UNFORTUNATE BEGINNINGS
Even the most cultured Lady Principals do not enjoy being roused from
their slumbers, an hour after midnight, by the tooting of a motor car
beneath their bedroom windows. It was annoying to have to dress again
and descend to a dimly-lighted reception room to receive a new pupil
who had missed a train, on the route, and misdirected her telegram.
Nor was there anything prepossessing about this especial girl, whose
clothes steamed with moisture and whose travel-soiled cheeks were
streaked by raindrops and tears. So it was small wonder that Dorothy's
reception by Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon was decidedly cool and crisp.
"This is really unprecedented, Miss Calvert. I cannot understand how
any young lady, whose friends consider her intelligent enough to
travel alone, could have made such stupid blunders, as you have. At
the point where you knew you were to change trains, why did you not
keep watch and inquire for direction?"
"Well, you see there was a military parade and the soldiers looked so
queer in their red uniforms and their funny little caps on the sides
of their heads that--that--that I forgot. I mean the timetable told
the right hour, course, but the first train was behind and so--and
so--"
It was a very lame excuse and Dolly knew it. But it was the truth and
as such she gave it.
Miss Tross-Kingdon made no reply. Inwardly she was commenting upon
Dorothy's pronunciation of certain words, which was wholly at fault
according to English custom, and realizing that here was the first
fault to be corrected in her new pupil.
Dorothy's heart sank. Uncle Seth's last advice to her had been:
"Whenever you feel blue, just wave your flag of high courage and march
ahead. Don't stop to think! March, march, march--toward the better
time that will surely come."
But that high-courage flag hung limply now and she felt she could
never again wave it at all. But, fortunately, the Lady Principal now
rose to terminate the interview. Touching an electric bell for the
maid on night duty, she said:
"It is very late and you are tired. Dawkins will show you to your
cubicle and assist you in undressing. You may omit your bath,
to-night, and are allowed an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Where
are your suit case and hand bag?"
Dorothy rose, as the lady did, but a fresh feeling of guilt made her
eyes fall as she murmured:
"I--don't--know."
"Don't know!" echoed the Lady Principal, in amazement. Then directing
Dawkins to supply what was needed, she returned to her interrupted
repose, while Dorothy wearily followed the stern-faced maid; being
cautioned, meanwhile:
"Do not dare to make a noise and arouse the young ladies."
Yet arrived at the cubicle, or small division of the great dormitory
which had been assigned her, Dorothy realized that Dawkins was kinder
than she looked. For presently she was being undressed, her face and
hands sponged with cool water, and herself reclothed with the freshest
of gowns. Then she was bodily lifted into the dainty little bed as if
she were a baby.
This unexpected gentleness touched her heart and, flinging her arms
about the maid's neck, she sobbed:
"Oh! do be good to me! I am so desolate!"
"Whist, child! We must no be wakin' the troublesome girls around. And
sure the lonesomeness'll pass, like the dew afore sun, once you get a
good sleep and meet up with your mates. Good night, child, and sleep
well."
Then, since there was nobody to witness her unusual demonstration,
maid Dawkins stooped and kissed the tired eyes of her new charge, and
went quietly away.
But there had been one observer of this caress. Peeping from her own
compartment stood a girl whose keen eyes had noticed everything, and
who felt she could scarcely wait until morning to spread the news.
Creeping back to her own bed, she lay long awake, thinking the matter
over. For this schoolgirl, who rejoiced in the title of the Honorable
Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, had a deal of curiosity that was wholly
roused now.
"Never saw old Dawkins kiss anybody. Dawkins, of all creatures! Never
knew a new girl come at this time of night--and she certainly was new.
And she hadn't any clothes, I know, because that was one of the school
hampers Dawkins had. Must be somebody very poor. I wonder who!
Maybe--for goodness sake! Maybe she's some relation to old Dawk! Else
why should she kiss her? Humph! I thought this was a school for young
ladies, not for the poor relations of servants. There's one thing
certain, mamma will never allow me to remain where there are paupers.
