CHAPTER IVLORRAINE
Later in the afternoon Kenneth Harper called.
Patty and Grandma Elliott were both glad to see the boy, for though a student at Columbia College, he had visited much at Vernondale, and they were both well acquainted with him.
“It’s awfully jolly, your being in town this winter, Patty,” he said, “and I expect I’ll bother you to death running down to see you. If I come too often, Mrs. Elliott, you must just put me out without any ceremony.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Grandma, smiling, “and if you appear more than once a week, I shall give you a gentle hint.”
“A hint will be sufficient, ma’am; I’m not like the man who hung around until they kicked him downstairs. He thought a while and then the situation dawned upon him; ‘I know what they meant,’ he said; ‘they meant they didn’t want me up there!’ Now I’m not like that; I can catch on much more quickly.”
Patty and Grandma laughed heartily at Kenneth’s funny story, and then the boy unwrapped a parcel which he had brought.
“You see,” he said, “I felt sure you people would want to do a little light farming, so I brought you a plantation.”
As he spoke he removed the papers from a pretty window-box, which was filled with several small plants.
“Oh, how nice!” cried Patty, clapping her hands; “I just wanted something to take care of. You see I can’t have a dog or a cat or any kind of an animal here, but I can have plants. One of the girls gave me a little fern, but I think it is going to die. It’s drooping like a weeping-willow now.”
“I rather think these will die soon,” said Kenneth, cheerfully, “but it doesn’t matter; when they do, you can get some more to put in—of a different kind. It’s nice to have a variety.”
“I think they look very thrifty,” said Grandma, “and I’m sure with good care they’ll do nicely.”
“Perhaps they will, ma’am; that one in the end is an orange tree. It may have oranges on by Christmas.”
“Yes, if anybody ties them on,” said Patty, laughing.
With Kenneth’s help they arranged the box in the bay-window, and Patty named it “Ten-Acre Farm.” “For,” she said, “although it doesn’t really measure quite ten acres, I like a large-sounding name; it gives you such a feeling of roominess.”
“And that’s a great thing in New York,” said Kenneth; “somehow I always feel cramped. My room is too small, there’s never any room in the street cars, and even the sidewalks are crowded.”
“Well, you may come down and roam around my farm whenever you like,” said Patty; “and now, don’t you think it would be nice, Grandma, if we made a cup of tea? Just to see how the tea-things work, you know.”
Grandma thought it would be a very nice plan, and she rang for hot water, while Patty hunted up the tea-caddy, and Kenneth filled the alcohol lamp.
And so, when Mr. Fairfield returned with the promised box of candy, he found a merry tea-party of three awaiting him.
“How do you do, Kenneth, my boy!” he said, cordially grasping young Harper’s hand.
“I’m very well, Mr. Fairfield, and delighted to welcome you and yours as fellow-citizens of our village. The last time I saw you, we were all down at the seashore; do you remember?”
“Yes, and a jolly time we had down there; we must go again next summer. Won’t you stay and dine with us, Kenneth?”
“No, thank you, sir; I can’t to-night, much as I should like to. I must go home and dig up Greek roots all the evening.”
“You have a farm, too, then?” said Grandma, smiling.
“Yes, and one that’s rather hard to till. But I suppose, Patty, you’ll be grubbing away at lessons next week.”
“Yes,” said Patty, “and I believe I’m not to lift my eyes from my book from Monday morning till Friday night.”
“But Saturdays?” said Kenneth.
“Saturday afternoons, if we are at home, we’ll always be glad to see you,” said Grandma.
“Thank you, ma’am; I’ll often run down, and, take my chances on finding you in.”
“I like that young chap,” said Mr. Fairfield, after Kenneth had gone; “and he seems so alone here in the city. I think we might be a little kind to him, Grandma.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Mrs. Elliott, cordially; “he’s a thoroughly nice boy, and I’ve always liked him.”
“Heisa nice boy,” said Patty, “and how much he looks like his aunt. He always makes me think of Miss Daggett.”
The elders laughed at this, for Miss Daggett, who had been the Fairfields’ next-door neighbour at Vernondale, was an elderly, erratic, unamiable spinster, and her nephew was a frank young fellow, as good-natured as he was good-looking.
When dinner-time came Grandma told Patty that she might wear her white cashmere dress and white hair-ribbons.
This pleased Patty very much, for it was one of her favourite frocks, and she always enjoyed wearing it. Though not over-fond of dress, Patty had a great liking for pretty things, and was also very sensitive to pleasant sights and sounds.
So the dinner-hour delighted her, for the dining-room was gaily lighted and decorated, and musicians in a palm-screened balcony played soft music.
Patty took her place at their table, and, being of an adaptable nature, remarked that she felt already quite at home there.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Fairfield; “it’s a little more like a hotel than I had anticipated. Still, if we feel that we’re surrounded by too many of our fellow-beings, we can have a private dining-room.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” said Patty; “I like it better this way.”
“I like it, too,” said Grandma Elliott; “don’t make a change yet, Fred; let us try it for a while, at least.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Fairfield, “just as you ladies say. And, Grandma, I think that lady at the next table must know you. She’s smiling at you most amiably.”
Mrs. Elliott looked in the direction indicated.
“Why, she certainly does know me,” she said, bowing cordially to the lady in question. “That is Mrs. Hamilton. She’s the daughter of my old friend, Ellen Howard. And that’s her daughter sitting next her. If they’re living here, Patty, you will probably find Lorraine Hamilton a pleasant companion.”
