CHAPTER VIIITHE MADAME
The omnibus lurched through a wide gateway where two huge stone pillars almost hid a tiny lodge, the latter aglow with lamplight. Pinewood had once been a famous private estate, and a Vice-president of the United States had lived in it.
But for many years it had been a girls’ school, and Madame Schakael had come from Germany to be its principal. As a little girl she had attended the school herself, Nancy knew, and she had afterward—after being an instructor in college—married a German professor and gone to his country.
He was now dead and Madame had come back to her native land and to her much beloved preparatory school.
The door of the lodge opened and Nancy saw a very neat looking woman with a dark dress and gingham apron standing in the doorway. She waved a hand and her cheerful voice reached the ears of the wrangling girls in the ’bus.
“Welcome, young ladies! Are you all right? Are there any new ones there?”
“We’re all sophs but one greeny,” called one of the girls. “Glad to see you, Jessie Pease.”
“Thank you, Miss. The new one is to go to the Madame at once. That is the order. Let her go before supper.”
The driver snapped his whip and the ’bus rumbled on. The drive was winding and the trees soon hid the lighted lodge.
But other bright lamps began to appear ahead. By stooping, as she clung to one of the hand-straps, Nancy was able to descry the outlines of several big buildings—or a huge building with several wings; she did not know which it was, and did not feel like inquiring.
Indeed, after entering the ’bus she had not spoken to the girls at all. Some of them had thrown a question at her now and then, but it had been either an impudent or an unkind one, and she had grimly held her tongue.
At last the ’bus stopped at the foot of a wide flight of steps. A great awning of glass and iron sheltered the porch and steps. Under this burned a bright light, and within the building Nancy could see a great hall with two staircases rising out of it.
This was indeed a very different place fromHigbee School, with its cottages and one small recitation hall.
“Come on! You get out first, Greeny,” commanded one girl. “You were the last sardine shoved into this awful box. Move; can’t you?”
Nancy rescued her bag from under their feet and staggered out of the door of the ’bus. The other girls piled after her.
There were very few on the porch to receive them; boisterousness would not have been allowed here. But there were lights in a long room at one side—Nancy could see them shining through the windows—and a rattle of china and glass, and loud talking and laughter, pointed the way to the dining room.
“But you’re on starvation diet, Greeny,” said one of the girls, with a malicious laugh. “No dinner for you till you’ve seen the Madame.”
At that moment considerable disturbance was raised over the fact that the ’bus was driving off with one of the girls still in it.
“Let Belle Macdonald out! I told you she was asleep in there,” cried one of the sophs, running after the driver through the puddles.
He pulled up and they managed to rouse Miss Macdonald, who was a fat girl with innumerable bags and parcels. She staggered out of the ’bus,dropping sundry of her impedimenta, sleepy and yawning.
“I don’t care, girls. I was up all last night at a party at home, and I haven’t slept much for a week,” she said, heavily. “Come on, Judy. You bring part of my things; will you?”
“Come on in to dinner,” said the girl who helped the sleepy one.
“Believeme! I’d be asleep in a minute. I’m going to tumble into bed. Anybody know if Judy and I have got the same old hole-in-the-wall to sleep in?”
“Go up and grab it, anyhow,” advised her chum. “I’ll bring the rest of these things when I come. And don’t fall down in one of the corridors and go fast asleep, Belle, for I’ll never be able to drag you off to bed.”
They trooped away, leaving Nancy and her bag practically alone on the porch. Nancy had never realized that girls could be so hateful.
But she forgot that these were all sophomores, and the second-year girls and freshmen at Pinewood Hall were as far apart as the poles.
The new girl went timidly into the hall. The chime of distant laughter still came from the room where the new arrivals were eating their evening meal, evidently under little discipline on this first night.
There seemed to be no real “greeny” but herself about. She saw several girls pass and repass at the far end of the hall, and others mounted the staircases; but at first nobody spoke to Nancy.
She was not naturally a timid girl; but all this was strange to her. She faced a row of closed doors upon the side of the corridor opposite the dining place. One of these might be the door of the principal’s office; but which one Nancy could not guess.
