The next morning Polly stayed in bed for breakfast, as befitted a heroine, and received visitors. All the faculty came in, one after the other, to congratulate her. Miss Crosby's ability as a story-teller had served to picture the events of the night before in vivid colors, and Polly's splendid courage had not lost in the telling.
Lois and Betty kept watch at the door, and admitted only the girls that they knew Polly would want to see. They were not many, for she had a headache and was thoroughly tired. When the bell rang for study hour, they left Connie with her.
"Sit down and make yourself comfy. Here's a pillow." Polly threw one of Lois' to the foot of the bed, and Connie stuffed it behind her back.
"It's perfectly silly, my lying in bed like this," Polly went on, yawning and stretching luxuriously, "but Mrs. Baird insisted."
"I should think so. You must be nearly dead." Connie looked at her, wondering.
"Honestly, Poll, you were wonderful. How did you think of that hill, and have sense enough to go up it?"
Polly buried her head in the pillows and groaned.
"Not you too, Connie?" she asked, tragically. "Do I have to explain again that I was brought up with horses and have driven all my life, and been in any number of runaways, so that I am not afraid of any horse that lives? There, now, I've told you, and if you mention last night again, I'll ask Miss King to pull you out of my room by the hair of your head."
"I won't, I won't, on my oath!" Connie promised, laughing. "I'll even contradict all these people who are calling you a brave heroine, if you say so."
"I wish you would," Polly said, crossly. "Heroine! how perfectly silly."
"Of course it is, now that I come to think of it. You didn't do anything so great," Connie teased, "just stopped a couple of wildly running horses, and saved fifteen girls from sudden death—and what's that? A mere nothing."
"Connie, I'll—" Polly threatened, sitting up in bed, but Connie pushed her back. "You'll behave like a good child and answer me some questions."
"Well, go ahead and ask them."
"First, what's wrong with Dot Mead? I heard her say to one of the girls: 'Polly's bravery is so awfully evident, that it almost looks like showing off,' and when Dorothy Lansing said: 'I think so, too,' I simply couldn't help laughing. It was so like the Dorothys."
"Who were they talking to?" Polly asked, indifferently.
Connie smiled at a sudden recollection.
"A girl named Eleanor Trent. She was furious. She told them they were jealous cats. Imagine!"
Polly smiled grimly. "Eleanor Trent is on my team; she naturally would resent it. Hasn't Ange told you about the fuss yesterday, with the Dorothys?"
"No; what happened!" Connie was interested immediately. She felt this was a personal matter of her class. For the minute, she completely forgot she was only a visitor.
Polly described the scene on the hill—
"Three cheers for Betty!" Connie laughed, heartily. "I can just imagine her rage. But what is the matter with this Fanny!" she asked.
"Nobody knows." Polly shook her head. "We hurt her feelings early in the year, and I don'tthink she's ever forgiven us. I'm sorry, too; she's a dandy girl, if she'd only forget the chip on her shoulder."
"Going with the Dorothys won't help," Connie said, slowly.
"I know, but what can we do? Warn her that too much association with our classmates will not improve her disposition?" Polly unthinkingly imitated Miss Hale's manner.
"The Spartan," Connie laughed. "You might take Fanny up yourselves," she suggested.
"We might," Polly said, thoughtfully; "oh, there's the bell!"
Study hour was over, and a minute later, Lois, Betty, and Angela came in. There was an air of mystery about them, and Betty said: "Then you'll attend to it, Lo?"
"No; Miss Crosby's going to. I've just come from the studio," Lois answered, as she walked over to her bureau.
"Attend to what?" Polly demanded.
"Nothing!" Angela assured her. "Lo and Betty are fussing over some art secret."
"Oh, well, what's the news?"
"News?" Betty said, wearily. "Why, haven't you heard? Last night a girl hero stopped two rearing, plunging—"
"Betty, if you say one word more," Polly protested feebly—she was laughing in spite of herself.
"Hello, what's this?" Lois had been straightening Polly's dresser and discovered a note beside the pin cushion. "It's for you, Poll." She tossed it on the bed. "Must have been here since last night."
Polly opened and read it.
"Oh, what next?" she groaned. "Listen to this: 'To the captain of the basket ball team,' she read, 'I wish to say that I resign from your team to-day. Signed, Fanny Gerard.'"
"Why, she's crazy," Betty said, with indignation.
"That's the dear Dorothys," Angela remarked, airily. They were all discussing the note at once, when a tap sounded on the door.
"Go see who it is, Lo. I don't want to see any one else this morning," Polly protested.
Lois went to the door. They heard Jane's excited voice in the corridor.
