Vera awoke long before daylight, and lay thinking.
"That's just the way I do things," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"I plan the fun, and always have a good time, that is 'most' always, but it's sure to wind up in a scrape. I plan how to get into mischief. Why don't I ever plan how to get out?"
Elf stirred uneasily, and Vera gave her shoulder a vigorous shake.
"Wake up!" she commanded. "Wake up, and help me plan what we'd better say when we have to face Mrs. Marvin."
"Oh, I'm sleepy," drawled Elf. "We're smart enough to say something when she stares at us over her spectacles. We'll say we—"
A wee snore finished the sentence, and Vera turned over with a lurch that shook the bed.
She thought it very hard that she must lie awake and worry, while Elf could sleep; in short, she wanted some one to worry with her.
"It's like the way I climb trees when we're away in the summer," she muttered.
"It's fine climbing up, but I'm always afraid to climb down. If Bob is near, I can always make him get me down, but Bob isn't here to get me out of this mess, and Elf won't even try to keep awake to help me think."
She concluded that it was very unfeelingfor Elf to be so sleepy. Her cheeks were flushed, and her head ached.
"O dear!" she whispered, softly, "Dorothy Dainty and Nancy Ferris are full of fun, but they never get into a regular fix such as I'm in now. I don't see how they manage to have such good times without ever getting mixed up in something that's hard to explain. And Betty and Valerie will get off Scot free, for 'The Fender' couldn't see them under the bed, and of course we'll not tell that they were there."
She did not know that when Betty and Valerie had reached their own room they found that in their haste to arrive at the "feast" they had left the light burning in their room!
Oh, indeed Miss Fenler had seen that, and she had opened the door. She had found no one there. She had seen that four had beenenjoying the feast, because at each of the four sides of the spread were fragments of partly eaten cream-cakes, or bits of fruitcakes. Her sharp eyes had seen enough to assure her that two other girls were in hiding somewhere in the room, doubtless the two whose light had been left burning. She thought it clever to let them think that they had escaped notice. Their surprise would be greater when she sent them to Mrs. Marvin the next morning. Daylight found Vera tossing and turning, while Elf was dreaming. It was not that Vera could not bear reproof. She could listen for a half-hour to a description of her faults, and look like a cheerful flaxen-haired sprite all the while. That which now worried her was the thought that Mrs. Marvin might send her home.
It was the fifth time during the monththat she had been reprimanded, and even gentle Mrs. Marvinmightreach the limit of her patience.
Her father, she knew, would speak reprovingly, and then laugh at her. Her mother, always weak-willed, would say: "Vera, dear, I wonder if you were really naughty, or if it was that they didn'tquiteunderstand you."
Oh, there was nothing to fear about being sent home, but the fact that thus she would lose a deal of fun that she could so enjoy with a lot of lively girls of her own age.
She resolved to appear as off-hand as usual, unless Mrs. Marvin should say that she must not remain at Glenmore, when she would throw pride to the winds, and plead, yes, even beg to continue as a pupil of the school. She turned and looked at Elf, still soundly sleeping.
"O dear! I'm the only girl in school who has anything to fret over," she whispered.
It happened, however, that at the far end of the building, another girl was quite as worried as Vera, but it was a very different matter that had caused her to wake, as Vera had, before daybreak.
She had entered Glenmore a few weeks after school had opened, and was rather a quiet girl, as yet acquainted with but few of the pupils.
Some one circulated the story that she was being educated by an uncle who was a very rich man. Patricia Levine had added that as he lived in "N'York," and as her mother also lived there, she, of course, knew him, and she had told Patricia that old Mr. Mayo was more than rich, that he was many, many times a millionaire.
"Ida Mayo is to be an heiress, and haveall that money. Just think of that!" Patricia had said, and immediately began to be very friendly with her.
Betty Chase boldly asked Patricia why it followed that because Mrs. Levine and old Mr. Mayo lived in New York they must, of course, be acquainted, to which Patricia snapped.
"I didn't say theymustbe acquainted. I said 'theyare'!"