For five minutes she waited. Then suddenly she was aware of a tall and very dark girl coming down one of the great staircases.
This newcomer must have been eighteen or nineteen—a “big girl” indeed in Nancy’s eyes. And such a pretty girl! The “greeny” had never in her life seen so pretty a girl before.
She was dark, her eyes were black, her hair was banded about her head, and her lips were so red that they might have been painted. But her color was natural—cheeks as well as lips. A flashing, cheerful countenance she turned on Nancy, and she said, before she reached the foot of the stairs:
“You’re a new girl, I am sure. Hasn’t anybody spoken to you? Where do you want to go?”
The mere tone of this girl’s voice seemed to change the atmosphere that had so depressedNancy. That lump was in her throat again, but she could smile at the serene beauty.
“I was told to see Madame Schakael—before having dinner. But I don’t know where to find her,” confessed Nancy.
“Oh, that’s easy,” cried the other girl. “I’ll show you. What is your name, please?”
Nancy told her.
“I am Corinne Pevay,” said the other, pronouncing her name in the French manner. “I am a senior. I hope you will be happy here, Nancy Nelson.”
“Thank you!” gasped the younger girl, having hard work now to keep from crying. The kind word moved her more than the neglect of the other girls.
Corinne led the way to one of the doors and opened it composedly. Through a richly furnished anteroom she preceded the new girl and knocked lightly upon another doer.
“Enter!” responded a pleasant voice.
Corinne turned the knob, looked in, said “Good-evening!” brightly, and then stood aside for Nancy to pass her.
“Another newcomer, Madame—Nancy Nelson.”
“Come in, too, Corinne,” said the pleasant voice.
Nancy passed through and saw the owner of the voice. She was a little lady—a veritable doll-like person. She sat on a high chair at a desk-table, with her tiny feet upon a hassock, for they could not reach the floor.
“Come hither, Nancy Nelson. You are the girl of whom my good friend, Miss Prentice, of the Higbee School, wrote me? I am glad to see you, child,” declared Madame Schakael.
Her hair was a silvery gray, but there was a lot of it, and her complexion was as rosy as Nancy’s own. She must have passed the half-century mark some time before, but the principal of Pinewood Hall betrayed few marks of the years in her face.
She had shrewd gray eyes, however, and rather heavy brows. Nancy thought at once that no girl would undertake to take advantage of Madame Schakael, despite her diminutive size. Those eyes could see right through shams, and her lips were firm.
She took Nancy’s hand and drew the girl around to her side. There she studied the newcomer’s face earnestly, and in silence.
“We have here one of the sensitive ones, Corinne,” she said, at last, speaking to the senior instead of to Nancy. “But she is ‘true blue.’ She will make a fine Pinewood girl—yes, yes!
“We will try to make her happy here—though she does not look entirely happy now,” and Madame laughed in a quick, low way that pleased the new girl vastly.
“Ah! there she smiles. Nancy Nelson, you look much prettier when you smile—cultivate smiling, therefore. That must be your first lesson here at Pinewood Hall.
“Happiness is born of making other people happy. See if you can’t do someone a good turn every day. You’ll get along splendidly that way, Nancy.
“Now, as for the lessons—you stood well in your classes at Higbee. You will find it no harder to stand well here, I am sure. I shall expect to hear good reports of you. Classes begin day after to-morrow.
“Meanwhile, make yourself at home about the Hall; learn your way about; get acquainted—especially with the members of your own class. I shall put Nancy Nelson on your side of the Hall, Corinne—the West Side.”
“Then I’ll take her right up and show her the room. What is it to be, Madame?” asked Corinne, cheerfully.
The principal ran through several pages of a ledger before replying.
“Number 30, West.”
“She’s chummed with Miss Rathmore, then,” said the older girl, quickly.
“Yes. I must break up that clique. Put her with Miss Rathmore. And do see that the child has some dinner; she must be hungry,” said the Madame, laughing again.
Then she once more shook Nancy’s hand.
“Go with Corinne, dear. If you want to know anything, ask her. Read the rules of the Hall, which you will find framed in your room. If you obey them cheerfully, you can’t go far wrong. Good-night, Nancy Nelson! and I hope you will sleep well your first night at Pinewood Hall.”
