“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel
“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel
The pink pig scuttling here and there across the floor was too much for Isabelle. She plunged into bed again and sat there with horrified eyes on the pig. Suddenly, as he dashed in her direction, she squealed and the pig squealed and they both squealed—a regular duet.
Miss Woodruff in her red flannel nightdress was the first to arrive at the party.
“What!” she demanded, pausing in the doorway, “doesthismean?”
Piggy chose this moment for a mad dash for freedom. In his flight through the doorway he brushed the lady’s bare ankles. Miss Woodruff’s wild shrieks were added to Isabelle’s.
Of course everybody in the West Corridor was awake by that time. Brave Victoria Webster, now that Gladys was gone, was again rooming with Augusta and Lillian Thwaite. Pausing for nothing, Victoria rushed through the dark halls toward the portion of the house occupied by Doctor Rhodes. Her lusty cries of “Fire! Fire!” brought all the Rhodes family in bathrobes of assorted colors, to the West Corridor.
By the time they arrived, Lillian and Augusta had added their shrieks to Isabelle’s.
“Stop this noise,” commanded Doctor Rhodes, shaking Augusta. “What are you screaming for?”
“I don’t know,” chattered Augusta.
“What areyouscreaming for, Lillian?”
“Ow! Ow! I—I don’t know.”
“Miss Woodruff—”
“Why!” gasped Miss Woodruff, suddenly remembering her scarlet attire and bolting for her own room, “I don’t know.”
“Well, Isabelle, what areyouscreaming for? You seem to be the last.”
“I—I saw a pig!” shuddered Isabelle.
“Nonsense!” returned Doctor Rhodes. “Youcouldn’thave seen a pig. You’ve been having a nightmare—you ate too much roast pork for dinner.”
“No, no,” insisted Isabelle, “itwasa pig.”
“There’s no such animal as a night pig,” returned Doctor Rhodes, with dignity. “Now get back to your beds, all of you, and don’t let me hear another sound from any of you tonight, about pigs or anything else.”
Mabel, tired as she was, stayed awake for an hour wondering what had become of the poor little pig. Although she listened with all her ears, not even the faintest squeal could she hear. Finally she dropped asleep.
“Mabel,” said puzzled Isabelle, the next morning, “I reallythoughtI saw a pig last night. Didyousee one?”
“I thought Iheardone,” returned Mabel, who was busy in the closet, stuffing a milky bottle into her pocket. “But of course no pig could climb all those stairs.”
“That’s so, too,” said Isabelle. “Itmayhave been that pork—I forgot to eat my apple sauce.”
“I’m sure it was pork,” agreed Mabel, wickedly and truthfully.
At breakfast time Mabel found a note under her plate.
“Dear Mabel: Found at 7 A. M. one pig rooting under the diningroom table for crumbs. Charles is building a pen for him in theback yard and all is well—thought you’d like to know.Sallie.”
At recess time, Mabel led Isabelle to the new pig pen. Maude and little Jane Pool were looking over the edge.
“Jane and I thought somebody ought to give him a name sowedid,” said Maude, with a wicked glance at Isabelle. “Don’t you think ‘Clarence’ would be a sweet name—for a pig?”
Then, with a gleeful shout, the naughty pair sped away to eat pie under the porch. And Sallie appeared with a message for Mabel.
“Doctor Rhodes wishes to see Miss Bennett in his office,” announced Sallie.
“I’m told,” said Doctor Rhodes, when Mabel stood demurely before him, “that Highland Hall has mysteriously acquired a pig. It occurs to me that you may be able to shed some light on the subject.”
“Yes,” said Mabel, “you’ve guessed right. I brought that pig home. Somebody had to—he wassolonesome.”
“But didn’t I tell you—”
“You didn’t saypigs. You said any of Charles’s family.”
“Hum—so I did. And you kept that animal in your room?”
“I tried to.”
“Then Isabelle really saw a pig?”
“She wasn’t sure at breakfast time,” giggled Mabel.
“You haven’t anymorepets concealed on the premises, I suppose! An extra pig or two or a young hippopotamus or anything like that?”
“No,” giggled Mabel, “and I don’twantany more for a long time. A pig is a fearful responsibility.”
“You’ve been punished enough, I see. Well, don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t,” promised Mabel, cheered by a certain twitching line in Doctor Rhodes’s cheek. “I’ve had enough pets to last a long time—besides one roommate is just about all Isabelle can stand.”
It was raining that Thursday morning and nobody was pleased. The recitation rooms were dark and gloomy on rainy days and all plans for a pleasant afternoon outdoors were spoiled. Naturally the girls hated the idea of being confined to the veranda when prairie, grove and meadow were so much more inviting. The morning had seemed long and poky, lessons had proved uncommonly monotonous, there was nothing at all interesting for lunch and study hour had dragged; but at last, here was Sallie with the mail bag. Everybody but Henrietta brightened perceptibly. Henrietta looked as if she were trying—without very much success—to brace herself for a trying ordeal.
Mabel, however, looked cheerfully expectant. Nowadays there was always at least one letter a week for Mabel from Germany, and when it came Mabel always felt quite distinguished; she was theonlygirl who received letters from a foreign land. She felt especially elated whenever Miss Wilson, the very stiffest of the Seniors, begged for the stamps to send to her brother who was making a collection. On this particular day, there were letters for most of the Lakeville girls and for Mabel too; but all four of them were casting anxious glances in Henrietta’s direction. They had acquired the habit. Their hearts were wrung by her obvious suffering and by the courage with which she endured it. This long suspense was really getting to be hard onallof them.
“Miss Henrietta Bedford,” called Sallie.
