So Polly asked permission from Miss Stewart, the gym teacher, and Fanny and Eleanor came over to them.
Polly, as captain, told them they had been chosen for the big team. Eleanor had rather expected it. She was a good player, but she was delighted and promised to try and make good.
But Fanny! No words can express her excitedraptures. She couldn't believe her good luck, and she sent the girls into peals of laughter by solemnly asking Polly to take her oath on it.
"I knew she'd be rare," Betty exclaimed on their way back to school. "I was sure she'd weep for joy."
"I hope it's all right," Lois said, doubtfully. "I wish she wasn't quite so excitable." Lois played basket ball with her head.
"Oh, she'll be all right if she doesn't go at it too hard," Polly said, assuringly. "Wonder if we have any mail?" She stopped before the Senior letter box. "One for you, Lo, from your mother, and one for me. Let's go in English room and read them. Mine's from Bob."
The other girls found their mail, and went up to their rooms.
Lois and Polly, left alone, opened their letters and read them through.
"Mother's is awfully short," Lois said, before Polly had finished hers. "She says she knows something awfully nice that's going to happen Thanksgiving, but she has promised Bob not to tell. What's yours about?"
"Oh, Lo! poor Bobbie has sprained his ankle and he can't run any more." Polly's voice trembled. "I'll read you what he says:
"Dear Old Polly:"Telegraphing congratulations is no good. It costs too much to be eloquent. Besides, I've a lot of things I want to say, but, first of all, Three Cheers for you. Seddon Hall is darn lucky to have such a corking little captain—and you'll lead them to victory and have your name on the cup. Make them put it on extra large."
"Dear Old Polly:
"Telegraphing congratulations is no good. It costs too much to be eloquent. Besides, I've a lot of things I want to say, but, first of all, Three Cheers for you. Seddon Hall is darn lucky to have such a corking little captain—and you'll lead them to victory and have your name on the cup. Make them put it on extra large."
"Old tease," Polly laughed, and Lois said: "Just like Bob."
"And now, I'm going to talk about myself. Two weeks ago I sprained all the ligaments in my foot, and—well, there's not much use my trying to be cheerful about it—not to you anyway. It means I probably won't be able to run again—and so, good-by to my hopes of winning my H. Remember the long talks we used to have about it? I guess instead of watching me cross the tape from the grand stand, you'll sit beside me next May and listen to me groan while some other fellow runs in my place, which reminds me:"I've planned a surprise for you and Lois on Thanksgiving. I don't like to boast, but it's rather nice—even mother says so."Drop me a line, Miss Basket Ball Captain, and tell me you'll accept.
"And now, I'm going to talk about myself. Two weeks ago I sprained all the ligaments in my foot, and—well, there's not much use my trying to be cheerful about it—not to you anyway. It means I probably won't be able to run again—and so, good-by to my hopes of winning my H. Remember the long talks we used to have about it? I guess instead of watching me cross the tape from the grand stand, you'll sit beside me next May and listen to me groan while some other fellow runs in my place, which reminds me:
"I've planned a surprise for you and Lois on Thanksgiving. I don't like to boast, but it's rather nice—even mother says so.
"Drop me a line, Miss Basket Ball Captain, and tell me you'll accept.
"Yours,"Bob."
"How exciting! What do you suppose it is?" Lois demanded, as she followed Polly upstairs. "It's a shame about Bobbie's foot. Vacation begins next week. Isn't it thrilling! I do hope he has sense enough to bring home some one nice—but I suppose it will be his roommate, Jim Thorpe, as usual, and I don't like him much." They had reached their room by now.
"I'll bet the surprise is a football game, don't you?" Lois persisted.
"Oh, keep still, Lo!" Polly said, crossly, "and leave me alone."
Lo glanced up in surprise, and suddenly decided to look for Betty. She left Polly standing before the Crimson banner, blinking hard.
Thanksgiving vacation started with the confusion and excitement always necessary when a school breaks up even for so short a time.
Polly and Lois could hardly wait until the Seddon Hall special pulled into the Grand Central station on Wednesday morning. The vacation began on Wednesday and the girls were expected to be back Sunday evening.
They were the first to jump to the platform as the train stopped.
Mrs. Farwell was waiting for them.
"Darling children!" She hugged and kissed them both. "How well you look!"
"Well? Why we're robust, Aunt Kate," Polly laughed, "and bursting with excitement."
"What's the surprise, Mother? Please tell us," Lois begged.
Mrs. Farwell only shook her head mysteriously. "Not a word until after luncheon. We must shop this morning." She looked at the girls despairingly. "How do you manage to wear out yourclothes so? You both need everything new, particularly hats; the ones you have on are sights."
Uncle Roddy's car was waiting for them, and they got in it and were whirled away to the shops.
It was not until luncheon that they had a chance to breathe.
"There, that's settled." Mrs. Farwell viewed them with satisfaction. She was proud of them both. Lois' delicate handsomeness and Polly's clear cut beauty. She had chosen dark blue for the one and hunter's green for the other.
"Won't you girls ever take an interest in your clothes?" she asked, wonderingly. She couldn't believe they were quite as indifferent to the charming pictures they made in the very becoming hats and sporty topcoats as they pretended.
"Poor, darling mother, we are interested," Lois protested, "but we're—"
"Fussed." Polly finished for her, looking decidedly self-conscious, as she tilted her hat a tiny bit more over one ear.
Uncle Roddy and Dr. Farwell met them for luncheon, and then they heard the plan.
"It's Bob's idea," Uncle Roddy explained, "and here's the schedule. You," he was looking at Polly and Lois, "and Mrs. Farwell leave for Boston this afternoon. Bob will meet you andtake you to dinner, and to-morrow you'll go to the game. Harvard plays Princeton."
"That's hard on you, Lois," Dr. Farwell laughed; he never stopped teasing for one minute.
"What do you think about it, Tiddledewinks?" Uncle Roddy asked.
"It's a perfect plan," Polly said, enthusiastically. "I'm crazy to see Bob. Isn't it a shame about his foot?"
The doctor looked grave.
"Yes, it's too bad; he was laid up for quite a while. Of course, it's all right now, but he lost time, and he's had to make up a lot of work."
"Oh, of course." Polly suddenly realized that Bob's father was not looking at it from quite the same angle that she was.