"Please let us see Polly," she asked. "We won't stay a second."
"And we won't talk about last night," Phylis' voice joined in. "We've something awfully important to tell her and you."
Lois looked inquiringly at Polly and the other girls.
"Oh, let them in," Polly said, good naturedly. "Hello, you two, what's the secret?" she greeted them.
They came over to the bed. They were very much embarrassed by the presence of the others.
"You're not awfully sick, are you, Polly?" Phylis asked, real distress in her voice.
"Bless your heart, no," Polly assured her. "I'm just being lazy; I'll be up for luncheon."
"Tell us the something important," Lois said, pulling Jane down beside her on the window box.
Jane looked at Angela and Connie.
"Oh, never mind them," Lois said, understanding her hesitation. "What is it?"
"Well," Jane began, desperately, "I've got to tell you first—that Phylis and I were not very nice—"
"We listened behind a door," Phylis confessed, calmly; "we just had to."
"We were in Eleanor Trent's room," Jane took up the story again. "You see, yesterday she borrowed my gym shoes, and I went down to her room to get them. Well, you know her room is next to Fanny Gerard's, and just as we were coming out, we heard some one crying—"
"Fanny doesn't like us much," Phylis went on, "but we stopped to listen, and we heard Dorothy Mead say:
"'Well, don't be a baby about it. Of course, if you want to have Polly boss you, you can, and Fanny—'"
"No, then Dorothy Lansing said, 'you'd only have to coast down the hill once, to show her you wouldn't let her,'" Jane interrupted.
"Fanny was crying and saying she wanted to go home, and that she wouldn't ever speak to anybody again. We left them, and— Well, we thought we'd better tell you." Phylis ended the tale and looked at Polly.
"Poor Fanny," Polly sighed, "she's not very happy. The Dorothys shouldn't talk that way, of course, but it's not very important. Thanks for telling me, though. Don't listen any more. Fanny wouldn't like it." She treated the whole thing so lightly that both the younger girls thought they had attached more importance to the affair than was necessary. After they left, however, Polly sprang out of bed.
"Something must be done," she declared. Betty ground her teeth. "Jemima! I'd like to give both those Dorothys a ticket to the Fiji Islands," she said angrily. "They're spoiling our class."
"What about Fanny!" Lois inquired. "She's the one; evidently she's miserable, and look at that note."
Polly got back into bed.
"Everybody get out!" she ordered. "And, Bet, go find Fanny and ask her to come here. I'm going to talk to her. She's got some foolish idea in her head about us, and I'm going to find out what it is."
"What about the Dorothys?" Angela inquired, lazily. "Don't tire yourself out, Poll, they're not worth it."
"Oh, the Dorothys don't matter. They'll come around in time if we're nice to them. Of course, my being a heroine for the present won't help any," Polly said, with a grimace.
The interview with Fanny straightened everything out. Polly's surmise had been correct. Fanny was harboring the idea that, because Polly and Lois and Betty did not keep any love letters, they must, of course, consider her vain and foolish for doing it.
"I just know you all don't like me," she said, mournfully.
"Oh, Fanny, how silly you are." Polly laughed at her. "We did like you, and still do; you're loads of fun; you play basket ball wonderfully.You've no idea what a chance you have to be popular," she said, earnestly. "If you only wouldn't think everybody was trying to hurt your feelings. We really want to be friends."
It was a new experience for Polly to plead for friendship, but she did it, sincerely, and Fanny gave in. Lois and Betty joined them and a lasting peace was proclaimed.
Maud arrived in the afternoon. Mrs. Banks came with her, but acting under Mrs. Baird's advice, she did not spend the night. Lois and Betty and Polly took charge of them both for the afternoon. They showed them the school and grounds and, after Mrs. Banks left, they introduced Maud to all the girls.
Maud met them with a calm indifference, and looked them over with appraising eyes. Those she liked, she talked to. The others she ignored. The three girls were completely baffled.
"What'll we do with her?" Betty demanded. "Does she always act like this?" They were in the Assembly Hall before dinner. "Do you see anybody you'd like to meet?" she asked Maud a few minutes later.
"No, I don't," came the answer, without hesitation.
Lois laughed right out.
"Maud, you're too funny for words. Tell us what do you think of Seddon Hall?"
Maud gazed at her steadily for a moment.
"Oh, I like it no end," she said, warmly. "Why?"
"Nothing," Polly hastened to say, "we just thought perhaps you didn't."
The bell rang for dinner.
"You go down with your table," Lois explained. "You can do what you like, after dinner. We have a lecture to-night but it doesn't begin until eight."
Little did any of them guess how literally Maud would take Lois' words.
