"Open this door, or I shall send for the principal."
Sarah moved but slowly, not from choicenow, but from fright. A terrible, unbelievable suspicion entered her mind. It seemed that her hand would never be able to turn the key in the door, that strong little hand, which lifted so easily the great, brimming pitcher. If it had been the teacher who lived downstairs, the cross teacher with the flowered dressing-gown, she could have endured it. If it had been the principal himself, it would not have been so terrible. But standing on the threshold, wiping the water from her eyes, and with dripping hair and soaking shirt-waist, stood Miss Ellingwood.
Illustration: ON THE THRESHOLD STOOD MISS ELLINGWOODON THE THRESHOLD STOOD MISS ELLINGWOOD
Illustration: ON THE THRESHOLD STOOD MISS ELLINGWOOD
ON THE THRESHOLD STOOD MISS ELLINGWOOD
Behind her, Ellen Ritter and Mabel Thorn twisted their faces to keep from exploding in shocked and delighted laughter, and down the hall, doors were opening and excited voices asked what was the matter.
Manyyears afterward Sarah said that nothing in her life had ever frightened her like the sight of Miss Ellingwood standing outside her door, with the water dripping from her hair and dress. Miss Ellingwood herself came to laugh heartily at it, but no amount of teasing could ever induce Sarah even to smile. It seemed an hour until Miss Ellingwood spoke, and in that time Sarah saw clearly not only the laughing, triumphant faces of her room-mates immediately before her, but of all the family at home: William and Laura, who were sending her to school at a great sacrifice, the twins and Albert, who had faith in her, and to whom she should have been an example. She seemed to hear herself trying to explain to them.
"You see, it was this way," she would begin. But she never got any further. There was no explanation, no excuse to make.
"This," they would say, "this is what you do with your education!"
In reality, it was only a moment until Miss Ellingwood spoke. Her eyes flashed; it seemed to Sarah that they would burn through her.
"Come to my room in half an hour. I don't want to hear anything from you now." Then she turned to the girls laughing behind her, and her eyes flashed still more brightly. Perhaps it was for their illumination that the flash existed. "You have been here for a year, and you know the rules of the school. Dr. Ellis will hold you responsible for any misconduct in this room, rather than a newcomer."
Ellen and Mabel looked at each other guiltily as Miss Ellingwood's door closed behind her. Then they went to their own room.
Sarah was not to be seen, and their uneasinessturned to fright. There was no exit save through the window, and they were on the third floor. It could not be possible that she was as badly frightened as that!
"Sarah!" cried Mabel sharply.
Sarah appeared from the closet. She had taken off her school dress, and carried the blue one across her arm.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ellen.
Sarah did not answer. If she tried to speak, she should scream. She would at least put on her second-best dress and brush her hair before she went to Miss Ellingwood's room. She remembered in agony that she had never worn her red dress; probably she would never have an opportunity now, at least at the Normal School. She looked at her little silver watch with eyes which could scarcely find the hands.
Mabel and Ellen avoided each other's glance, and sat down by the table.
"What is the History lesson for to-morrow,Sarah?" asked Ellen in a tone which was meant to be conciliatory.
Sarah silently pushed forward her note-book. She was dressed now and staring at her Physiology. "Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect." In what long-past stage of her life had she read that?
At twenty-eight minutes past eight, she closed her book and went into the hall, where, watch in hand, she lingered outside Miss Ellingwood's door until the hand pointed to the half-hour. Then, fearfully, she rapped.
A low "Come in" answered. It took all her strength to turn the knob. She saw nothing of the beautiful room with its books, its fireplace, its wide and crowded desk, its low tea-table; she saw only Miss Ellingwood entering from her bedroom beyond, her curls wet and shining, clad in a fresh, stiffly starched white shirt-waist and a dry skirt. She went across to the big chair before her desk, and turning her head away, stoopedto straighten out some papers. She saw the blue dress, and the smooth hair. Both judge and defendant, she said to herself, were dressed for the occasion.
"Now, Sarah," she began, "suppose you tell me how it is that an inoffensive non-combatant, rapping at your door, is received with a shower of water. Your room-mates asked me to get you to let them in. They said that you had locked them out, and they couldn't study. Is this true?"
"Yes, ma'am," faltered Sarah.
"Why did you do it?"
"Because—they—ach!" Sarah burst into a flood of tears. She did not wish to tell on them, she could not bear to recount the foolish trick which had been played on her. It seemed so ridiculous now to have been taken in. It was so absurd,—her anxiety at hearing that William had come, her mystification at the foolish figure which met her at the door, her rage, when she realized what they had done. That was worst of all.
"Ach, if you will only let me make it up to you," she cried. "I will never do such a thing again. I will dry your hair if they are wet yet, and I could iron your shirt-waist, and if it is spoiled, I could try to earn some money to buy you a new one. Or William would send me the money right away. I could give you my umbrella to make up, or my f-fountain-pen. They are new—they—"
"Mercy, child!" Miss Ellingwood put her arm round Sarah, who in her anguish had moved close to her side. "Don't cry about my clothes,please. They are almost dry already, and water couldn't hurt them. I'll forgive you willingly, entirely, Sarah. But you must never do anything of the kind again. You see the evening study-hour is meant for work. You have long hours in the afternoon and earlier in the evening to play, and all day Saturday, and you need every minute in study-hour. By the time you get settled to work again, you will have lost a whole hour."
"I know it, I know it!" wailed Sarah. "That is the trouble. They will not let me study. When—when they are out I can study, but not when they are with. I will have to go home. I am anyhow too dumb for anybody to learn me anything."
Miss Ellingwood hid her face against Sarah's shoulder.
"Say that again, dear."
"Ach, I mean I am too—too stupid to be taught."
"That is better. Now—" Miss Ellingwood meditated for an instant. She did not approve of putting three persons into a room; even she and Laura had been a little crowded. It would be very difficult for this child to get into studious habits if she were constantly in the room with Ellen and Mabel. They were very evidently not diligent. "Suppose you bring your books over here this evening, Sarah. Perhaps you can study here."
Sarah was not gone for two minutes. Ellen and Mabel had disappeared, and shegathered her books together, made another dab at her hair with her stiff brush, and was back.
Miss Ellingwood had pulled a chair up to the side of her own desk.