“Lorraine,” said Patty; “what a pretty name. And she looks like a nice girl, too.”
After dinner our party found Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter in the parlour, and paused to talk to them there.
Mrs. Hamilton was glad to see Mrs. Elliott, who had been such a dear friend of her mother’s, and while they talked to each other the two girls sat down on a near-by sofa to become acquainted.
Lorraine Hamilton was a girl of about Patty’s own age, but while Patty was rosy and healthy-looking, Lorraine was pale and delicate. She was very graceful and pretty, with dark hair and large dark eyes. But she seemed listless and indifferent, and Patty, who enjoyed everything enthusiastically, wondered what could be the matter with her.
“Are you well?” Patty asked her, bluntly. One of Patty’s greatest faults was her abrupt manner of questioning people. She did not mean to be rude, but she was by nature so frank and straightforward that she often spoke in that way without realising it.
“Yes,” said Lorraine, looking a little surprised, “I’m well, but I’m never very strong.”
“I don’t believe you take exercise enough,” said Patty, still bluntly; “you don’t look as if you did.”
“I don’t take any,” said Lorraine, candidly, “that is, not if I can help it. I walk to school and back every day, but that’s only three blocks each way, and I never go out anywhere else.”
“But why not?” asked Patty, in amazement.
“Because I don’t want to. I hate to go out of doors; I like to sit in the house all the time, and read or write.”
“I like to read, too. But I like to run out of doors or walk or ride or play tennis or skate or anything like that.”
“I don’t,” said Lorraine, shortly.
She spoke so curtly that Patty suddenly realised that perhaps she hadn’t been very polite herself, and as she saw that Grandma Elliott and Mrs. Hamilton were still deeply absorbed in their conversation, she felt that she ought to try once more to entertain this queer girl.
“What do you like to read?” she asked, by way of starting a subject.
“Poetry,” said Lorraine, “all kinds of poetry. I’m going to be a poet myself.”
“Oh, are you?” said Patty, a little awed by this confident announcement.
“Yes, I’ve sent some poems to the magazines already.”
“Have they been printed yet?”
“No, they weren’t even accepted. But that doesn’t discourage me; poets never succeed at first.”
“No, I suppose not.” Patty wished to be agreeably encouraging, but she knew very little about the experiences of young poets.
“Do you live in The Wilberforce?” she asked, thinking it better to get away from the subject of poetry.
“Yes,” said Lorraine; “we’re on the third floor.”
“Why, so are we; how very nice. Will you come and see us?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Lorraine; “I’d like to ever so much. We’re very lonely; my father is in the Navy, and is away on a three years’ cruise. So mother and I are all alone.”
“I’m glad you’re here; Grandma and your mother can be company for each other, and I’m sure you and I will be friends. Where do you go to school?”
“To the Oliphant.”
“Why, that’s where I’m going; I start on Monday.”
“That’s nice; we can go together.” For the first time Lorraine seemed to show some interest and animation, and Patty felt encouraged to believe that there might be some fun in this queer girl after all.
“Tell me about the school,” she said.
“Well,” said Lorraine, “it’s quite a big school, with lots of pupils and about a dozen teachers. Miss Oliphant is the principal, and she’s very stern and strict. Miss Fenton is vice-principal, and she isn’t a bit stern. In fact, she’s too easy-going; you can just wind her around your finger. Then the French teacher is rather nice, and Miss Rand, the English teacher, is lovely.”
“Tell me about the girls,” said Patty.
“Oh, there are all sorts; there are the grubbing girls that just study and dig all the time, and the silly girls, who never study at all. Then there is a set of snobbish girls, who stick up their noses at anybody who isn’t a millionaire.”
“The girls don’t sound very nice, as you describe them,” said Patty.
“No, they’re not very nice; I don’t know a girl I really like in the whole school.”
“That sounds cheerful,” said Patty, laughing; “I think I’ll enjoy a school made up of girls like that. Do you suppose they’ll like me?”
“I don’t know,” said Lorraine, looking uninterested; “they don’t like me.”
Patty felt like saying, “I shouldn’t think they would,” but she politely refrained, and just then the elder ladies called them to go upstairs.
“Well,” said Patty, as she was alone with her family once more, “that Hamilton girl is the queerest thing I ever saw. She didn’t have a good word to say about anybody or anything, and she doesn’t seem to have a joy in life. Such a lackadaisical, washed-out looking thing as she is! I’m sorry for her.”
“Perhaps you can cheer her up, Patty girl,” said her father; “you have joy and good-humour enough for two, I’m sure. Can’t you give her a little?”
“It would be fun to try,” said Patty, smiling at the idea; “perhaps I can transform her into a gay, jolly little flutter-budget.”
They all laughed at the notion of the pale Lorraine being gay or jolly, but Patty was more in earnest than they thought, and she said: “I really am going to try, for I think it’s my duty; and besides I can’t stand seeing such a forlorn-looking thing around.”
“Do try, Patty,” said Grandma, gently, “and I hope you will succeed. You will have ample opportunity, for I have invited Mrs. Hamilton to come and see us, and to bring Lorraine.”
“All right, Grandma,” said Patty, cheerily, “I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER VA NEW SCHOOL
“I am so glad,” said Patty, as they sat at breakfast Monday morning, “that Lorraine Hamilton goes to the Oliphant school. It’s so much nicer to have somebody to go with than to go alone among a lot of strange girls.”