CHAPTER IXCORA RATHMORE
Nancy followed the senior out of the principal’s presence, feeling much encouraged. Madame Schakael was so different from Miss Prentice, the principal of the school at which Nancy had lived so many years.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest woman you ever met?” demanded Corinne, enthusiastically.
“She is lovely,” responded Nancy.
“But she is firm. Don’t try to take any advantage of her,” laughed the senior. “You will find that she is only doll-like in appearance. She is a very scholarly woman, and she believes strongly in discipline. But she gets effects without dealing out much punishment. You’ll learn.”
“I hope I won’t need to learn her stern side,” said Nancy, smiling.
“Well, you seem a sensible kid,” said the older girl, patting her on the shoulder. “Come on, now, and have your dinner. Then I’ll take you up into our side of the hall.”
“I hope I am not taking up your time too much, Miss—Miss Pevay,” said Nancy.
“Not at all,” laughed the senior. “What is the good of being boss of a ‘side’ if one has no responsibilities? It’s an honor to be captain of the West Side of Pinewood Hall.”
“Oh! it must be,” agreed Nancy, who thought this beautiful girl a very great person indeed.
They came to the long room in which the tables were set. There were only a few girls in the room. Nancy at once saw the Montgomery girl and her friends at one table, but was glad that Miss Pevay did not approach them.
Indeed, Corinne took her to one of the senior tables where two or three of the older pupils of Pinewood were grouped.
“Here’s a little ‘greeny’ who has come among us hungry,” laughed the senior, urging Nancy into a chair and beckoning to one of the waitresses.
The other big girls were kind to the newcomer; but they had interests of their own and what they chatted about was all “Greek” to Nancy Nelson. So she gave her strict attention to the food.
The dinner was nicely served and was much better than the food usually put on the table at Higbee School. By this time Nancywashungry, and she did full justice to the repast. Meanwhile an occasional brisk fire of conversation betweenCorinne and her friends penetrated to Nancy’s rather confused understanding.
“Are all the nice boys back at Clinton Academy this half, do you know, Corinne?”
“Don’t ask me! I can’t keep run ofallDr. Dudley’s boys,” laughed Miss Pevay.
“Well, I hope Bob Endress has come. He’s certainly one nice boy,” cried another of the seniors.
“Why! he’s only a child!” drawled another young lady. “If he is back this fall it is only to begin his junior year.”
“I don’t care,” said Corinne. “He reallyisa nice boy. I agree with Mary.”
“Say! the Montgomery girl told me Bob came near being drowned this summer. What do you know about that?”
“Oh, Carrie!”
“She had all the details, so I guess it’s so. He is some sort of a distant relative of hers——”
“I’d want the relationship to be mighty distant if I were Bob,” laughed the girl named Mary.
“Quite so,” said the teller of the tale. “However, he went automobiling with the Montgomerys through to Chicago. And on the road he fell into some pond, or river, and he can’t swim——”
“But he can skate—beautifully,” sighed Corinne.“I hope there’ll be good skating this winter on Clinton River.”
“Me, too! And me! Oh, I adore skating!” were the chorused exclamations from the group.
Corinne now noted that Nancy had finished.
“Come! I’ve got to stow little ‘greeny’ away for the night,” she said, pinching Nancy’s plump cheek. “Come on, kid! It’ll soon be bedtime for first-readers.”
Nancy did not mind this playful reference to her juvenile state, it was said so pleasantly. She followed Corinne docilely up the broad flight into the west wing of the great building. Once it had been a private residence; but it was big enough to be called a castle.
The rooms on the lower floor had not been much changed when Pinewood Hall became a preparatory school for girls. But above the first story the old partitions had been ripped out and the floors cut up on each side of the main stairways into a single broad, T-shaped corridor and many reasonably spacious bedrooms and studies.
One walked out of the corridor into the studies; the bedrooms were back of these dens, with broad windows, overlooking the beautiful grounds.