"There, Sarah, is a chair and a foot-stool. Now, if I can help you, ask me." And she bent her head over her own work.
Peace descended upon Sarah's heart. Once, she sighed, and Miss Ellingwood looked up.
"Are you tired?"
"Ach, no! I am just thinking. It is so nice and still here. I could learn the whole book through."
Once she ventured to ask a question.
"Please, ma'am, it gives a word here. I cannot say it right, s-y-n, swine, t-a-x, tax, swinetax. Is that the way to say it?"
"No. S-y-n, sin—syntax. It is not English to say, 'it gives a word here,' Sarah. Try again."
"Here is a word," said Sarah painstakingly. "Ach,—no, I don't meanach!But will you tell me sometimes when I am wrong?"
"Yes, indeed."
Sarah gazed at Miss Ellingwood with deep admiration and gratitude, and set again to work. She had only the simple Latin rules to commit to memory, and then all the lessons assigned her would be learned, even though it was not until the day after to-morrow that she recited them.
But the page of rules was the most difficult task she had attempted. The words seemed to dance before her eyes, the lines were crooked, the letters blurred. She propped her head on her hand, and rubbed her eyes a countless number of times.
Miss Ellingwood was too much engrossed by her task to see. Each year under the direction of the teacher of Elocution, the Junior class gave a play. It was given usually the week before Christmas, and Miss Ellingwood had selected an arrangement of Dickens's "Christmas Carol," whose spiritwas so appropriate to the season. She was going over it now, so that the parts should be fresh in her mind before she began to get acquainted with the Juniors in her classes, and she smiled at old Scrooge and sighed over Tiny Tim. She had quite forgotten the student at her side.
Then, suddenly, there was a dull little bump, as her guest slid from her chair to the floor, asleep. Strange to say, the fall did not rouse her. Miss Ellingwood thought that she must be sleepy indeed.
"Come, Sarah," she said. "You must get up and go to bed."
With Miss Ellingwood's help, Sarah got up slowly, and sat down on her chair, and was immediately asleep once more. Miss Ellingwood was a little frightened. The child was evidently exhausted, which was not strange after her passion of tears. Miss Ellingwood glanced at her again, then at the couch which had been made up for a guest who had not arrived.
In a moment she went down the hall and rapped at the door of Sarah's room. No one was within. Smothered laughter a little farther down the hall implied the presence of Ellen and Mabel. Miss Ellingwood took a few steps in that direction, then returned. The warning bell would ring in a moment; after that, for fifteen minutes, the students were allowed to visit one another. This was really the first day of school, and rules were not so strictly kept. And Miss Ellingwood hated to scold.
She pushed open Sarah's door and went in, to look for her school dress and the things she would need for the night.
The smothered laughter became open shrieks as the warning bell rang.
"She's a perfect little spitfire," Ellen Ritter was saying. "I wish you could have seen her face when she saw me all dressed up. It was white and purple by turns, she was so angry."
Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley, goingarm-in-arm down the hall, had stopped at the door to hear, and the group of sub-Juniors opened to let them in. Blonde Ethel and dark-eyed Gertrude were Juniors, the next year they would be Middlers, and after that Seniors, and they sometimes allowed the dignity of their position to awe the sub-Juniors.
"I think it was a pretty mean trick to play on such a youngster," said Ethel hotly. "Now, if you had played it on Mabel, or Mabel on you, it might have had some point."
"Oh, she can take care of herself," laughed Ellen. "You needn't worry about her! Then she locked the door, and wouldn't let us in, and Mabel and I were very anxious to study, and—"
"Doubtless," laughed Gertrude.
"Well, we were, and we knocked and asked politely to be let in, and not a word would she say. So we went over to the new hall teacher and told her that we were afraid our little room-mate was ill. So she came overand rapped, and there was no answer but a wild yell. And then—"
Ellen rolled over on the bed, helpless with laughter, and Mabel took up the tale.
"Then out of the transom came a pitcherful of water,—bang!"
"Not on Miss Ellingwood!" said Ethel.
"Yes, right on Miss Ellingwood."
Mabel's cheeks were flushed with pleasure. Ethel and Gertrude never paid much attention to her, and it was delightful to have them listen so closely.
"What did she do?"
"Told the youngster to come over in half an hour, and the youngster put on her Sunday dress and went over."
"And what then?" asked a breathless sub-Junior. "Did Miss Ellingwood nearly murder her? That's what I should have done."
"No. I guess Sarah told her the whole tale, because in a few minutes she came back and got her books, and she's been over thereall evening. There'll be no more fun on this hall with a teacher's pet spying on us. I suppose Miss Ellingwood will come in after the retiring bell, and read us a lecture."
But Miss Ellingwood did not appear except to say that Sarah would spend the night with her, and that she wished everything to be very quiet. Mabel and Ellen looked at each other after she went out.
"What did I say?" said Mabel. "She'll tell everything we do."
"We'll settle her," answered Ellen cheerfully. "Oh, dear, to-morrow the grind begins!"
Sarah did not see the sun rise the next morning, nor hear the first sounds of life in the great building. She did not even stir at the thunderous rising-bell. When she finally woke, she saw Miss Ellingwood standing by her bed.
"It's time to get up, Sarah."
Sarah rubbed her eyes.
"The rising-bell has rung, dear, and you'lljust have time to jump into my bathtub and then get dressed quickly. Your things are all here."
Sarah looked confusedly about her, while she struggled out of bed.
"Did I stay here?"
"Yes."
"All night?"
"Yes."
"Did I oversleep myself?"
"No, you slept till just the proper time. Now, run along."
It was a pleasure to see the bright eyes and glowing cheeks with which Sarah presently appeared. She had never seen a bathroom like Miss Ellingwood's, she had never smelled such soap or seen so many mysterious brushes and sponges. She had been a little frightened by the depth of the cool water in the tub which Miss Ellingwood had filled for her. She did not like to say that she had never been in a bathtub before, because Miss Ellingwood seemed to expect herto know all about bathtubs. Miss Ellingwood had never lived on a farm.
Never before had Sarah dressed in such a physical and mental glow. She tied the ribbon on her hair just as the breakfast-bell began to ring.
"Come here, and I'll button your dress for you. I brought your school dress over. You poor little chicken, did you think that you would make a better impression on the ogress if you put on a better dress? If the girls bother you again, you must bring your books over here. Now, come along."