“You’ll soon get acquainted,” said her father, “and you’ll probably grow to love your school so much that you’ll be restless and impatient during the hours you will have to spend at home.”
This was a great joke, for Patty’s aversion to school and lessons was well known.
“Indeed I won’t,” she exclaimed; “I just hate school, and always shall. Of course I want to learn things, but I’d rather sit at home and read them myself, out of books.”
“It does seem too bad,” said her father, “that you can’t have your own way in this matter; but you just can’t. Your cruel tyrant of a parent ordains that you must go to school for a year at least; but if you study hard and learn a lot during that year, perhaps next year he’ll let you stay at home.”
“Well,” said Patty, resignedly, “I’ll go this year then, because I don’t see as I can help myself; and I’ll just study and cram all the time, so I won’t have to go next year.”
“I wish you were more studious, Patty,” said Grandma.
“I wish so, too, Grandma,” said Patty, “but I’m not, and never will be. So you’ll have to take me just as I am, and make the best of me.”
The school was only three blocks away, and Patty and Lorraine started off together. It was not a very cheerful walk, for Lorraine wore her usual air of glum despondency, and Patty felt so far from gay herself that she didn’t even try to cheer up her companion.
The school term had opened a week before, but Mr. Fairfield had arranged with Miss Oliphant for Patty to go right to her classes immediately upon her arrival.
Patty had never seen the school or the teachers, and Lorraine’s account of them had not sounded at all attractive.
“Let me sit by you, Lorraine, mayn’t I?” Patty said, as they neared the school.
“Yes, indeed,” said Lorraine; “I’ll be glad to have you. Nobody ever wants to sit by me. Perhaps we can’t be together in all our classes, but the opening exercises are held in the big assembly-room, and we can sit together there.”
“All right,” said Patty, who somehow had an unaccountable feeling of loneliness at thought of the strange school. She knew she was foolish, and she tried hard to overcome it, yet she couldn’t help wishing herself back in Vernondale.
The Oliphant school was a large and handsome building, well equipped after the most modern fashion. Miss Oliphant herself received Patty, and welcomed her politely, though without cordiality. Indeed, it would have been difficult to imagine Miss Oliphant showing cordiality. She was a most dignified and important-looking personage. She held her head very high, and her cold grey eyes seemed to look right through Patty and read her very thoughts. But if Miss Oliphant did observe Patty’s dejection, she certainly made no effort to allay it.
“I am glad to see you,” she said, but her formal handshake and conventional smile did not seem to corroborate her words. “You will take your place with the rest in the assembly-room, and after the opening exercises of the morning you will be assigned to your classes.”
This was followed by a gesture of dismissal, but Patty paused long enough to ask: “May I sit next to Lorraine Hamilton?”
An expression of surprise passed over Miss Oliphant’s face, but she only said, “Certainly, if you wish to,” and then Patty rejoined Lorraine in the hall, and together they went to the assembly-room.
As it was already time for school to open, Patty had no opportunity to be introduced to any of her fellow-pupils. She looked at them, however, with a good deal of interest, and decided that notwithstanding Lorraine’s opinion of them they looked like very nice girls. Two or three in particular she picked out as looking interesting, and one dark-eyed, merry-faced girl she felt sure would be especially friendly. She even smiled pleasantly at this girl, but to her surprise her smile was not cordially returned. The girl acknowledged it by a mere nod, and looked away. Patty felt a little embarrassed, and concluded that city girls were horrid, stuck-up things, and she longed for her merry companions at the Vernondale school. Several times she found herself gazing intently at one or another of the pupils, but invariably her look was returned by a cold stare, or ignored entirely.
“I’m perfectly silly to think anything about it,” thought Patty to herself; “it’s just their way of not recognising anybody until they’ve been formally introduced. They’ll be all right after I’ve really met them. I’ve never been foolishly sensitive before, and I’m not going to begin now.”
So Patty bravely put out of her mind all thoughts of the girls’ apparent attitude toward her, and turned her attention to her school duties. She was glad to find that in most of her studies she was in the class with Lorraine, and consequently was able to sit by her all through the morning.
The Oliphant school was attended by both boarding pupils and day pupils, and at noon a hot luncheon was served for all. After the morning lessons were over the girls gathered in groups, chatting gaily while they awaited the summons to the dining-room.
Patty supposed, of course, that at this time Lorraine would introduce her to the girls, but she was disappointed. The two stood together alone, and Lorraine made no suggestion of joining any of the others. Neither did she exert herself to entertain Patty, but stood morose and glum, looking out of a window.
Annoyed by what she chose to consider Lorraine’s rudeness, Patty determined to make her own way, and walking across the room to where the pleasant-faced girl was standing, she said:
“I’m a new pupil, and I feel very lonely; mayn’t I join this group and begin to get acquainted? My name is Patty Fairfield.”
“Mine is Clementine Morse,” said the girl she addressed, “and this is Maude Carleton, and this is Adelaide Hart.”
The girls nodded as their names were mentioned, but paid no further attention to Patty. Maude and Adelaide began to talk to each other about their own affairs, but Clementine good-naturedly opened a conversation with Patty.
“You’re a day pupil, I suppose,” she said; “are you a friend of Lorraine Hamilton?”