On the first dormitory floor were the instructors’ rooms, for the most part. One lady teacher only slept on the second floor; above, the seniorsand juniors governed their own dormitories. By the time the girls came to their last two years at Pinewood Hall, Madame Schakael believed that they should be governed by honor solely.
The freshies were paired on the first dormitory floor—two girls in each apartment. Number 30, Nancy found, was upon one of the “arms” of the corridor, and a good way from any of the teachers’ studies, and from the main stairway.
When Corinne and Nancy came to Number 30 there was nobody in the study or bedroom. The older girl snapped on the electric lights by pushing a button in the wall beside the entrance door.
“Rathmore is your chum,” said Corinne, lightly. “I hope you two girls will get on well together. I like to have all the chums live together without friction—for it is easier for me, and easier for the teachers.
“Now, Cora Rathmore has been here half a term already. Some of your class came in last spring so as to take up certain studies to fit them for the beginning of the fall work. I presume, from what Madame Schakael says, that your school was a pretty good one, and that you were brought along farther in your primary and grammar studies than some of the others.
“However, Rathmore knows her way about. She—she’s not a bad sort; but she and some ofher friends last spring made the former West Side captain considerable trouble.
“So those girls who were bothersome,” pursued Corinne, “can’t room together again this half. There! that is your side of the room. That’s your bed, and your cupboard and locker, and your dressing table. Keep everything neat, Nancy. That’s the first commandment at Pinewood Hall. And the other commandments you can read on that framed list,” and she pointed to a brief schedule of rules and duties hanging on the wall of the study.
Then the senior put her arm around the new girl and gave her a resounding kiss upon her plump cheek.
“You’re a nice little thing, I believe. Good-night!” she said, and ran out of the room.
But she left Nancy Nelson feeling almost as though she had deliberately deceived the senior. Would Corinne Pevay have been so friendly—and kissed her—if she had been aware that Nancy was just “Miss Nobody from Nowhere?”
After a little, however, the new girl opened her handbag and took out her toilet articles and her, nightgown, robe, and slippers. She arranged the brushes, and other things on the dressing table, and hung her robe and gown in their proper place.
It was now nearly nine o’clock. She understoodthat, during term time, at least, the freshman class were to be in bed at nine; and even the seniors must have their lights out at ten o’clock.
She read the list of rules through carefully. They did not seem hard, or arbitrary. Miss Prentice had been strict, indeed. To Nancy these “commandments” seemed easily kept.
There were two small desks in the room. Nancy examined the one upon her own side of the study and found only stationery, blank books, pencils, and pen and ink. There were no books.
But she ventured to look in the other desk, which was not locked, and saw that here were several text-books, evidently to be studied by the freshmen this first year.
In each book was written the name of Cora Rathmore. It was an erect, angular handwriting, and somehow Nancy drew from it that she would not like the owner of the books.
And yet she wanted to like her. Nancy longed for a real chum. She wished that her suspicions might prove to be unfounded, and that her roommate might be a jolly, open-hearted girl who would like her, and——
“Well! perhaps you don’t know that that ismydesk?” snapped a voice suddenly, behind her.
Nancy dropped the book, startled. She wheeled to see confronting her, just within theroom, the black-eyed, thin-faced girl who had seemed on the train to be Grace Montgomery’s chief friend.
“Well! haven’t you got anything to say?” demanded the sharp-voiced girl.
“Why, I wondered what our books were going to be like——”
“Now you know. Keep out of my desk hereafter,” interposed the other girl. “And please to inform me what you’re doing in here, anyway?”
“Why, I—I have been chummed with you—if you are Cora Rathmore,” said Nancy.
“You?” shrieked the other. “No! it’s not so! I won’t have it! I was just going to get my books and go to Grace’s room——”
“Oh, I know nothing aboutthat,” said Nancy, hastily. “I only know that Miss Pevay brought me to this room and said I must chum with the girl who was here.”
“It’s not so! I don’t believe you!” cried Cora. “And that stuck-up thing,—that French-Canadian smartie!—just did it to be mean. I’m going to Madame——”
Nancy really hoped she would. She hoped with all her heart that it would prove a mistake that Cora Rathmore was chummed with her. She knew very well now that her suspicions had justificationin fact. This girl was a most unpleasant roommate.