After dinner the Seniors were detained by Mrs. Baird to meet the lecturer and see that the Assembly Hall was in order. This took up their time.
The lecture was already on its way when Polly suddenly nudged Lois: "Lo, Maud is not here," she said in an agonized whisper, "what'll we do?"
Lois looked carefully all over the hall. Maud was nowhere in sight. "She's probably in her room," she whispered back.
They sat in nervous silence. The lecturer paused in his discourse for a minute.
"If I had a buttonhook and a piece of string," he said, turning to Mrs. Baird, "I could demonstrate what I mean."
Polly jumped from her seat, caught Mrs. Baird's eye, before any one else, and, in obedience to her nod, left the room.
She hurried over the Bridge of Sighs, for she hoped to get the articles required, and discover Maud without being absent from Assembly Hall too long. The sound of splashing made her stop and listen half way down the corridor. Some one was apparently taking a bath in the faculty tubs. She thought for a minute, and remembered all the teachers were on the platform. A horrible fear entered her mind. A second later the bark of a dog, followed by a low growl, crystallized the fear to a dreadful certainty.
She pushed open the door. Maud, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, was kneeling beside the tub scrubbing a little wiry-haired yellow puppy, who was protesting vigorously.
Polly looked for a full minute, then she closed the door, and hurried over to her room.
When she got back to her seat, Lois whispered:
"See anything of Maud?"
"She's giving a dog a bath in the faculty's corridor," Polly answered, struggling to keep back the laughter.
"Poll!" Lois' jaw dropped, "I don't believe it," she said.
Polly knew that all the teachers would go to the reception hall for coffee before going back to their rooms. So the minute the lecture was over she called Betty and Lois. "Come with me, quick," she said, hurriedly, and led them back to the faculty corridor. The splashing had stopped. She opened the door.
"Jemima! What under the sun—" Betty and Lois could hardly believe their eyes.
Maud was still on her knees, but the dog was out of the tub; he stood shivering on the blue mat, while she rubbed him vigorously with a towel. She was not at all surprised to see the girls.
"Isn't he an old dear?" she asked, casually. "I found him out by the stables to-night when I was taking a walk. He needed a scrub most awfully."
Polly started to explain, thought better of it, and turned to Betty. The events that followed were swift and purposeful.
Betty washed out the tub, while Lois mopped up the water that the dog had splashed on the floor.
Polly took the astonished Maud with one arm and the very wet puppy under the other and hurried them, by way of the kitchen, into the furnace room.
"You can't have him in your room, you know," she said by way of explanation. "We'll tie himup here for to-night, where he'll be warm, and I'll get him some milk. You go up to your room as fast as you can. The bell has rung and you're supposed to go to bed right away. Can you find your way?"
Maud's brows drew together in a puzzled frown, but she didn't protest.
"Yes, of course," she said, wonderingly. "Good night, pup; I'll see you in the morning."
"Better hurry," Polly warned. "Good night."
"Good night," Maud said, cheerfully, as she went upstairs.
Polly followed her after she had found some food for the dog.
Betty and Lois were already in her room. Betty was stifling roars of laughter in one of Lois' pillows, and Lois was dabbing at her eyes and babbling foolishly.
Polly, the second the door was closed, threw herself down on her bed and gave vent to all the pent up mirth within her.
Finally Betty sat up.
"Oh, Lordy!" she choked; "how rare, how perfectly, gloriously, joyously rare. Think of Maud scrubbing a yellow pup in the faculty's private bath, and the Spartan liable to come in any minute. What a treat? Oh, Maud! I welcome you."
Much to the disgust of all the girls, four days of warm sunshine had melted the snow, spoiled the coasting and made rubbers a first consideration.
The roads were hidden under inches of slush, the gutters were miniature brooks, and the ground seemed to be completely covered by a thick coating of red, oozy mud.
Polly, an empty basket over one arm, was picking her way gingerly along the back road that led from the farm.
As she came in sight of the gym, Betty met her.
"Hello, where are you going?" she demanded.
"I'm not going, I'm coming," Polly answered.
"Where from?"
"The cottage. I've just been to see McDonald; he's back from the hospital, you know, and Mrs. Baird sent me over with some fruit for him."
"Is he better?"
"Yes, but I don't believe he'll ever do any driving again; he's pretty feeble."
"Good old McDonald! It won't seem right not having him around; he's been here ever since I can remember, and that's six long years."
Betty gave a sigh to express great age, and resumed: "Do you remember the night you and he, between you, turned off the power for the lantern and got us out of a lecture by the Spartan's cousin?"
