THE TEST OF CARVER STANDISH III
“Don’t they hurt a bit, Jean?”
“No, of course not.”
“Don’t you feel at all sick either?”
“No, just mad! What’s in that bag, Virginia?”
“Pop-corn. Can you eat it?”
“I should say I can. Haven’t had anything but disgusting cream toast
for four days. Put it under the letters so no one will see. What’s
that in the box, Priscilla?”
“Peggy Norris’ white mice she bought down town. They’re only a loan
for to-day. Open the box right off or they’ll smother.”
“What do you do all day, Jean?”
“Oh, learn things by heart mostly. Miss Wood won’t let me read, so I
just glance and then recite. It’s a comfort. I’ve learned the
Ninety-first Psalm and ‘Annabel Lee’ and ‘Drink to Me Only with Thine
Eyes’ and the ‘Address at Gettysburg’ and ‘One Thought of Marcus
Aurelius.’ I call that quite good.”
“How do you know you’re going to have them anyway, Jean?”
“Oh, you hate everybody for two days, and your eyes water the third.
Is it all ready? Shall I pull? Be sure the mice are right side up.
Here goes then!”
The taller Blackmore twin in a red wrapper and a bandaged throat
leaned out of her window and pulled on a rope, at the end of which
dangled a waste-basket filled with bags, envelopes, and boxes. Below,
in the snow, stood half a dozen sympathizers who had brought the
“morning post” to their comrade, confined to her room with the German
Measles.
Judging from the patient’s alacrity in securing the basket she was not
suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the
morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom
in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the
basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice,
leaned farther out of the window.
“Don’t go. I’ll look my mail over later. It’s fine of you to come. Any
more caught?”
“Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore
throat.”
“Then she’s probably just starting out.”
“My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason.” This from Vivian.
“Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too.”
“Are you all over speckles, Jean?”
“Pretty much so!”
The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room.
All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of
danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one
accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the
closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed
therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean’s door. Then
Jean’s voice, pathetically lowered,
“Come in.”
The door opened.
“Jeannette,” said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees
recognized as Miss Wood’s. “Jeannette, don’t you feel the draught from
that open window?”
“No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air.”
“Didn’t I hear you talking a moment since?”
“Perhaps,” said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. “I recite a
great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words
to some of the girls who came beneath the window.”
“You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel
better this morning?”
“Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you.”
Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient’s head.
“You seem very cool—a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste?
It’s nourishing, and won’t hurt your throat.”
“Oh, it would be delicious, I’m sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really
believe I’m a little hungry.”
Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly
recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that
cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she
once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood’s
reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across
the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly “tidying”
of their rooms.
“Virginia,” said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some
letters, “I just know I’m going to have them. I was with Jean all one
afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you’ll have them
when I do!”
“So do I. ’Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one.
And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth
the regular measles, not to mention German. You don’t feel
out-of-sorts yet, do you?”
“No, I’ll tell you when I do, or you’ll probably know anyway. Isn’t
Jean a scream? Probably she was in bed when Miss Wood got there.”
“She’s dear. Why don’t she and Jess room together?”
“My dear, the whole faculty rose up in arms this year when they
suggested it. They tried it exactly three weeks last year, and Miss
Wood nearly resigned. One is bad enough, but the two are awful! They
think up the most fearful things to do. Why, the summer before last,
they’d been in England all summer, and had seen all kinds of new
things. Well, the first thing they did when they got back to St.
Helen’s was to play chimney-sweep. Jess had seen them in London and
she couldn’t rest to see how it felt to be in a chimney. So, one day,
she put on some black tights and an old Jersey of her brother’s, and
made a tall hat out of paste-board. Then they went up on the roof of
Hathaway, and Jean helped her get up on the chimney, and she dropped
down. The chimney’s wide, you know, and she dropped straight down,
making an awful noise and loosening all the soot, right into the
living-room fire-place. Miss King and Bishop Hughes were calling on
Miss Wood just then, though, of course, Jess didn’t know that. Down
she came, feet first, into the grate, and scared Miss King and Miss
Wood and the Bishop all but to death. She was all over soot, and was a
sight! The Bishop laughs about it every time he comes.”