“Yes,” said Patty; “she’s the only girl I know here. She lives in the same hotel I do, and we came together this morning. She’s in most of my classes. You’re not, are you? At least I didn’t see you in the classroom this morning.”
“No,” said Clementine, laughing; “I’m below you in everything. I’m only one of the Gigs.”
“Gigs!” exclaimed Patty; “what in the world are they?”
“Why, you see,” explained Clementine, “the Oliphant school, like Gaul, is divided into three parts. The girls are all either Prigs or Digs or Gigs.”
“Tell me about them,” said Patty, much interested.
“Well, the Prigs are a lot of stuck-up girls who never do anything wrong. They’re awfully goody-goody, and most fearfully correct in their deportment. They’re on the Privileged Roll all the time. They don’t study so very much, but they’re great on etiquette and manners. Then the Digs are the girls who study like fury. They’re like Kipling’s rhinoceros: they never had any manners, then, since, or henceforward, but they’re most astonishing wise and learned. You can tell them by their looks. They wear two wrinkles over their nose, and a pair of glasses. Then the Gigs are my sort. We giggle all the time, never study if we can help it, and are continually being punished for the fun we have. Which do you think you’ll be?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, smiling. “I hate to study, so I don’t believe I can be a Dig; I’m sure I haven’t manners enough to be a Prig, and, somehow, to-day I don’t feel jolly enough to be a Gig. Which is Lorraine?”
“She isn’t any of them,” said Clementine; “I don’t believe anybody could classify her.”
Just then luncheon was announced, and the girls all went to the dining-room.
Patty sat next to Lorraine, and was disappointed to see that Clementine was at another table. The dining-room was very pleasant, and the small tables were daintily appointed. Eight girls sat at each table, and though Lorraine introduced Patty to her table-mates, after a few perfunctory sentences to her they began to chat together about matters of which Patty knew nothing.
Poor Patty’s spirits sank lower and lower. The girls were not actually rude to her; they merely seemed to take no interest in her, and had no wish to become better acquainted.
This was decidedly a new experience for Patty. All her life she had been liked by her companions. In Vernondale she had been the favourite of the whole school; and even when she went to school in Boston, the girls though less enthusiastic, had all been pleasant and kind.
She couldn’t understand it at all, but with her usual philosophic acceptance of the inevitable, she concluded that it was the custom of New York girls to treat strangers coolly, and she might as well get used to it.
So, assuming a cheerfulness which she was far from feeling, she addressed herself to Lorraine, and tried to keep up a conversation.
But that depressed piece of humanity was even more like a wet blanket than usual, and Patty was forced to give it up in despair.
She looked around the dining-room and couldn’t help noticing that the group at each table were chatting merrily, and that nowhere else did there seem to be a stranger like herself.
After luncheon there were still fifteen or twenty minutes before class time.
Again Patty determined to do her part toward bringing about a pleasanter condition of affairs. Selecting another affable-looking girl, Patty asked Lorraine to introduce her.
“Why, that’s Gertrude Lyons,” said Lorraine, in astonishment.
“I don’t care if it’s Gertrude Bears, or Gertrude Wild Tigers,” said Patty, “I want you to introduce me. Will you?”
“Certainly,” said Lorraine, staring at Patty; “come on.”
In a half-apologetic way Lorraine presented Patty to Gertrude Lyons, and in a wholly rude way Gertrude stared at them both.
“How do you do?” she said, coldly, to Patty. “Is this your first day here?”
“Yes,” said Patty, determined to be friendly, in spite of Gertrude’s repelling air; “and I think I shall like it after I get better acquainted with you all. It seems a little strange at first.”
“Where do you live?” asked Gertrude, abruptly.
“At The Wilberforce, where Lorraine lives.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“Only two days,” said Patty, smiling, “but I’m already beginning to feel quite at home there.”
“Where did you live before?”
“In Vernondale, New Jersey.”
“Oh,” said Gertrude, and then, as another girl came up to speak to her, the two walked away without a further word to Patty.
This was a little too much. Patty’s face grew crimson, and she turned to Lorraine with a look of angry surprise.
“I knew you wouldn’t like her,” said Lorraine in a dull, careless tone, “but you insisted on being introduced. She’s one of the Prigs, and the Priggiest one of them all. She won’t speak to a girl unless she lives on Fifth Avenue and keeps forty-’leven servants.”
“Well, I think she’s just as rude as she can be,” said Patty; “she isn’t half as nice as she looks.”
“Oh, she snubbed you because you owned up that you came from the country. If you want the Prigs to like you, don’t tell them you came from New Jersey.”
“New Jersey is just as good as New York,” said Patty, growing indignant; “and the girls there are a great deal nicer, and have better manners than the girls at this school. I think Clementine Morse is nice, though,” she added, her sense of justice asserting itself.
“I don’t,” said Lorraine, calmly; “I don’t like any of them.”
With a heavy heart Patty went to her afternoon classes. The outlook was not encouraging. School life was none too pleasant, at best; but school life with a lot of hateful, disagreeable girls promised to be nothing short of misery.
Patty drew a long breath when the lessons were over for the day, and walked home with Lorraine in no more cheerful frame of mind than her companion.
CHAPTER VITHE REASON WHY
When Patty reached home she flung herself into the library like a small whirlwind.
