THE MIRACLE
The days of watching and anxiety that followed the accident left no
time for the lesser interests among Shirley's group at Wellington.
For that awful uncertain period there was grave danger of brain
concussion, and in the fear of that it must be said every girl in
Lenox, besides many outside the freshmen's quarters, showed their
loyalty to the untamed country girl. No messages could be sent, no
flowers even allowed to attest to their kindness, as in the critical
time absolute solitude was imperative. Then, like a flash of that
robust country vitality, the patient rallied and all danger was
pronounced past.
One particular, however, caused Jane keen annoyance. All messages to
Shirley's folks had been passed out through Dolorez Vincez, who
claimed to be a personal friend of the family. Not even a mother
would have been allowed to see the patient, and as Shirley begged
that this plan of Dolorez' agency be carried out, no objection was
made to it by the very much alarmed dean, Miss Rutledge.
Another puzzling detail was the fact that Sarah Howland begged Jane
not to interfere with these arrangements, as any such interference
would undoubtedly shock the stricken girl, she argued. Sally and
Jane had just left Lenox and were discussing these details.
"And I'm so glad now," breathed Sally in her entreaty to Jane, "that
you listened to me and did not report that matter to Miss Rutledge."
"So am I," said Jane in bewilderment. "I am glad of anything I may
have done to make her path smoother here. I can't see why Dolorez
should step in at this critical moment, though, but I do know she
took Shirley's folks around when they were here, and as you say,
Sally, to suddenly change the whole line of communication with her
family might not only shock Shirley, but also terrify her folks.
What a relief that she is now out of danger!"
"I felt like running away at first," confessed Sally, "it was so
terrifying. But I realized I might be the very one most wanted here-
-if anything serious should happen."
Jane cast a quick inquiring glance at the younger girl following
that statement, but was not rewarded by a further gleam of
confidence.
"I'm afraid I have neglected her," said Jane, "and I mean to make
amends. The juniors usually help backward freshmen, but Shirley
seemed to resent my attempts even at friendship."
"Miss Allen," said Sarah in a compelling voice, "you may not know it
but--that girl is gifted at mathematics. She can solve the most
difficult problems and is always ahead at geometry and trig. Other
studies seem to confuse her, and she just laughs at the languages,
but she's a perfect gem at math."
"Is that so? I'm so glad!" exclaimed Jane, "for if she is capable at
math she ought to pull through her other work. How strange I never
heard anyone mention her talent?"
Sally shook her head and smiled. "She is so odd and defiant, but
under it all I believe the girl is just a big-hearted, untamed
creature. That is why, Miss Allen, I have kept as near to her as she
would allow me to come. She is too honest even to affect changes."
"Capable at math?" Jane repeated, trying to believe it. "I am so
glad, Sally. I can't tell you what it means to me that this student
is not wholly--dull."
"I can guess," replied Sally simply, and Jane wondered then if she
knew about the scholarship.
"Why did the girls abandon their plans for the ghost show?" asked
Jane suddenly. "I thought they were all so keen about it."
"Perhaps I am to blame," faltered Sally timidly. "But you see, Miss
Allen--well, there was a complication there--and--" she stumbled
piteously. Jane tried to rescue her.
"But it would only have been a lark, and the freshmen have had no
Barnstorm this season!"
"I know," said Sally helplessly, "but Shirley was so sick and--we
have given the idea up."
Jane had to be content with that, but the veiled explanation only
whetted her curiosity.
Few accidents were recorded in Wellington's history, and the mishap
of Shirley ran its course in intense interest. Then presently the
patient was again defending herself just as before, scorning even
the humblest sympathy offered.
"Served me right," she insisted, talking to Sally. "I know how to
ride and can handle any old farm horse that ever pulled a plough,
but I want my hands free and my horse must be unchecked. Stylish
togs, gloves, saddles and trappings get in my way, and that hill!"
So the accident had served as a lesson, and the fallen pride was not
wasted in its effect upon the ambitious equestrian.
Thanksgiving had passed with few of the girls leaving college, as
special permission was required for that privilege, and now the
holiday season was imminent. Even basketball had lost some of its
power to enthuse, and the fact that Shirley was not considered well
enough to go into the rough game, and also that Sally Howland was
too small and light to be eligible, served to lessen the interest of
Jane and Judith in the personnel of the teams, for as juniors in a
second extension year they felt a little too grown up to go
themselves generally into the big games.
Jane was chosen and acted as referee, and Judith was forced to play
center in the Breslin game, but even winning over the neighboring
academy somehow had lost its thrill. Golf was the popular game now
with Jane, Judith, Dozia and Janet Clarke; Ted Guthrie, too, toddled
around the links, and golf permitted such opportunities for
confidences and was so independent of stated hours and limits of
endurance that time was given on the course to talk many things
over.
The girls had covered the frosted field and were returning before
the first period of study, and that magic beautifier, the air of
early morning, left little undone in his art of tone and tonic for
Jane and Judith, when they dropped their bags and hurried to the
day's tasks in mental exploits,
"This very afternoon I am going to talk with Shirley," Jane decided.
"And wouldn't it be wonderful, Judy, if she turned out worth while
after all?"