Polly chuckled. "McDonald was just talking about it. He said: 'Sure an' Miss Polly, I couldn't be after spoiling your evening, that I couldn't; so when I got back to the power house, I just let well enough alone, and all the time all I needed to do was to turn on the switch again.' I told him about Maud and the dog, and he laughed till he cried. What's doing this afternoon?"
"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Betty said dolefully. "The coasting's spoiled, and the gym is packed with girls."
"Then, that's where I'm going," Polly announced, "and you've got to come with me. Do you realize that February is not so very far away, and that our sub team is very, very weak?"
"I do," Betty answered, solemnly. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Find out who else can play. Bet, I can't lose either big game this year. We've just got to buildup the team." Polly was very serious. "I'm worried."
"Who about?"
"Eleanor Trent; she can't get used to girls' rules, and she makes fouls all the time."
"Who subs for her?"
"Katherine Welbe, and she's no earthly good."
"Come on, then; let's see who's playing now," Betty gave in resignedly.
They went to the gym and sat down in the first row in the gallery. The game in progress was being played by Freshmen and Sophomores for the most part, and Jane and Phylis seemed to be doing most of it. They were both playing jumping centers. It was not very exciting to watch; some one fumbled or made a foul every other minute and the whistle sounded incessantly.
"I hoped Maud would be here," Polly said, thoughtfully. "Have you seen her to-day?"
"Yes, she's up watching Lois paint, I think. You know she draws awfully well herself. Did you see the pen and ink sketch she did of her little yellow pup, yesterday? It was great."
The question of the dog had been solved by Polly. She had received permission from Mrs. Baird—who had laughed heartily at the story—for Maudto go round to the stable and see him after school hours.
"Yes, she showed it to me," Polly answered Betty's question. "Then Lo made her let her show it to Miss Crosby. But that's not basket ball." She returned to the original subject abruptly. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do, as soon as this game is over. I'll ask Miss Stuart if we can't have the gym to ourselves for practice."
"Do you mean the big team?" Betty asked. She was not very anxious to change into her gym suit for so short a time.
"No; I'm going to pick out some of these girls and find Maud and make her come. Then I'm going to change them around in different positions. I'll bet I'll find some one that's good at something."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Betty stood up ready to act. "Go find Maud?"
"Darling Betty, if you would be so kind," Polly teased. "I'll be—what is it Maud says?—'no end grateful'; then come back and help me."
Miss Stuart not only granted Polly the permission she asked, but stopped the game at once. "It will give you more time," she said, "and I'm not sorry to give up my whistle to you."
When Betty returned with Maud they began.
"I met Fanny on my way over, and I told her you wanted her. I thought she might as well help, too," Betty said.
"Good! she can watch the guards. You watch the centers and I'll take the forwards. Maud, I'm going to put you on as a guard; you're so tall."
"Oh, all right," Maud agreed, "what do I do?"
"You keep the ball away from the girls of the other team. Wait till we start, then I'll show you." Polly, a minute later, blew the whistle and placed the teams. Jane and Phylis were so excited that they nearly forgot to jump when she threw the ball up between them.
For two hours and a half they worked. Polly and Betty and Fanny explaining and showing them how, and now and again getting into the game themselves.
While they were struggling with clumsy forwards and slow guards, Lois, who really ought to have been there, was having a very important talk with Mrs. Baird and Miss Crosby.
"Do you think Polly knows anything about it?" Mrs. Baird asked. "I do hope not."
"She hasn't the slightest idea," Lois assured her. "Betty just told me she would be in the gym all afternoon, so there's no chance of her seeing any of the preparations."
"Hadn't you better fix the table?" Miss Crosby asked. "Here's everything for it, I think; do the rest of the girls understand?"
"I spoke to Miss Lane about the younger children eating at the Senior table," Mrs. Baird said. "The girls all know I've told each one." Lois was gathering up yards of pale green crepe paper as she spoke. "I think it will be a lot of fun, don't you? And Polly will be awfully surprised."
The mystery of this conversation was not explained until dinner time that night.
Polly and Betty came in, hot and tired from playing and just in time to take a shower and dress before study hour. It is true that Polly might have noticed that some of the girls were exchanging mysterious glances behind their desks, had it not been for the fact that a letter from Bob claimed her attention. She found it on her desk.
"Dear Polly," she read."Hark to the joyful news. My foot is all well, and I've started training. I haven't forgotten what you said, and every time I think I'm no good I just say: Cheer up, May's a long way off. Wish me luck.
"Dear Polly," she read.
"Hark to the joyful news. My foot is all well, and I've started training. I haven't forgotten what you said, and every time I think I'm no good I just say: Cheer up, May's a long way off. Wish me luck.
"Bob."