Virginia laughed and laughed. As long as she had been at St. Helen’s
she had never heard that story.
“The thing that Jean’s crossest about,” Priscilla continued, “is the
Gordon dance on Washington’s Birthday. Her cousin asked her to come,
and she’s afraid Miss Wood won’t let her go.”
“Why, she’ll be all right by then, won’t she? The speckles are most
gone already, and the dance is two weeks off.”
“I know, but Miss Wood is very careful, and, besides, Jess told her
that Jean was subject to tonsillitis. Oh, dear, I was sort of hoping
that Carver Standish would invite me! You see, I’ve never been to a
really big dance in the evening in my life. But I guess he’s not going
to. Jean got her invitation yesterday.”
But when they reached The Hermitage and their own room, Priscilla
found the coveted envelope, with a card bearing the name “Carver
Standish III,” and a note saying it would be “downright rotten,” if
anything prevented her coming. Priscilla ran at once to ask for Miss
Wallace’s chaperonage, but, when she returned, a worried expression
had replaced the joyous one on her face.
“Won’t she go with you?”
“Yes, she’ll go; but, Virginia, I just remembered the German Measles.
They don’t look so much like a blessing as they did a few minutes ago.
What if I do get them? Oh, Virginia, what if I do? If I’m going to
have them, I wish I’d get them right away, and then I’d be all over
them in a week. Isn’t there some way they can be hurried up if they’re
inside of you?”
Virginia was for a few moments lost in contemplation. Then apparently
she remembered.
“Why, of course, there is,” she said. “I remember all about it now. If
they’re really inside of you, hot things will bring them out. When
they thought I had the mumps once, Hannah said ‘Steam them out, dear.
If they’re there, they’ll come.’ And they did come out. I’ve heard
Hannah say that over and over again. Don’t you worry, Priscilla. We’ll
use all the hot things we know, and try to bring them out, and, if
they don’t come, you can be reasonably sure they’re not inside of you.
If I were you, I’d begin right off. I’d put on a sweater, and sit over
the register. I’d just bake! To-night we’ll get extra blankets and hot
water bottles, and in a day or two I believe we’ll have them out. It’s
lucky to-morrow is Sunday.”
“I just know they’re inside,” wailed Priscilla, buttoning her sweater,
as she sat over the register. “My! It’s hot here! Would you think of
hot things, too? You know we said we believed that thoughts were
powerful.”
“I certainly do believe it. Yes, I believe I’d let my mind dwell on
Vesuvius and the burning of Rome, and things like—like crematories and
bonfires and the Equator. If there’s anything in thought suggestion
that certainly will help. It won’t harm anyway. Are you awfully
uncomfortable?”
“Very hot. Would you really stay here all the afternoon?”
“Yes, I would, and most of to-morrow. If, by to-morrow night, there
aren’t any signs, I’ll believe the danger’s past Let’s not tell
anybody what we’re doing. If Miss Wallace thought you expected them,
she might think you ought not to go.”
“Does Hannah know all about sickness?”
“She certainly does. Why, everybody for miles around comes to her for
advice, and trusts her just as though she were a doctor. Really,
Priscilla, I know she’d do just this way if she were here.”
The reassured Priscilla sweltered over the register most of the
afternoon. When evening came, she was somewhat out-of-sorts. “Maybe
the hating everybody has begun,” thought her room-mate as she filled
hot water-bottles. They had borrowed all in The Hermitage, except Miss
Wallace’s and Miss Baxter’s (Miss Baxter was Miss Green’s more popular
successor)—much to the unsatisfied wonder of the household. Priscilla
turned uneasily all night in a nest of hot water-bottles and extra
blankets. In the morning there were no signs of measles, except
perhaps a somewhat peevish disposition.
“And that’s not measles, Virginia, I’ll have you to know!” the owner
of the disposition announced fretfully. “It’s just from being burned
alive! Now, I’m not going to do another thing, so you might just as
well put away those two suits of underwear. One’s enough!”