Ida Mayo seemed not to notice that Patricia sought to be friendly, nor did she make any effort to become acquainted with any of the other pupils.
She seemed content to stand apart and watch the others in their games. It was Dorothy Dainty who seemed to hold her attention, and once Betty Chase asked boldly: "I wonder why you watch Dorothy so much."
"I don't know," Ida had said, then added, "I guess it's because she's worth looking at?"
Secretly she envied Dorothy's lovely color, and wished that her own cheeks were as fresh and fair. That evening in her little room, she looked in disgust at her reflection in the mirror. A pale face returned her gaze, and she made a grimace.
"It's bad enough to be pale without having a few of last summer's freckles left to make it worse," she cried.
There were lessons to be prepared for the morrow, but the reflection in the mirror had so disturbed her that she cast lessons aside and commenced reading a story in a new magazine. The heroine was described as having a wonderful complexion, as fair, as pink and white, as perfect in coloring as a sea-shell.
"Of course!" said Ida, "and that's the sort I wish I had."
Her eyes strayed from the story of the beautiful heroine to the advertising column.
"Raise mushrooms," read one advertisement, next: "Try our patent collar-button," then: "Write poems for us."
"How stupid!" she said. "Who'd want to raise mushrooms, I'd like to know? Who wants their old collar-buttons? And for mercy's sake, how many people who read those advertising columns can write poetry?"
She was about to toss the magazine upon the couch, when two words in large print caught her attention.
"Banish freckles—"
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Banish freckles and have a perfect complexion," she read. "Send fifty cents to us,or obtain our tonic at any drug-store. Directions inside package."
It must have been the best of good luck that had prompted her to neglect her lessons, and spend the evening hours with the magazine, she thought.
She was far too impatient to wait to receive the tonic by mail.
She had never been to the local drug-store, so the clerks would not know her, but if any of the Glenmore girls were there, she would buy some candy, and wait until another day to obtain the tonic.
She drew a long breath when she saw, upon entering, that she was the only customer.
The clerk thought it odd that a little girl should be buying a complexion-beautifier, but concluded that she, doubtless, was doing the errand for some older person.
Night came, and at the hour when Vera and Elf with Betty and Valerie were tasting their goodies, and listening to every sound that might be approaching footsteps, Ida Mayo, not a whit less excited, was breathlessly reading the directions for applying the tonic.
"Spread the tonic over the face, rubbing it thoroughly into the skin. Let it remain all night. You will be astonished at the result."
A dozen times during the night she had been awakened with the scalding, burning of her face. The directions had said that the skin would probably burn, but the result in the morning would fully repay the user, by the extreme loveliness of the radiant complexion!
Ida bore the burning bravely, but when the first faint light appeared she sat up inbed, pressing her hands to her smarting cheeks.
"If the freckles are gone, and my skin is fair, I won't say a word about this burning," she said. "But how," she continued, "can my face look even half-way decent, when it is smarting so furiously?"
At last, she could bear it no longer, and springing out of bed, she ran to the dresser, and gasped as she looked at her reflection. Even in the dim light of the dawn of a cloudy day, she saw that her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, were all very red.
Were they spotty as well?
"O dear! If it was only light enough for me to really see!" she whispered.
She looked at the tiny clock. At that early hour no one was stirring at Glenmore.
No one would see her if she went down to the door, and it would be lighter there. Agable shaded the window, and made her room less light.
Thrusting her tangled locks up under the elastic of her muslin cap, and throwing on a loose sack, she snatched the hand-mirror from her dresser, and softly yet swiftly went out into the hall and down the stairs.
She paused in the lower hall, there thinking that she heard some one coming, she rushed out on the piazza, down the steps, and across the lawn to an open space where nothing could obscure the light. Already it was growing lighter, and she lifted the hand-mirror. A look of horror swept over her little face.
"Oh, what a fright!" she cried, as she stood staring at the reflection.
Her face was scarlet, and if the freckles had disappeared, it was because they had taken the skin with them when they went!