After luncheon they hurried to the hotel where the Farwells were staying, repacked their bags and were back at the Grand Central in time for their train.
Lois and Polly talked and planned ahead all the way to Boston. They thoroughly enjoyed the coming fun in anticipation; but, of course, they never guessed for a second that the real surprise was still ahead.
"There's Bob," Polly exclaimed, as they followed the porter through the gates. "I can seehim; he's way at the end of that line of people, and Lois, look who's with him!"
Lois looked. A tall, heavily set fellow, with a very broad pair of shoulders, was waving his hat.
"Frank Preston! Why how do you suppose—" But the rest of the sentence was cut short by the meeting.
"Hello, Mother!" Bob began, "how are you?" He turned to the girls. "Here's a friend of yours, Lo." Then he squeezed Polly's hand till it hurt.
"How do you do, Mrs. Farwell?" Frank shook hands hurriedly and turned to Lois.
"Isn't this bully luck? Gee, I'm glad to see you!" he said, eagerly.
Bob looked in admiration. He wished he had Frank's courage. Why he couldn't even kiss his mother and Lois in public, without blushing, and as for Polly, well, he would have to wait until they were alone before he could tell her how glad he was to see her. But he comforted himself with the thought that he'd be more artistic about it when the time came than Frank had been.
They found their hotel, the same one they had stayed at on their first memorable trip to Boston, and Mrs. Farwell, tired out from her strenuous afternoon, ordered tea at once.
Lois and Frank sat down on a sofa at one end of the room, and Frank explained how Bob had wired him to meet him.
"Of course, I came," he said.
"You are not in the game to-morrow?" Mrs. Farwell asked from behind the tea urn.
"No, worse luck," Frank told her. "I'm only a sub; of course, there's a chance; I may be needed."
"But if you're a sub, how did you manage to get here?" Polly inquired.
"Oh, I managed that all right. I won't break training, though I'm tempted to." He eyed the tea cakes longingly, "and I'll be on hand to-morrow. So that's all right. It's awfully jolly of you people to ask me," he smiled, engagingly, at Mrs. Farwell.
"Why, we're delighted to have you, Frank," she assured him.
Bob, who had been looking out of the window all this time, turned abruptly.
"Mother, Polly doesn't want any tea, and there's loads of time for a walk; do you mind?" he asked.
His mother laughed. "Not if Polly doesn't, but I should think she'd be tired."
But Polly was not tired. She insisted that shewanted some exercise after the trip on the cars. So Bob took her out.
The sun was just getting ready to set, and they walked towards the river.
"Polly!" Bob said, after they had walked a block in silence.
"Yes—"
"I think this is pretty much O. K., don't you?"
"What, this street?" Polly was very happy and she felt like teasing.
Bob tightened his grip on her arm, started to protest, and then changed his mind.
"Yes, of course, this street; I think it's a lovely street—in fact it's a great favorite of mine," he said instead.
Then Polly was sorry. After a while she said, softly:
"What did you really mean, Bobby?"
"Why, the street."
"Oh, very well, if you don't want to tell me."
"Ha, ha! but I do; I think it's great having you here for the game, and mother and Lois. Wasn't I clever to get Frank to amuse Lo to-night? We're going to the theater, you know, something musical. I wish he could stay longer, but, of course, he can't; he'll have to return with the defeated team."
"Will they surely be defeated?" Polly asked, seriously. "Bob, I think I'll just die if Harvard doesn't win."
"Don't worry, we will," he assured her with perfect confidence. Then followed another pause. They had reached the river, and Polly stopped.
"Bob!"
"What is it?"
"I'm awfully sorry about your foot; I can't tell you how sorry, because words are so stupid; the right ones never come when you really want to say something. But Ifeelabout it, oh, awfully! Isn't there even a chance?"
"Yes, a little one," Bob said; "but not enough to matter. I can't start training, and I'll be too stiff to do any good by Spring.
"Tough luck!" Polly laid her hand unconsciously on his arm. "Don't give up, though. You may make good if you work awfully hard. May's ages off."
"Gee!" Bob delivered this inelegant exclamation with feeling. "Poll, you're the best little sport I ever knew. You always understand. Any other girl would have said that running was bad for my heart, and expected me to be consoled."
Polly was overcome by such frank praise. Shetried to think of something to say, and finally decided on:
"Oh, rot! Isn't it time to go back?"
The theater that night was very amusing. Lois and Frank were in gales of laughter every minute.
"If you laugh any more," Lois said, between the acts, "you'll never be able to play to-morrow."
"But I won't have to play," Frank protested, "unless an awful lot of awful things happen. Anyway, don't let's talk about it, honestly, Lois." He lowered his voice, "I get cold all over when I think of it. I'm almost sure I'd lose my nerve if I had to go in."
"You never would," Lois admonished, crisply. "You'd find it, any amount of it, the minute you heard the signals. I hope—oh, how I hope you have to play."
"Well, if I do," Frank grumbled, "it won't do me any good to remember you're on the Harvard side."
"Now, you're silly," Lois teased. "What difference does it make where I sit, so long as I root for Princeton?"
"Do you mean that?" Frank demanded. "Do you honestly want us to win? Gee, that's great! I sort of thought, because of Bob—"
"Oh, Bob! Well, you see there's Polly," Loissaid, demurely, just as the curtain rose for the last act.
Thanksgiving morning was all glorious sunshine. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and the air was just the right football temperature.
"Everything O. K., so far," Bob said, joyfully, as he joined his mother and the girls at breakfast. "What'll we do this morning to kill time?"
"Lois wants to go to the Library and see the Abbey pictures," Mrs. Farwell answered.
Bob looked his disgust—he appealed to Polly—but for the first time she deserted him.
"I'm going too, Bobby. I guess you'll have to find something to do until luncheon," she said.
Mrs. Farwell and the girls wandered about the Library all morning, and returned to the hotel ten minutes later than the time set by Bob for luncheon.
He and his roommate, Jimmy Thorpe, were waiting for them in the lobby.
"I knew you'd be late," Bob greeted them. "We'll have to dash through lunch. Did you enjoy the pictures?" he asked, sarcastically.
"Darling Bobby, are we late? We're so sorry. How do you do, Jimmy? It's awfully nice you can be with us." Mrs. Farwell was so contriteand charming that Bobbie's momentary huff disappeared as it always did before his mother's smile.
