the +proud Dick being holder of the reins. Virginia plied him with eager +questions. + +"Oh, Dick, how is the colt?" + +"Fine, Miss Virginia. We put him on the range last month." + +[Illustration: "The road lay at the very base of the green +foot-hills."] + +"And how's Pedro?" + +"He's fine, too." + +"Have the little collies grown much?" + +Dick laughed. "They're not little any more, Miss Virginia." + +"And how are Alec and Joe and Hannah and Mr. Weeks and William?" + +"They're first-rate, and all anxious to see you." + +Virginia clung closer to her father's hand. "It seems strange, doesn't +it, father," she whispered, her voice breaking, "and--and sad not to +have Jim drive us home?" + +For miles they drove across the broad prairies, past grain fields and +through barren, unirrigated stretches. Then at last they turned a bend +in the road, and there before them lay the nearer foot-hills, with the +higher ranges above, and far above all the mountains--still +snow-covered. + +"They look really friendly this morning with the sun on them," said +Virginia, "and they ought to when I love them so, and am coming back +to them." + +They turned again. This time the road lay at the very base of the +green foot-hills, upon which cattle and horses were feeding. On the +side of one of the hills rose a great spruce, and on the ground near +it, Virginia's quick eyes caught a glow of color. + +"Is that--?" she whispered to her father. + +"Yes," he said softly. "That's where Jim lies. We fenced in the range +for a good distance all around the tree so the cattle couldn't go +there; and William tended some plants all winter so that he could put +them there early in the spring. They're all in blossom now, you see." + +Virginia could not speak. She watched the great spruce and the color +beneath it, until they rounded the hill and both were hidden from +sight. Then she put her head against her father's shoulder, while he, +understanding, held her close. Jim's absence was the only shadow upon +her home-coming. Nothing would seem the same without him; and now that +he was gone, the girls would never understand why it was that she had +loved him so. If they could only have seen him, then they would have +known! + +"You can see home now, little girl," said her father. + +She raised her head eagerly. Yes, there it was--the green wheat fields, +the avenue of tall cottonwoods whose leaves were fluttering in the +wind, the long white ranch-house, from the window of which some one +was waving a red handkerchief. + +"Hannah!" cried Virginia, as she waved her own handkerchief in answer. + +A few minutes more and they were driving beneath the cottonwoods. +Around the corner of the house bounded the collie dogs, the pups +indistinguishable from their mother, to give them welcome; in the +doorway stood Hannah, her face bright with joy; and by Virginia's +flower-bed, in which spikes of blue larkspur, reaching to her window, +were brave with bloom, stood William--a new William, with the sadness +and the failures quite gone from his face. + +"Oh, William," cried Virginia, jumping from the carriage, and running +up to him; "Oh, William, it's next best to having Jim to have you--like +this!" + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Elk Creek Valley lay bathed in June sunshine. It had +never seemed so beautiful--at least to a certain boy and girl, who +rested their horses on the brow of the Mine, and looked off across a +creek bordered by cottonwoods and merry, laughing quaking-asps, across +a blue-green sea of waving grain, to the distant, snow-furrowed +mountain peaks. Some magpies flew chattering over the prairie and +among the quaking-asps; a meadow lark sang from a near-by tree-stump; +and two cotton-tail rabbits chased each other across the open space +between the creek and the foot-hills, and played hide-and-seek behind +the sage-brush. + +"Isn't it the loveliest place in all the world, Don?" the girl almost +whispered. "I know I'll not be any happier when I get to Heaven. And +some way the mountains are friendlier than ever. Perhaps because I +love them better now I'm home again." + +"It is lovely," the boy answered. "The finest country anywhere! I'm +mighty glad you're home again, Virginia; but the thing I'm most glad +about is, that you aren't a young lady after all!" + + THE END + + + + + SIX STAR RANCH + + Another success by the author of the wonderful GLAD Books + + "Pollyanna: The GLAD Book" + "Pollyanna Grows Up: The Second GLAD Book" + +With frontispiece in full color from a painting by R. Farrington +Elwell and six spirited drawings by Frank J. Murch. Bound uniform with +the POLLYANNA books in silk cloth, with a corresponding color jacket, +net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The year we published POLLYANNA, THE GLAD BOOK, we published another +book by the same author, but as it is contrary to our policy to issue +two books by one writer in a year, we published the second book under +the pseudonym "Eleanor Stuart." + +As we are not going to publish a new book of Mrs. Porter's this year, +we have decided to announce the publication of SIX STAR RANCH under +the name of its real author. The success of her previous books is +practically unparalleled in the history of American publishing, +POLLYANNA: THE GLAD BOOK, having already sold 300,000 copies--an +average of more than 100,000 copies for three consecutive years--and +POLLYANNA GROWS UP: THE SECOND GLAD BOOK, having sold nearly 150,000 +copies in nine months. + +SIX STAR RANCH is a charming story, in the author's best vein, of a +dear little Texas girl, who plays "the glad game" made famous by +POLLYANNA, and plays it with a charm which will put her on the same +pinnacle, side by side with POLLYANNA. + + + + + SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP + + A Sequel to "Sylvia's Experiment, The Cheerful Book" + + By Margaret R. Piper + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, decorative +jacket, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +In THE CHEERFUL BOOK Sylvia Arden proved herself a messenger of joy +and cheerfulness to thousands of readers. In this new story she plays +the same role on Arden Hill during her summer vacation and is the same +wholesome, generous, cheerful young lady who made such a success of +the Christmas Party. She befriends sick neighbors, helps "run" a +tea-room, brings together two lovers who have had differences, serves +as the convenient bridesmaid here and the good Samaritan there, and +generally acquits herself in a manner which made of her such a popular +heroine in the former story. There is, of course, a Prince Charming in +the background. + +"The SYLVIA books should be read by all the exponents of POLLYANNA of +THE GLAD BOOKS," says Mr. H. V. Meyer of the American Baptist +Publication Society. + + + + + THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY + + By Mary Ellen Chase + +12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +At the beginning of the story, Virginia Hunter, a bright, breezy, +frank-hearted "girl of the Golden West," comes out of the Big Horn +country of Wyoming to the old Bay State. Then "things begin," when +Virginia,--who feels the joyous, exhilarating call of the Big Horn +wilderness and the outdoor life,--attempts to become acclimated and +adopt good old New England "ways." + +Few stories reveal a more attractive heroine, and the joyous spirit of +youth and its happy adventures give the story an unusual charm. + +"The book has natural characters, fresh incidents, and a general +atmosphere of sincerity and wholesome understanding of girl nature. +Virginia may well become as popular as 'Miss Billy' or irresistible +Anne."--_New York Sun_. + + + + + THE VIOLIN LADY + + A Sequel to "The Fiddling Girl" and "The Proving of Virginia" + + By Daisy Rhodes Campbell + +Frontispiece in full color from a painting by F. W. Read, and six +black and white illustrations by John Goss, decorative jacket, net +$1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +This new story continues the adventures of the once little Fiddling +Girl and tells of her triumphs and hardships abroad, of her friends, +her love affairs, and finally of Virginia's wedding bells and return +to America. The previous two books in this series have been pronounced +excellent and uplift stories, but "The Violin Lady" is far ahead of +both in interest and charm. + +The press has commented on the author's previous stories as follows: + + "A delightful story told in a charming manner. The Page + Company does a real service indeed in the publication of so + many of these excellent stories."--_Zion's Herald, Boston_. + + "A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of + sympathetic comprehension."--_Boston Herald_. + + + + + MAN PROPOSES + + Or, The Romance of John Alden Shaw + + By Elliot H. Robinson + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color and other +illustrations by William Van Dresser, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + +The story of John Alden Shaw is in many respects unique. Containing an +enigma of an unusual nature, an odd legal tangle and a deep moral +problem, the plot holds the reader's attention to the very end. Quite +as interesting as the major theme of the story are the minor +incidents, for the greater part of the action occurs in gay Newport +during "tennis week" and one somewhat unusual feature of the book is +the introduction of several real and widely known characters--chiefly +tennis stars of international reputation--and actual happenings, which +give the tale peculiar realism. As the author is recognized as one of +our leading writers on tennis, the scenes at the famous Casino during +one of the national championships are particularly well drawn. + +While primarily a problem love story, Man Proposes is essentially a +book "with a difference." The heroine is a charming Southern girl, +decidedly American in her ideas, while John is himself a very real +sort of young man, and though possessed of sterling qualities which +bring him victoriously through his great test, is no paragon of +virtues. + +"Man proposes, but God disposes!"--Thomas a Kempis. + +"Prithee, why don't you speak for yourself, John?"--_Longfellow_. + +As the story unfolds the reader will appreciate the significance of +the above lines. + + + + + ANNE'S WEDDING + + A Blossom Shop Romance + + A Sequel to "The Blossom Shop" and "Anne of the Blossom Shop" + + By Isla May Mullins + +12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a +fainting by Gene Pressler, net $1.25; carriage paid $1.40 + + This new book continues the story of a delightful Southern family of +unique combinations, which have been introduced to thousands of +interested readers through the two preceding volumes, _The Blossom +Shop_ and _Anne of the Blossom Shop_. The new volume promises to be by +far the most popular of the three--which is saying a good deal--for +these stories, sweet and clean, with their picturesque Southern +setting, have charmed both old and young. In the new volume Anne, May +and Gene, three girls of varying types from lovely Mrs. Carter's +garden of girls, touch life in new and vital ways which develop +sterling character and set promising and full-blown romance to +stirring. + + "There is so much of sunshine in its pages that it sheds its +cheerfulness upon the reader, making life seem brighter and convincing +us that this world is a pleasant place to live in and full of +delightful, kind-hearted people."--_Boston Times_. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY*** + + +******* This file should be named 42287.txt or 42287.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/2/8/42287 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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