Sarah drew a deep breath of delight. She had never had such a good time. She looked once more about the pretty room before the door closed. Would she see it again? And then Sarah's heart was guilty of a very wicked wish.
"Ach, I wish," she said to herself, as they went downstairs to breakfast, "I wish those girls would cut always up so that I could not study!"
Itneeded no "cutting-up" of Sarah's room-mates to send her again to Miss Ellingwood's room. She had just settled fearfully to study the next evening, when there was a rap at the door, and Miss Ellingwood appeared. She was amused at herself because her room had seemed strangely lonely without the little figure bending over the table at her side.
"Don't you want to bring your books over to my room?" she asked; and Sarah responded with delighted alacrity.
When Ellen and Mabel came in and found that she had gone, they were not at all pleased. They knew that Sarah had finished her Geography lesson and they had hoped to have some help. When they discovered the neatly drawn maps in Sarah's drawer in the table, they decided that they would do as well.
"We'll get even with her for tattling," laughed Mabel, as she prepared to copy them with tissue paper and black impression paper.
As the days passed, it seemed to Sarah that she was living in a new world. When she was not in class or in the gymnasium, she was in Miss Ellingwood's room, or walking with Miss Ellingwood. Miss Ellingwood helped her over the hard places in her work, she laughed at her mistakes in English, and corrected them, she let Sarah help to serve the tea when the boys and girls came in in the afternoons.
The Juniors came oftenest; they were in Miss Ellingwood's class, and as the time for the giving of the "Christmas Carol" approached, they were there constantly. Sarah had read the story; she knew how old Scrooge's sordid heart, devoted to money-getting, was filled with the Christmas spirit by the appearance of his dead partner, Jacob Marley, and by the three ghosts of ChristmasPresent, Christmas Past, and Christmas Future. Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley were to be Mrs. Cratchit and Fred's wife,—they were the leading women's parts. To Sarah's thinking, there were no rôles so interesting as those of the ghosts, which were taken by boys. Their costumes were so wonderful, they moved about so mysteriously, they were able to introduce so many original devices. Perhaps next year, if she were promoted to the Junior class, and if there were a ghost in the play, Miss Ellingwood might give the part to her, and then she would be completely happy.
During the practicing, she took her books into Miss Ellingwood's bedroom, and sitting there at her work, she could hear the Juniors laughing merrily. When it was time for the tableaux, in which Scrooge was to see his past and future, and all the harm he had done in the present, they opened the door into the bedroom, so that they might have a double stage.
It was then that Edward Ellis, Dr. Ellis's son, who was a Junior and represented Jacob Marley, came and stood near Sarah's table and recited his sepulchral part.
"'Expect the second spirit on the next night at the same hour!'" he would say, while his chains clanked and rattled, and the blood of one hearer, at least, congealed in her veins. "'The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us.'"
And then, "the apparition walked backward, and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open."
Sarah had heard Miss Ellingwood read the directions, and Edward obeyed them with many ghostly variations. Once Sarah had been called upon to lift the window by jerks and starts.
In the midst of all the delightful excitementof school life, Sarah often scolded herself for not feeling perfectly happy and contented. She was learning more than she ever dreamed of learning, she had the constant association of Miss Ellingwood, she practically lived in Miss Ellingwood's luxurious rooms. But she had no life outside them, and it was that which troubled her. She realized that there was a great deal of fun in the school in which she had no share. There were parades which appeared simultaneously with the stroke of ten, beginning at the upper corner of the woman's side of the great building, and winding in and out the halls, and down the stairways, like a long snake, to the lower corner and back again. There were feasts by day and night; there was dancing in the gymnasium after the classes were over. Sarah was not invited to the feasts, and she looked on silently at the dancing. It was true that she did not know how to dance, but if stout Mabel Thorn could learn, she could also, she was sure. She tried the stepssometimes when she was alone in Miss Ellingwood's room.
Mabel and Ellen ignored her completely. They did not always speak to her when she came into the room. Once they allowed her to search for her maps, which Ellen had been tracing, and which she had hastily covered with her papers. Gradually, the whole school became aware that her room-mates avoided her, and no one was clear-sighted enough to see that it was a compliment to Sarah. When Ellen and Mabel were called to the office and reproved for making unnecessary noise, they complained loudly that Sarah had reported them, forgetting the many times that Miss Jones had come upstairs in the middle of the night to remonstrate with them. The other students, even Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley, who thought they were just, began to look a little askance at Sarah. No fault is more hated by students than tale-bearing, and no suspicion flies more quickly.
Ellen's and Mabel's rudeness did not troubleSarah. That did not seem worth worrying about. It was her failure to make friends with Ethel and Gertrude, and the other Juniors whom she so admired, that troubled her. Once she had called Ethel by her first name, and Ethel had responded with a quick, "What did you say, Miss Wenner?" She had grown accustomed to having her teachers call her Miss Wenner. But these boys and girls,—that was different.
"At home," she said sorrowfully to herself, "I was always common" (friendly); "and here I am just the same. But these people do not like it, they are too high up."
It could not be because she was a newcomer, because they were gracious to other newcomers. They called even the careless girl who spilled her ink, Mary. They had teas in their room to which only newcomers were invited, but Sarah was not among them. Sarah was convinced that it was some grave fault in herself which made them avoid her.
Fortunately her work occupied most ofher thoughts, and when that was over there were always her letters home to be written. She gave vivid, illustrated accounts of those same feasts and parades at which she looked longingly, and the home people never guessed that it was a lonely outsider who described them, sometimes in prose, sometimes in much-admired jingle. She even described Ellen dressed to represent William, as though it were all a great joke, which she had enjoyed immensely. She told about Edward Ellis's wonderful "Bobs," a collie, who could spring up to the low branches of the apple trees in the fields at the back of the campus, and who could perform many wonderful tricks. She drew pictures of him, and of Professor Minturn, who strode about the room while he lectured, and of the Geography teacher, who always folded his hands so precisely, and sat so still.
"Sarah's so dumb,It makes him numb,"
she wrote brilliantly.
Laura and the twins wrote to her regularly, the twins with wild, childish scrawls, which hinted surprises at Christmas, and Laura with funny accounts of her own difficulties.