Never in this world. Neither would Lord Christopher let Marjorie. No,
indeed. So will Miss Tross-Kingdon find out. Why! one charity pupil at
Oak Knowe would ruin it! Anyhow, I mean to hurry round in the morning
and warn all my set against noticing the beggar and what our set does
surely goes. Mamma gets odd notions about things, sometimes, like
saying I must sleep in this old dormitory instead of having a private
room, and that I have silly feelings about rank. Wanted the Lady
Principal to make me more democratic: but even she couldn't wish me to
sleep among paupers. Heigho! I wish it was morning! But I'll take a
nap now and that will pass the time."
Exhausted by the long journey she had taken, and by the startling
events of the night, unconscious Dorothy slept calmly on, little
dreaming of Gwendolyn's fancies about her; nor did she wake till long
after all her dormitory mates had dressed and gone below to breakfast.
When she did arouse it was to wonder about this strange place in which
she found herself and at an elfish-looking child perched on the foot
of her little bed, staring at her with wide eyes and keen impatience,
and who greeted her first movement with the exclamation:
"Well, old sleepy-head, I thought you never would wake up! Who are
you, anyway, and what makes you stay in cubicle so long after
breakfast? Won't you catch a lecture, though! I wouldn't be in your
shoes for a sovereign!"
"Don't believe you could be in them. You're so small they'd fall off,"
answered Dorothy laughing.
"No, they wouldn't. I'd tie them on. If I wanted to. Who are you?
When'd you come? How dare you stay in bed so?"
Dolly laughed again. She had fallen asleep convinced that she could
never laugh again, so tired and homesick had she been. But now,
refreshed by rest and with the sunlight streaming through the windows,
the world seemed a very different place. Besides, there was something
so winning about this inquisitive little maid, that the stranger's
heart was comforted that she had found a friend already.
"Well, dearie, I suppose I dare because Miss Tross-Kingdon--"
"Did she say you could? Isn't that odd! She's my aunt. I haven't any
folks 'cept her, I'm a norphan. I'm Millikins-Pillikins, my brother
Hugh calls me; and the girls, too. But I'm not, really. I'm Grace
Adelaide Victoria Tross-Kingdon. That's my truly name. Nobody could
call me all that, could they? Wouldn't be time. Auntie Princie calls
me just plain 'darling' or 'dear.' I'm a Minim. I don't have to do
lessons and things. I'm in the 'kindy.' Auntie Princie doesn't approve
of a kindergarten in this School for Young Ladies; but it's a
speriment the Board of Directioners wanted to try. Them's the
gentlemen auntie has to mind. Fancy! My great big grown-up Auntie
Prin having to mind them, same's I have to mind her! My Lord Bishop,
he's the head Directioner, but he's the jolliest! I just love him! He
knew my papa and mamma before they got drowned in the sea. My brother
Hugh lives with the Bishop and writes things for him. They call him a
seckeratary. He gets money for doing it. Think of that! Sometimes he
gives me pennies and even six-pences. Sometimes--not often. You see he
wants to earn enough to buy a cottage for him and me. I'm to be the
lady of it--the mistress! Fancy! But Auntie Princie says I have lots
to learn before then. I will have to make his bread, 'cause he won't
have money enough to keep me and a cook, too. I'll have to have a
housemaid to help me, but you know housemaids never do the cooking.
But say, girl, you haven't told me your name yet?"
Dorothy sat up in bed and drew the child toward her:
"My dear, you haven't given me a chance yet, you've been so busy
telling me who you are. But I've enjoyed it and I thank you for coming
to wake me up. Now I must get up and dress. Maybe you will show me to
the bathroom, though I don't like to go about in this way."
"That's a school nightie you've got on. Where's your bath robe?"
"In my trunk."
"Where's your trunk?"
"I suppose it's at John Gilpin's house. That is, if he didn't throw it
out of the cart with the empty barrels."
"Why did he throw out the barrels?"
"To make a place for Robin to lie on."
"What Robin?"
"The messenger boy who was hurt. He was bringing my telegram and he
fainted and fell and the motor car--but I mustn't stop now to talk. I
must get dressed."
"Couldn't you talk without stopping? I could."
"I believe you, child. Will you show me?"
"Of course--if you'll tell the rest. Wait. If you want a robe I'll get
Gwendolyn's. It's right yonder."