Henrietta, pale and trembling, forced herself to step to the platform, received her letter, carried it to the window and nervously tore it open. Jean had followed her quietly and stood waiting to comfort her in case of need. After a moment or two, Henrietta pointed silently to the opening words and Jean read: “Still no news of your dear father.”
Presently Jean and Henrietta left the room and the sympathetic eyes of the other girls followed them to the doorway.
“That’s worse than losing a relative by sudden death,” said Eleanor Pratt, soberly.
“Yes,” agreed Elisabeth Wilson. “This suspense must be perfectly harrowing—in fact, I canseeit is. Poor kid! I’m so sorry for her I don’t know what to do.”
“There isn’t anything onecando,” said Beatrice Holmes. “I’ve watched her every day at mail time and it’s just pitiful to see how she hates to open her letters.”
The mail distributed, some of the girls went to their respective rooms to remove from their persons the ink stains, chalk dust and other visible signs of a busy session in school. Others flocked to the veranda to stroll back and forth like caged lions grumbling in captivity.
“This is a beastly rain,” said little Jane Pool. “The ground is just soaked.”
“‘It isn’t raining rain, today,’” quoted Grace Allen, “‘it’s raining—’”
“Water,” said unpoetical Mabel.
“Violets,” concluded Grace.
“Water,” insisted Mabel.
“Violets,” said Grace.
“Both wrong,” said Debbie Clark. “It’s roses. We’vehadviolets.”
“I don’t see any of those, either,” said Mabel, crossly. “It’s just plain water. I can’t even go to look at my pig.”
“You ought to sit beside him with an umbrella,” teased Debbie. “He may be getting drowned.”
“He’s all right,” assured always-comforting Sallie. “Charles moved him into the barn—he knew it was going to rain. Hello, Maude, why so pensive? What mischief are you cooking up now?”
“That’s just the trouble,” complained Maude. “Nothingwillcook. I’ve been trying hard to think of something awfully wicked to do to cheer poor Henrietta up. The trouble is, when I reallywantto be bad I can’t do it.Mybadness always breaks out of its own accord when I least expect it; just when I’m reallytryingto be good. When it’s really necessary for me to be wicked, as it is right now, I surprise everybody—and especially dear Miss Woodruff—by being too good to be true. A regular angel child!”
“Still,” offered Hazel, “you managed to start something yesterday. I thought I’ddiewhen I looked out the window and saw all you girls turning somersaults on the lawn.”
“What was that?” asked Isabelle. “I must have missed something.”
“You missed a lot,” assured Maude. “Charles left a large heap of stuff he had clipped from the hedges and the grass he had raked up after galloping around all the morning with his lawn mower, in a lovely big pile right in front of the office windows. Well, the minute I saw it yesterday afternoon, I forgot that I was a boarding school ‘Young lady’—I was back in my childhood—I was a girl again.”
“What did you do?” demanded Isabelle.
“You mean, howmanydid I do.”
“You didn’treallyturn somersaults!”
“Idid, and I loved it. And that was too much for Victoria. She did some, too—just lovely ones. So did Cora and Jane and Bettie—nearly all the West Corridor girls. All they needed was little Maude to start them.”
“You’d have thought they weren’t more than six years old,” said Hazel.
“WhatdidMiss Woodruff say?”
“Shewasgoing to stop them,” returned Hazel, “but Doctor Rhodes and Mrs. Henry and Miss Blossom came out on the porch and clapped their hands and Doctor Rhodes said he’d give a prize for the girl that could do the best handspring. He offered a quarter, and who do you think got it!”
“Victoria Webster, of course.”
“Dead wrong. It was Eleanor Pratt.”
“What! NotMiss Pratt!”
“Yes. Fancy a Senior doing a handspring! She rushed right down and did a perfectly lovely one and Doctor Rhodes presented her with the quarter. The other two would have tried it next; but just then Charles came with the wagon to pick the stuff up and he was none too pleased at finding it all over the place so we helped him load the wagon. Next time he cuts the grass he’s going to make us a perfectly grand pile. He said he’d bring us up some of that long stuff from the meadow and we can have a regular party. It beats gym all hollow.”
“I’m going in,” said Isabelle, “it’s too wet out here.”
“So am I,” said Hazel.
“And I have to dust the drawing room,” said Sallie. “All those pictures of former graduating classes; all those proud Seniors in their white frocks. It’s particularly harrowing just now because I haven’t a decent rag to wear myself.”
Presently the porch was deserted and the bored girls went to their own rooms.
One of Sallie’s many duties at Highland Hall was to answer the doorbell at such times as the two neat maids were busy in the kitchen. Sallie had just dusted the class of 1897 and was beginning on the frame of class 1898, when the doorbell rang. It had taken her almost an hour to get that far because she had found a new interest in the pictures. She was examining the frocks and wishing thatshemight have tucks like these or ruffles like those or sleeves like some other one.
Ten minutes later, Sallie, very demure in the white apron that Mrs. Rhodes compelled her to wear when she opened the big front door to chance visitors, rapped at the door of room number twenty. Marjory opened it.
“A gentleman in the library to see Miss Henrietta Bedford,” announced Sallie, sedately. But Sallie’s eyes were dancing and she was a little breathless as if she had been running—as indeed she had—all the long way from the front door.
“A gentleman!” exclaimed Henrietta. “I don’tknowany gentleman. Do you mean Doctor Rhodes?”
“I do not,” returned Sallie. “But don’t be frightened—there isn’t anything about this to frighten you.”
“Some one from Lakeville? Not Mr. Black?”
“No. You must come down and see for yourself. I was told to bring you.”
“I believe you and Maude have been up to some trick. You’re just fooling me. Therecouldn’tbe a gentleman in the library to see me.”