For a moment she stood as if rooted to the spot, then realizing that some restless pupil might be up and chance to see her from the window, she turned and ran at top speed toward the house. The big door stood open as she had left it, and she raced across the hall and up the stairway, entering her room just as footsteps echoed along the hall.
She closed the door and sat down.
"WhydidI see that horrid old advertisement?" she exclaimed. Her smarting, burning cheeks were enough to bear, but worse than that was the thought that she would be compelled to appear in the class-room.
How the girls would stare at her! What would they say among themselves?
"Oh, what a fright!" she cried.
"Oh, what a fright!" she cried.—Page 73.
Vera believed herself to be the only girl at Glenmore who had even the slightest reason for worrying. Ida Mayo possessed the same idea.
Mrs. Marvin listened to all that Miss Fenler had to say about the feast, the two who had planned it, and the other two who beyond a doubt had been invited guests.
"AndIshould send them home, and at the same time mail a tart letter to their parents telling them that their room was better than their company."
Mrs. Marvin looked up at the thin, harsh face of her assistant.
"Mercy is sometimes as valuable in a case like this, as extreme severity," she said.
"They have broken a well-known rule here, and must be dealt with accordingly. They must be made clearly to understand that a repetition would not be overlooked."
"I am only an assistant," Miss Fenlersaid, "but I have my opinions, and I can't help thinking that you are too gentle with them."
"They have been mischievous, surely, but had their mischief been such as would harm, or annoy their classmates, I should have been more severe.
"You may send them to me. I will see them before the school opens for the morning session."
"There is another pupil that I must speak of, and that is the Mayo girl. It has been her habit to keep apart from the other girls. She seems to prefer to spend much of her leisure time not only indoors, but in her room.
"Lina Danford, the little girl whose room is next hers told me that Ida Mayo had been crying ever since daybreak. Lina thought that she must be ill, and she knocked at thedoor, but while for a moment the crying ceased, there was no answer, even when the knock was several times repeated."
"Have you tried to rouse her?" Mrs. Marvin said, her fine face showing genuine alarm.
"I knocked three times, but received no reply, and the door is locked."
"I will go to her," Mrs. Marvin said. "You may open school for me. Say nothing to the other girls. I will talk with them at the noon recess."
Mrs. Marvin hurried up the stairway, and along the upper hall to the corner room. She paused before tapping. If Ida Mayo had been crying, she was not crying now.
She knocked and waited. Knocked again, and again she waited.
"Ida, you must open your door for me. This is Mrs. Marvin."
The morning session had opened, and fresh young voices could be plainly heard. They were singing Ida's favorite, an old song, "All hail, pleasant morning."
Mrs. Marvin heard a faint sob.
"Ida, I am your friend. Let me in, and tell me what troubles you." No response.
"Open the door quickly, or I shall call Marcus to force it open."
Ida opened the door with a jerk.
"There!" she cried, angrily. "I don't see why I could not stay alone in my room until I looked fit to be seen!"
Mrs. Marvin thought the raw, scarlet face denoted some desperate illness, but chancing to look toward the dresser, she caught sight of the bottle, uncorked, and with its showy label bearing the legend:
"Tonic. Twelve-Hour Beautifier."
Mrs. Marvin sat down upon a low seat, and drew Ida down beside her, and patiently she listened to the story of the longing for beauty, the reading of the advertisement.
"I s'pose I put on too much," Ida concluded. "They said, 'Just a bit on the tip of the fingers rubbed into the skin each night for two weeks would work wonders.
"They said used generously you'd be surprised at the result! I guess I was.
"I thought if a little would do so much, a lot of it would do more, so I put it on thick, and went to bed.
"O dear! It has been a comfort to tell you, but I can't face those girls while I look like this!"
"I shall not ask you to," Mrs. Marvin said. "I will bring you some cooling ointment to heal your face, and I'll send old Judy up with your meals.
"I will tell her to say to any pupils who may question her, 'Miss Mayo feels so miserable that she'll not come down to her meals for a few days.' Judy is absolutely trustworthy."