Polly was so delighted that she spent the rest of study hour trying to compose a fitting answer, and she was so anxious to tell Lois on the way to dinner that she didn't realize she was being led into the lower school's dining-room, until she was at the very door.
"Where are we going?" she asked, turning suddenly.
"Come and see; we're having dinner in here this evening," Lois answered, as she opened the door and displayed a table decorated with green paper with a centerpiece of pale pink roses.
Mrs. Baird was standing at one end, and Miss Crosby at the other. The rest of the places were filled by the girls who had been on the eventful straw-ride.
Lois led Polly, too surprised to speak, to her place at Mrs. Baird's right, and there she found a big box tied with green ribbon with her name on it. Every one was looking at it, and Polly realized in a dreamy sort of way that she was expected to open it. All she could say was:
"Why, er, what—" she was so astonished.
She opened the box and discovered a bulky chamois bag packed in with tissue paper. She looked at it, wondering, and then gave an exclamation of joy, when she discovered that it covered a bigsilver loving cup. On one side was engraved the date and the words: "To Polly, in grateful recollection of her splendid courage," and on the other, the names of all the girls, Connie's included, who had been on the ride.
Polly looked at it for a long time, without a word. Then she turned, appealingly, to Mrs. Baird.
"What can I say?" she asked. "I can't think of anything but 'thank you.' And that's so little. Though if I could only be sure you knew how much I meant by it, it would be enough. Do say you know," she pleaded, looking around the table, "because I'm terribly embarrassed," she ended, laughing.
"Very good speech, Poll," Betty teased from her seat opposite, "and quite long enough; my soup's cold."
"Betty!" Mrs. Baird tried to look shocked, and failed, because she simply had to smile.
Then followed the happiest meal imaginable. At the end a big cake, with Polly's name on it, was brought in, and then everybody told her all over again how brave she'd been.
"But I wasn't," she insisted. "It was just a simple thing to do—nothing that really took courage."
"You may be right," Betty told her, "but you'll never find any one to agree with you."
Polly smiled. "If I do," she said, "will you promise never to mention it to me again?"
"Yes," Betty said, promptly; "I will."
"All right."
After dinner she led the way, followed by all fifteen girls, straight to Maud. They found her in one of the class rooms.
"Tell her just what I did," Polly directed.
And Betty described the ride in her most extravagant style. Finally she displayed the cup.
"Now, what do you think of it?" she ended triumphantly.
Maud's eyes had been wide with interest throughout the recital. She looked at Polly with perfect understanding.
"By Jove!" she said earnestly, "wasn't it lucky the hill was there. Did you remember to rub the horses down when you got back, Polly?"
There was a second's silence.
"Yes, and I put blankets on them," Polly answered. Then, turning to Betty: "Do I win?" she asked, laughing.
"'Flow gently sweet Afton among thy green braes," caroled Betty. She was picking out the accompaniment with her first finger on the Assembly Hall piano, one stormy afternoon, for the benefit of Angela and Polly. They were trying to compose a Senior class song to Seddon Hall.
"'Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.'"
"That ought to do," she said, abruptly swinging around on the piano stool to face them.
"The rhythm is good and I love the tune."
Polly and Angela considered for a moment.
"It is rather nice," Polly agreed, "if we can only find words to fit it."
"That's easy, use the same idea as the song," Betty suggested. "Supplement Hudson for Afton, and—"
"Oh, Bet, how can you?" Angela's poetic taste objected. "Imagine a school song that began 'Flow gently sweet Hudson.' I suppose you'd goon with: 'Among thy sign bordered banks.' It would never do, would it, Polly?"
Polly was laughing too hard to reply at once.
"I don't know; it would be original, anyway, Ange," she said at last.
"And you know our class has always been original," Betty reminded her.
"There's a difference between originality and silly nonsense, but I suppose it's too much to expect either of you to appreciate it," Angela said, with dignity.
Betty played a loud chord on the piano.
"Ange, when you're crushing, I always feel like running away," she said, timidly. "However, I still protest that there's nothing wrong with telling the Hudson to flow gently," she added. "Of course, I'm open to argument."
Angela was exasperated. The rest of the Senior class had appointed these three to write the class song, over a week ago. It had to be ready before the Senior concert. This was as far as they had gotten.
Christmas vacation began the next week, and the concert was to be the night before. Angela felt, that given a piece of paper, a pencil and a quiet place, she could compose a fitting song, but with Betty and Polly saying ridiculous thingsevery minute to make her laugh, she couldn't think of even one sensible line.
"You can't use the words, gently and sweet, in relation to a mighty river like the Hudson." She referred to Betty's question. "You might as well call it a cute little brook," she finished in disgust.