At that moment the door banged open and another girl came flying in.
“Oh, Cora! have you found out? We can’t do it?”
“Found out what?” snapped Cora.
“We can’t pick our rooms as we did last spring. Grace has been sent clear over into the other corridor, and is paired with a greeny——Say, who’sthis?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” said Cora, sullenly sitting down. “It’s just too mean! I’ve got to stop here, I suppose.”
“And they’ve taken Belle from me and given me Annie Gibbons,” cried the visitor. “And Annie snores—horridly!”
“It’s a hateful place,” snarled Cora Rathmore.
“I wish my folks hadn’t sent me here,” groaned the other.
“I’d run away—for half a cent,” declared the Rathmore girl.
“Where would you run to?” demanded her friend.
“Anywhere. To the city. I don’t care. Pinewood Hall isn’t going to be any fun at all, if we can’t pair off as we choose.”
“Who’s your chum?” asked the visitor again,eyeing Nancy, who had returned to her own side of the room and had turned her back to them.
“Oh, I don’t know. Somenobody, of course!”
The words cut Nancy to the heart. The very phrase, uttered by chance, was the one she had feared most in coming to Pinewood Hall.
“Oh,” thought she, “if they say that of me already, whatwillthey say when they find that I really have no home and no folks?”
CHAPTER X“WHO IS SHE, ANYWAY?”
The curfew bell sent the younger girls to their rooms a few moments later; but Cora Rathmore went to bed without speaking to her roommate. And Nancy felt too unhappy herself to try to overcome the other girl’s reticence.
The girl from Higbee School had had so many adventures that day that she could not at once go to sleep. She lay awake a long time after Cora’s heavy and regular breathing assured her that her companion in Number 30 was in the land of dreams.
She heard the gong at ten which demanded silence and “lights out” of the girls on the upper dormitory floors. Then a list-slippered teacher went through the corridor. After that she went to sleep.
But her own dreams were not very restful. She was hiding something all night long from some creature that had a hundred eyes!
In the morning, when she awoke, she knew that what she had been trying to hide—what shemusthide, indeed—was the knowledge that she was “Miss Nobody” from all these eager, inquisitive, perhaps heartless girls.
Nancy had been in the habit of rising early, and she was up and dressed before rising bell at seven. When Cora rolled over sleepily and blinked about the sun-flooded room, she saw Nancy tying her hair-ribbon, being otherwise completely dressed, and she whined:
“Well! I sha’n’t likeyou, Miss. I can see that, plainly. You don’t know enough to lie abed and let a fellow sleep.”
“I am sureIdid not wake you,” replied Nancy, composedly. “It was the gong.”
“Bah!” grumbled Cora, crawling out of bed.
Nancy had read over the rules again and she knew that from rising bell until breakfast at half-past seven she was free to do as she chose. So, not caring to listen to her roommate’s ill-natured remarks, she slipped out and found her way downstairs and out of the building.
It was a clear, warm September morning. The leaves on the distant maples had only just begun to turn. The lawns before Pinewood Hall were beautiful. Behind and on both sides of the great main building was the grove of huge pine trees that gave the place its name.
Beautifully smooth, pebbled paths led throughthis grove in several directions. Nancy chanced upon one that led to the gymnasium and swimming pool. There were tennis and basketball courts, and other means of athletic enjoyment.
Down the easy slope, from the top of the knoll where the gym. stood, flowed the wide, quiet Clinton River, with a pennant snapping in the morning breeze on the staff a-top the school boathouse.
“Oh, this is the most beautiful place!” thought Nancy. “What a perfectly lovely time I should have here if only the girls liked me. I mustmakethem like me. That’s what I’ve got to do.”
She saw only two or three other girls about the grounds, and those at a distance. As she ran back to the main building, however, that structure began to hum with life. More than anything else did Pinewood Hall remind Nancy of a great beehive.
Many of the bedroom windows were wide open now; the more or less tousled heads of girls in all stages of dressing appeared, and disappeared again, at these windows. They called back and forth to each other; laughter rang happily from many of the dormitories; the waking life of the great school seemed, to the lonely girl, very charming indeed.