“But thereis,” declared Sallie. “You’ll just hate yourself if you don’t hurry. Do start. I want to see you moving before I deliver this Special Delivery letter to Isabelle—two cent stamps aren’t swift enough for Clarence.”
Henrietta laid her hairbrush down deliberately and started leisurely toward the door.
“Come on, Marjory,” said she, “I ought to have a chaperon if there really is a gentleman, but I’m pretty sure it’s Maude—she loves to dress up and play jokes on us. She might as well have two victims.”
“Do you suppose,” queried Marjory, in an awe-stricken whisper, when the pair had reached the top of the last long flight of stairs, “that it’s that silly Theolog that wrote you a note after he saw you at the concert? There reallyisa hat on the hat rack.”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” admitted Henrietta. “The silly goose makes eyes at me every Sunday. But surely he wouldn’t have the nerve tocallhere. If that’s who it is, I shall walk right back upstairs. Iknowit’ssomejoke. Sallie’s eyes were just dancing. Just at first I was frightened but I could see by Sallie’s face that it wasn’t anything dreadful.”
“You go ahead,” said Marjory. “If it really isyourvisitor—”
A tall man, who was very good looking indeed, stood beside the library table. A man of perhaps forty, with a fair skin, bronzed by much exposure to the sun, abundant light hair that grew in a pleasing way and fine blue eyes. He was gazing expectantly toward the door.
Henrietta, after one look at the visitor, was across the room with her arms about his neck.
“Daddy! Why,Dad!”
Marjory, wisely concluding that no chaperon was needed, slipped unheeded from the room and fled away through twisting hallways and long corridors to the West wing where she found that Sallie had already spread the news.
“Henrietta’s father,” breathed Bettie, “isn’t that great! And only two hours ago Henrietta was weeping on her bed because her grandmother’s letter was so discouraging.”
“Does he look like Henrietta?” asked Jean. “You know we’ve never seen him.”
“Not a bit,” said Marjory, “he’s fair—a regular blond. And oh, so good looking. She’s like the pictures of her dark mother, you know.”
“He looks just like an earl or a duke or something like that,” said Sallie. “When the Seniors see him they’re going to be glad that they were polite to Henrietta. He’s the best looking father that ever came to this school and I ought to know, because I’ve been making a study of fathers for a long, long time. Of course, mostanykind of a father looks mighty good tome. I don’t envy Henrietta her good clothes, her pretty looks or her pretty ways; but Iwouldlike to wake up suddenly and find myself down in that library shaking hands with afather.”
In the meantime, Henrietta, who had been almost speechless at first, was making up for lost time. There were traces of tears on her cheeks but her eyes were joyful.
“So you went right straight to Lakeville from San Francisco and as soon as Grandmother told you where I was you came right here?”
“And I didn’t bring you a single thing. My luggage is still in Shanghai, I suppose. I believe I picked up some odds and ends in Canton. I was there for a very short time and foolishly neglected to cable Henshaw. When they rescued me from that coral reef, absolutely the only thing I owned was half a pair of trousers. I had to borrow clothes from the captain of the ship before I could land in San Francisco and I had to telegraph to London for money with which to travel east. Your Grandmother tells me that Henshaw has sent out a relief expedition—perhaps he’ll rescue my luggage. It seems to me I bought a mandarin’s coat and some beads—”
“I wouldn’t have cared if you hadn’t bought me a single thing. It was just you I wanted, Daddy. Don’teverget lost again. It’s too hard on the family.”
“Do you know, it hadn’t occurred to me that you were grown up enough to worry; but, since you are, I suppose I’ll have to mend my ways. Ihavebeen careless a great deal of the time. I haven’t always written when Icould; and of course, sometimes, I couldn’t. Now, couldn’t we go outside, some place? It seems dark and stuffy in here to a man who has lived on a coral reef for months.”
“Why,” cried Henrietta, “I do believe it’s clearing up.”
Henrietta was right. The rain had ceased, the sun was making up for lost time and in more ways than one it was now a pleasant day. On the veranda the happy little girl introduced her father to such of her special friends as were there and sent little Jane Pool flying after all the others. The entire West Corridor rushed down and out, as Maude said afterwards. Mr. Bedford bowed and smiled in a charming way and murmured: “Delighted, I’m suah.” He was not a talkative man, for which the girls were sorry because his speech was so delightfully English that the thoroughly American children were greatly impressed. They loved to hear him say “Cawn’t” and “Just fawncy,” and “Chuesday”—for Tuesday. And they were overjoyed when he asked Henrietta if she hadn’t better put on her “goloshes” before she walked on the wet grass.
Henrietta took her father for a walk to the village. It is to be suspected that she led him straight to the best candy store in the village because she returned later with an enormous box of chocolates. The girls were even gladder to see that her cheeks were glowing with some of their former bright color. Her father was placed in the company seat at Doctor Rhodes’s own table at dinner time that night; Henrietta sat demurely beside him; but occasionally she turned her head long enough to make an impish face at the girls at her own table.
“She’d rather be here,” said Jean, sagely.
“I wish she were,” said Maude. “I love to hear her father talk.”
It was bedtime before the West Corridor girls had a chance to hear all about it. They had flocked into Henrietta’s room and most of them undressed in there while listening to what she had to say.
“I’m going to do something wonderful,” said Henrietta. “First, I’m to spend tomorrow in Chicago with Father, and then he’s going right to England. Grandmother is going to meet us in Chicago, and what do you think! You couldn’t guess in a thousand years. We are both going right over to England with him so we can have a good long visit on the way. We’re going to stay just long enough for Grandmother to count her relatives over there—Father says it won’t be more than three weeks altogether—and then we’re coming back. I’m going to bring something to every one of you. I may even get to Paris for just about a minute—Father says he has to go there to tell something to the French Government about something he dug up somewhere.”