“It’s just awful, Grandma,” she exclaimed, throwing herself into a big armchair with absolute despair written on her face. “It’s a horrid,horridschool, and I wish I didn’t have to go to it. The girls are snippy and rude and disagreeable! They don’t like me and I don’t like them; and won’t you help me to coax papa not to make me go there any more? I’d rather have a governess, or anything!”
“Tell me all about it, dear,” said Grandma, as she quietly took Patty’s hat and gloves away from the excited child.
“Why, they just snubbed me right and left; and Lorraine says it’s because I came from the country! Did you ever hear such foolishness?”
“I certainly never did,” said Grandma, smiling in spite of the seriousness of the occasion. “You are not a New York girl, but you are not countrified enough to be a subject of ridicule. Weren’t any of the girls nice to you?”
“Only one, and she wasn’t anything to brag of. Her name is Clementine Morse, and she’s awfully pretty and sweet-looking, but I didn’t see much of her. She was pleasant, but she seemed to be so more from a sense of duty than because she really liked me.”
“I don’t understand it,” said Grandma; “Ithink you’re a very nice girl, and I don’t see why anyone should think otherwise.”
“Well, they do,” said Patty; “but never mind, I’m not going to think anything more about it until papa comes home and then I’m going to ask him not to make me go there any more.”
As Grandma Elliott was a wise old lady she refrained from further questions and dropped the subject entirely. She proposed to Patty that they should go out and do a little shopping, and get some fresh air and exercise.
This proved a most successful diversion, and soon Patty was her own merry, bright self again.
But when Mr. Fairfield came home at five o’clock Patty laid the case before him in emphatic and graphic language.
“They’re different kinds of horrid,” she said in conclusion, “but they’reallhorrid. Only a few of them were really rude, but they all ignored me, and seemed to wish that I’d get off the earth.”
“How did you treat them?” asked her father, who was really puzzled at the turn affairs had taken.
“Why, I did the best I knew how. I waited for them to be nice to me, and then when they didn’t, I tried to be nice to them. But they wouldn’t let me. Of course, papa, you know I know enough not to be forward, or push myself in where I’m not wanted; but I just tried to get acquainted in a nice way, and they wouldn’t have it at all.”
“I can’t see through it, Puss; it’s really most extraordinary. But I can’t believe they don’t like you; a nice, pretty little girl like you ought to make friends at first sight. And you always have done so.”
“I know it, papa; I never had anybody act like this before. Please say I needn’t go any more.”
“Patty, my dear child, I can’t consent to take you away from the school at once, though I am very, very sorry for you. The whole thing seems so strange, and I can’t believe but that it will straighten itself out in a day or two. Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you’ll go to school the remainder of this week and try your best to do your part toward bringing about a better understanding, I’ll promise you that if you don’t succeed by the end of the week you needn’t return next Monday. I know it will be hard for you, but I think it only just to give the school a fair trial, and I don’t want you to decide after only one day’s experiences.”
Patty looked disappointed, but she had a brave heart, and, too, she had implicit confidence in her father’s judgment.
“All right, papa,” she said; “I’ll do it. I hate like fury to go back there to-morrow. But I will. And I’ll do my part, too; I’ll try my very best to make the girls like me, but if they don’t act differently by Friday, I’ll give up the fight.”
“That’s my own brave girl; and truly, Patty, I believe it will be all right in a day or two. It’s preposterous to think that a lot of schoolgirls should unanimously agree to dislike you. I’m sure there is some explanation. Either you exaggerate their natural hesitation toward a comparative stranger, or else there is a serious misunderstanding somewhere.”
“Then you don’t think it’s because I came from the country, papa?”
“Nonsense! you weren’t brought up in the back woods. Vernondale is too near New York to be as countrified as all that. I don’t suppose you talked bad grammar, or displayed uncouth table-manners.”
“No,” said Patty, smiling; “I tried to behave like a little lady; but apparently I didn’t succeed.”
“Well, don’t think another thing about it,” said her father; “just go right along every day this week; and if you don’t want to go—go becauseIwant you to. Clinch your hands and grit your teeth, if necessary; but march along each day like my brave little soldier, and somehow I think we’ll conquer in the long run.”
Patty had inherited a good deal of the Fairfield pluck, and she caught the spirit of her father’s advice.
“I’ll do it,” she said, determinedly; “I’ll try as hard as I can to win, but I don’t see much hope.”
“Never mind the hope; just go ahead with your efforts and let the results take care of themselves. And now let us go down and have an especially nice dinner, to restore us after this heart-rending scene.”
When they entered the dining-room Patty was surprised to see Adelaide Hart at one of the tables. Patty bowed cordially as she passed her, but Adelaide returned it without enthusiasm.
Fortified by her talk with her father, Patty determined not to mind this, and passed on with a heightened colour. She did not tell her father about Adelaide, for she had resolved to fight her own battles through the week.
The dinner was very pleasant. Mr. Fairfield was merry and entertaining, Grandma was very sweet and comforting, and Patty began to feel as if life were worth living, after all.
After dinner they joined the Hamiltons in the parlour, and Patty and Lorraine talked over the events of the day.
“I thought you wouldn’t like the girls,” said Lorraine; “I don’t like them either, and they don’t like me.”
“I saw Adelaide Hart in the dining-room to-night,” said Patty; “does she live here?”
“Yes, they’re on the fourth floor. That was her father and mother at the table with her, and her two sisters. They’re awfully disagreeable girls; I don’t speak to them.”