Why, among all these girls there must be some who would be friendly! This thought helpedNancy a great deal. She entered the building and joined the beginning of the line at the breakfast-room door, much encouraged.
“Look at these hungry young ones,” exclaimed Corinne Pevay, coming down the broad stair from the West Side, like a queen descending to give audience to her subjects.
“Morning, Corinne! Morning, Miss Pevay!” were the cries of greeting.
“‘Good morning, little myrtle-blossoms! Let me tell you mommer’s plan!’” sing-songed the older girl. “‘Do some good to all the folkses’—Hullo, Carrie!”
“‘Good-morn-ing-Car-rie!’” sang the crowd of girls at the dining-room door as the captain of the East Side of the Hall appeared—Carrie Littlefield.
There was a burst of laughter, and Corinne held up her hand admonishingly.
“Not so much racket, children!” she said. “There! the gate is opened, and you can all go in to pasture. Little lambkins!”
Nancy was carried on by the line to the open door. The pleasant-faced woman who had stood in the doorway of the lodge the evening before, was here, and she tapped Nancy on the shoulder.
“Go to the lower tables, my dear. You area new girl, and all your class will be down there. What is your name?”
“Nancy Nelson.”
“Yes, indeed. Your trunk and bag are here. Between eight and nine you may come to the trunk room in the basement and show me which of your possessions you wish carried to your room. Where is your room?”
“Number 30,” replied Nancy.
“East or West?”
“West, ma’am.”
“I am Jessie Pease,” said the good woman, smiling kindly on the orphan. “If you need anything, my dear, come to Jessie; she’s the big sister of all you girls,” and she patted Nancy on the head as the girl, her heart warmed suddenly, went to her place at the end of the room.
The girls of her class—the incoming class of new girls, or freshmen—took places at the table as they chose. There were no more than a score as yet. Some had already formed groups of acquaintanceship. Some few, like Nancy, were alone; but Nancy did not feel that she could force her company on any one of these other lonesome souls. She must wait for them to speak first to her.
The sophomores filled their tables nearby, chattering and laughing. They looked with muchamusement at the freshmen, but some of the teachers were in the room now and the second-year girls thought it best not to “rig” their juniors openly.
Nancy, however, saw several of the girls who had ridden in the ’bus with her from the station the night before. Last to arrive in the soph. group was the fat girl—Belle Macdonald. She was a pretty girl, but she was yawning still and her hair had been given only “a lick and a promise,” while her frock was not neat.
In the middle of breakfast Carrie Littlefield, the captain of the East Side, walked slowly along the soph. tables and stopped behind Belle. Some of the girls began to giggle; the fat one looked a little scared, and for the moment seemed to lose a very hearty appetite.
Carrie wrote something on a pad, tore off the paper, and thrust it into Belle’s hand. Then she went along the row gravely, plainly eyeing those girls who belonged to her own half of the school.
“Nasty thing!” Nancy heard somebody whispering shrilly. “I bet she gave Belle all morning in her room—and lessons don’t begin until to-morrow.”
This was Cora Rathmore. Nancy’s roommate had come in at the very last minute and taken a seat not far from her. Cora, having been amonth and a half at Pinewood in the spring, knew about the running of the school.
The two captains—“monitors” they might be called—made it one of their duties to see that the girls came to table in the morning in neat array. Later they took a trip through the rooms to see that beds were properly stripped, windows open for airing, nightclothes hung away, and everything neat and tidy.
Of course, the maids made beds, swept and dusted dormitories, and all that; but each girl was supposed to attend to her own personal belongings; slovenliness was frowned upon throughout the school.
Nancy learned much that first forenoon at Pinewood. She did not talk much with any of the girls—either of her own class or older. But she heard a good deal, and kept her eyes and ears open.
She remembered what the lodgekeeper’s wife had told her, and she found her way to Jessie Pease’s room in the basement. There was a crowd of girls there already. They were laughing, and joking, and teasing the good woman, who seemed, as she said, to be a “big sister” to them all. Nobody called her “Mrs. Pease;” she insisted upon their treating her as though she really were their older sister.