“How lovely!” cried Jean.
“How splendid,” cried Bettie.
“How grand!” cried Marjory.
“How perfectly sweet,” cried Cora.
“How darling,” cried little Jane Pool.
“But, Henrietta,” demanded Mabel. “You haven’t told us where your father has been all this time. Why didn’t he write?”
“Why, so I haven’t,” said Henrietta, “And this is my last chance—I’m going early in the morning, with just a few duds in a suitcase. Well, here’s the story, all I could dig out of him. I’ll sit on the dresser so you can all hear. It’s really quite a tale.
“Well, first he went to Shanghai because he’d heard of a temple that was different from most temples; but it was way up the Yengtze river—in China, you know—so he rushed right up there to look for it. It was on the estate of an old Chinaman who didn’t want any Englishmen or other foreigners poking round his old temple even outside—and it was said to be certain death to goinside. But fatherdidmanage to get inside and was copying some of the inscriptions as well as he could—it was too dark to use his camera and he didn’t dare make a flashlight—when something hit him on the head. He doesn’t knowyetwhat it was.
“The next thing he knew, he was in kind of a dungeon, all stone and metal bars, under some building—that temple, perhaps, or possibly under a warehouse near the river. He says he doesn’t know why they didn’t kill him at once; but for some reason they didn’t. Just kept him there and gave him very little food once a day for weeks and weeks and weeks—he does not know exactly how long.
“Then, one night, when he had just about given up all hope ofevergetting out of that place, four big, ugly-looking Chinamen came and tied a bag over his head and bound his hands and feet and loaded him into a boat and poled it down a river for hours and hours. They chattered a lot in Chinese but Father couldn’t understand them—his interpreter wasn’t with him when he went into the temple, and he doesn’t knowwhatbecame ofhim. After a long, long time, Father heard sounds like men clambering aboard a vessel; but he thinks that the small boat he was in was towed for a long time behind some larger boat. He slept for part of the time, he says, and of course with that bag tied over his head he couldn’t see anything or even hear a great deal.
“The next thing he was really sure of was that his hands were free. By the time he got the bag off his head, there was an old Chinese junk—that’s a kind of a ship—way off in the distance, sailing away from him. He was alone in the boat but in one end of it he found a jar of water and some food. Also a long pole and a paddle. Of course he couldn’t reach bottom with the pole because he was out of the river by that time and quite far out at sea—in the Yellow Sea or possibly the Eastern Sea. You know how they run together along there; and he showed me what he thoughtmightbe the place, on the atlas in the library.
“Well, Father thought other boats might come along that way so he stayed right there for about six hours; but none did; so then he fastened the long pole up like a mast and ripped open that bag that had been over his head and used it for a sail. He found some bits of rope and string and some old fishing tackle stuffed into the bow of the boat and used them to tie his sail to the pole.
“He sailed wherever the wind took him and after awhile he was picked up by another Chinese junk. He thinks that the men aboard this one were smugglers or pirates or something. He tried to get them to take him to Shanghai or Hong Kong or some other Chinese port; but he was so ragged and dirty that probably they didn’t believe he’d be able to pay them what he promised—even if they understood him—and all he could get out of whattheysaid was something about ‘Philippines.’
“But they never got to the Philippine Islands, if that’s where they were bound for. There was a typhoon—a sudden, terrible storm—and they were wrecked. My father and one very strong young Chinese sailor were thrown by the waves inside a coral reef that stuck up like kind of a fence, in a big half-circle. It made sort of a front yard to a small coral island and the water was smoother inside so they managed to swim ashore. But they were quite battered up at first and just crawled ashore on their hands and knees and fell asleep on the first dry spot.
“Their island was only a little one, just about big enough for two persons to live on. Fortunately there was a small spring of fresh water but it ran very slowly so that it took a long time to catch enough for a satisfying drink; and the young Chinaman was smart about catching fish and snaring sea birds and finding turtles’ eggs. There were lots of shell fish, too; and a box of rice washed ashore about the time they did and they saved some of that, so of course they didn’t starve.
“But they had to stay there for months and months and months; until another ship got blown out of her course and was almost wrecked on that coral fence outside their little island. As soon as that storm calmed down, the ship sent a boat ashore to explore the island. There were English sailors aboard her but the ship was going to Calcutta. Father says she was a rotten old tub but he and the Chinaman were glad to be rescued byanything. Hewantedto go to England and he didn’t want to go to Calcutta; but after a day or two he had a good chance to be transferred to a much faster and safer ship bound for San Francisco so he took it. The Captain had to give him some clothes—he lost just about all he had left when he was swimming to the island. He sent a wireless to my grandmother from the American ship but for some reason she didn’t get it. And he didn’t telegraph her from San Francisco because he supposed shehadreceived the wireless.”
“Tell us all theawfulpart of it,” pleaded Mabel. “Cannibals and tigers and things like that.”
“That’s one trouble with Father’s adventures,” complained Henrietta. “He doesn’ttellthe ghastly details. He just gives the main facts. He must have been almost dead in that dungeon, he must have hated that nasty bag over his head, and he must have been almost drowned swimming ashore and almost scared to death in that typhoon; but he doesn’tsayso. He did mention a shark in the lagoon—the Chinaman killed that with his knife. Of course I’ll be able to dig more out of him when there’s more time; but he won’t tell me theworstthings; he never does.”
“Ithink,” said Jean, “you managed to get considerable.”
“Yes,” agreed Maude, “you certainly own an exciting father.”
“I’m so glad I stillownhim,” breathed Henrietta.
And then the girls slipped away to their own beds to dream of Chinese temples, junks, dark dungeons, yellow pirates, sunny reefs and sunburned fathers. And of course they were all glad to have their Henrietta again happy and free from care; for they had all suffered with her.