Patty was more puzzled than ever. Adelaide Hart looked like a nice girl, but she certainly had not treated Patty nicely, and Lorraine had evidently noticed it.
The second day at school was much like the first. The girls made no advances, and when Patty tried to be sociable, although not actually rude, they did not encourage her, and made use of the slightest pretext to get away from her. This left Patty entirely dependent on the society of Lorraine, and so the two were constantly together.
The third day brought no change for the better, and Patty’s pride began to assert itself. What the reason could be, she had no idea, but she was certain now that the girls avoided her for some definite reason; and as she was innocent of any intentional offence she deeply resented it. She learned her lessons, went to the various classrooms and recited them, and was generally commended by the teachers for her studiousness and good deportment.
By Thursday she had come to the conclusion that there was no hope of making friends with any of her schoolmates, and with this conviction she practically gave up the struggle. To hide her defeat she unconsciously assumed a more haughty air, and herself ignored the very girls who had neglected her. On Thursday afternoon the whole school went for a walk in Central Park, as was the custom on stated occasions. Clementine Morse asked Patty to walk with her. This was a distinct advance, and Patty would have welcomed it joyfully earlier in the week. But it came too late, and though Patty really wanted to go with Clementine, her outraged pride and growing resentment forced her to refuse and she answered coldly: “Thank you, but I’m going to walk with Lorraine.”
Thursday night Mr. Fairfield asked Patty how the experiment was succeeding. They had not discussed the matter much through the week, but Mr. Fairfield had gathered a pretty accurate knowledge of the state of affairs from Patty’s demeanour.
“There’s no hope,” said Patty; “at least, Clementine Morse did ask me to walk with her to-day, but after her coolness all the week I wasn’t going to do it.”
“Revenge is so sweet,” said Mr. Fairfield, looking at the ceiling, but with a quizzical expression in his eyes; “I hope you thoroughly enjoyed refusing her invitation.”
“Now, papa, you’re sarcastic,” said Patty; “but I just guessyouwouldn’t go walking with people who had snubbed you right and left for four days!”
“Itishard lines, my girl; and you must use your own judgment. But don’t be a brave and plucky soldier all through the week, only to be conquered by a mean little spirit of retaliation at last.”
Patty thought this over pretty thoroughly, as she always thought over her father’s advice, and she went to school Friday morning resolved to be magnanimous should any opportunity present itself.
Friday was the day for the gymnasium class. This was a novelty to Patty, and she greatly enjoyed it, for she was fond of physical exercise.
Lorraine did not attend gymnasium, for, as she had said, she hated exercise of any kind, and the class was not compulsory.
But Clementine was there, and as the girls stood or sat around, resting after some calisthenics, she came over to Patty.
“You’re fond of this sort of thing, aren’t you?” she said, with such frank good-humour that Patty responded at once.
“Yes, I love it; I love any kind of vigorous exercise. Rowing, or swimming, or out-of-door games I like the best; but this is splendid fun. I’ve never been in a gymnasium before.”
“Haven’t you? You take to it all so readily I thought you knew all about it. You’ll like the club-swinging. We’ll have that next week.”
“I won’t be here next week.”
Patty said this involuntarily. She had not meant to announce it so abruptly, but she spoke before she thought.
“Why not?” exclaimed Clementine, looking dismayed. “Don’t you like the school?”
“No,” said Patty, feeling suddenly an irresistible desire to probe the mystery. “No—I don’t. I suppose it’s my own fault, but if so, I don’t know why. None of the girls like me, they will scarcely speak to me; and I’m not accustomed to being treated that way.” Patty’s voice trembled a little, and a suggestion of tears came into her blue eyes, but she stood her ground bravely, for she was not whining, and she knew it; but she felt that the time had come for an explanation.
“My goodness gracious!” exclaimed Clementine, “don’t you know why the girls don’t chum with you?”
“No,” said Patty, her amazement and curiosity rising above all other sentiments; “and if you know, I wish for pity’s sake you’d tell me.”
“Why,” said Clementine, “it’s only because you’re such an inseparable chum of Lorraine Hamilton’s. The girls can’t bear her; she is so disagreeable and doleful and generally unpleasant. We’ve tried our best; she’s been here two years, you know, but we simplycan’tlike her. And so, when you came with her and seemed to be such a desperate friend of hers, why of course we couldn’t take you up without taking her, too. And, too, we thought that since you were so terribly intimate with her, you probably weren’t any nicer than she is. But I soon came to the conclusion that you weren’t a bit like her and I want awfully to be friends with you, and so do lots of the other girls. But when I asked you to walk with me yesterday, you said no, you’d rather walk with Lorraine, and I felt myself decidedly out of it.”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Patty impulsively; “I was horrid, I know; but, you see, I had felt so lonely and neglected all the week that somehow yesterday I got my spunk up, and I just felt like hurting somebody to make up for the way they had hurt me. I was awfully sorry about it afterwards.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Clementine; “don’t think of it again. And don’t leave the school, will you? Try it another week, anyhow; I’m sure you’ll like it when you get started straight.”
“I think I shall,” said Patty; “anyway, I’ll try it one week more. I’m not a baby, you know, but itwashorrid.”
“Yes, I know; but just you wait until next week and see.”
CHAPTER VIISOME NEW FRIENDS
“Well, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, as they sat in their pleasant library waiting for dinner-time; “the week is up, and I suppose you have shaken the dust of the Oliphant school off of your feet for the last time.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Man,” said Patty, smiling; “I’ve decided to try it for another week.”