"Well, we didn't have to hurry so very much," she said, when luncheon was over and they were preparing to start. "Now are you sure we are going to be warm enough?"
Bob and Jim looked at each other, over the sweaters and steamer rugs they were loaded down with, and winked.
"Here's the taxi," Jim announced. "Come on, Lois."
After a considerable time lost in stopping and threading their way among the other hundreds of cars, they reached the Harvard Stadium at last.
"Bob, how wonderful and how huge it looks to-day," Polly exclaimed, as they entered their section, and she caught sight of the immense bowl, and the hundreds of people.
They had splendid seats, near enough to really see and recognize the players. Jim and Bob explained the score card, talked familiarly about all the players and pointed out the other under graduates who had won importance in other sports.
"Oh, but I wish I were a boy," Polly said, longingly. "Imagine the thrill of being part of allthis. Why it makes school look pale and insignificant in comparison."
"I don't wish I were a boy," Lois said decidedly. "I'd much rather be a girl, but, I'll admit, football does make basket ball look rather silly."
"Oh, I don't know!" Jim said, condescendingly. "Basket ball's a good girls' game."
Polly was indignant.
"Jim, what a silly thing to say. You know perfectly well that just as many boys play it as girls. The only difference is that when we play we have to use our minds—while boys—"
"Yes, we know, Poll," Bob interrupted, "boys have no minds; therefore their rules must be less rigid. But don't be too hard on us."
"I judge Polly plays basket ball." It seemed to be Jim's day for blunders.
"Plays basket ball—oh, ye Gods!" Bob wrung his hands. "Why, Jim, surely I told you that she was no less than captain of her team. Personally, I think she deserves the title of general."
Polly laughed in spite of herself.
"Bob, you're a mean tease. But just wait. I'll ask you both up for field day, and—"
"Sh—! here they come," Bob warned as a prolonged cheer announced the arrival of the teams.
The game was on.
Everybody stood up and shouted. And then a tense silence followed, as the first kick-off sent the pigskin hurtling into the air.
Any one who has seen a football game knows how perfectly silly it is to attempt a description of it. Polly and Lois could both tell you all the rules and explain the most intricate maneuvers, if you gave them plenty of time to think it out; but with the actual plays before them, they were carried away by excitement and gave themselves up completely to feeling the game, rather than understanding it. They watched the massed formation with breathless anxiety, thrilled at every sudden spurt ahead which meant a gain; groaned when the advance was stopped by one of those terrifying tackles, and experienced the exultant joy only possible when the pigskin sails unchecked between the goal posts.
Between periods they had to appeal to Jim and Bob for the score. At one point in the game, Bob turned hurriedly to Lois.
"Watch out for Frank," he said, excitedly; "He'll be on in a minute."
"How do you know?" Lois demanded. "Oh, Bobby, I wish they wouldn't; he, he—said he'd lose his nerve." Lois had suddenly lost hers.
"You watch that man," Bob pointed, "they'lltake him out, see if they don't; he's all in. Frank will play next period."
He was right. When the whistle blew, Frank, after a few hurried words with the coach, tore off his sweater and ran out to the field.
Lois' eyes were glued to him whenever he was in sight, and during one tackle when he was completely lost under the mass of swaying arms and legs, she forgot her surroundings and the fact, most important in Bob's and Jim's eyes, that she was on the Harvard side—by shouting lustily.
"Stop it, stop it! Get off, you'll smother him!"
Mrs. Farwell quieted her.
"Lois, you mustn't, dear child," she laughed. "They can't hear you, you know. Do sit down and don't look if it frightens you."
By this time Frank was up and doing wonders. Lois gave a sigh of relief.
"Football's a savage game," she said, indignantly. And Mrs. Farwell agreed with her. She had been thankful beyond words that Bob had not gone out for the team—running was sufficiently dangerous. It was to her lasting credit that she had thought of Bob's feelings first, instead of her own, when news came of his hurt foot.
Putting Frank in the game made a decided difference. The Orange and Black began to gain.They fought and contested every inch, but the Crimson triumphed.
Polly's eyes reflected the light of victory as the last longed for whistle blew. She shouted and went quite mad with all the rest.
"What a game! Oh, Bob, what a game!" she cried as they started for their exit. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for taking me. I'm nearly dead from excitement, though."
Bob, in his exuberance, slapped her on the back.
"Good for you, Polly; you ought to have been a boy, shouldn't she, Jim?" he demanded.
"Why, I can't see that there's any room for improvement, if you ask me," Jim said gallantly. And Bob gnashed his teeth.
They all had dinner at the hotel that night, and went to the theater again, but it is a question whether any of them could tell you what they saw, for the music acted only as a sort of fitting background as they went over and over again, each play of the wonderful game.
That is, Polly and Bob and Jim. Lois had only one comment to make:
"Princeton lost," she granted them, "but it was only because they hadn't the sense to put Frank in sooner." And Bob admitted there might be a degree of truth in what she said.
The rest of Thanksgiving vacation was so pale in comparison with the game that it is not worth recounting. Only one thing of lasting importance occurred.
Sunday morning, while Lois and Polly were still in bed—Lois was staying with Polly at Uncle Roddy's apartment on Riverside Drive—the bell rang. Mrs. Bent the housekeeper opened the door and Mrs. Farwell walked in.
"Good morning," she said hurriedly—and catching sight of Mr. Pendleton in the library—added, "I know I'm much too early for dinner, Roddy—the doctor said you wouldn't be up, but I have such exciting news for the girls. Where are they?"
"Still in bed. I think they're having breakfast. You might go see. Tell me about the excitement first," Uncle Roddy answered, as he helped her with her coat.
"I found a letter from Mrs. Banks, when I got home from the theater last night," Mrs. Farwellexplained. "It had been forwarded from Albany. They are back from Canada."
"The Banks, eh! How is Maud?" Uncle Roddy inquired with sudden interest.
"Very well, and Mrs. Banks wants to send her—but I must tell the girls," she interrupted herself, and hurried down the hall.
The Banks need a word of explanation to those who have not read the story of the first summer that Polly and Lois spent in the former's old home in New England, where they lived in Polly's own house left to her by her Aunt Hannah Pendleton. It was a big, rambling place and quite a distance from the village. The only other house on the hill was the mysterious Kent place—said by the natives for miles around—to be haunted.