The girls began to miss Henrietta almost as soon as she was gone. For a small person, she left a tremendous vacancy. She was so lovely, so bright, so friendly with everybody and so very good to look at that it seemed, as Sallie put it, as if the sun had suddenly deserted the whole state of Illinois. Henrietta wrote to her friends, of course, but that wasn’t quite like having her actually on the premises.
One day, however, when Sallie was distributing the mail, the post girl experienced a joyful moment. She pulled a letter from the bag and read aloud the name on the envelope: “Miss Sallie Dickinson.”
“Why,” gasped Sallie, pink with surprise and delight. “That’s for me—from Henrietta.”
Henrietta had expected to return within three weeks. But did she? Not a bit of it. She and her delightful grandmother, Mrs. Slater, were having too good a time visiting their relatives in England to be willing to return at once to America. They were shopping in London.
“And oh, such shops as there are in London!” wrote Henrietta. “And oh, such funny English as I hear! My cousins took me to something they called a ‘Cinema’—and what do you think it was? Just a movie. When I come back I’ll talk somerealEnglish for you so you can see what it’s like.”
“I guess,” laughed Jean, “Henrietta is more American now than she is English.”
“I wish she’d come back,” said Bettie. “The days seem twice as long with her so far away.”
It was undeniably dull without Henrietta; but Maude managed on one occasion at least to cheer the other girls considerably. She had been unnaturally good for several weeks; but now the spirit of impishness that sometimes controlled her had been bottled up too long for safety and was just about ready to break loose.
A full length mirror stood at the end of the West Corridor, across one of the corners. It swung on pivots, from an upright frame. It was possible to unscrew those pivots and remove the framed mirror from this outer frame. Indeed, Sallie had once mentioned casually that this feat might easily be accomplished by two girls, whereupon curious Maude had examined the screws with much interest and had satisfied herself that Sallie’s statement was true.
At certain times of the day, Miss Woodruff, who was as regular as a clock in all her habits, strolled to that mirror to make certain that her skirts hung properly; for no one was more particular as to her appearance than was stout Miss Woodruff. She invariably wore gray, for school use. She possessed three serge gowns, made precisely alike, from the same piece of goods. She spoke of these garments as her “uniform.” When not in use, these gowns hung in her bedroom closet.
But one dreadful day, when excellent Miss Woodruff looked in the glass at the usual time, she started back in horror. There was her reflection, dark gray frock, unmistakable hair-do and all, yet what in the world was the matter with it? The face was different, the figure was shorter and fatter and its outline was curiously lumpy in places.
There were stifled giggles from the nearby doorways as the puzzled lady leaned forward to look closer—at Maude. For of course itwasMaude, attired in one of Miss Woodruff’s gray gowns, with pillows stuffed inside; and her hair, skilfully arranged by Cora, closely resembled Miss Woodruff’s. The naughty but ingenious girl standing just back of the vacant frame, was faithfully imitating every movement made by Miss Woodruff, every expression that flitted across her astonished face.
“Nous avons,” began Maude, stepping through the frame, with her hands crossed meekly on her dark gray breast, “les raisins blancs et noirs—”
But at this point, to the uproarious delight of the entire West Corridor, Miss Woodruff seized her reflection by the shoulders and shook it until pillows began to drop from beneath the gray gown.
“Maude Wilder,” gasped the breathless lady, finally, “you may keep right on learning American History—two pages a day until Commencement.”
Ten minutes later, when Miss Woodruff took her daily walk on the long veranda she was surprised to meet herself halfway, as it were.
“Don’t be cross,” laughed Maude, slipping her hand under Miss Woodruff’s substantial elbow. “I just came down to apologize. I know I’m bad but if I didn’t keep this place cheered up, think how dull we’d be. We’d all get in a rut. And you know Idorespect you, tremendously, even if I do seem a little disrespectful towards your clothes at times. And I do like you a lot, even if I can’t help teasing you. Come on and be a sport. Let’s show the girls what lovely twins we make.”
“But—”
“Come along, do,” pleaded Maude’s sweetly persuasive voice. “Youknowyou aren’t really cross about this. Let’s be friends.”
“You’re incorrigible,” sighed Miss Woodruff, falling into step with her wheedling tormentor. “I don’t know what ever will become of you, but, in spite of my better judgment, I can’thelpliking you. And just to show you that I can do it, Iwillbe a sport just for once.”
“Hurrah for the Woodruff twins!” cried Maude, enthusiastically. But Maude’s enthusiasm was doomed to wane. Sturdy Miss Woodruff, with a wicked gleam in her eye, kept her absurd twin walking back and forth on the veranda for a good two hours. The day was warm and the pillows tied firmly about Maude’s waist added nothing to her comfort; the girls on the railing were obviously enjoying her predicament; but unmerciful Miss Woodruff proved tireless. Maude was tired of being a twin long before her teacher was; but revived somewhat when that surprising lady said, at last:
“Now, Iwillbe a sport. I’m going to excuse you from learning that history. I think we’re just about even without it.”
“I didn’t think she had it in her,” commented Maude, reclining at length on the pillows she had gladly removed from her person. “There’s more to that lady than I supposed there was.”
There was much talk these days of Commencement. The three Seniors were to be graduated and, by some mysterious process, the five Juniors were to become Seniors. No wonder the Miller girls, quiet Virginia Mason, Sarah Porter and studious Mary Sherwood of the North Corridor had led a life apart from the younger girls. Of course, with a solemn thing like that hanging over them, and only a year away, theycouldn’tassociate with a flock of careless infants in the lower grades.