“That’s pretty good news. And what brought about this sudden change of base?”
“Why, papa, the whole trouble in a nutshell is only—Lorraine Hamilton.”
“Why, you don’t mean she’s set the girls against you!”
“Not purposely; indeed, I don’t even suppose she knows it herself. But the real reason the girls didn’t want to get acquainted with me was because they thought that as I was always with Lorraine, and seemed so intimate with her I must be just like her. And do you know, they can’t abide Lorraine; and, papa, sheistrying.”
“Yes, she is. It’s a pity, but really I can’t blame anybody for not liking that doleful little piece of femininity.”
“And it isn’t only her dolefulness, but she seems disagreeable by nature. You know I told you I’d try to cheer her up, and I have; but, gracious, you might as well try to amuse a weeping-willow. I never saw such a girl!”
“It’s true,” said Grandma; “I’m so surprised and disappointed that Ellen Howard’s grand-daughter should turn out like that. Mrs. Hamilton is always cheerful and pleasant, but Lorraine isn’t one bit like her. At first I was sorry for the girl, but now I feel indignant with her. I know she could be different if she tried.”
“But seriously, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, “did the schoolgirls boycott you because you were friendly with Lorraine?”
“Yes, exactly that, papa. You see, I was more than friendly. We were inseparable—I was with her all the time. Of course the reason was that I hadn’t anyone else to go with; but the girls didn’t understand that. They thought I was——”
“Tarred with the same brush,” suggested Mr. Fairfield. “Well you’re not; you’re a ray of sunshine compared to that murky thunder-cloud. And it’s outrageous that you should be punished for her faults. How did you find all this out?”
“Clementine Morse told me to-day; and she says if I’ll drop Lorraine, the rest of the girls are more than willing to be chummy and nice. But, papa, it doesn’t seem right to drop Lorraine like that, and I don’t know what to do.”
“It is an awkward situation, I admit; but justice demands that your welfare should be considered as well as hers. Now look at it squarely and fairly. You’ve devoted this whole week to Lorraine, and apparently it hasn’t done her one bit of good and it has done you harm. And supposing you were to keep on in that way, what would be the result?”
“I don’t believe it would be a bit different,” said Patty, honestly. “She’s been at the school two years before this, and Clementine says that they’ve all tried to make her more jolly and sociable, but they couldn’t do it, so they finally gave it up.”
“It’s an unusual case and a very unfortunate one,” said Mr. Fairfield seriously. “But though Lorraine isn’t pleasant and companionable, there is no reason why you should sacrifice yourself for her sake.”
“But what can I do? Lorraine is right here in the house and I have to walk to school and back with her, and I don’t want to be mean to her.”
“Your own tact must manage that, Patty,” said Grandma, in her decided way. Patty had often noticed that when Grandma Elliott gave advice, it was good advice and very much to the point. So she listened with interest as Grandma went on: “You needn’t cut Lorraine, or drop her friendship entirely; but you can certainly be friends with the other girls, even though she is not. When they invite you or give you an opportunity to join their pleasures, give Lorraine a fair chance, too, and if she isn’t capable of taking advantage of it, let her alone. You have done your part and are no further responsible. Of course you understand that this is not to be said in so many words, but I know your sense of honour and justice and your kind heart will make it possible for you to manage it tactfully and well.”
“That’s exactly right,” said Mr. Fairfield; “Grandma has expressed in words just what I had in mind. Now go ahead, Chicken, do all you can for Lorraine, but not to the extent of injuring your own standing among those whom you have every reason to wish to please. And I think after a week or two matters will adjust themselves, and you will fall naturally into the right groove. You have had an unpleasant experience, but I think it will come out right yet, and perhaps in the long run you may be able to help Lorraine, after all.”
“You are the dearest people!” cried Patty, flinging one arm around her father’s neck, while with the other hand she patted Grandma’s pretty white hair; “any girl ought to be good and nice with such helpers and advisers as you two. I’m sure it will all come out right, and I’m as happy as a clam now. It’s been a horrid week, but we won’t think about that any more and I know next week will be lovely.”
“That’s the way to talk,” said her father; “forget the unpleasant things that happen and think only about the happy ones. I believe that remark, or something similar, has been made before, but it’s just as true as if it hadn’t been. And now, the affairs of state being, settled, I’d like to have some dinner.”
As they went down in the elevator they met Lorraine and her mother.
“How nice you look,” said Patty, glancing at a pretty new frock the girl was wearing.
“Oh, I think it’s horrid,” said Lorraine, fretfully; “it’s such an ugly shade of blue and the sleeves are too big.”
“Now you see how it is, papa,” said Patty a few moments later as they seated themselves at their own table; “you heard what Lorraine said about her dress, and that’s just the way she always is. Nothing pleases her.”
“Bad case of chronic discontent,” said Mr. Fairfield, “and, I fear, incurable. I’m glad you are not like that.”
After dinner, as they often did, they paused for a few moments in the attractive hotel library. In a few moments the Harts came in, and Adelaide went directly up to Patty and said:
“Won’t you come and talk to us a little while? I want you to meet my sisters.”
Patty was quite ready to meet this cordiality half-way, and mutual introductions all around were the result.