It was with the greatest surprise that Polly, on her arrival, learned that this summer it was tenanted by a Mrs. Banks and her daughter, Maud. But instead of the occupants completely dispelling the mystery of the house, the Banks added to it.
It was soon evident, that there was something queer about them. Maud was very shy, and more like a frightened, wild animal, than a healthy, normal child. It was Dr. Farwell, who, towards the end of the summer, discovered that she wassuffering from a severe nervous shock, caused by the tragic death of her father in India.
He had sent her away for treatment and when she returned, Polly and Lois had tried to complete the cure. Polly had almost succeeded in persuading her to return with them to Seddon Hall, but Maud's timidity had barred the way. She could not make up her mind to face the one hundred girls.
Mrs. Banks had taken her daughter to Canada to visit friends that winter, and apart from an occasional postal, Polly and Lois had heard no further news of them.
Mrs. Farwell's letter was a great surprise. When she entered the girl's room they both sat up. They had finished breakfast and were just being happily lazy.
"Jemima! What time is it?" Lois demanded, at sight of her mother. "Are you and Daddy here for dinner already?"
Mrs. Farwell laughed. "No, you lazy bones, it's not quite as late as that. I came before Daddy, because I have news for you—such news!"
"Tell us," Polly demanded, quite thoroughly awake. "News of what?"
Mrs. Farwell sat down on the edge of the bed and began:
"I've had a letter from Mrs. Banks, she and Maud are in New York and—"
But the girls interrupted her with a flood of questions.
"Mrs. Banks in New York! How's Maud? Did she say where she was going to school?"
"Is she still so awfully nervous?"
"I wonder what she's like now."
"Do listen," Mrs. Farwell begged, "and I'll tell you. Mrs. Banks wrote that she was considering sending Maud to Seddon Hall. She is fifteen now, you know, and apparently, from what her mother writes—eager to go."
Polly said: "Well, I never! It's taken her two years to make up her mind."
Lois groaned, and fell back on her pillows. You will remember, she was never as interested in Maud, as Polly was.
"Another younger girl to look after," she said dolefully. "I wonder if there'll be room for her. When are you going to answer Mrs. Banks' letter, mother?"
Mrs. Farwell thought for a minute.
"Why I think I'll 'phone her. You see the letter was sent to Albany, so it was delayed in reaching me. I have their address here."
"Look!" Polly bounded out of bed. "Callher up now Aunt Kate, and ask her to bring Maud to tea this afternoon. Then we can talk about school and see Maud. Get up, Lo, and do show a little interested enthusiasm," she admonished, as Mrs. Farwell went back to the library to tell Uncle Roddy the rest of the story, and to 'phone to Mrs. Banks. "Aren't you excited?"
"No!" Lois got up slowly and struggled to find her slipper. "I am not," she said slowly but distinctly.
Mrs. Banks was delighted to accept Mrs. Farwell's invitation, and at four o'clock they arrived, she and Maud.
The girls could hardly restrain a gasp of surprise at the sight of Maud. It is hard to realize that other girls grow up as well as yourself, and Polly and Lois still remembered the shy little girl in a pinafore, with straight flaxen hair and blue eyes that Maud had been two summers before. They were totally unprepared to meet the new Maud.
In the first place, instead of looking down at her they had to look up, for she had grown until she was a half head taller than either Polly or Lois. Her arms and legs were lanky and her hair was now brushed severely back from her forehead and hung in a heavy braid down her back. She worea very plain black velvet dress with a broad white collar and cuffs, and with her clear blue eyes and straight features she made a strikingly handsome picture, and although she spoke in her same soft melodious voice—all trace of shyness was gone. After the greetings were over, and everybody was comfortably settled, the talk turned to school.
"Where have you been the past two years?" Polly asked. "I'm so tickled to think you've really decided to go to Seddon Hall at last."
"I've had governesses, most of the time," Maud answered.
"But you went to a small private school too, dear," Mrs. Banks reminded her.
Maud glanced at her mother and then back to Polly.
"Not for long, though; you see I was expelled," she said, with such unexpected bluntness, that they all laughed.
"Expelled! What for?" Lois asked, without intending to be rude.
"For drawing a picture of the music professor. It wasn't a very flattering picture, so!"
"You weren't really expelled, dear," Mrs. Banks said apologetically. "The Principal just thought you might be happier somewhere else. You didn't fit in; you see it was a very small school, and—"
"All the girls were little gentlewomen," Maud interrupted, without appearing rude, "and I was too noisy." She chuckled to herself—probably at the memory of past pranks. "I didn't mean to be, but the Principal—" She stopped abruptly. She was a little embarrassed at so much undivided attention—for though she was noisy, and rather unmanageable, she had no desire to show off. For the rest of the visit, the older people did the talking.
An hour later, as the girls were packing their bags, in Polly's room—they discussed Maud. It was decided that she was to go to Seddon Hall as soon as Mrs. Banks could arrange with Mrs. Baird, and the girls were wondering just what difference her coming would make.
"She'llbesome one anyway," Polly said thoughtfully, "Whether she's popular or not, she's sure to make herself felt."
"I think she'll make a hit," Lois replied, slowly. "She's awfully different. I wonder if she'll start drawing pictures of the faculty."
"It doesn't matter if she does, no one will pay any attention to it," Polly said, with a grin. "Maybe she'll put some ginger into things."
"Bet will be pleased if she does," Lois laughed,as she packed her football score card. The sight of it made her exclaim:
"Poll, I meant to write Frank to-day! I haven't congratulated him yet. We've been so busy." She hurried to the desk. "I'll have time to tear off just a line before we start."
Polly was suddenly reminded of an unanswered letter at the same time. In a second their pens scratched in unison, and Maud was completely forgotten.
The last bell was three minutes late in ringing. Betty knew it was, because she had watched the clock tick out each one with growing impatience. When it did ring at last, she threw her latin book into her desk, banged down the lid, and gave vent to her favorite exclamation.
"Jemima! Thank goodness that's over." She went to the window and looked out.
A heavy snow had been falling all morning, and the grounds of Seddon Hall were sufficiently covered to assure good coasting.
Polly finished the last couple of sentences of her latin prose with little or no regard to the context and joined Betty.
"Looks bully, doesn't it?" she asked. "I hope it stays long enough to pack."