There were to be Commencement clothes—white dresses, white shoes, white stockings for everybody, young or old. There was to be a class photograph of the Seniors, framed like all the rest, and hung in the big drawing room for future classes to admire. There were to be Exercises. Miss Julia’s pupils were to play solos and duets; and everybody was to sing the songs that they were now practising daily and there were to be Essays. One of the Seniors, Miss Pratt, was known to be laboring over a strange thing called a Valedictory, Miss Wilson was struggling with the Class Prophecy and Miss Holmes was having a harrowing time with the Class Poem. Mabel hoped that none of these mysterious things would ever fall toherlot. Cream puffs and unlimited chocolate creams, it appeared, were not the only things that happened to a Senior.
And now, everybody was discussing clothes. Should they wear silk stockings or cotton ones? White pumps or Oxfords? Should their dresses be tucked or ruffled, full or scant? Should their sleeves be long or short or half way between? The Seniors were keepingtheirclothes a dark mystery; but all the other girls were willing to tell all they knew.
Jean, Bettie, Mabel and Marjory were to buy their dresses, shoes and stockings in Chicago. Mrs. Henry Rhodes and Miss Blossom were to take them to town for a whole joyous Monday.
They loved every inch of the way to the city, where Mrs. Henry piled them all into a ’bus at the station, took them to a big store on State Street, and whisked them aloft in an elevator. She and Miss Blossom spent a long morning trying fluffy white frocks on their lively charges.
There were large numbers of just-exactly-right frocks for Marjory and Bettie. They were easy to fit. Jean was tall and rather slender and it was some time before the interested clerk could find just the right pretty gown for Jean. As for plump Mabel—— Well, the sleeves were tight, the waists wouldn’t button and the skirts were too scant.
“You see,” explained the patient clerk, “she isn’t a ready-made child. She hasn’t got her shape yet. But you’ll be all right, dearie (she called everybody ‘dearie,’ Mabel noticed), when you’re older. Your shoulders are fine and you’re right good looking; but they don’t put cloth enough in Misses’ garments these days for a real plump child. We’ll have to make you a dress to order. You can pick out the style you like and our own Miss Williamson will measure you and in three days you’ll have your dress. You’ll look just as nice as anybody and your dress will be just exactly right.”
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Henry and Miss Blossom, “that’s the thing to do.”
Then they all got into the elevator and went up still higher and the Lakeville girls tried not to look surprised at finding a dining room so near the sky. After they had had lunch and purchased shoes and stockings it was time for their returning train.
Sallie listened to the thrilling news of the new dresses and the lovely new shoes rather soberly and with a lengthening countenance; but none of the girls noticed that she was not rejoicing with them until thoughtless Marjory suddenly asked:
“What areyougoing to wear, Sallie?”
“I have an old white dress,” returned Sallie, flushing painfully. “It was new three years ago but I’ve worn it hard every summer, so it isn’t new any more. All the tucks have been let out and the hem has been faced and it’s still too short. Besides there’s a bad rust stain on it and it’s too tight across the chest I don’t knowwhatto do. I’ve been thinking I’d better put on a cap and apron and just pretend to be one of the regular maids. You see, ever so many parents and other guests will be coming so I’ll have to answer the doorbell and run upstairs to announce guests and help in the dining room, anyway.”
“But you have to help with the singing,” said Bettie. “You have the best voice of all the girls. What are you going to do about that?”
“Perhaps I can stand behind a tree,” offered Sallie. “Or I might burrow down in the tall grass and not be noticed. Of course I’d sing better if my clothes were all right; but I’ll just try not to think about them.”
The next day, some of the girls sat on a bench in the shady grove and talked this weighty matter over.
“It’s a shame,” said Jean. “Sallie’s such adeargirl—one of the very sweetest girls in this school,Ithink, and she has a lovely voice. She ought to be able to stand right in the front row and be seen as well as heard.”
“It isn’t right,” said Bettie, “for all the rest of us to be all dressed up and having a good time when Sallie can’t—just because she’s a boarding school orphan.”
“Sometimes I’ve offered to lend her things,” said Jean, “but she doesn’t like it. I think it hurts her pride or something.”
“I thought we might write home for money,” said Marjory, “and get her a dressthatway; but I’m sure Aunty Jane wouldn’t give me a cent for it. She might, after a long, long time—if I’d begun to tease for it last September, for instance, she’d begin about now to loosen up a little.”
“And my folks are too far away,” mourned Mabel, “sothey’reno good.”
“And mine,” said Jean, “have to spend more on me now than they can afford.”
“And of course,” added Bettie, “the bestmyfolks could do would be something out of a missionary box—something made of outing flannel most likely. Those boxes do run just awfully to outing flannel. Of course there’s Mr. Black—but I wouldn’t like to ask him.”
“No,” agreed Jean, “it wouldn’t be right. Of course, if we’d started soon enough and saved all our weekly spending money—”
“Oh, why didn’t we?” cried Bettie. “I do wish we had.”
“If we four had savedhalfour money,” said Marjory, who had been making figures with a stick in the sand, “we could have bought her a more expensive dress than anyweare going to have. And shoes, too.”
“Just think of that!” said Jean. “Next year I’m going to save a few cents every week—it’s mighty useful to have money when something like this comes up.”
“Of course,” said Marjory, who had been making more sums in the sand, “thirty cents isn’t much when you put a nickel in the plate every Sunday and chip in every now and then for spreads. Anyway, it’s all gone and poor Sallie hasn’t a dress.”
At mail time the next day, the schoolroom resounded with excited and delighted squeals. Sallie had had another letter from Henrietta. It was mailed in New York; and Henrietta was coming back.
“Grandmother is going to visit an old friend in Chicago,” wrote Henrietta, “and I’m coming back to study like mad to catch up with my classes. Tell the girls to have all their note books ready for me and I candoit. And Sallie, dear, I’m bringing you a present. I have something for all my best friends but if anybody can guess what I’m bringing you I’ll give hertwopresents.”
