CHAPTER XXITHE BURIAL OF FRIENDSHIP
Boththe young people were for the moment quite unconscious of Madam Hammersly’s presence. They shook hands longer than was necessary, and burbled inconsequential questions and answers, as most people do to hide their deepest feelings. Beth’s black eyes sparkled through a film of teardrops and Larry’s blue eyes expressed all the admiration they were capable of showing.
But he said: “How nice to see you again, Beth. Say! is there a girl going to school here named Freylinghausen?”
“Freylinghausen?” repeated Beth, puzzled, yet feeling that the name struck some chord of memory.
“Yes. Miss Freylinghausen, of Philadelphia. No end of a swell——”
“We have plenty of that kind here, Larry,” said Beth, her eyes twinkling and the dimples coming into her cheeks at the call of mischief. “But I do not think that a girl of that name attends Rivercliff School.”
“Why! I just saw her come out. She passed me on the steps. She took the car I rode up in just now,” cried Larry, rather excitedly. “I met her once with a party of Philadelphians that came to New York——”
“Oh, my dear!” laughed Beth. “That was Cynthia Fogg.”
“Who was? The girl I met in New York?”
“No. The girl who just went out. She—she—she has been doing parlor-maid’s work here, and has just been discharged.”
She said this so low that Madam Hammersly could not hear it. Then she wheeled and led Larry toward the austere looking lady in the background.
“I beg your pardon, Madam Hammersly,” Beth said. “This is my very oldest friend, Mr. Lawrence Haven. He is just like an elder brother to me, and comes from my home.”
The madam welcomed Larry with some cordiality. She evidently liked the young man’s appearance. After a minute or two of conversation, Beth asked, placidly:
“May Larry sit down here in the drawing-room, Madam, while I finish my dusting? We can talk just as well.”
“Why—yes, child. I see no objection,” replied the madam, yet looking at Beth oddly.“Would you not rather postpone the—er—assistance you were so kindly rendering me until your guest has gone?”
“Oh, no, Madam,” Beth said brightly. “Can’t afford to put it off till later. Mother always says, ‘Later never strikes by our clock.’ And Larry has often bothered me while I did housework.”
Larry said nothing. His face, however, was a study. He followed Beth with some hesitation into the north room. The madam, who believed in the proprieties, remained just out of earshot.
“Now tell me about everything and everybody, Larry,” Beth said blithely, recommencing her dusting. “You may sit in that corner by the door. I have dusted there.”
“But, Beth!” gasped Larry. “What does this mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“This—er—masquerade?” he said, pointing to her cap and apron.
“I’ll have you know, sir, this is no masquerade,” cried the girl, laughing. “This cap and apron are the badges of independence.”
“Independence!”
“Yes, sir. I have taken Cynthia Fogg’s place. She did not suit. I am going to earn real money by doing parlor-maid’s work—if I can satisfy Madam Hammersly.”
“But, Beth!” Larry repeated. “What—what will people say?”
“What people?”
“The—the young ladies here at school?”
“Why, they don’t care who keeps the furniture polished,” and Beth laughed again, but she shot her friend a penetrating glance.
“How about Miss Hammersly—the principal? I should think she would not allow such a thing. Why, Beth! it is dreadful!”
“What is dreadful?” she asked him, with sudden tenseness in her tone. “My earning money in an honorable way? Why, Larry, you know I came to Rivercliff with that expectation.”
“But this—er—domestic service,” he said faintly. Then, with sudden heat: “And is it true that you go out—by the day—to people’s houses—to do such work?”
“Not just like this, Larry,” said the girl, gently, and still watching him covertly.
“But it seems too dreadful! Does your mother know it?”
“I presume she has her suspicions,” and Beth laughed shortly.
“I don’t mean to offend you——”
“Then let us talk of something else, dear Larry, for I see that we never shall agree in this matter. I will tell you that mother borrowed from someone four hundred dollars to pay for my first year at school here. I must pay that sum back, for, with father out of work, my education must cease with the completion of the term paid for. Now! we will drop it. How is father?”
Larry, too, tried his best to get away from the subject, and to talk pleasantly of home affairs. But how could he ignore Beth’s domestic activities when she kept on busily dusting all through his visit?
The drawing-room was finished, Larry’s call came to an end, and her free hour was over, all at the same time. She went composedly with him to the front door, removing her cap and apron as she heard the girls come out of the lecture room above. Madam Hammersly had stolen away and left them alone.
“Good-bye, Larry,” Beth said calmly, giving him her hand. “Remember me to everybody at home.”
Larry looked away. He coughed, tried to clear his throat, attempted to say something, and then suddenly looked around to find his hand empty and that the door had been gently closed behind him.
Beth went trippingly up to her next recitation, appeared as usual at supper, and spent some time at her mending afterward. When Molly came upstairs,the two chums spent an hour conning the problems for the next day, and Beth showed no shadow of the pain that throbbed within her with every beat of her pulse.
When the lights were out, however, and a wind-driven moon peered in at the window of Number Eighty, South Wing, it caught Beth Baldwin lying wide-awake upon her pillow, and that pillow wet with bitter, bitter tears. She was busily engaged in burying a friendship that had begun with her very first childish remembrances.
This day—the one on which Cynthia Fogg departed and Larry Haven called—was the last day of mark for Beth in this year at Rivercliff School.
Of course, other important things happened—very important, indeed, to Miss Hammersly’s graduating class. But little save lessons and the usual grind of daily duties seemed to stir the life of the freshmen and the sophomores.
Beth continued to mend and patch for her clientele up to the very last week of school. She would carry home nearly one hundred dollars with her.
Mrs. Ricardo Severn had continued to be Beth’s very good friend. Although the girl earned quite all she was paid at the big stone house on the Boulevard in mending Mrs. Severn’s drawn-work and laces, she was really of the most value through her cheering presence.
But the foreign maid and the parrot continued to look askance at the pretty schoolgirl, whom the former continued to announce as “Miz Baldwig.” As for Mr. Dennis Montague, or “Dennis Mudd,” as the bird preferred to call himself, he stared always at Beth with little, evil, red eyes, and the girl was careful never to go too near when the cage door was open.
“And, my dear,” begged Mrs. Severn, “don’t ever ask him if he wants a cracker. That always throws Mr. Montague into a rage!”
Beth saw Mrs. Severn the Saturday afternoon before school closed for the year. The lady dismissed her kindly, making Beth promise that, if she should come back to Rivercliff for another term, she would take up her work at Severn Lodge just where she laid it down.
The parrot yelled after her for the last time, “I don’t care if younevercome back!” The foreign maid scowled her down the grand stairway; and Beth went away feeling really sorry to be parted from Mrs. Severn.
The next few days were those of hurry and bustle incident to the closing of any large school; and finally Beth and Molly were off on theWater Wagtailagain for their trip down the river—and home.