So it happened that the first act of the supposed charity pupil was to
borrow a garment of the very girl who had so misjudged her, and who
entered the dormitory just as Dorothy was leaving it for the lavatory.
Curiosity had sent Gwendolyn and Laura Griswold, her chum and
"shadow," back to this apartment at this unusual hour, but at sight of
Dorothy disappearing toward the bath wearing Gwendolyn's robe, its
owner forgot her curiosity in indignation. Stopping short, midway the
great room, she clasped her hands in a tragic manner and demanded of
Laura:
"Did you ever in your life see anything so cool as that? The impudent
girl! How dare she? I wonder what else she's taken! And that
mischievous little Pill with her. That child's the nuisance of this
school. Even if she is Lady Principal's niece, she shouldn't be given
the liberty she has. But I'll report."
"Yes, indeed, I'd report!" echoed Laura. "First, have to sleep in the
school things; then help herself to yours. It's simply outrageous. Why
not go right away? It's recess and Miss Tross-Kingdon has no class."
"She has worse. The Bishop's in the reception-room, and Dr. Winston,
too. They were all talking very fast and I wanted to stop and listen.
But I didn't quite dare, for she was facing the door and might see me.
But I did hear the Bishop say that if she was a Calvert she could
hardly fail to be all right. She came of good stock--none better. I
wondered who he meant; but Lady Principal saw me looking in and asked
me if 'I wished anything?' Hateful woman! She has the most
disagreeable manners!"
"Never mind. Anyway, let's go tell her!" advised Laura, and the pair
departed.
However, the electric bell rang just then, announcing that recess was
over and the telling had to be postponed to a better season. A few
moments later a maid came to say that as soon as Dorothy was ready the
Lady Principal would receive her in the west parlor. But she might
stop in the breakfast-room on the way, where a dish of cereal and a
bowl of hot milk was awaiting her. The maid added to the "Little
Pill":
"As for you, Miss Grace, the Minims are ready for their calisthenics
and your teacher wants you."
"But I don't want her. I want to go with Dolly."
"You're too big a girl for dolls, Miss Grace, and quite big enough to
obey orders."
Grace's sharp little face darkened and she made a mocking grimace to
the maid, retorting:
"You don't know anything, Dora Bond! You don't know that the Dolly I
play with is this new girl. I shall go with her. I hate them
exercises. They make my back ache. I'm excused to-day, anyhow. I heard
Auntie Princie tell a lady how I wasn't a bit strong and that she had
to indulge me a lot. I shall do as I please. I shall go where I like.
I shall, so, old Bondy! So there!"
Dorothy was surprised by the unpleasant expression which had
settled on the little girl's face, but said nothing. Following
Bond's direction, she hurried through a long hall to a sunshiny
breakfast-room and the simple meal prepared for her. She hastily
drank the milk, but had no appetite for the cereal. Her heart was in a
flutter of anxiety about the coming interview with Miss Tross-Kingdon.
She had at once disliked and feared that lady, on the night before,
and felt that her present appearance, in a rain-spotted frock and with
her hair so hastily brushed, must only add to the sternness of this
unknown Lady Principal.
However, the clinging hand of Millikins-Pillikins gave a little
comfort. She didn't feel quite so lonely and timid with the child
beside her and, as she made her graceful curtsey at the open door, all
her fear vanished and she became once more the self-possessed Dorothy
of old. For, rising and crossing the room to meet her was her
acquaintance of the night, who had brought her to Oak Knowe in his own
car from John Gilpin's cottage.
With extended hands he grasped hers and, turning to Miss Muriel,
remarked:
"Any time you need a nurse, madam, just call upon this little lady.
She was the best helper I had last night. Quick and quiet and
intelligent. She must train herself for that vocation when she is
older."
The color flew to Dorothy's cheeks and she flashed him a grateful
smile, for the kind words that so soothed her homesick heart.
The other gentleman in the room did not rise, but held out a
beckoning hand and, with another curtsey to Doctor Winston, Dorothy
excused herself to him and obeyed the summons. This other was a
venerable man with a queer-shaped cap upon his white head and wearing
knee breeches and gaiters, which made the young American remember some
pictures of old Continental statesmen.
"So this is my old friend Betty Calvert's child, is it? Well, well!