"You should have seen my waffles last evening," she would say. "They were black on one side and a delicate buff on the other."
"Laura made waffles," the twins would write. "William ate seven and we four."
Occasionally there would come a note in William's clear hand.
"Enclosed find a little spending-money. We hear that you are doing well. Be a good girl."
It would have been a very ungrateful girl who could have beenveryunhappy after that.
There were Christmas surprises in her cupboard, also. William's gifts of money had been well spent. On the shelf above the secretary at home, there had stood the battered school-books and a worn copy of "Thaddeus of Warsaw." Poor Thaddeus was to be overshadowedhenceforth by several well-bound companions. There was "Westward Ho" for William, and "Lorna Doone" for Laura, and "Alice in Wonderland" for the twins, and a fairy-book for Albert. Rarely does the approach of Christmas find a person so entirely satisfied with her gifts as Sarah was. But Miss Ellingwood had selected them, and Miss Ellingwood was infallible.
There was another present which she was taking home. She had read halfway through the upper shelf of Miss Ellingwood's story-books, and she meant to remember them all, and then during the vacation, she would sit down before the fire after she had washed the supper dishes, and she would take Albert in her arms, and a twin would perch on each side of her on the old settle, and they should hear some stories that were stories.
She had become well acquainted with several of the professors who came in to call on Miss Ellingwood in the evenings. One was Professor Minturn, for whom she had readthe paragraph of history on the first day of school. He seemed to grow more nervous each day, and more certain that his pupils might do more work if they would.
"That sub-Junior and Junior History might just as well be combined," he would say irritably to Miss Ellingwood. "Then they would finish the American History in the sub-Junior year, and a thorough course of General History could be divided between the Junior and the Middle years. The present arrangement is senseless."
One day he asked Sarah to remain after class. The sub-Juniors looked at one another and laughed. By this time, suspicion had spread through the whole school.
"He probably wants to ask her whether you and Ellen study your lessons," whispered Mabel's neighbor.
Sarah was startled by the first question which Professor Minturn addressed to her.
"Are you well?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever been sick?"
"I had the measles and the mumps." This sounded like the questions of the gymnasium director. "And the whooping cough I had, too."
"Do you take regular exercise?"
"Yes, sir."
"You like to study, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I thought so. How should you like to do a little extra work for me?"
All Sarah's life she had been doing extra physical work. She had taken her mother's duties gradually upon her shoulders as she became ill; she had then taken a large part of her father's work. But hitherto no one had ever complimented her by asking her to do extra study. Her cheeks glowed.
"I would like it very much."
"Very well," answered Professor Minturn, beaming with satisfaction. "I wish you to prepare eight pages of history instead of four. Each day I shall ask you some questionsafter class." Professor Minturn smiled. He thought that he had discovered a way of trying a long-planned experiment.
The Geography teacher had long since noticed that Sarah always knew her lessons. One day he asked her in his precise way whether she had been over the book before.
"No, sir. But I studied Geography with my father, and it is not so hard for me like it is for some people. I know what is in this book."
The Geography teacher gave her a little examination.
"Why, I believe you are ready for State Board now. There isn't any reason why you should waste your time with this class. How would you like to come into the Physical Geography class with the Juniors?"
Sarah gasped. That would bring her into constant association with Ethel and Gertrude, the objects of her devotion.
"I—I am afraid I am too—too dumb,ach, stupid, I mean."
The teacher laughed. All Sarah's teachers laughed at her more or less. It was only yesterday that the gymnasium teacher had laughed at her because she talked about "planting the smallpox" when she meant vaccinating.
"You aren't too stupid at all," the teacher of Geography assured her. "To-morrow I'll speak to Dr. Ellis about it. In the mean time, you report with the Juniors."
Sarah's room-mates were not at all pleased by her promotion. Hereafter there would be no maps lying in her desk ready to be copied, and their marks would be materially lowered. They felt that her change of classes was a personal grievance.
"No wonder that you get along," said Ellen rudely. "You are what we call a teacher's pet. The other evening I went to Miss Ellingwood's room to get permission to go downstairs, and the Latin teacher was helping you. I don't think it is fair."
Sarah opened her mouth to speak, thenclosed it, flushing scarlet. The Latin teacher did help her, but not with her regular lessons. His helping her was a joke between him and Miss Ellingwood. They had a great many jokes together, many of which Sarah did not understand. He said that he should have to have some excuse for coming to see Miss Ellingwood so often; he would pretend that Sarah was his pupil. And so he used to give her simple sight translations to read. It was not part of her daily lesson; with that of course he never helped her at all. It was true that she studied her Latin grammar very hard, so that she should be able to read at sight for Mr. Sattarlee without very much stumbling, and she paid all the more attention to her daily lessons. But he did not help her with them.
Ellen's remark seemed like an accusation of dishonesty. But she did not explain, she could not. It seemed like disloyalty to talk about the Latin teacher and his coming to Miss Ellingwood's room. He seemed to belongto Miss Ellingwood, and if she were kind enough to allow Sarah to be there when he came,—and he never came unless Sarah was there,—it would be all the more contemptible to talk to Ellen Ritter about it. Sarah hunted through her drawer for a fresh pencil and went back to Miss Ellingwood's room. Her books had not been in her own room for a month, nor had she slept there.
By this time Sarah had begun to think that the curriculum was very carelessly planned. She was even with the Juniors in History and Physical Geography and Latin, which were the three most difficult subjects of the six which the Juniors had to pass.
She did not realize that she was growing a little tired. She could scarcely keep her eyes open until bedtime; it seemed to her that the Juniors, busily practicing for their play, or Mr. Sattarlee, calling upon Miss Ellingwood, would never go. Gymnasium had become more of a bore than ever. She disliked it before because it was monotonous;now her step lagged in the marches and her arms fell heavily in the drills because she was tired.
She went walking less often with Miss Ellingwood; Miss Ellingwood went with Mr. Sattarlee. Miss Ellingwood had begun to be a little absent-minded. Perhaps that was the reason that she did not notice that Sarah's cheeks had lost their ruddy color, and that she no longer ran briskly down the hall when she came from class.