Yet there was a way with Jessie Pease that kept even the rudest girl within bounds. They did not seek to take advantage of her—at least, if any of them tried to do so, they did not succeed.
“Now, you know very well, Elsie Spear,” the good woman was saying, shaking her head, “that you cannot wear such things here at Pinewood. Your mother, I am sure, would not have allowed you to put a bun like that in your trunk had she known it!”
“Well, my hats won’t stay on without it,” complained Elsie. “And anyway, mother’s maid packed my trunk.”
“Your mother’s maid evidently does not know the rules of Pinewood Hall,” said Jessie Pease, severely. “If your hats do not stay on without all that fluff, I’ll find you a cap to wear,” and she laughed.
There were other contraband things, too. Each girl had to give up her keys and allow the woman to unpack her trunks. Such clothing and other possessions as were allowable, or necessary, were placed to one side for transportation to the owner’s dormitory.
Some girls had whole trays full of gay banners, pictures, photographs, and the other “litter” that delight the heart of a boarding-school miss when she can decorate her dressing-case and wall. Ofcourse, the freshies only had their home pictures and little silver or glass keepsakes and toilet sets.
“Now, my plump little pigeon,” said Jessie Pease to Nancy, as she laid out the school dresses which Miss Prentice had bought for her with the money Mr. Gordon had supplied, “you seem nicely fixed for wearing apparel—and such plain, serviceable things, too. Not many of my girls come here so very sensibly supplied.
“And now, where are the pretty things—in your bag?”
“My old clothes are in the bag, please,” replied Nancy, bashfully.
“Oh! but where are the pictures of the folks at home? And the little knicknacks they gave you when you came away?” said Jessie Pease, her fair face all one big smile.
“There—there aren’t any folks, please,” stammered Nancy.
“What, dear?” gasped the woman, sitting straighter on her knees and staring at her.
“I am an orphan, and I have no friends, ma’am,” stammered Nancy, in so low a voice that nobody else could hear.
“You poor girl!” cried the woman, her smile fading, but love and welcome still shining in her big, brown eyes.
She stretched forth her arms and—somehow—Nancyfound herself in the tight circle, with her head down in the curve of Jessie Pease’s motherly neck.
“How long ago did you lose them, dear?” asked the good woman.
“Oh, a very long, long time ago,” sobbed Nancy. “I was too little to remember—much.”
“And you’ve missed ’em ever since—you’ve just beenhonin’for a mother, I know,” said the woman, crooningly, and patting Nancy’s shoulder.
“There, there, child! It’ll all be strange to you here for a while; but when you can’t stand it any more—when it does seem as though you’dgotto be mothered—you come down to the lodge to Jessie Pease. Remember, now! You will surely come?”
“I will,” promised Nancy.
“Now wipe your eyes and laugh!” commanded Jessie Pease. “Why, Pinewood Hall is the finest place in the world for girls—especially for those that are like you. Here’s a great, big family of sisters and cousins ready waiting for you. Get acquainted!”
But that seemed easier said than done. Nancy was not by nature gloomy nor reticent; but it was unfortunate that she had been paired with Cora Rathmore.
From the very first day the black-eyed girl triedto make it as unpleasant as possible for Nancy. Cora had plenty of acquaintances. They were always running into the room. But Cora never introduced any to her roommate.
Cora was one of those girls who have many, many decorations for her room. Her dressing-case was stacked with photographs and all around and above it the wall was decorated with banners, and funny or pretty pictures, school pennants and the like.
On the other side of the room Nancy’s wall and bureau were bare of any adornment. Her toilet set had been selected by Miss Prentice and was more useful than decorative. Nothing Nancy wore was frivolous. The other girls therefore set her down as “odd.”
“Why, she hasn’t a single picture on her bureau,” said one girl who was visiting Cora. “Don’t you suppose she has any folks?”
“Maybe they’re so ugly they’re afraid of breaking the camera if they pose for a picture,” giggled another light-minded girl.