"Why, Angela! I do believe you're cross." Polly looked up in sudden surprise at the irritable note in Angela's voice. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing but a cold in my head and pages of Virgil translations," Angela replied, woefully. "You and Betty won't be serious for a minute. It'll mean I have to sit up the night before the concert with a wet towel around my head and write a song that won't be any good."
"Polly, we ought to be ashamed. Angela's right," Betty said with sudden seriousness. "From this minute on, I promise to behave," she added solemnly, "and agree to anything you say. We'll discard 'Flow gently sweet Hudson,' as no good, and proceed."
"How about starting 'On Majestic Hudson's Banks?'" suggested Polly.
"We can't use majestic, it's too long and grand's a horrid word." Angela considered, frowning.
"Well, leave out the adjective and say:
"On Hudson's bankStands fair Seddon Hall—
"That's all right, listen, I'll play it."
They sang the words to Betty's accompaniment.
"Truth, honor and joyIs her message to all."
Angela added inspired:
"Her daughters are loyal"—
Betty would have gone on, but Polly stopped her.
"I won't agree to that, every class song I ever heard, said exactly the same thing," she protested. "Let's get something about happiness."
"Hardly more original." Betty laughed, but Angela interrupted.
"I know what Poll means. How's this?"
"There's no limit to"—
"Slang," Polly said abruptly.
"It isn't really."
"Yes, it is. 'Common usage often converts the most ordinary phrase into slang or colloquialism. The writer should take care to avoid them,'" Betty quoted. "Try limitless depth."
"All right, that's better still," Angela agreed.
"There's a limitless depthTo her bounteous store."
"Oh, marvelous!" Polly exclaimed. "What rhymes with store—paw, law, door, war, more— More, that's it."
"Each year she gives of—her—her— We can't use bounty again. Give me a word somebody."
"Riches," Betty suggested.
"Of her riches the more.
"Oh, that's perfect!"
Angela didn't exactly agree, but she didn't say so. Instead she gave them the verse she had just composed.
"Each daughter has sharedIn the wealth of her days,United we join nowIn singing her praise."
"Jemima, one of us has a brilliant mind!" Betty exclaimed. "That's too good to forget. Wait till I find a pencil."
There was one in the pocket of her sailor suit and she wrote the words down on the back of a sheet of music.
"Why, that's three verses," she said as she finished with a flourish.
"Let's add one more!" Polly suggested, "with Seddon Hall in it and something about leaving like this:
"And when the time comes"—
"Yes, I know," Betty interrupted eagerly.
"When we must depart"—
"That's good, but I like each, better than we," Polly said critically.
"And when the time comesWhen each must depart"
"Finish it for us, Ange."
"The memory of Seddon HallWill remain in our hearts."
Angela chanted promptly. "Seddon Hall is rather too long for the line but I guess it will do."
"Of course it will!" Polly assured her, as Betty scribbled hurriedly. "We'll claim poetic license. I'm sure it's worth it. Let's go find the girls, and read it to them."
"Where are they?" Angela inquired. "I think the Dorothys have gone to the village."
"Evelin's in the gym, and Mildred's in the Infirmary," Betty said. "Where's Lo?"
"In the studio." Polly closed the lid of the piano, preparatory to leaving.
"Well, we can get her at any rate," Betty said. "Come on."
Fanny was in the studio with Lois, when they gotthere. Ever since Polly's promise of friendship, she had been with one or the other of the three girls. Even Angela had taken an interest in her, now and then.
As the friendship grew, and the girls found that she "filled the want that the year lacked," as Betty put it drolly:
"Fanny's so nice and such a relief just because she isn't 'us.'" By this she probably meant that the little Southerner would always see things differently from the three who, though totally different, thought and looked at things in pretty much the same way.
"We've finished the song," Polly announced, proudly, as they entered the studio.
Lois looked up from her drawing board.
"I've nearly finished the poster. How do you like it?"
The girls crowded around her, to admire a crayon sketch of a group of wakes dressed in costume, singing. There was a house like Ann Hathaway's cottage in the background, and a big yellow moon just rising behind a hill.
They were delighted with it.
"Just right, Lo!" Polly insisted. "It ought to be English because all the ballads we're going to sing are early English—'Good King WenceslasLooked Out' and 'God rest ye, Merry Gentlemen,'—and the rest."
"Oh! I adore those old things," Fanny said eagerly. "We always sing them down home, every year."
"Read the song," Lois demanded. "I'm crazy to hear it."
"Hadn't I better go?" Fanny offered. "I'm not a Senior."
"Oh, never mind," Polly said, "you won't tell."