Judy proved herself quick-witted, for when an inquisitive pupil tried to peep into the room as she entered with the tray, Judy turned sharply, remarking:
"Ah don' s'pose yo wants ter ketch anythin' what's 'tagious, does ya?"
The pupil backed away from the door, when at a distance she said: "You don't seem to be much afraid."
"Ah isn't 'fraid, 'cause I's had dis same ting."
She had indeed suffered in the same way. True it was not freckles that annoyed her. It was a longing to rid herself of her black skin that had tempted her to purchase a bottle of a so-called beautifier, warranted to produce a new skin.
That was some years before, but Judy remembered it.
Dorothy was never inclined toward mischief, and now, when her mother was away traveling for change of scene, and much-needed rest, she felt very eager to send each month, a fine report of her progress. Dorothy was full of life, and loved a good time, if Nancy, her dearest friend might enjoy it with her.
When the news was circulated that the great sleigh at the livery stable had been chartered by Mrs. Marvin, and that sleigh-rides would be in order as long as the snow lasted, none was more eager for the pleasure than Dorothy.
To be sure, she had always enjoyed plenty of sleigh-rides when at home at the Stone House, but here was a novelty! The big sleigh at Glenmore would hold twenty girls, while the beautiful Russian sleigh at the Stone House held four, and the pony sleigh two. Mrs. Marvin, in making out the list for each party, was careful to place those already acquainted together. Thus, the list that was headed with Dorothy's name included Nancy Ferris, of course, then Vera, Elf, Patricia, Arabella, Betty, Valerie, and twelve others, who were at least slightly acquainted with those already named.
They were about evenly divided in another way. Ten were exceedingly lively, while the other half of the list were pleasant girls of quieter type.
Mrs. Marvin well knew that twenty lively girls would be likely to be a bit too gay forthe steady-going inhabitants of the town of Glenmore, while the school must keep up its reputation for being cheerful, but surely not noisy nor flighty!
The day for the first sleigh-ride dawned clear and cold, and Marcus informed Judy that it was cold enough "ter freeze de bronze statoo down in de square."
They were to start at three, and promptly at that hour Marcus drew up at the door.
Eager to start, the girls were all waiting in the hall, when Arabella drawled:
"Every one wait while I go and get my shawls."
She darted up the stairs, Patricia calling after her: "Your shawls, goosie! Why you're wearing two coats and a sweater now."
"What did Arabella say?" asked Betty Chase.
"I thought she said she wanted the shawl to put over herears!"
"She did say that," declared Patricia, "and won't she look fine; besides, how could she get them on when twenty of us are packed into that sleigh?"
"Oh, I'll help her with them," cried Betty Chase, with a laugh.
"So will I," chimed in Valerie.
"Here she comes now. Well, as I live, shehasbrought two shawls," said Betty.
"One for each ear," said Valerie.
Laughing and chattering they ran down the path, and soon were comfortably seated, very close to be sure, but very warm.
Arabella said that the two shawls were to wear later if it became colder, whereat, Betty begged her to sit upon them.
"You take up room enough for three with a big shawl under each arm," said Betty."Stand up and I'll fold them so you can sit on them."
Arabella meekly did as she was told. If any other girl had done the same thing, she would have obstinately rebelled, but Betty had a way that was compelling, and Arabella, after she was seated, wondered why she had been so meek.
Patricia Levine had brought a big box of fudge, and she now passed it around. Arabella said she knew it would make her sick, but she took two pieces instead of one, lest the box might not come around again.
The route took them over a long roadway that had been cut through a forest, and on either side the great trees towered above them, their branches heaped with snow. The underbrush was beautified with what looked like patches of swan's-down, and a tiny, ice-bound brook wound its way inamong the giant trees, disappearing behind a clump of evergreens.
It had been possible to see all these things because the road had been so rough that Marcus had been obliged to drive rather slowly.
Now, as they emerged from the wood-road, he touched the whip to the flank of one of his horses, and with one accord they sprang forward, giving the chattering occupants of the sleigh a decided "bounce," and stopping Elf Carleton in the middle of the story that she was telling.