Jean looked at Bettie. Bettie nudged Marjory and Mabel managed—but not without difficulty—to wink at Jean.
“It’s a dress,” whispered Marjory. “I’msureit’s a dress.”
“That’s just what I think,” agreed Jean.
Just two weeks before the close of school, Henrietta returned. She arrived during school hours and slipped quietly into her seat in the Assembly room; but she was so fidgety and there was such a fluttering among the other girls, who declared afterwards that she looked good enough to eat, that Miss Woodruff said: “Henrietta, I’ll excuse you for today. There’s only an hour left anyway.”
“Thank you,” said Henrietta. “I’m dying to unpack my new steamer trunk—Charles brought it right up along with me.”
The girls found Henrietta’s gifts in their rooms when they went upstairs at two o’clock. She had tried to find lovely, unusual things for them and had succeeded. A little gem of a picture in a silver frame for Jean, some lovely blue beads almost like Hazel’s for Marjory, an adorable turquois ring for Bettie and an exquisite enameled locket for Mabel. There was something for every girl in the West Corridor and a nice little graduating present for each of the three Seniors. There were some lovely white silk stockings “right straight from Paris” for Sallie.
“The rest of Sallie’s present is coming later,” said Henrietta, “I didn’t have room in my trunk for it. And on second thought, I’m not going to encourage any guessing. Imightgive the secret away and that wouldn’t do. I’m not going to tell what it is, but I’ll say this much.Don’t worry about your clothes, Sallie.”
“Did you get it in London?” demanded Mabel.
“Yes,” laughed Henrietta, “and that’s the last word I’m going to tell you about it.”
“I sort of hoped,” sighed Marjory, “it might have beenParis, like the stockings.”
But Henrietta only laughed harder than ever.
Three days later, Henrietta, her eyes bright with excitement, rushed to the dining room and fell upon Mary, one of the neat maids.
“Lend me your cap and apron, quick!” demanded Henrietta, helping herself to the needed articles. “Don’t say a word. There’s a hack coming up from the station and I want to answer the doorbell—Doctor Rhodes said I could. Sallie’s in her room—I locked her in. I’m just getting even with her for something. I’ll bring your things back in just a few minutes and tell you the rest.”
Henrietta did answer the doorbell. The visitor was ushered to the library. Then away sped Henrietta up three flights of steps and through a tiresome number of corridors until at last she reached Sallie’s room on the top floor. She unlocked the door noiselessly, rapped on the panel and then announced, in a very good imitation of Sallie’s own voice:
“A gentleman in the library to see Miss Sallie Dickinson.”
“But therecouldn’tbe,” said Sallie. “I don’tknowany gentleman.”
“But youdo—or if you don’t, go down and get acquainted. Come on—you look all right.”
“It—it isn’t one of those Theologs—”
“Come on,” laughed Henrietta, “I’ll race you to the first floor.”
“It’s against the rules—”
“There’s nothing in the by-laws against sliding down the banisters. These nice black walnut ones were just made for that purpose. Down you go.”
“If I must, I must,” said resigned Sallie, meekly lying flat on the broad banister. “I know you’re playing some trick on me.”
“Ithoughtyou knew how to slide,” laughed Henrietta, following suit.
“Yes,” confessed Sallie, tackling the last banister, “I’ve helped polish them all—it’s a wonderful saving of legs.”
“Go on in,” urged Henrietta, at the library door. “Nobody’s going to eat you.”
Sallie saw a man standing by the table. A man who smiled pleasantly. She looked at him. Suddenly her heart began to thump wildly.
“Is it—Is it—”
“Yes, itis,” cried Henrietta. “Your father.”
Sallie’s face was turning from white to pink and momentarily growing brighter, but still she seemed unable to move. Henrietta gave her a gentle shove toward her father’s outstretched arms.
“I found him in London,” said Henrietta. “He’ll tell you all about it. Good-by, I’ll see you later.”
It happened to be a warm day, so the girls had left their rooms and were wandering in the grove, under the sheltering hickory trees where earlier in the season, Charles had placed a number of benches. At sight of Henrietta waving her arms wildly, the girls moved toward her.
“Help yourselves to the benches,” said Henrietta, seating herself on the ground. “I have a tale to tell. How would you like to be just awfully surprised?”
“I guess we could stand it,” drawled Miss Wilson, who, as usual, had a large box of chocolates under her arm. “Have some candy?”
“You wouldn’t try to stop my mouth with candy,” reproached Henrietta, “if you knew what you are bottling up thereby. Something’s happened—something wonderful. Something perfectlygrand.”
“Tell us,” pleaded Jean, who could see that Henrietta was fairly bubbling over with news, “Come on, girls. Here’s a story.”
“Well,” began Henrietta, “once there was a man who was always moving around from one town to another looking for work. When hehadwork he wasn’t always satisfied with it. Sometimes he gave up a fairly good job and just went some place else because he happened to feel like it.”
“One of those rolling stones,” suggested Maude.
“Yes, a regular rolling stone. Well, after awhile he rolled out West. He tried ranching at first; but he didn’t care much about that. But there was a sort of cowboy chap that hedidlike—a young Englishman—and they decided to be partners. They tried mining for awhile but that didn’t pan out so they went down to Texas. They worked for an old man down there who was sick. They did something really worth while forhim—something about saving a lot of cattle for him—and he was so grateful that he died and left his ranch to them.”
“Oh, Henrietta!” teased Hazel, “thatwasgratitude.”