Sometimes, when Miss Ellingwood was away, Sarah opened the door and peered out into the hall. Down in Gertrude's room there was the sound of merry laughter. She and Ethel were constantly inventing some new entertainment. Once, when they had put up a sign at the corner of the hall, notifying the public that they meant that evening to gratify a plebeian fondness for Bermuda onions and bread and butter, Sarah almost went to the feast. The notice begged all those who liked onions to come, and warnedall others to spend the evening with their friends in distant parts of the building. Sarah would cheerfully have eaten crow in such company. But she did not dare to go.
ToSarah's surprise and delight, she had Miss Ellingwood almost entirely to herself the day of the play. Miss Ellingwood always prided herself upon the absence of the mad rush which is supposed to accompany and follow the dress rehearsal. She was especially anxious that this play should succeed, since it was the first appearance of her class.
The dress rehearsal had been given the night before. Sarah had watched it, entranced, from the edge of the stage, where she waited for possible errands. The Juniors paid no attention to her, but she was too interested to care. The extraordinary make-up of old Scrooge, the mysterious gliding about of the ghosts, the thrilling tableaux, directed by Miss Ellingwood from behind the scenes,—Sarah had never dreamed of anything likethis. And it would be still more wonderful the next night, from the front, when strange green and purple lights were to follow the ghosts about, and when there would be the added excitement of a large audience. This would be a story to tell the twins! But could the twins be persuaded to believe such wonders? Sarah sighed a little. She was going home the day after the play, but it seemed weeks ahead.
Miss Ellingwood slipped into the chapel for a last look about before she started with Sarah for a walk. She glanced over the properties,—Scrooge's bowl of gruel, his candlestick, the chains and money-boxes which were to be rattled upon the approach of Jacob Marley's ghost, the crutch for Tiny Tim, the old clothes for Mrs. Dilber.
"It has all gone too smoothly," she said to Sarah. "There hasn't been a hitch anywhere."
"I should think that would be good," said Sarah.
Miss Ellingwood shook her head.
"No, when things go so well at the rehearsal they don't go so well afterwards, usually. At any rate, nobody will be tired."
"The ghosts went skating," said Sarah. "I saw them go off with their skates, and take the car."
Miss Ellingwood frowned.
"That was a little risky." Then she ran lightly down the steps. "But they'll be back. Come on." She was only a little older than the oldest pupil in her classes, and it was difficult to be always grave and dignified. Dr. Ellis watched her and smiled.
"I hope Miss Ellingwood's preparations are all made," he said to his secretary. "She's a fore-handed person."
The secretary looked up quizzically at the sky. He was inclined to be pessimistic.
"The leading members of the cast have gone out to the park to skate. They don't run the cars when it snows."
Dr. Ellis also walked to the window and looked out.
"Was Edward with them?"
"Yes."
"Then they'll be back. Edward knows all about the cars."
An hour later, Miss Ellingwood and Sarah returned, laughing and covered with snow. Miss Ellingwood glanced in at the office-door.
"Have the boys come?"
The secretary answered her.
"No. I shouldn't be surprised if they didn't get here."
Some of the color faded from Miss Ellingwood's rosy cheeks.
"But theymust. What makes you say that?"
"The cars don't run in snows like this."
"But they could get a carriage and drive."
The secretary shook his head dolefully.
"There aren't many houses out there."
"But they could walk."
"Not ten miles in this snow. Not in time, anyway."
Miss Ellingwood spent the next hour lookingout of the window. The cars from the park connected with the Normal School cars at the square. At the end of the hour, when darkness had fallen and no boys had appeared, Miss Ellingwood slipped into the dress which Sarah had laid out for her, and ran down to the office. It was still snowing heavily.
"They're not here?"
"No."
Miss Ellingwood went toward the telephone-booth. There was one way out of the difficulty.
"I am going to telephone to the car-barn and ask them to send out a car. It doesn't make any difference what it costs."
The secretary threw out a crumb of comfort.
"Dr. Ellis attended to that, a few minutes ago."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Miss Ellingwood, with a great rise of spirits. "Then they'll certainly be here."
She ate her supper with a good appetite, and then went up to the chapel.
Sarah dressed slowly. Ellen and Mabel, having seen the flurry which preceded other Junior plays, laughed scornfully. They did not like Miss Ellingwood.
"It'll be a failure," declared Mabel. "I could manage a play better." She looked impertinently at Sarah. "Now don't you go and tell her, Sarah."
Sarah did not answer. The walk had made her tired. She meant to go early to the chapel and take a book. Then she could get a good seat, and could study her extra history lesson until the play began.
She heard voices as she opened the chapel door. She thought at first that some one had mounted the stage for a final bit of practice, then she saw that it was Miss Ellingwood. Just in front of the stage stood Dr. Ellis.
"I've had a telephone message, Miss Ellingwood. They have tried to get a carout, but they say the snow is so soft and heavy that they can't get out and back before ten o'clock."
"Then my play is doomed!"
"Isn't there anything that can be done?"
The principal was much disturbed. He prided himself upon the prompt performance of all school exercises. In this case, his own son helped to cause the failure.
"Nothing," answered Miss Ellingwood helplessly. "They have the principal parts. They're the play."
"Couldn't any one take their places?"
"No, not possibly. All the Junior boys are in the tableaux, and anyhow, no one knows the lines. I could do it myself, but I have to direct behind the scenes. It is hopeless."
"We'll have to postpone it till after Christmas, I suppose?"
Miss Ellingwood sat down wearily on the nearest chair.
"Oh, I can't! All the spirit will havegone out of it. And it's a Christmas play!"
"Then we will have to give it up."
Miss Ellingwood looked at him dismally. Then her brows knitted. Could she take the parts? Could they manage the tableaux without her? It would make no difference whether the ghosts were men or women. Anything would be better than postponement.
"Perhaps," she began slowly. "No, it can't be done. I suppose a notice will have to be put up on the door, and if you will send Eugene for some of the boys, we will straighten up the stage. The case is hopeless."
It was at this moment that little Sarah Wenner appeared by the side of the tall principal. Her cheeks were flushed, she clasped her hands across the bosom of her red dress.
"Is it anything I can do?" she asked. "I know what the ghosts should say, andwhere they should stand always. You begin here, and then you wheel a little piece up there and—Ach, I know it all by heart. I heard them say it every evening when they practiced. You said—you said—"
But the impulsive courage which had prompted her speech had fled, her voice failed, and she stood abashed, her face growing scarlet.