"O dear! Where was I when that jolt came?" she asked.
"I don't know what you were telling," said Vera, "but it's my turn now, and I'm going to tell how awfully you acted this morning.
"Girls, Mrs. Marvin was perfectly lovely.She just talked and talked about how good Ioughtto be, but I didn't mind that, so long as she didn't say she was going to send me home. She never said a single word about that, but I didn't know she was going to be such a perfect dear. I woke before daylight, and much comfort Elf was to me! I tell you truly, girls, I poked her, I called to her, I shook her, but couldn't get her enough awake to say a word.
"Well, we're about even, for one morning last week when I kept telling her my tooth was aching, she paid no attention until I gave her an outrageous poke, and shouted into her ear, 'My tooth aches!'
"She didn't open her eyes, but what she said was a great comfort."
"What did she say?" questioned Betty.
"She said it might stop aching if I kept my mouth closed," said Vera, "and it tookme five minutes to realize that her advice was more for her benefit than mine. She wanted another nap, and closing my mouth to shield my aching tooth would also prevent my talking. Trust Elf for making sure—Oh, look, girls!"
Every head turned.
A big red pung was coming toward them at top speed. It was crowded with more boys than could be seated, and those who stood carried long poles. From the top of each pole a broad, gayly colored streamer waved. As the pung passed a big boy in the center shouted: "Three cheers for the Glenmore girls!" and they were given with a will.
"How do they know that we are Glenmore girls?" said Elf.
"Three cheers for the 'What-you-call 'em' boys!" screamed Betty, and even Arabella added a faint "Hurrah!" to the general clamor.
Two of the boys produced a pair of cymbals, but while they were clashing Betty brought forth a huge gong and nearly stunned those near her with the noise that she made as with all her might she smote it.
"Hooray!" shouted a small boy.
"Hooraw!" howled Valerie Dare, and no one could have decided which laughed the harder, the pung-load of boys, or the lively girls in the Glenmore sleigh.
"Yo'-all behave like tomboys," commented Marcus. "Lor', but Mis' Marvin would 'a' been some s'prised ef she'd been here ter hear ye carry on."
"Well, if Miss Fenler had been here she'd have had forty fits," cried Vera Vane, "but, Marcus, what they don't know won't worry them, and you needn't tell them."
"And Marcus, you can forget all about the racket before you get home," said Elf.
"Shore, Miss, I's got a powerful short mem'ry. Gid 'ap!"
"Dorothy Dainty cheered as loud as any of us," said Arabella Correyville.
"Well, why shouldn't she?" Patricia asked.
"Oh, she's always so—oh, I don't know,—correct, I guess is what I meant to say," responded Arabella.
"I like fun as well as any one does," said Dorothy who had overheard the remark.
"Oh, but Dorothy, you aren't even the least bit rude," declared Valerie.
"It's not rude to cheer," Dorothy said with a laugh. "I think we were very polite to return their salute."
"Nancy Ferris cheered, too," said a girl who had been very quiet during the hubbub.
Nancy laughed.
"I cheered because Dorothy did," she said, "but, Betty, how did you get that gong in here without any one noticing it?"
"It was under this long coat," said Betty, "and I'll tell you all how I happened to bring it.
"Monday, when I was down in the village, I met a boy that I know, and he told me that over at the boys' private school in the next town they'd heard about our sleigh-rides, and he told me that one of the boys, Bob Chandler, had bought a pair of old cymbals at an antique shop. They were planning their first sleigh-ride for the same day as ours, and they thought we'd have no noise-maker with us. I meant to get even with them, so I brought the big gong that hung in my room, and I guess we made as much noise as they did. I've a number ofcurios that my uncle brought home from abroad. Why didn't I think to bring along that funny little horn? You could have tooted on that, Valerie."
"Oh, I'm satisfied. We had noise enough," said Hilda Fenton.
At that moment there was a commotion on the rear seat.
Some one was twisting around so persistently that many were made quite uncomfortable.