"It's wonderful," Betty agreed, "but don't let's stand and look at it any longer. Come on out, quick."
"Coming, Lo?" Polly inquired, stopping beside Lois' desk.
"No, not just yet. I've got to speak to Miss Crosby, over in the studio. Don't wait for me. I'll come as soon as I can," she promised. As she saw Polly's look of disapproval, adding by way of apology, "I simply must finish that sketch, Poll. It won't take long."
So Polly and Betty left her and went out together. They found their sleds from the year before, in the gym cellar, and pulled them to the top of the hill.
The snow had drifted into the road, and was so deep that the coasting was slow at first.
"Let's wait awhile," Betty suggested, "until the other girls have packed it down a little; this is no fun."
"All right, let's take a walk. I wish I knew how to snowshoe," Polly said as she sank to her knees in a drift.
"When's that friend of yours coming?" Betty inquired, as they started off towards the pond.
"Who, Maud? I don't know, sometime soon. We've got to be good to her, Bet. She's really all right in some ways."
"I remember her only that first summer," Betty said thoughtfully. "She didn't make much of an impression then."
"Did you ever see her ride?" Polly demanded."We used to go out in the back pasture and try and tame a couple of colts we had. Maud was a wonder. Perhaps Mrs. Baird knows when she's coming."
"Let's go ask her." Betty turned back toward the school. "My feet are soaked anyway."
Mrs. Baird was standing on the Senior porch when they came up the drive. She called to them.
"Did Jane find you?" she asked, as they reached the steps. "I sent her to look for you."
Polly laughed. "Why no," she said surprised. "We were just coming to find you."
"What about?" Mrs. Baird put an arm around each girl. "Come inside, first," she said, shivering, for she was without hat or coat.
"Perhaps it was about the same thing," Betty said. They followed her into the office and Polly asked:
"Have you heard anything from Mrs. Banks? We're wondering when Maud is coming."
"To-morrow, and I meant to tell you and Lois, but it slipped my mind," Mrs. Baird told her.
"Then you wanted us for something else?" Betty asked.
Mrs. Baird walked over and looked out of the window.
"Yes," she said, hesitating. "I am worriedabout the coasting this year. We have so many new girls and I don't want any accidents. Of course I couldn't forbid them to coast, so I thought up a scheme. You two girls have been here for a long time and know all about the hill. By the way, where's Lois?" she asked abruptly.
"Up in the studio," Polly said with a shrug of her shoulders, which meant to convey the idea that Lois had taken up her permanent abode there.
Mrs. Baird frowned. "She must not work so hard," she said, finally. "She should be out on such a glorious day. I'll speak to her about it."
"Oh, she'll come out in a little while," Betty hastened to say. "She's just talking to Miss Crosby."
"Oh, well! I'll leave you two to see that she does," Mrs. Baird said severely. "And now, about the coasting. I want you three girls, and any of the other Seniors, of course,"—she added, on second thought—"to watch every new girl go down the hill once, then if she is really not fit to coast, you must tell her. I'll leave the decision to you."
"You mean that if we don't think they really know enough about it, that we are to tell them they must keep off the big hill?" Polly asked. The idea struck her as a very good one—new girlswere always a nuisance at first—but she wished the decision had been left to some one else.
"They can use the little hill, can't they?" Betty asked. "No one could hurt themselves on that."
Mrs. Baird nodded her head. "That I leave to you; you're much the better judge. Only do make haste, I am so afraid some one will be hurt. I saw little Phylis Guile almost run into a tree."
Polly and Betty promised to start at once. They went up to the studio and made Lois put away her brushes and join them. Then they told the Dorothys and Evelin and Mildred. Polly stationed them along the hill—Betty at the top, to judge of the start—the others along the way, while she and Lois watched the curve at the end.
They stayed at their posts all the afternoon, every now and then jotting down some girl's name and quietly telling them that they would have to do the rest of their coasting on the little hill. Sometimes they met with protests, but, for the most part their Senior dignity upheld them.
"What under the sun will we do about Jane and Phylis?" Polly asked. "They'll kill themselves if they go down again, and if we just tell them they can't it will break their hearts."
Lois considered. "I've got it. We'll make it seem a favor to us."
"But how?" Polly demanded, as the two younger girls came flying recklessly around the turn.
"Leave that to me," Lois whispered. "Oh, Jane, will you and Phylis come here a minute? Polly and I have the greatest favor to ask of you. I wonder if you'll help us out?" she asked.
"Of course we will," they answered promptly. "We'll do anything."
Lois felt like a hypocrite, but she went on to explain:
"It's about coasting," she said. "You see, Mrs. Baird has asked us to tell all the new girls that are not used to such a dangerous hill, that they must coast on the small hill by the pond. Of course some of them are not even able to do that, and they ought to be watched." Lois stopped—took a long breath and looked appealingly at Polly.
"We thought you might be willing to go over and coast there, and sort of keep an eye out that no one is hurt," Polly said, coming to her rescue. "We'll be so busy here."
"Why we'd love to," Jane said eagerly.
"We don't mind a bit," Phylis protested. "Are we to tell them to stop if we see any one that's reckless?"
"Mercy! No!" Lois exclaimed. She had asudden vision of these two youngsters using their authority at every possible excuse. "That would hurt their feelings. Just use lots of tact and perhaps show them what to do, but not in a—in a—"
"I know," laughed Jane. "You mean don't be fresh the way we were to Fanny. We won't."
"Oh," Polly sighed when they had hurried off. "What a wonder you are, Lois, and they really will help."
"Of course they will. Good gracious! Here comes Fanny."
From where they stood they could see the long stretch of the hill, just before the curve. Fanny, sitting bolt upright, an unforgivable sin—in Polly's eyes—was whirling down it. She had apparently lost all control of her sled. Polly and Lois held their breath.
On one side of the curve, a big rock jutted out at right angles to the road, and on the other a cobble stone gutter offered almost as dangerous an alternative. Fortunately, Fanny, or rather Fanny's sled, chose the latter. There was a second of flying snow mixed up somehow with Fanny's arms and legs, and then quiet. Polly and Lois dashed to the spot.
"Are you hurt?" Lois demanded.
Fanny sat up. "Well I never did," she said wonderingly. "What do you suppose happened to that little old sled?"
Polly's sudden relief took the form of anger.
"You had no right to try this hill," she said severely. "Did Betty see you start?"