It was several minutes before she dared to look up. She expected that Miss Ellingwood would reprove her sternly. She knew better than to interrupt older persons like that, but she had forgotten. She was always forgetting. In one awful moment of forgetfulness she had emptied a pitcher of water on Miss Ellingwood's head. Her presumption in offering overwhelmed her. They would think that she was crazy. If she could only get away, where she would not need to look up and see the frowns on their faces.
"Ach," she began, "I do not know what I am talking about. Sometimes I act sodumb. I—" She backed slowly away. "I—"
Suddenly Miss Ellingwood was at her side. She seized her arm, and held her for a moment without speaking.
"Wait a minute." Then she looked up at Dr. Ellis. "I believe—I believe it could be done. Come, Sarah."
Dr. Ellis followed them behind the scenes.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes. Postpone the ringing of the bell till a quarter after eight. And send all the Juniors here at once. Sarah, run up and get into your gymnasium suit, and bring two stiff petticoats and my long white wrapper, and tell Ethel and Gertrude to come as fast as they can. Go like a breeze, Sarah dear."
Sarah, in the character of Jacob Kalb pursuing the twins, never moved faster. Ethel and Gertrude, finishing their leisurely dressing, watched her fly down the hall, after she had summoned them.
"That wild youngster's in her gym suit,and has a lot of white stuff over her arm. What can she be up to?"
"Hard to tell. Let's hurry."
When they clambered up to the stage, having taken the short cut through the chapel, they stood still, gaping.
Miss Ellingwood's cheeks were red, her hair ruffled.
"Robert, you will have to read the part of Marley's ghost from behind the scenes. You'll have to speak as Edward did and move about. I'll help you. And Sarah knows the other parts. As the Ghost of Christmas Past,—here, Sarah, is your tunic and your golden belt." Miss Ellingwood held up a handful of white and gold, digged from the bottom of the property-box. "It's really better to have a girl for this part. Your hair must be down, there! and powdered, and you must make your voice as thin and clear as you can. As the Ghost of Christmas Present, you will sit here on this throne. We will have it turned this way, sothat there can be a prompter behind it. And as the Ghost of Christmas Future, you will be in black. Ethel and Gertrude will help you dress, and there will be plenty of time. But oh, Sarah, are yousureyou know the parts?"
Sarah looked round at the circle of astonished, doubting faces.
"Yes, ma'am," she declared solemnly. "Believe me, I do."
"Then get into your dress, quickly, and then you and Scrooge go over there and go over your parts. No, we'll do it here. If anybody comes into the chapel, and overhears, he'll just have to, that's all."
There were early comers, visitors from town, who did not know that the hour had been changed. They heard murmurs from behind the curtain, but they laughed and talked among themselves, and paid no heed.
The students did not appear until the bell rang. They were thankful for the last moment to finish a bit of packing or a visit. There were no study-hours,—this was oneof the great occasions of the year. They did not know how narrowly they had missed having any play at all, or how its success still hung upon the slender thread of a small girl's memory.
The cheerless, unpleasant room upon which the curtain lifted gave no hint of the Christmas spirit which already excited the great school. Scrooge sat beside his table, unshaven, wizened, clad in an old dressing-gown and slippers, with a night-cap on his head. He was eating a bowl of gruel, and at the same time trying to identify the peculiar substance of which it was made, and also to keep the audience from suspecting that there was anything the matter with it. When he discovered that it was cotton, he made a resolve of revenge upon the Junior girls who had prepared it, which had nothing to do with the play. It helped him, however, to growl out maledictions upon the poor and those who relieved their distress.
It was then that he was disturbed by theclanking of chains and money-boxes, and the voice of his old partner, Marley, was heard faintly from behind the curtain which divided the front and back of the stage. Marley reproved him for his grasping, cruel spirit, his sordid struggle for wealth, and Scrooge cowered and listened in terror to the promise of the ghost that he should be visited by three others.
The curtain went down and rose almost immediately. There had been only faint applause. Scrooge had done his best, but the ghost, speaking from behind the scenes, had not the power to amuse and thrill which he would have had if he had been able to appear. Miss Ellingwood remembered, with a pang, Edward Ellis's delightful vanishing through the window.
Miss Ellingwood's face was pale. She realized that the first scene had fallen flat. And they were depending for the success of the second upon little Sarah Wenner, who had never even practiced with the rest of thecast! It had been madness in Sarah to offer, it had been worse than madness for Miss Ellingwood to accept.
She peered out from behind the scenes, her hand on Sarah's shoulder. Scrooge was in bed, his night-cap tassel nodded from his pillow. It was time for Sarah to go on. Directions trembled on Miss Ellingwood's lips, but she said nothing. It was too late now to advise.
The light was dim, and the audience could see nothing but the outlines of the old four-post bed, and a faint, tiny, white figure, which glided about, now slowly, now swiftly, once with a dash of yellow light upon it, once with a faint glow of purple. Her dress was short, her feet were sandaled, she looked even shorter than she was. The audience gasped. They thought that Edward Ellis was to play the part. Who was this sprite who moved about so lightly? They leaned forward breathlessly as the fairy thing approached Scrooge's bed, and drew the curtainback. A trembling, faltering voice issued from within.
"'Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold me?'"
It seemed to Miss Ellingwood that long moments passed before the answer came. The child had never been on any stage in all her life. Miss Ellingwood knew what stage fright was. She was suffering from it now herself. Then faintly but clearly came the answer:—
"'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'"
"'Long past?' inquired the trembling Scrooge."
"'No, your past. Rise and come with me.'"
The lights went out, there was the sound of a great wind, then a wild cry which made the timid clutch one another's hands.
"'I am afraid! I am afraid! I shall fall.'"
The clear voice answered, "'Bear but a touch of my hand upon your heart, and you shall be upheld in more than this.'"
The curtain before the back of the stage was lifted, the light came on slowly. There, on the bench in an old-fashioned school-room, sat a small boy, tired, homesick, forlorn. To him entered a little girl, who threw her arms about his neck and told him that he was to come home. The little boy cried happily, and there was a strange echo from the front of the stage.
"'It is I!' cried Scrooge. 'I and my sister Fanny.'"
"'And here?' said the spirit."
The curtain fell and at once was lifted.
"'My old master Fezziwig!' laughed Scrooge."