Dorothy turned to see what it was all about. She laughed softly, and touched Nancy's arm.
"It's Arabella," whispered Dorothy.
"Yes, and she's trying to put both shawls on at once," said Nancy.
"Oh, quick! See what Patricia is doing."
Completely out of patience with Arabella's wriggling, Patricia was taking a vigorous hand.
In a manner anything but gentle she was pulling the heavy shawls up around Arabella's head and shoulders.
Betty Chase said that she was "yanking" them, and the word, if not elegant, was truthfully descriptive.
"Don'tknock my hat off!" whimpered Arabella.
"I don't care what I do if only I get those old shawls onto you so you'll sit still!" declared Patricia.
When Arabella settled herself in her place she took a third more room than before, and looked like a little old woman rolled up in manyblankets.
Arabella sat firm and immovable, staring through her spectacles. She did not turn to the right or the left, and one would saythat she did not know that the girls were laughing at her.
"Don't you wish you had just one more shawl?" said Patricia.
"Not if I had to have you put it on," drawled Arabella. "You shoved my hat on one side of my head, and it's felt queer ever since."
"How do you know that the hat has felt queer?" Valerie asked, smothering a laugh.
"I guess you'd feel queer if Patricia Levine had once taken hold of you," was the quick response, and Valerie ceased teasing.
"Dorothy knows a jolly sleighing song," said Nancy.
"Sing it! Sing it!"
"Oh, please sing it, Dorothy," clamored eager voices.
"Sing it with me, Nancy," Dorothy said. "Your alto makes it fine."
Their voices blended sweetly, and the melody floated out on the crisp air, so that a tall, dark man left a wood road, and stood listening as the sleigh sped past.
"Over the ice and snow we fly,Oh, but our steeds have wings!And their hoofs keep timeWith the glad bells chime,For sleigh bells are merry things,Never a thought or care have we,Lessons are laid aside,And we laugh and sing,Adding mirth and dinTo the joy of a winter's ride."
"Oh, don't stop!" cried an eager voice. "Isn't there another verse?"
"There are two other verses," said Dorothy "but—I've forgotten them."
"Then sing the one you do know. It's worth hearing again!"
Again she sang it, as gayly as before, but for some reason, Nancy's voice trembled, and Dorothy turned to glance at her.
She saw that Nancy's cheeks were white, and her eyes wide as if with fear. A moment before her cheeks had been rosy red where the sharp wind had kissed them.
"What is it, Nancy?" Dorothy whispered.
Nancy shook her head, but the hand that held Dorothy's tightened with a nervous grip.
When the girls were once more chattering together, Nancy, leaning toward Dorothy, whispered softly: "That dark man that stood near the woods watching us as we passed,—did you see him?"
"Why, yes," whispered Dorothy, "but—" then she understood Nancy's fear. "Why, Nancy dear, your old Uncle Steve, who stole you from us once, is not living. Don't you remember that, and besides, that man didn't look the least bit like him."
"That man looked just like Bonfanti!"
"Oh,—oo," burst softly from Dorothy's lips, then she tried to comfort Nancy. "But why should he be wandering through the woods here? You've always said that he was a busy man, and once you heard him say that he had never been out of New York City."
"I know I did," Nancy said, "but I s'pose hecouldgo somewhere else, and oh, Dorothy that man looked just like him!"
Nancy strove to be as gay as before. She told herself that the man certainly looked just like the old ballet-master, Bonfanti, but that he might have been a very different person. She did not wish the other girls to know that she had been uneasy or frightened, and so busy had they been in watching people whom they passed, laughing and talking, that Nancy's fright had passed unnoticed by all save one, and that one was Patricia Levine, Patricia, who seemed to see everything. She delighted in seeing something not intended for her eyes, and then how she would run to tell some one all about it!
Patricia had noticed Nancy's cheeks when they suddenly went white, she had seen the look of fear in her eyes, and she was wild with curiosity to know what it meant.