“Well, I mean thatwhenhe died, he left his ranch to those two men. But the ranch wasn’t very much good—there was something wrong with the soil and nothing would grow—not even grass. But now pick up your ears, girls. One day, in one of the fields where the soil wasparticularlybad, the older man stepped into something soft and some queer greasy stuff oozed up out of the hole. It wasoil. Experts came and tested it. They really had oil.
“Well, even when they had sold all their cattle they hadn’t money enough to develop their oil mine—”
“Oilwell,” corrected Miss Wilson. “My father has them—but go on.”
“Yes, oil well. So the cowboy suggested going home to England where he had a lot of wealthy relatives and friends, to borrow the money. He wanted, for one thing, to let his own relatives reap some of the benefit if therewasany. Well, that cowboy was—and is—sort of a distant cousin of my father’s; and my father was one of the men he wanted especially to see.
“Now, here’s the exciting part. His partner, the rolling stone, was with him when he went to my father’s rooms in London. AndIwas there. And when the cowboy introduced the other man to Father, I sat right up and looked at him—he looked like somebody Iknew.
“Then Father introduced them both to me—he’s always careful about things like that, you know. And then I spoke right up and said:
“‘Mr. Dickinson, is your first name John? And did you ever have a little girl named Sallie?’ My goodness! You should have seen that little man’s face! All lit up with joy.”
“But,” cried Jean, “you don’t meanourSallie! You don’t mean that that was Sallie’sfather!”
“Ido,” assured Henrietta. “Of course it seemed awfully nervy to speak right out like that to a strange man, right before my proper father and Cousin George. I never could have done it, if I hadn’t known myself how horrible it was to be a school orphan. After that, I told him all about Sallie. Andhesaid that after he got out of the hospital he had hunted for her just as long as he had had any money; but the poor old man who had left Sallie at the wrong school couldn’t remember anything at all about it. Without money, and so weak that he could hardly crawl, Mr. Dickinson couldn’t do very much toward hunting Sallie up—and there were somanygirls’ schools in this part of the country. And after he had drifted out West, he was always too poor to come back. This is the first bit of luck he’s had. But it’s abigbit. The oil well is all right—he had to stop in New York to attend to some part of the business—telegrams to and from Texas and things like that. That’s why he didn’t come when I did. Sallie’s father and the cowboy, too, will be very rich men. Of course he was going to begin to search for Sallie just as soon as things were settled; but I saved him a lot of time and trouble. But, oh!Sucha time as I’ve had keeping this tremendous secret.”
“Where’s Sallie’s father now,” demanded Mabel.
“In the library with Sallie.”
“I’m glad about the money,” said Jean, earnestly, “but Henrietta, is—is he going to be anicefather for our Sallie?”
“Yes, he is,” returned Henrietta. “I watched him all the way over on the boat and there isn’t a single thing the matter with him.”
“That’s great,” breathed Mabel. “But what is he like?”
“Well, he has pleasant eyes and agoodface and nice, gentle manners—and he doesn’t eat with his knife. Just after I found him I began to tremble for fear hemightn’tbe the kind of father we’d want for our Sallie; but heis—just exactly. Perhaps he isn’t one of those terribly strong characters like Daniel Webster or Oliver Cromwell or John Knox—but who’dwanta father like that! But I’m sure he’ll be a comfortable person to live with and Cousin George—the cowboy, you know—likes him; and Father says George is mighty particular about his friends. And of course he’ll pay up everything Sallie owes this school and give her everything she needs.”
At dinner time that night, Sallie’s father sat in the place of honor at Doctor Rhodes’s table. And Sallie, such a radiant Sallie, with her head high and her eyes bright, sat beside him, listening hungrily to his words.
And when Sallie’s clear young voice was lifted in song at the Commencement Day exercises, it didn’t come from behind a tree. Lovely Sallie didn’tneedto hide behind a tree or to burrow down in the long grass; for her Commencement Day gown was quite as new and beautiful as anybody’s and certainly no other girl wore a happier expression.
“But it’s her father she’s the gladdest about,” explained Mabel. “She justloveshim.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Bettie, who was sitting on her suitcase on the baggage strewn veranda. “It wouldn’t be much fun to go to Texas with a father youdidn’tlove. And isn’t it great! He’s going to let her visit Henrietta in Lakeville in August and go back to school with her afterwards so we aren’t going to lose every bit of our Sallie after all.”
“And,” said Jean, “Mabel is going to spend a week with me and then her own people will be home. And there’s Charles coming now to take us all to the station. Good-by, old Highland Hall. You’re going to be a big, lonesome place without us.”
“A year is a funny thing,” commented Bettie, with her last backward glance at the tall building. “While it’s happening, it seems to be a million miles long; and then, the very next minute, it’s all gone.”
“By this time tomorrow,” breathed Marjory, “we’ll be home; and all the days will have wings. But Mabel, what in the worldareyou doing?”
“I’m—kuk—crying,” gulped Mabel.
“You funny old baby,” laughed Henrietta. “You’re too tender hearted.”
“It isn’t that at all,” sobbed Mabel, “but something just terrible has happened. I forgot to label them and I kuk—kuk—can’t remember which lock of hair is Maude’s and which is Cora’s—and I just loved them both.”
“Well,” soothed Marjory, “both girls are far from bald—you can easily write for more hair.”
“Cheer up,” comforted Jean, “Ididlabel mine and I can identifyanybody’shair. And—and weallhate to part with those girls; but we must look respectable when we get to the station; and when Mr. Black meets us in Chicago—”
“We’ll be mighty glad to see him,” said Mabel, smiling bravely through her tears, “and this time I’ll try not to get lost.”
“Climb out, everybody,” said Charles, stopping his car. “Here’s the station, right in the same old place. And there’s your train, right on time. And I hope I don’t see another girl or another trunk for the next four months. So long and good luck.”
THE END