The laugh died away at the next scene, when he saw once more the girl whom he had jilted because she was poor. A wild horror was in his voice.
"'Leave me, spirit! I cannot bear it!'"
The spirit in the white dress and with the streaming hair had already gone, and Scrooge felt his way across the room to bed.
When the curtain went up again, it was in a blaze of light. The bed-curtains were closely drawn, and sitting upon the green throne at the other end of the room was a little figure in a long green robe. Even now her schoolmates did not know her. She laughed merrily as she called to Scrooge, whose frightened face peered out from between the curtains. It brightened at sight of this cheerful ghost, but not for long. The Ghost of Christmas Present had sad sights to show.
The light faded, and though Christmas bells rang merrily, one could not hear them or enjoy them because of starved, wolfish children living in misery, and poor Cratchit and his family trying to make merry over their goose, while want stared them in the face. The audience sighed when the curtain fell once more and Scrooge wandered about his room alone.
By this time Miss Ellingwood had dropped her book and was devoting her whole attentionto the tableaux. They were saddest of all now. Sarah was a tall figure without shape. Miss Ellingwood had contrived a support far above her head for the black robe. The stage was almost dark, and Scrooge had fallen upon his knees, as he watched the scenes of future Christmases.
Tiny Tim, the Cratchit cripple, had died from want of care, Scrooge himself lay in the churchyard, hideous Mrs. Dilber and her friends discussed his scant personal possessions, and the vast amount of his wealth went back into his business without ever having profited a human soul.
The audience caught the spirit of Scrooge's horror of himself, of his ecstatic joy at finding that he was still alive, and that there was time for him to redeem himself. They laughed and applauded, and there were those who cried. Then when the applause had died down, there was a loud call for the ghosts.
"It sounds like Edward," said Miss Ellingwood. "Run out and bow, Sarah."
Sarah clutched Miss Ellingwood's dress.
"Ach, I cannot!"
"Yes, dear, you must."
In a second she found herself in the middle of the stage. She saw the laughing, astonished faces, she saw Dr. Ellis applauding, she saw Professor Minturn smile, and back against the wall four tall boys, the real ghosts, who had come back at last. Near them, there stood some one else, a little taller than they, who waved his hand. It was William; he had come to take her home. Then her fright vanished. She was not Sarah any more. She was the Christmas Spirit, just as in the old days, when she played with the twins, she had been Jacob Kalb or Uncle Daniel or the Judge of the Orphans' Court by turns.
"Merry Christmas!" she cried, and then, like Tiny Tim, "'God bless us, every one!'"
Mr. Sattarlee was back of the scenes when she returned. He took both her hands in his. It was as though she had saved theday for him, instead of for Miss Ellingwood.
"Everybody is coming over to my rooms to have something to eat, Sarah, and of course we want you."
Sarah smiled at him.
"I thank myself,ach, I mean I am much obliged. But my brother is here, and—"
"We will have him too. We couldn't get along without either of you."
Ethel and Gertrude each held out a grateful hand. Even a tale-bearer must have her due.
"You saved the play, Miss Wenner."
Sarah's happy little smile died away.
"Ach, no, ma'am."
But she could not be long unhappy. Miss Ellingwood's hand would not let her go. When William came he only said, "Why, you little rascal!" which was praise enough. He talked and laughed with Miss Ellingwood and Mr. Sattarlee, and made friends with the boys, until he grew more wonderfulthan ever in the eyes of his little sister. She sat on the sofa beside Miss Ellingwood, and Edward Ellis and the other ghosts told them how they had walked home, despairing of getting there in time, but determined to do their best.
Ethel and Gertrude glanced at them, and Ethel shrugged her shoulders lightly.
"How do you suppose she ever did it?" said Gertrude.
A mocking smile came into Ethel's blue eyes. It was well for Sarah that she did not hear; it would have grieved her heart almost as much as it hurt generous Ethel's to say a thing so mean.
"Isn't it her usual occupation to listen and tell?" asked Ethel.
Thefall term of school is a time of adjustment, and the spring term flies so quickly that it is hardly begun before it is over. It is in winter that most real work is accomplished. Then, too, when the days are short, and life out of doors does not call so insistently, friendships quicken and school spirit grows.
Sarah felt very much better after her return from home. Laura had sternly forbidden her to do any heavier work than drying dishes, and looking after the twins and Albert, and she had told stories to her heart's content, and coasted and skated until she forgot that a grammar or a geography ever existed.
Now she worked diligently. It is safe to say that never had one small girl learned so much in so short a time. Professor Minturn was delighted with her progress; he regardedhis theory that the sub-Junior and the Junior History could be combined as already proved. The Geography professor cheered her enthusiastically on. He had meant to speak to Dr. Ellis about her transference from one class to the other, but he had forgotten it, and Sarah proceeded undisturbed. Mr. Sattarlee continued to have her read at sight for him in the evenings. He had begun to be really interested in seeing how much she could do.
Class rivalry always came to a head at the annual gymnasium exhibition, which took place just before the close of the winter term. There were performances by individuals, elaborate swinging of clubs and heavy work of various kinds, Gilbert dancing and intricate drills. The class which made the best record was given a silver cup.
Hitherto the cup had always been won by the Middle or the Senior class. Each year the enthusiastic Juniors made a frantic effort and failed. Occasionally they excelled in individual work, but the other classes had theadvantage of longer team-work in the drills. This year the Senior class was weak, and the Juniors would have had some hope, had it not been that the Middlers were exceptionally strong.
By this time the glow which followed the Christmas vacation was gone, and Sarah was once more a very tired girl. She had looked forward to the entertainment for weeks, but now that it was at hand, she wished with all her heart that she could go to bed instead of attending it.
The sub-Junior girls gave only an elementary wand-drill at the opening of the exhibition. The audience was still gathering; they formed merely the inconspicuous orchestra before the beginning of the real performance. When the drill was over, Sarah was glad to climb the steps to the running-track, and look down sleepily over the crowd in search of Miss Ellingwood.
The floor of the great gymnasium was divided into two parts. One was left bare forthe exhibition; the other was covered by a steep tier of seats occupied by the invited guests of the faculty and the faculty themselves. The students, when they were not at work, watched from the wide running-track which circled the gymnasium. Its railing was gayly decked with school and class banners, and it was crowded with close-packed groups of enthusiastic boys and girls. Far above in the dusk, showed dimly the great beams which upheld the vaulted roof.