Mr. Hart and Mr. Fairfield soon hit upon congenial topics for conversation, and Mrs. Hart proved pleasantly entertaining to Grandma Elliott.
This left the young people to themselves, and Patty found the three girls merry and full of fun.
Adelaide was about Patty’s own age, Jeannette was younger, and Editha, the oldest sister, who was eighteen, was no longer a schoolgirl. But she was not out in society, and had teachers at home in French and music.
Patty admired Editha very much, she was so pretty and graceful and did not put on young ladyfied airs.
Adelaide was not pretty, but she had bright eyes and a humorous smile, and Patty soon discovered that to have fun was the principal end and aim of her existence.
Jeannette seemed to be a nice child, and Patty suddenly realised that it must be a jolly sort of thing to be one of three sisters.
“I quite envy you each other,” she said, “you must have such good times together.”
“Yes, we do,” said Adelaide; “haven’t you any brothers or sisters?”
“No,” said Patty, “not either. And I have no mother; she died when I was a baby. But I shall have, next spring,” she added, smiling, “for then my father is going to marry a lady I’m very fond of. She won’t be a bit like a mother, for she’s only six years older than I am, but she’ll be just like a sister, and I shall be so glad to have her with us. But I never get lonely; I have lots of things to amuse myself, and then there’s always papa and Grandma.”
“How do you like the Oliphant school?” asked Editha.
“Pretty well,” said Patty, smiling; “at least I shall like it when I get a little better acquainted. I’ve only been there a week yet.”
Adelaide said nothing about Lorraine, but somehow Patty felt sure that Clementine had spoken a good word for her; and now as she had a chance to justify herself to Adelaide, she was her own happy, merry little self, and the four girls got on famously.
It was not long before Patty reached the conclusion that the Harts were a thoroughly interesting family. Adelaide seemed really clever, and Patty was amazed to hear her tell of a fountain which she had herself constructed in the parlour of their apartment.
“Why, it was as easy as anything,” she said; “I just took a big bronze vase—a flat one, you know, that papa got in Rome or Florence or somewhere—and then I took an antique bronze lamp, Egyptian, I think it is, and I turned the lamp upside down on top of the vase. And then I got a piece of lead pipe, and of course we had to have a plumber to connect it with the water-pipe. But the bathroom is just the other side of the partition, and so that was easy. Then I put palms and plants and things all around it and so it makes a lovely fountain. Would you like to see it? Can’t you come up to our rooms now?”
“I’d like to ever so much,” said Patty, and after a word to Grandma the four girls went off together.
The Harts’ apartment was very similar to the Fairfields’, but on the floor above them. It was furnished with a queer jumble of tastes. The main furniture, of course, was that which belonged to the hotel, but the individual touches were eccentric and rather picturesque.
The fountain was really surprising, and Patty thought Adelaide’s description had by no means done it justice. The classic-shaped bronzes were exceedingly ornamental, the palms were tall and luxurious, and the soft tinkle of the continually falling water made a delightful sound. In the lower basin were several goldfish, and Patty could scarcely believe that Adelaide had planned and executed the whole affair herself.
“Why, it was nothing to do,” said the modest architect; “I love to build things. I’ve made shirt-waist boxes for all of us; I’ll make you one if you want it.”
“Oh, thank you,” cried Patty, quite overcome by this delightful change in Adelaide’s attitude toward her; “I suppose you’ll think me very ignorant, but really I don’t know what a shirt-waist box is.”
“Oh, that’s just the name of them,” explained Editha; “you don’t have to keep shirt-waists in them. They’re just big boxes, with covers like a trunk, and Adelaide does make them beautifully. She covers them with a kind of Chinese matting, and she even puts on brass corners and hinges. Come into my room with me and I will show you one.”
They all followed Editha to her pretty bedroom, and Patty saw and admired not only the shirt-waist box, but many of Editha’s other treasures. Among them was a box of chocolates, and soon the girls were nibbling away at the candy, and, as is usual in such circumstances, growing very friendly and well acquainted.
But though the Hart girls were so pleasant to Patty, they were not so amiable with one another. Editha patronised Adelaide and treated her as if she were very young and ignorant. Adelaide resented this, but she in turn domineered over Jeannette, and there were frequent sharp bickerings back and forth which made Patty feel decidedly uncomfortable.
However, the Harts had a strong sense of humour, and more often than not their squabbles ended with a joke and a merry peal of laughter.
It was all very novel and entertaining, and when Mrs. Hart returned to the apartment Patty was surprised to learn that it was after nine o’clock, and that Grandma had sent word for her to come home.
“Well,” she said, as she sat down in a little chair by her father’s side, “I’ve made three friends, anyway. The Hart girls are awfully nice. They seem to be rather snappy to each other, but they were lovely to me, and I think I shall like them. They’re full of fun and jokes, and Adelaide is the cleverest thing you ever saw. Why, papa, she has a whole fountain right in their drawing-room.”
“And a terrace and a driveway?”
“No, not quite that, but I wouldn’t be surprised the next time I go to find she has built one. She can build anything.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve found somebody to play with, Puss, and I hope they’ll be more satisfactory than the dismal Lorraine. By the way, what became of her? Did she melt into thin air?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; I didn’t see her at all after dinner.”
“I suppose she abdicated in favour of Adelaide. But don’t drop her all at once, Puss. Hunt her up to-morrow and offer her a chance to have her share of the fun, whether she takes it or not.”