Fanny stiffened. "Yes, she did if you want to know," she said. "And she told me not to. But—" She paused to give her words better effect. "Betty and you and Lois are not the only Seniors at this school, though you do act most mighty like you thought you were. I got my permission from the two Dorothys," she finished with a triumphant toss of her head.
Polly and Lois looked at each other in amazement. Something had come over Fanny of late. They had noticed it, but other matters had made it seem unimportant. She had always been on hand for basket ball practice, but her attitude had been sullen and she had spent most of her time with the Dorothys and Evelin.
Polly realized that this was an important point and must be dealt with. She wasn't angry at Fanny, for she knew to just what extent her classmates were to blame.
"Did Dot Mead know Betty had told you not to coast on this hill?" she asked finally.
"She certainly did." Fanny was still triumphant.
Polly bit her underlip and half closed her eyes. Lois saw these unmistakable signs of danger, and tried to make peace.
"Are you sure?" she asked hopefully.
"I am." Fanny was ridiculously solemn.
"Then the Dorothys went beyond their authority," Polly said coldly. "And their permission counts for nothing. You can see for yourself that you can't manage on this hill; you nearly hurt yourself just now."
"I did no such a thing," Fanny interrupted lamely. But Polly paid no attention to her.
"As captain of the basket ball team, and Senior head of athletics"—the title rolled from her lips importantly—"I forbid you to coast on this hill again, no matter who gives you permission," she said with unmistakable decision. Then, without another word she turned on her heel and went up the hill with Lois.
Half way to the top, they found Betty in heated argument with Dot Mead. Now when Betty was angry she stormed. At this present moment, she was more than angry, she was furious.
"You had no right whatever to do it," she raged, as Polly and Lois joined them. "You didn't do itbecause you thought Fanny really knew how to coast; you just thought it was a good chance to get even with me. You've a fine idea of class dignity to do anything so petty. If you ever do a thing like that again—Jemima, I'll— You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You're jealous. That's—"
"Steady, Bet," Polly said quietly, "and do save your breath. Dot can't do it again. I've just told Fanny she must not use this hill and she quite understands."
"Then we will tell her she can." Dorothy Lansing spoke for the first time.
Betty and Lois looked at Polly. She picked up the rope of her sled and started up the hill.
"Tell her anything you like," she said over her shoulder, "but she won't coast again."
When the three reached Senior Alley, they met Angela. They were full of indignation and would have told her all about it, but Angela had news too. She greeted them excitedly.
"Girls! what do you think, Connie comes to-night. She'll be here on the five-eleven. She 'phoned Mrs. Baird from New York. Did you ever hear anything so thrilling? Just imagine Connie back again!"
"For good?" Polly demanded.
"No, just for a visit, she's going back day after to-morrow."
"Jemima! I'm glad," Betty exclaimed. "Won't it be natural to have her around again?"
"We've always missed her," Lois added. "Can't we have something special for her to-night?"
"How about a straw ride?" suggested Betty; "Mrs. Baird would let us—it's Friday."
"Oh, let's, and just ask the old girls who knew her," Angela hurried on—her drawl for once discarded. "We'll get Mrs. Baird to chaperone, if we can."
"I'll go ask her," Betty volunteered. "You go get the girls.
"I suppose all the Seniors will go," Angela said, none too enthusiastically, and Polly and Lois suddenly remembered that she had not heard about the Dorothys. Lois told her.
"Polly just mounted her dignity and oh, Ange, it was rare," she finished, laughing. "But I suppose they must be asked."
"Let's tell Bet she has to do it," Polly suggested. "She's so raging at Dot Mead, that she wants to box her ears."
"You'll really have to, Ange," Lois said.
"Not I, you're Senior president," Angela protested,adding nonchalantly: "Besides, if I ask, they might accept. Were Evelin and Helen in it?"
"No, they must go to-night; the Senior class must not be divided equally against itself," Polly said, thoughtfully. "I'll ask them now, and I'll make them go." She went off to find them.
A few minutes before study hour they all met in Study Hall.
"Mrs. Baird says we may go, of course," Betty began, "and she's told McDonald to bring around the sleigh at seven-fifteen."
"Will she chaperone?"
"No, she's got an awful lot to do. She suggested Miss Crosby. So I asked her. She said she'd love to— I'd rather have had Miss Porter, on account of Connie—but I didn't like to say so."
"Evelin and Mildred will come; they were a little cold at first," Polly said, "but they're all right now, and crazy to see Connie."
"How about the Dorothys, Lo?" Betty demanded.
Lois chuckled wickedly.
"They have made other plans for this evening, and will be unable to go," she said, sadly. "I didn't urge them."
"Good; that leaves about fifteen—just the right number for the wagon." Angela consulted herlist. "I've got enough crackers and chocolate for everybody," she added.
"Look at the time!" Betty exclaimed. "Who keeps study hour to-night?"
"The Spartan."
"Oh, Lordy! Well, I'll have to be late. Somebody tell her I have Mrs. Baird's permission, if she misses my smiling face."
"Where are you going?" Polly asked.
"To get my clothes and take them to the guest room. Mrs. Baird said Connie would sleep with Ange while she's here. I'm off."
"Betty, you darling!" Angela exclaimed—but Betty was half way down the hall.
Study hour began at five o'clock and lasted until six-thirty.
The girls found it impossible to get to work. At exactly five-eleven, Angela threw a note to Polly.
"Her train is due," it read. "Do you suppose we'll have to wait until dinner to see her?"
Polly shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in reply, and tried to get interested in her history.
A few minutes later, Lois left her seat and went over to the dictionary by the window. The sound of carriage wheels made her completely forget the word she was hunting for. She peeked out of the window. There was Connie on the driveway. Lois watched her pay the driver and pick up her suitcase. Then she went back to her seat.
"She's here," she whispered to Angela and Polly in passing.
Angela almost shouted with joy, but the Spartan's frown of displeasure at the disturbance at the back of the room made her bury her head in herdesk. Just as the clock struck the half hour, Betty came in. She went up to the platform and said, loud enough for everybody to hear:
"Miss Hale, Constance Wentworth is here, and Mrs. Baird wants Angela in her office."
There was a general murmur of "oh, good!" through the room, and Angela was half way to the door before Miss Hale had given her permission. Everybody laughed as they heard her running down the stairs, two steps at a time.