Presently Sarah found Miss Ellingwood, sitting almost beneath her, with Mr. Sattarlee by her side. Then Sarah grew more and more sleepy. She heard the girls of her own class whispering round her. Mabel and Ellen were near by, but she did not turn her head, which rested comfortably against one of the upright supports of the great beam.
Below on the floor the girls of the Middle class were beginning an elaborate swinging of Indian clubs, moving in such perfect time with the music and with one another thatthe difficult task seemed the easiest in the world. Already the girls of the Junior class, who were to follow, were quietly slipping down the stairs. Sarah saw them dimly, Ethel and Gertrude and all the others whom she so admired, and who paid no attention to her. The fact that she had saved their class play seemed to make them not more but even less friendly. The tears came into her eyes, and she brushed them angrily away. What a goose she was! She tightened her hold a little on the upright iron, and leaned her head against it once more. If she could only go over to the Main Building and go to bed!
Then suddenly she awoke. It seemed to her at first that she heard the cheering in her sleep; then it grew to a great roar all about her. The sub-Juniors beside her were cheering, the group of boys of the Middle class on the opposite side of the running-track were yelling madly, and "Bobs," Edward Ellis's collie, who would not be left at home, was barking as though he wouldburst his throat. Sarah made out the Middle class yell:—
"Hip, hip, hooray,Scarlet and gray,We win the day!"
Then, looking up, she saw the cause of the excitement. Floating proudly from the great central beam, far above her head, was the scarlet and gray banner of the Middle class. The banner must have been rolled up and fastened there by some adventurous climber, and a cord by which it could be unfurled carried down along the supports to the opposite side of the running-track. It was no wonder that the Middlers had insisted upon having that particular spot. The cord had unfastened itself properly, and the great flag was left free to float back and forth in the slight breeze which came in round the many tall windows.
There was a wild yell from the Junior class, not of delight, but of disgust and dismay, and "Bobs" changed his bark to ahowl. The trick was a clever one, and it did not add to the comfort of the Juniors to realize that there was nothing to be done. The next number on the programme was a minuet by the Junior girls. They would have to give it, alas, under the colors of their rivals.
Edward Ellis and half a dozen others tried to push their way through the close-packed ranks of the Middlers, but Dr. Ellis saw them and motioned them back. Meanwhile the Middler girls went quietly on, not losing a beat of their time. When they finished, they marched out amid loud cheers and clapping of hands.
The sub-Juniors round Sarah were dancing up and down. Traditionally they were the friends of the Middle class, and the Middle class itself did not enjoy the sight of the great banner as much as they.
"Won't the Juniors be furious?" laughed Ellen Ritter. "I can just see Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley when they behold it.And they can't do a thing. Good for 'em!"
And the sub-Juniors moved a little farther down the running-track, crowding the Seniors behind them, so that they could see the faces of the Junior girls when they caught the first glimpse of the scarlet flag.
The same flame leaped suddenly in Sarah's heart that had flared before she pursued Jacob Kalb with a gun, and before she had poured the water out through the transom. But this time she deliberated and laid her plans more slowly. She owed the members of her own class no loyalty.
She looked up at the great beam far above her head. She tried to shake the iron upright upon which her hand rested and found it as firm as the boards beneath her feet; then she stared up again at the beam and down at the floor far below, and her eyes brightened.
There was a Junior flag just under herhand. The Junior class would enter in the dark, the lights were to be entirely extinguished, so that they could slip to their places without being seen, and then the light would come, not from the electric globes, but from a stereopticon lantern at the end of the room, which would throw colored lights upon the performers. Sarah knew all the arrangements. Already the gymnasium director had risen to announce that the lights would be turned out, and that no one should be alarmed.
Sarah glanced about once more. It was fortunate that she was just above the entrance to the dressing-room, and in the most undesirable place on the track. There was no one within ten feet. She put her hand on the belt of her gymnasium suit to be sure that the buttons were all tight and that nothing should hamper her, and then she thought of the tall hickory tree at home, up which she had scrambled ever since she could remember, and smiled.
The row of lights above the running-track faded and went out, and she put her arms round the slender iron pole. Then those below were darkened, and with a spring her rubber-soled feet were on the railing. When she felt the great beam, she had one moment of awful fright. What if they should suddenly turn on the lights and she be discovered hanging in mid-air? She would not be able to keep her hold. There would be one agonized moment, then she would drop down, down to the floor beneath.
But the fright did not make her stop. It vanished completely when she felt under her hands the cord which fastened the flag.
She did not attempt to untie it, there was no time for that. There were two pins on the front of her blouse, which had fastened on the sub-Junior badge which she had worn during her own drill. Wrapping the Middler flag round the beam, so that it was completely hidden, she pinned the Junior flag to its edge, and then crept slowly back. Shecould see far below her the line of dim white figures crossing the gymnasium. In another instant they would be in their places, and then the lights would flare out.
Thankfully she felt the iron pole beneath her feet, and in wild panic slid down, the iron burning her hands like steam. Then she stood holding desperately to it, panting.
It was the man who managed the stereopticon who revealed the new banner. The Junior girls in their white dresses wove back and forth in intricate figures, now in the gleam of violet, now in the glow of rose-color. Now they spread out from one end of the wide floor to the other, now they were close together. Presently there was a glow of yellow light which illuminated the whole gymnasium and rested especially upon the high beam. The stereopticon man had no sympathy with any particular class. He realized that the scarlet and gray flag was an object of interest, so he trained his lightupon it. Every eye in the gymnasium was lifted at once.
Bedlam broke loose, after an instant's pause, during which faculty and students and guests stared open-mouthed. Where was the Middler banner? Who had dared to climb out there and remove it? And who had hung the Junior banner there?
"Light blue and white,We're all right!"
roared the Junior boys.
"Wow, wow, wo-o-ow," howled "Bobs."
"Bang, bang, bang," played the pianist, in a noble effort to be heard above the din. Only the Junior girls seemed undisturbed. They wove more intricate evolutions, deaf to the piano as they were; their powdered heads bowed to one another, their motion seemed to grow more light and fairy-like. Presently one of them glanced upward, then another, and some one smiled faintly, and without another sign, they went on with more spirit than ever.