"No, it wouldn't," glowered Judith. "Any girl who can be as sick as
she was and not have her brother Ted come to see her--well, my
interest lags at that point and I don't intend to 'rouse it."
"I still have that letter," Jane reflected. "Never seem to get a
chance to turn it in. And I didn't want to destroy it."
"Give it to me, Janie, do," teased Judith. "Next to knowing the
darling Ted, having his letter in installments might serve. Tonight
we'll read it over again. It seems so long since we found it with
the ghost."
"Doesn't it? And even the play was given up when Shirley was
stricken."
"But they used the armor the other night in their pageant," said
Judith, "and everyone thought it wonderful. What a shame they
expunged the ghost story."
"Freshmen are so unreliable," sagely commented Jane. "But I'm afraid
outside influence spoiled the plot for the spook tragedy. I hope my
things come today for the prom. I feel rather in need of a first
class time under the beneficent influence of a real orchestra and
prudently shaded lights."
"Me, too," agreed Judith promptly if inelegantly.
So the gay season advanced apace, and it was soon one round of
trying on gowns and fussing with sample hair dressing in all the
"dorms" of Wellington. For the one big function known simply as The
Dance all students were eligible, and it was just in advance of this
that Shirley "broke loose."
She openly and unqualifiedly "cut loose" from Dol Vin's
"interference," as she called it.
"I'm through with her," she told her companions; but it was to Sally
she confided the details.
The girls had been planning their dance costumes and Sally was
insisting she did not care to go to the dance, when Shirley took
another spasm of revolt. She would never again go into that hateful
place, she declared, and more than that, she threatened exposure to
the beauty shop methods if its proprietor did not soon return some
of the "loans" long over due to her (Shirley).
"Kitten," she exploded without warning, "I've had my lesson. Do you
know that Dol Vin is actually sending bills to my innocent dad for
her entertainment of the country folks? Imagine all she's begged and
borrowed from me to meet 'emergencies' in her business, and then to
ask my dad to pay her dinner bills! Of course she thinks I'm
helpless, and that she has me in her power, but I am not such a
'greenie' now. And we will both be free soon!"
The deep-set eyes took on a look more confident than defiant, and
even "Kitten" did not fail to observe a marked improvement in the
speaker's manner and appearance.
Shirley was powerful and forceful, with that unruly aggressiveness
conspicuous in young children, when the weakness is classified as
"having their own way" before twelve years, and as "being capable"
after that--the latter faculty true fruit of the former germ. So it
was with this country girl; her very crimes were molding into
virtues, and that again proves a world old philosophy.
"Your hair is very becoming that way," ventured the blonde Sally,
whose own hair was always a most exacting halo--Sally had to live up
to it. "And you don't mind being called Bobbie?"
"I like it," answered Shirley. "I suppose you know what a time I had
to get the wig back to hair after the treatment. I am positive that
east side French woman was trying an experiment on my poor head. But
among other things the accident did for me, it gave my hair a chance
to shoot." She ran her long fingers through the rather stubby growth
that had taken on a decided unruliness in splendid imitation of
curl. "You see it was rubbed every day, and that charitable nurse
rubbed curl right in it. I just love it and wouldn't interfere with
it for anything. Curling hair artificially, I know, simply makes it
cranky."
"Yes, spoils its temper and breaks its character. Just like twisting
a tender vine and forcing it to turn away from its chosen paths. How
are you getting on with your cramming? Can I help you?" asked Sally,
diverging suddenly.
"Hopeless," replied the other. "I don't believe I'll wait to face
the music."
"Oh, you must, Miss Allen is so interested----"
"That's the hard part of it now. I can't face Miss Allen. She's such
a good sport." The bobbed brown head was suddenly dropped into her
cupped hands reflectively. "You see, at first, Kitten, I was just a
rebel; satisfied to get in here and to have the name of it. Then,
these girls whom I so despised were so fine to me," again the look
of dejection, "and, girlie, when I lay on my back at the foot of
that hill and Jane Allen whispered 'Shirley' into my buzzing ears--
it did something to me." Her companion allowed the pause to act
without venturing to interrupt it. It was the working of the
miracle! "Yes, and she meant it, too," went on Shirley
reflectively. "No silly stuff just because she feared I was done
for. She and big, brown-freckled Dozia just seemed to drag me back
to earth, while the other!" her eyes blazed. "Do you know why I have
never spoken of my companion on that hateful ride?"
"No--I've wondered?"
"I've been ashamed to," declared Shirley, "and thankful the juniors
who helped me did not torture me with questions. Well--she was that
foreign element with a name like a crocheted alphabet and a face
like a week old Easter egg--running its colors, you know. Dol has
her down from New York to practice for the stage," this thought
revived Shirley's spirits and she gave a gay howl. "I can see why
she needs the woods to practice the yells she's cultivating," a foot
was kicked out at the thought. "But I'm through with them, Kitten,
but please don't think I've reformed," she gasped. "I despise
turncoats and--traitors."
Shirley wore an angora tarn, leaf green sweater and big plaid golf
skirt just then. No one in Wellington could have criticised her
outfit. Even her attire seemed benefited by the miracle.
"Bye-by, little sister," she addressed Sally. "This experience has
done something else for me other than opening my stupid eyes--it has
given me a real chum."
And she got away before Sally could answer.