"Just the same, I'll go. Will you all have tea in my room this afternoon? I've just gotten a box of cookies from down home," she asked at the door.
"We will," Betty replied without hesitation. "Tea and homemade cookies are the one thing I need after my labors."
The others accepted with equal enthusiasm and Fanny left to prepare for them.
When she had gone, Betty seated herself on the window seat and referred to the piece of music.
"Here's the song entire," she announced. "We all helped with, but most of it is Angela's."
"I knew that," Lois said with a grin, but Betty ignored the interruption.
"The tune is 'Flow gently Sweet Afton' and the song is dedicated to Seddon Hall, with apologies to Robert Burns. Here it is," and she read:
"On Hudson's bankStands fair Seddon Hall.Truth, honor and joyIs her message to all."
"That's the first verse."
"Go on," Lois prompted, "I like it."
"Each daughter has sharedIn the wealth of her days.United, we joinIn singing her praise."There's a limitless depthTo her bounteous store,And yearly she givesOf her riches the more."And when the time comesWhen each must depart,The memory of Seddon HallWill remain in our heart."
"Somehow it sounds better when it's sung," Betty said, wonderingly. The poem was not quite up to her expectations, but Lois' enthusiasm banished all doubts.
"I think it's great, and I know the others will too. Isn't it a relief to have it finished? All my poster needs now is the printing, and Maud's promised to do it for me in Old English Script."
"Fine, but put your things away, and let's go over to Fannie's room. Those cakes call." Betty smacked her lips in anticipation as she helped Lois collect her materials.
Fanny was singing as they entered Junior Mansions. It was an old Negro melody, and the crooning notes were soft and beautiful.
"Why I didn't know Fanny could sing," Polly exclaimed in surprise, and the rest stopped to listen.
"'Swing low, sweet chariot— I'se comin' for to carry you home'"—
The music ended abruptly, and they heard the rattle of the cups.
"Why didn't you ever tell us you had a beautiful voice?" demanded Betty between cookies, a few minutes later. "You ought to be studying."
"The very idea!" Fanny laughed in reply.
"Hasn't anybody ever told you you had before?" Lois asked wonderingly. But Fanny shook her head.
"I reckon they none of them ever had time to pay any attention to me," she said. "They were always busy listening to my cousin."
"Which cousin?" Polly inquired.
"Caroline," Fanny said. "We were brought up together, and when we were little, Mammy Jones used to say: 'Honey, the only way for to do, if you wants to sing, is to swaller a hummin' bird.' One day Caroline came in and said 'she had swallowed one.' Well, later, she did develop alovely voice you know, and poor mammy believed till the day she died that 'Miss Carrie had done swallered a hummin' bird.'" The girls were delighted.
"How rare," Betty chuckled.
"Bless her old heart," Polly added. "Where's Caroline now?"
"In Washington. She's studying both voice and piano."
"I don't believe her voice is any sweeter than yours," Lois insisted. Fanny shook her head.
"Maybe not, but everybody thinks so, so there you are. Carrie just naturally does get ahead of me in everything. I told you she cut me out with one of my beaux," she added, laughing at herself. "A thing she could never have done two months before."
Three days later the discovery of Fannie's voice proved of much more importance than any of the girls had foreseen. Evelin Hatfield, who had a very clear soprano voice, and who had been cast for the solo parts in the concert, came down with tonsilitis and had to go to the Infirmary. The Seniors met in English room to discuss finding a substitute, after Miss King had assured them that there was no chance of Evelin's immediate recovery.
"Of course it's a Senior concert, and as long as I can remember no one has ever helped them out, but our class is hopeless," Lois said. "Evelin's was the only real voice, except yours, Ange, and you're already cast for the King. Do you think you could take the page's part in 'Good King Wenceslas,' Dot?" she asked Dorothy Lansing.
"Goodness! No! Why, I'd be scared to death," she answered hastily.
"Then there's nothing to do, but to ask one of the Juniors to help us," Polly said decidedly. "She could leave the platform when we sang our song."
The rest agreed. "But who?" Helen inquired.
"Fanny Gerard has a sweet voice, and I know she knows the carols," Betty said, "and she's a Junior."
There was a little discussion before Fanny was selected, but in the end Betty carried her point.
The few days before the musical were taken up with rehearsals. The party was to be very informal—just something to do on the last night. The Seniors sang carols in costumes and later on served light refreshments.
Fanny was delighted to sing. The day of the concert she went out with Polly and Lois to getevergreen branches to decorate the hall with, and between them they turned the platform into a veritable forest.