You're as like her as possible--yet only her great-niece. Ha, hum!
Little lady, you carry me straight back to the days of my boyhood,
when my parents came from England--strangers to your Baltimore. But we
were not strangers for long. There's a distant blood relation between
our house and yours and we youngsters found in beautiful Bellevieu a
second home. So you must remember that, since your aunt has done me
the honor to send you away up here to this school of mine--of ours, I
should say--you have come to another home just as I did then. Dear
little Betty! What a mischief she was! Are you mischievous, too, I
wonder?"
Then he turned to the Lady Principal, warning her:
"Look out for this little miss, Miss Tross-Kingdon! She looks as meek
as a lamb, just now, but blood will tell and she'll bear watching, I
believe."
The dear old man had drawn Dorothy close to his side and was smiling
upon her in a manner to win the heart of any girl and to cure her of
her homesickness--at least for the time being. When he released her,
he rose to depart, resuming for a moment the business talk with the
Lady Principal, which Dorothy's entrance had interrupted. Both she and
the doctor also arose and stood respectfully waiting till the Bishop
disappeared. Then said Dr. Winston:
"You'll like to hear about your boy patient, I suppose, Miss Calvert.
Well, I think he's all right, or will be as soon as his bones
and bruises mend. What I suspect is that the brave lad is about
half-starved--or was. He's in danger of being overfed now, since he
has fallen into Dame Gilpin's hands."
"Half-starved, sir? How dreadful!" cried Dorothy, while Miss
Tross-Kingdon exclaimed: "Can that be possible!"
"Quite possible, indeed. His mother is a widow and very frail, old
John tells me. Her husband was a carpenter who worked in town and was
trying to pay for the little place he'd bought out here in the
suburbs, hoping the open-air life might cure her. She'd gone into
chicken and flower culture, thinking she could help in the payment.
They were proud of Robin, the 'brightest, merriest, best boy in the
Glen,' John claims, and had somehow got a second-hand bicycle for him
to ride into school for the 'grand eddication' they wanted he should
have. Then the father died and Robin got a position as messenger boy.
Every cent he earned he gave his mother and she took in sewing. They
ate just as little as they could and the result has been disastrous. A
growing boy can't work all day and half the night, sometimes, on a
diet of bread and water. So last night he fainted on his trip and fell
off his wheel in the middle of the road. Then I came speeding along
toward home and smashed them both up. But it's an ill wind that blows
nobody good and the lad's accident may turn out his blessing. Dorothy
and I and the Dame have mended a collar bone and a couple of ribs
and my ambitious young 'Mercury' is laid up for repairs. John
'step-and-fetched' the mother, Mrs. Locke, and she, too, will get some
rest and nourishment. She's worrying a good deal, but has no need.
Plucky little Robin will soon be chirping again, 'fine as silk.'
Maybe, after school hours, Miss Tross-Kingdon will permit me to take
Dorothy with me in the car to visit her patient. May I, Madam?"
The Lady Principal did not look pleased. The Bishop's and the doctor's
treatment of the new pupil had really softened her heart toward the
girl, but she was a stickler for "rules" and "discipline," and
remembered that this was not the day on which her "young ladies" were
allowed to pay visits.
"Thank you, Doctor Winston, but I am obliged to decline the invitation
for to-day. She has entered Oak Knowe some time after the opening of
term and must pass examination, that I may understand for which Form
she is best fitted. Nor have I yet been advised of such houses as her
guardians desire her to visit. Commonly, the young ladies of Oak Knowe
do not consort with laborers and messenger boys. But I thank you for
your courtesy toward her; and, as that is the bell for my class in
Greek, I must beg you to excuse me and I wish you good morning, Dr.
Winston. Come, Miss Calvert, I will have your examination begin at
once. Make your obeisance to the doctor."
Dolly's heart sank. Why should she be made to feel so guilty and
insignificant? Still, as she turned to follow the teacher, she
obediently saluted the physician and, glancing up into his face,
saw--was it possible that he winked?
Though she felt as she were going to be tried for her life, this sight
so surprised her, that she giggled hysterically and thus irreverently
followed the haughty instructress out of the room. So doing, she added
one more to the list of misdemeanors that lady had already placed
against her account.