When they had started out Nancy had thought that the ride could not last too long, but the sight of the tall, dark man at the edge of the forest had changed all that, and when Marcus drove in at the gateway of Glenmore, and drew up at the steps, Nancy was the first to spring out. Without stopping in the hall to talk over the ride with the others who had enjoyed it, she bounded up the stairs, and soon was in her room.
Vera stopped Dorothy to ask if Nancy was ill.
"No, oh, no!" Dorothy answered, as she followed Nancy up the stairway.
Vera's question, and Dorothy's hasty reply reached Patricia's ears.
"I'd like to know what it's all about," she whispered, "and I mean to find out, no matter how long it takes me."
It was strange how eagerly interested Patricia always was in anything that did not concern her. She did not know that a newsmonger is never respected, nor did she know that no girl whose nature was refined would care to know other people's business. Nothing so delighted Patricia, as a bit of news that she could, by hook or crook obtain, and the added joy of running off torepeatit, especially if she knew it should not be repeated, was greater than she could have described.
Dorothy, when she reached their room, found Nancy sitting upon a low stool, her hands loosely clasped, her eyes downcast as if studying the pattern of the rug.
Dorothy closed the door, and then, tossingher wraps upon the couch, sat down, Turkish fashion, on the rug beside her.
"Now, Nancy," she said, "you're not to let that man you saw this afternoon make you so uneasy. It couldn't have been Professor Bonfanti who taught you to dance, and was so harsh with you. Why should he be out here, walking through the woods at Glenmore? And even if really it had been Bonfanti, why would you be so frightened? It was your old uncle who stole you from us, and made you dance at the theaters to earn money for him. Bonfanti just taught you because your old Uncle Steve hired him to."
"But Dorothy, you don't know how often he said, while he was training me: 'Oh, if I had you in my hands, I could make you earn twice as much as Ferris does!'
"When he said that he would look aseager as if he reallysawthe heaps of money that he thought he could make me earn for him.
"I don't know which would be the worse to work for, Professor Bonfanti or my old Uncle Steve, but this Idoknow: I hope no one will ever take me away from you, Dorothy!"
"And no one shall!" cried Dorothy, throwing her arms around Nancy, and holding her fast.
"I wouldn't have been so frightened if it was just what I saw to-day, but don't you know that just before we left the Stone House, I had a dream of being stolen. I'd not thought of it for weeks, but—well, that mandidlook like the ballet-master."
Patricia Levine had enjoyed the sleigh-ride. She had liked the clear, bracing air;she had liked being included in the list made out by Mrs. Marvin for the first ride of the season, but she had been annoyed by Arabella.
She stood drumming on the window-pane, and wondering how to begin the lecture that she intended to give Arabella, that is, if Arabella wouldeverget her wraps off, and sit down. She turned from the window.
"Well, I never saw such a slowpoke!" she cried.
Arabella blinked. Patricia thought she might as well begin, if she wished to say all that was in her mind before dinner.
"I certainly was provoked with you, Arabella, this afternoon. You looked just umbrageous with all those coats and shawls on," said Patricia.
"I looked what?" Arabella asked with a dull stare.
"Isaidum-bra-geous!" cried Patricia.
"I don't know what that word means," drawled Arabella.
"Neither do I," said Patricia, "but I know that's the way you looked."
"I can't unbutton this top button of my coat," remarked Arabella.
Patricia jerked the button from the buttonhole, and continued:
"How do you s'pose I like to have you act so queer, and then have the girls call you my 'chum'?"
Arabella instead of replying to the question remarked:
"And the fringe on this shawl has caught on a hook on my dress so I can't get it off."
Patricia's eyes were blazing. She was so angry that she hardly knew what she was saying.
"The idea! You had on two coats and asweater, and as if that wasn't enough for any one girl to wear you went after two shawls. When you got all those duds on you looked as big as anelegant!"
"Awhat!" gasped Arabella.
"I'm too tired to say it over again," said Patricia, who now knew that she had made a funny error.
"But," persisted Arabella, "you said I looked as—"
It was no use to talk to the walls, and Patricia had rushed from the room, banging the door behind her.