Connie was waiting for her. They fell into each other's arms and kissed heartily. Mrs. Baird was sitting at her desk.
"Take Constance upstairs, will you, Angela," she said, smiling. "I'll excuse you from study hour, for I know you wouldn't be able to do any real studying. Constance will room with you. Betty has arranged it. Isn't it nice to have her back?" she asked with a special smile for Connie.
Tears, the sudden, grateful kind, sprang to Constance's eyes.
"Oh, if you knew how homesick I get for all this," she said falteringly. "I was afraid to come back for fear I'd feel out of it, but I don't," she added happily.
Angela took her bag and hurried her up to their room.
"Now, tell me all about everything," she demanded when Connie had taken off her things. "Don't you like the Conservatory?"
"Of course, it's wonderful," Connie answered, enthusiastically, "and I'm working like mad. I get awfully lonesome when I don't. How's everybody? I saw Bet for a second; she hasn't changed much."
"Everybody's fine. Lo saw you coming, and nearly jumped out of the window with excitement," Angela told her. "I've written you all the news. We're going on a straw-ride to-night—just the old girls that you know and like."
"Oh, fine! I hoped we could coast anyway." Connie was delighted. "Honestly, Ange," she said, seriously. "You don't know how good it is to stop being grown up. I have to be so dignified and ancient all the time, especially when I give concerts. Oh, by the way! I've got a surprise for you."
"What?" Angela demanded.
"I'm going abroad next spring to study for a year— I've won a scholarship."
"Connie! Not honestly?"
"Yes, it's all decided; mother is going to take me over and leave me; it's a secret, so don't tell any one."
Angela studied her friend's familiar face in silence for a minute. It was just like Connie to win a scholarship and then not tell anybody.
"I don't believe it's a secret," she said at last. "You just don't want anybody to know about it. Well, I'm going to announce it to the whole school," she finished grandly.
"Don't you dare, Ange. I'd die of embarrassment," Connie pleaded. "Promise you won't."
"I'll promise nothing," Angela insisted. "There's the bell. Come on and see Poll and Lo."
It was almost a marvel the way Angela followed out her threat. In the ten minutes before dinner, while Connie was surrounded by her other friends, she managed to convey to every girl in the school that Constance Wentworth was the most wonderful pianist in the world, and that she had, by her superior ability, won a scholarship.
Poor Connie! She was always shy where her music was concerned, and she blushed in misery under the torrent of congratulations, and never touched a bite of dinner.
At seven-fifteen the sleigh was waiting at the door. It was filled with fresh straw, and every available robe and blanket that could be found in the stables had been brought.
Old McDonald, one of the chief characters ofSeddon Hall, sat on the front seat, muffled up to his eyes. He had grown quite old and feeble in the last two years, and many of his duties had been given to younger men, but no one thought of even offering to drive in his place to-night. He always drove the young ladies on their straw-rides, and he would never have even considered trusting them to the care of another.
Polly and Lois came out first, to be followed by Betty, and Angela and Connie.
They all got in and began sorting the robes—all but Polly—she went around to the horses' heads.
"Good evening, McDonald," she called. "Why, aren't these new?" She looked surprised at the splendid gray team—she had expected to see the two old bays.
"Yes, Miss Polly; they were bought last summer. The others were getting old and we put them out to pasture. How do you like this pair?"
"Why, they're beauties." Polly stroked their velvety noses, affectionately. "Are they frisky?"
"Well!" McDonald took time to think, "they are a bit, but nothing to be afraid of. I can manage them."
"Oh, of course you can!" Polly said, with so much conviction that the old man beamed with pride.
"All in!" Betty called, "and all aboard! Move your foot, Lo. I want one side of Connie."
"Where are we going?" somebody asked.
"Out towards Eagle's Nest," Polly answered. "The roads are not used out there and it ought to be good for sleighing."
"We're off."
"Cheer once for Seddon Hall," Betty commanded and was promptly obeyed. "Now for Connie. We've time for one song before we reach the village," she said, after Connie had been lustily cheered. "Everybody sing."
They reached the foot of the hill, and the horses broke into a quick trot—the bells on their harness jingled merrily in the crisp, cold air. It was a wonderful night. The moon was almost full, and its brilliant rays, falling on the white snow, made it sparkle like millions of stars.
"Are you quite comfy, Miss Crosby?" Lois asked. "There's a rug around here, somewhere, if you're cold."
"Thanks! I don't need it; I'm as warm as toast. My feet are lost somewhere in the straw. I feel as if I were back in Alaska again," Miss Crosby said, "only the horses should be dogs."
"Were you ever in Alaska?" half a dozen voicesasked at once. The song was over and they were just entering the village.
"Tell us about it," Lois said.
"No, no, go on and sing some more!"
"We can't, not for a mile—that's a rule," Betty told her. "Mrs. Baird doesn't think the village people would appreciate our music," she explained. "They're not very nice people, but we can't annoy them. Please tell us about 'straw-rides in Alaska.'"
Miss Crosby laughed, and began. She was a charming woman and a gifted story-teller. She had traveled all over the world, and because she was interested in all the little things, her adventures had been many. She told them to-night about one ride she had taken for miles inland and held every one of them spellbound by her account of it.
They were far beyond the village before she stopped. "We finally did get to camp, and, of course, after it was over, it didn't seem so terrible," she finished. "Now do sing some more; you've made me talk quite long enough."
"And did the dog's foot get well?" Polly inquired, still miles away in fancy.
"No; he died," Miss Crosby whispered. "Plucky little fellow! Do sing."
There was a whispered consultation, and then:
"There's a teacher on our faculty, her name it is Miss Crosby," Betty sang, and the rest joined in the refrain: "Oh, we'd like to know any one with more go, and we will stand by her to the end-o." From one song they went to another, until they reached Eagle Nest.
"Everybody out!" Polly ordered, "and stretch. Where's that chocolate you were talking about, Ange? I'm hungry."
For five minutes they walked around, stamped their feet to warm up, munching crackers and chocolate in between.
Then McDonald called: "You've all got to come back, young ladies. I'm sorry, but these horses do hate to stand even a minute." He was very apologetic, but the grays were showing signs of restlessness, and pawing the ground.
The girls scrambled back into the sleigh and almost before they were seated the horses broke into a run.