By seven-thirty the school was assembled, and at a quarter to eight the Seniors entered. They marched around the room and up to the platform singing: "God rest ye, Merry Gentlemen." Fanny's clear voice was so above the others that the girls and teachers began to whisper among themselves. There was a lull of expectancy as they began "Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephan."
Angela, who was dressed as the King, sang her part:
"Haste thee, page, and stand by me,If thou knowest it telling,Yonder peasant, who is he?Where, and what, his dwelling?"
With so much expression that the deficiency of her voice was overlooked.
But it was Fanny, in her green page suit that was to score the triumph of the evening. She stepped out a little from the others, when her turn came to answer the King.
"Sire, he lives a good league hence—Underneath the mountain.Right beyond the forest fenceBy Saint Agnes' fountain."
Her notes were full and beautiful, and the sympathetic quality of her voice enchanted her audience. They broke out into enthusiastic applause.
"I told you so," Betty whispered as Fanny bowed her thanks.
The rest of the evening may be truly said to have belonged to Fanny. Even the Seniors' class song was hurriedly applauded, so that she might return to the platform.
The girls made her sit down at the piano when the carols were over, and sing them song after song.
At nine o'clock, Betty insisted that she stop long enough to have some refreshments.
"You all don't really think I can sing, do you?" she asked seriously, when they had joined Polly and Lois and Angela.
"Of course we do," everybody told her with enthusiasm.
"You've swallowed a bird all right," Betty laughed.
Fanny shook her head. So much praise was embarrassing.
"Maybe I did," she said shyly, "but it was probably nothing but a poor no account sparrow."
The two-seated sleigh jingled merrily up the drive and stopped at the carriage block. Polly and Lois jumped out and turned to help Mrs. Farwell.
"Home again," Polly exclaimed, joyfully looking around her with pardonable pride, for the splendid old house they were about to enter was her own, and every corner of it held the dearest of memories.
Lois and her mother were no less delighted to return to it. It had been Uncle Roddy's suggestion that they all spend Christmas there, and every one had heartily agreed to it.
"How splendid it looks in the snow, doesn't it?" Mrs. Farwell asked. "My, I shall be glad to see an open fire-place. I hope Sarah has started a fire in the drawing-room. Just put the bags in the hall, Tim," she added, to the old coachman who was busy unloading the back of the sleigh. He nodded respectfully.
"Where's Sandy?" Polly demanded, "I thought he'd be here to meet me, surely."
Tim shook his head. "He's gettin' old, Miss Polly," he said. "And he spends most of his time lying before the fire."
Sandy was Polly's beautiful big collie. She found him as Tim had said, a few minutes later, after Sarah had opened the door for them and ushered them in with a hearty welcome. He was lying on the hearth rug in the library. And as he heard Polly tip-toe in, he got up stiffly and held out his paw.
"Darling old fellow," Polly said, dropping to her knees beside him, and patting his silky head.
Sandy licked her hand affectionately and made as great a fuss about her, as his rheumatic old joints would permit. Then Lois claimed her and together they roamed over the house, enjoying the spacious rooms and reveling in the blazing wood fires.
Bob and Jim arrived the next day with Dr. Farwell and Uncle Roddy. The sleigh was not large enough for Polly and Lois to go and meet them. So, to make up for it, Bob and Polly hitched Banker, the pony, to the cutter, later in the afternoon, and drove out into the woods in search of a Christmas tree.
"Get a nice bushy one," Lois called after them, as they drove off. "And don't get lost."
Bob tucked the rug around Polly's feet. "We won't," he called back. "Which direction?" he inquired.
"Down the hill and take the first turn to the right," Polly told him. "Jemima! but it's cold." And she snuggled down in her furs. "I can't believe this is Christmas Eve."
"Neither can I," Bob said. "What's this I hear about you and Lois going to visit some one for New Year's?"
"We're going to Fanny Gerard's," Polly answered. "Won't it be fun? She lives in South Carolina. We're going specially for her New Year's dance. It's the event of the season—and I'm so excited. I was afraid when the letter came, Aunt Kate wouldn't let us go—their being strangers—and it's so far, but it seems your darling father knew all about old Mr. Gerard and his sister, so it was all right, and we leave December thirtieth—taking with us our very best clothes," she added, smiling.
There was something like disapproval in Bob's patient silence.
"Well, I hope you have a good time,"' he said, finally. "But what you want to leave this placefor to go South is more than I can see. It's just like girls. They'd cross the country to dance. I think it's a crazy idea, if you ask me," he added with vehemence.
"But I didn't, Bobby," Polly answered sweetly. "Oh, there's a wonderful tree! It's just the right size and it's bushy," she exclaimed suddenly. "Do let's get it."