There were weeks at Glenmore when everything went smoothly. Then there would come a week when it certainly seemed as if every one were doing her best to cause disturbance.
Usually the fault might easily be tracedto the pupils, but there were times when Miss Fenler seemed as contrary as the most perverse pupil. On those days no one could please her.
Dorothy had little difficulty, but Vera, Elf, Betty, and Valerie were forever vexing her, and Patricia was never able to win her full approval. As for Arabella Correyville, Miss Fenler did not understand her, and Betty Chase said that "The Fender" fixed her sharp eyes upon Arabella, and appeared to be studying her as if she were a very small, but very peculiar bug that she was unable to classify.
There was yet another pupil who puzzled her, and, for that matter, puzzled the other pupils.
She was an old-fashioned little girl, who was letter-perfect in all her studies, but never brilliant, more quiet than any othergirl at Glenmore, and so silent that one marveled that a little girl could be so still. Always neatly, but very plainly dressed, she looked like a little Puritan, and acted like one, as well.
And what a name the child possessed! Patience Little, and she lived up to it.
"Do you think she'd jump if a fire-cracker went off behind her?" questioned Valerie, one day.
"No, indeed, she would not," said Elf, who stood near. "I don't believe she would so much as turn around to look at it. She's spunkless."
But they were mistaken.
Among themselves they spoke of her as "Little Patience."
Once Betty Chase told her that she knew a girl whose name was "Patience," who was always called "Patty."
"My family does not like nicknames," was the reply in a low voice, as she turned away.
The day after the sleigh-ride, Lina Danford, one of the youngest pupils, came rushing down the stairway in great excitement.
"My amber necklace has been stolen! Girls! Do you hear? My amber beads are gone! Some one has been in my room and stolen them! Somebody ought to catch the burglar!"
Dorothy, standing near, put an arm around her, and tried to comfort her.
"Don't say it is gone, Lina, dear! It may be just mislaid. If you like, Nancy and I will go up with you, and help you hunt," but Lina was not easily to be comforted.
She insisted that the beads had been stolen, and that, therefore, it was idle to search.
Patience Little, for the first time, showeda bit of interest. She was crossing the hall when Lina raced down the stairs, and she actually paused to listen to what the little girl had to say. She said nothing, and after a moment, she went up-stairs.
She forgot to close her door, and going over to her dresser, opened its upper drawer. From a velvet case she drew forth a smaller velvet case, which, when she touched a clasp, sprang open, displaying a handsome string of amber beads. She held them up so that the light might play through them.
"I never wear them," she said softly, "but I've liked looking at them. Aunt Millicent gave them to me, and maybe I'd like to wear them sometime, but," she continued, "I'll not be selfish and keep them forsome time. I'll give them to Lina, in place of those that she has lost."
Hurrying along the upper hall, Lina wassurprised to see that the next door that she would pass, stood open. She was about to pass it, when on glancing toward it, she saw Patience standing before the glass, turning this way and that so as to get a better light on the amber necklace that she wore.
With a little cry, Lina sprang into the room. Patience turned, and was about to speak, but before she could say a word, Lina shouted:
"That's my necklace! Iknewsomebody had taken it, butInever dreamed it was a Glenmore girl who did it. I thought it was a burglar. Give it to me this minute!"
"This necklace is mine!" returned the accused girl excitedly.
Her eyes flashed, she quivered with anger. No one would have believed that the girl who always appeared calm, and rarely spoke, unless spoken to, could show such fire.One could not guess how the scene would have ended, but just at that moment a slight sound made both girls turn.
There in the doorway stood Mrs. Marvin.
"I am very sorry to see anything so rude, so unkind, and so unjust," she said.
"You were hopelessly rude to rush into another girl's room and accuse her, even if she were at fault.
"You were unkind, because you spoke as harshly as possible, and you were unjust, because here in my hand I have your own amber beads that one of the maids has just found.
"You must apologize at once, ask Patience if she will forgive you, and in your own room, try to think of some kind way to make amends."
Lina was crying now.