About a mile farther on, as McDonald slowed down at a cross-road, they heard the jingling of other sleigh bells.
"Who do you suppose that is?" Connie asked. "Listen, they're singing!" A minute later a sleigh like their own swung round the corner—itwas full of boys. Their driver slowed down to give McDonald the right of way.
"Why, it must be the Seddon Hall girls," they heard one of the boys shout. "Let's give them a cheer, fellows!"
"What school is it?" Miss Crosby asked. "Do you know, Lois!"
"Perhaps it's the Military Academy," Angela suggested.
Betty stood up in the middle of the sleigh and balanced herself by holding on to Connie and Lois.
"No!" she said. "They haven't any uniform on. I can see— I wish McDonald would let them get ahead."
By this time the yell was in full swing. When it ended the boys waited in vain for a reply.
"Maybe they didn't hear us," one of them shouted. "Let's give them a regular cheer with horns."
Polly, who had been edging up slowly toward the front seat of the sleigh, ever since they had started, gave a sudden spring and climbed up beside McDonald. She knew exactly what was going to happen.
At the first sound of the horn, the horses—already frightened out of their senses by all the singing and yelling—reared up on their hind legsfor one terrifying second, and then bolted. Poor McDonald tried to bring them back under his control, but as he realized their condition, his nerve failed him.
"They're gone, Miss," he said in an agonized whisper to Polly, and his hands relaxed on the reins.
The girls, now thoroughly conscious of their danger, hung on for dear life, and some of them cried out.
The deafening shouts and the blowing of the horns kept up in the sleigh behind. The boys thought they were being raced.
Polly thought hard for just the fraction of a minute. Then she took the reins from McDonald's unresisting hands and pulled. She knew that her strength was not equal to stopping those wild runaways, but she felt she could keep them headed straight, and avoid tipping the sleigh. Just as she was trying to remember where she was and to place the hill that she knew was on the right at a cross-road, poor old McDonald fainted and fell backwards into the sleigh.
She didn't dare turn her head, but she heard Lois say:
"I've got him; help me, Bet," and Miss Crosby cry out:
"The reins! The reins!"
"I've got them; don't worry!" Polly's voice sounded miles away. Her head was throbbing. "Can I make it? Can I make it?" she kept saying over and over under her breath.
She saw the cross-road ahead; on the right a steep hill led up to an old, deserted hotel. For a minute she hesitated. The horses were good for miles more at top speed. She knew if they had level ground, that meant entering the village. She decided quickly. It must be the hill. If she could only make the turn. She tightened her grip on the reins and felt the horses slack just the least little bit. She pulled hard on the left rein, and then as they came to the turn—on the right one—so as to describe a wide half circle and save the sleigh from tipping. The sudden turn frightened the girls.
"Where are we going?"
"Oh, stop them!"
Polly heard their cries as in a dream. She took time to smile and toss her head to get a lock of hair out of her eye. She had felt the slight, but certain relaxing on the lines, and she knew the worst was over.
The hill was about a mile long, and by the time the horses reached the top, Polly had them completelyunder her control. She stopped them, finally, under the old tumbled down porte-cochère of the hotel. They were trembling all over and they were sweating.
"Get out!" Polly ordered, "and don't make any noise. We'll have to wait a minute before we go back—give me some blankets for the horses, and look after McDonald."
Miss Crosby was already doing it. The old man had collapsed and lost consciousness, but now he was coming around. With Betty to help, she had rolled him up in a robe in the middle of the sleigh, and tried to soothe him; his grief was pathetic.
"I'm done for; I'm done for!" he kept repeating.
Lois helped Polly with the horses.
"Sit down, Poll," she said, authoritatively. "You need rest, too. You'll have to drive us home."
Polly looked at her gratefully—her knees were trembling.
"I better keep going," she answered. "Just don't let the girls talk to me and I'll be all right." She was stroking one of the horse's necks.
Lois went round to the back of the sleigh. The girls were standing in a huddled group.
"Lo, will we ever get home?" Angela asked, tearfully.
"Of course, silly," Lois replied, calmly. "Polly stopped the horses running away; I guess she can drive us back all right; she's nervous, of course, so don't talk to her."
"We won't," Mildred said. "Mercy, but she's a wonder! I'm, oh! I'm going to cry."
Lois left the others to deal with her and returned to Polly.
"When do we start?" she asked, abruptly. Don't think for a minute she was acting under her natural impulse. If she had been, she would have thrown her arms around Polly and been very foolish; but she was trying to act the way she knew Bob would have—without fuss. She knew how Polly hated a fuss.
"Now, the horses mustn't catch cold and McDonald ought to see a doctor," Polly said. "Tell them to get in, will you? and, Lo," she added with a grin, "pray hard going down hill. I have my doubts about the brake."
When they were all in, Miss Crosby said:
"I think we better take McDonald to the hospital."
Polly nodded: "All right, I know where it is."
The horses, sure of themselves by now, and confident in their driver, behaved very well.
At the outskirts of the village, they drew up before the little white hospital, and Betty jumped out and rang the bell. A nurse answered it. In a few minutes they were carrying McDonald in on a stretcher.
As they started up the steps with him, he called: "Miss Polly!" in a shaky voice.
Polly jumped down from her seat, and went to him.
"I'm done for," he said, slowly, "and you're a very wonderful girl. You stopped those horses, you did, and I— I couldn't—" He broke down.
"Nonsense, McDonald! Your hands were cold," Polly said. "You'll be fine in the morning and able to drive anything. Cheer up!" But McDonald only repeated: "I'm done for."
A lump rose in Polly's throat at his distress, and she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled old face.
She cried quite shamelessly all the way back to school—secure in the fact that no one could see her.
In the sleigh the girls were beginning to recover.
"Jemima!" Betty said, breaking a long silence. "Poll saved all our lives; do you know it!"
Connie shivered. "I'm just beginning to realize it," she said, solemnly. "All the time everything was happening I was trying to remember the last duet I learned." Everybody laughed.
"Polly is—" Miss Crosby began. "Well, she's so splendid that— But I guess we'd better not talk about it. We're all on the verge of tears."
"Let's cheer for her," some one suggested. "Maybe we'll get our courage back."
They gave it—a long, long one—that had in it all their admiration and gratitude. And every poor tired muscle in Polly's valiant little body throbbed with joy at the sound.