“Well,” drawled Belle Macdonald, who was one of Cora’s sophomore friends, “even an orphan usually has pictures of the folks she’s lost. And this Nelson girl hasn’t told anything about herself; has she?”
“She hasn’t toldme, that’s sure,” snappedCora. “She’s a nobody, I believe. I don’t believe she belongs in this school with decent girls.”
“Oh, Cora! what do you mean?” gasped one of her hearers.
“Well, Pinewood is supposed to be a school for well-connected girls. I knowmymother would never have let me come had she supposed I was to be paired with a little Miss Nobody.”
“We ought to have our choice,” sighed another of the girls.
“And Grace and I were going to havesuchfun this half,” declared Cora.
One of the others giggled. “That’s why you weren’t allowed to be with Montgomery,” she remarked. “I heard Corinne talking about it.”
“Oh, that Canuck! I hate her,” said Cora, speaking thus disrespectfully about the West Side captain.
“Well, if any of us was in her place, I reckon we’d be strict, too. It means something to be captain of a side at Pinewood Hall,” said Belle, who, having been at the school longer than the others, had imbibed some of that loyalty which is bound to impregnate the atmosphere of a boarding school.
“A fine chance Montgomery, or Cora, would have to be captain,” giggled another.
“Yes! and who is going to be leader of thefreshman class?” demanded Cora. “The big girls have got something to say about that, I suppose?”
“Some of the teachers will have,” laughed Belle. “You’ll find that out. Who are you rooting for, Cora?”
“Grace, of course! Why, her father’s a senator, and she’s got lots of money. She’s influential. She ought to be class president.”
“All right; but the election isn’t allowed until just before Christmas. It will be the most popular girl then, you’ll find. And she’ll have to be popular with the teachers as well as with you girls.”
This conversation in Number 30, West Side, occurred something like a fortnight after school had opened. The girls were all at work by that time—those whowouldwork, at least.
Because she was so much alone, perhaps, Nancy Nelson’s record was all the better. But she did not sulk in her room.
Indeed, Cora had so much company—girls who usually ignored Nancy altogether—that the orphan was glad to get out when they appeared. And her refuge was the gym. There she became acquainted with the more athletic girls of the school.
They found—even the sophs and juniors—that Nancy could play tennis and other games. Sheswam like a fish, too, and was eager to learn to row. The captain of the crew, the coach of the basketball team, and others of the older girls, began to pay some attention to Nancy.
But with her own class she had not become popular. Nancy really had little more than a speaking acquaintance with any other freshman.
Not being included in the group of girls who so often came to see Cora Rathmore in Number 30, Nancy was debarred from other groups, too. Nobody came to see her in the room, and she was invited nowhere—perhaps because the other girls thought she must be “in” with the clique to which Cora belonged.
At the head of this party of freshmen was the very proud girl named Grace Montgomery, whom Cora indefatigably aped. Girls who were proud of their parents’ money, or who catered to such girls because they were so much better off than their mates, for the most part made up this clique.
There was not more than a score of them; but they clung together and were an influence in the class, although altogether there were nearly a hundred freshmen.
As the days went by the lessons became harder and the teachers more strict. Nancy found that it was very hard to be put out of her own room in study time because of the chattering of othergirls, many of whom, it seemed, did not care how they stood in their classes.
“Really, I cannot hear myself think!” Nancy gasped one day when she had sat with her elbows on her desk, her hands clasped over her ears, trying to give all her attention to the text-book before her.
For half an hour there had been noise enough in Number 30 to drive a deaf and dumb person distracted.
“Well, if you don’t like it, you can get out!” snapped Cora, when Nancy complained. “You’re not wanted here, anyway.”
“But I have as much right here as you have—and a better right than your friends,” said Nancy, for once aroused.
“I don’t think a girl like you has any business in the school at all,” cried Cora, angrily. “Who knows anything about you? Goodness me! you’re a perfect Miss Nobody—I can’t find a living soul that knows anything about you. I don’t even know if your folks are respectable. I’ve written home to my folks about it—that’s whatIhave done,” pursued the angry girl. “I’m going to find out if we girls who come from nice families have got to mix up with mere nobodies!”