“Well,” said Virginia a little doubtfully, as she folded the extra
suit and replaced it in the drawer; “well, it does seem as though if
they’d been coming they would have come after all that steaming. I
wish Hannah were here! She’d know. But, if I were you, Priscilla, I’d
just keep thinking I wasn’t going to have them. That will probably
help.”
This prescription compared to the preceding one was easy to follow,
and all through the next two weeks Priscilla, when she remembered it,
maintained that she was not to have the German Measles! For the rest
of the time, which was by far the larger portion, she was perfectly
oblivious as to even the possibility of her having them, so elated was
she over her preparation for the Gordon dance. She and Miss Wallace
and Jean Blackmore, who was really to be allowed to go after all, were
to make the journey, a distance of twenty-five miles, by automobile.
The two weeks dragged their days slowly along, but at last Thursday
night arrived, and Priscilla, with a happy heart, surveyed for the
last time that day her new dress, which her mother had sent from home.
“Just one more night to wait,” she said, as she got into bed. “Oh,
Virginia, I wish you were a Junior! I don’t see why Miss King won’t
let new girls go. Carver said if you only could, he would have asked
you, because his grandfather had told him so much about you, and his
room-mate, Robert Stuart, whom I’ve met, would have asked me. Then we
could have gone together.”
“I don’t mind. It’s been such fun getting you ready. Maybe next year
we’ll both go. Isn’t it the luckiest thing you haven’t had them at
all?”
“It certainly is! It just shows how powerful thought is! Really, I
have more faith in it than ever. You see, if they were inside of me,
they didn’t get any attention, and probably decided not to come out.”
“Well, if they’d been there, they would have come out with all that
heat, I’m sure,” said Virginia, still faithful to Hannah. “But it
doesn’t matter whether they were there or not, just so long as they’re
not here. Good-night.”
In the gray early morning Virginia was rudely awakened by some one
shaking her. She sat up in bed to find Priscilla desperately shaking
her with one hand and the witch-hazel bottle with the other. Priscilla
was apparently in trouble. What could be the matter? She sat up,
dazed, half-asleep.
“Why, what is it? What’s the matter? Was the dance lovely? Did you
have a good time?”
At these last remarks Priscilla wept.
“Oh, wake up!” she cried. “It’s only Friday. I haven’t been to the
dance at all, and probably I can’t go, because I’ve got them; yes, I
have! My head aches, and my throat’s sore, and I’m hot, and my eyes
run, and I hate everybody, and I’ll be lumpy and speckled right away—I
_know_ I shall! Oh, what shall I do?”
The last sentence ended in a long, heart-broken wail, which brought
the still dazed Virginia thoroughly to her senses. She sprang from
bed, turned on the light, and scrutinized the disconsolate Priscilla.
Yes, her cheeks were most assuredly flushed, and her eyes were
watery—from tears. Virginia was mistress of the situation.
“Now, Priscilla,” she commanded, “you go back to bed. You’re _going_
to that dance. Remember that! I’ve got an idea. If heat will bring the
things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We’ll fill the hot
water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you’ll feel
better. See if you don’t. And you won’t get speckled to-day anyway,
because Jean Blackmore didn’t till two days after they started; and
even if you do behind your ears it won’t matter. Stop crying, or
somebody’ll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you’re sick.”
This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to
the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By
breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and
she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after
each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for
the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia
tacked an “Asleep” sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous
treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time
filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An
ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room,
adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes.
The poor child’s thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward
Eskimos and the Alps, and “such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and
icebergs.” For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read “Snowbound”
to her.
But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable
speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere.
Priscilla’s cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her
head ached; but her spirit was undaunted.
“My dear, you don’t look well,” Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they
left the dining-room, and went to dress. “Are you sure you’re well?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I’m just hot because I’m excited. My cheeks
always get red then What time does the machine come?”
“In an hour, I think. You’re sure you’re all right, Priscilla?”
“Oh, yes, thank you!” Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before
Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. “Come
on, Virginia, and help me dress.”
Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she
did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to
St. Helen’s relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to
three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little
over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There
was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began
to dress.
Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was
dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further
speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into
bed, where she most assuredly belonged.
“Don’t you feel a single bit better, dear?”
“Oh, yes, I guess so—I don’t know. I feel sort of loose inside, as
though I weren’t connected. But I’ll feel better driving over. Oh,
Virginia, talcum powder my ears. They’re perfect danger signals. _Is_
that a speckle on my neck? Oh, say it isn’t!”
“Of course, it isn’t! It’s only a wee pimple. I’ll talcum powder it,
too. There! You look just lovely! Shan’t I let the others in now?
They’re cross as hops, because we’ve both been so secret, and we don’t
want to rouse suspicion.”
Priscilla assented, and Virginia unlocked the door to the house in
general.
“Too bad you’re so exclusive!”
“Even if we’re not asked, we might see the fun of getting ready.”
“You look perfectly heavenly, Priscilla!”
“It’s a love of a dress!”
“Mercy, Priscilla, what makes your ears so red?”
“I’ll bet you’ve gotten them frost-bitten!”
“They certainly look it!”
“Your cheeks are red, too, but it’s becoming!”
“What makes your eyes shine so?”
Here the uneasy Virginia felt as though a reply were necessary.
“Why, because she’s happy, of course. You act just like Red Riding
Hood talking to the wolf, Dorothy.”
Fortunately, just when inquiries were becoming too personal, Jean
Blackmore entered, and claimed attention.
“Jean, you’re actually pretty!”
“You really are, Jean.”
“Thank you. I’m sure that’s nice of you.”
“That light green certainly is becoming. It makes you look like an
apple-blossom.”
“You lucky things! Wish we were going! Here’s the machine now, and
Miss Wallace is calling.”
They went down-stairs, the house following.
“Oh, Miss Wallace, take your coat off and let us see! Oh, please do!”
The obliging Miss Wallace complied. She really was charming in old
blue, with half-blown, pale pink roses, Priscilla’s gift, at her
waist.
“Oh, Miss Wallace, you look just like a girl!”
“You’re just beautiful, Miss Wallace!”
“No one will think you’re a chaperon.”
“They’ll all want to dance with you, Miss Wallace.”
“Oh, girls, you’ll quite spoil me,” said the chaperon, and looked more
charming than ever. “Come, girls. Priscilla, do raise your coat
collar. I’m afraid you’ve caught cold. Jean, I insist, put on that
scarf. Take care of the house, girls. Miss Baxter’s out. But I know
you will. Good-night.”
The car rolled away into the darkness, and the girls went up-stairs,
talking things over as they went.
“Isn’t Miss Wallace the sweetest thing?”
“Something’s the matter with Priscilla. She wasn’t talking. What is
it, Virginia?”
“Oh, she’s excited, and perhaps—perhaps, she doesn’t feel exactly
well.” Virginia felt more free, now that Priscilla was safely on her
way.
* * * * *
At the Gordon school all was excitement. Boys in white trousers waited
impatiently at the gates, as the automobiles and carriages approached,
to greet their friends and conduct them to the brilliantly lighted and
beautifully decorated gymnasium. This annual dance on Washington’s
Birthday was the one real social function, outside Commencement,
allowed at Gordon, and its importance was greatly felt by the young
hosts.
Priscilla, strangely shivery, tried to reply easily to Carver’s
remarks, as they went up the walk toward the gymnasium.
“Isn’t it lucky you didn’t catch those things? I was dead scared you
would when you wrote me.”
“Yes, it’s—it is lucky.”
“My! Your cheeks are red, Priscilla. Just the way they used to be
after swimming. Say, but you’re looking great!”
“Am I?”
“Isn’t Bob Stuart a corker? He decorated the whole gym. Never saw
flags look any better, did you?”
“No, it’s awfully pretty. I—I think I’ll sit down, Carver, till
dancing begins.”
“Sure. Of course. I’ll run and get Bob. He has three with you. Excuse
me just a moment.”
How Priscilla ever managed to dance the ten dances before
intermission, she never knew. Her cheeks grew redder, her eyes
brighter, her poor head spun as though never-ending wheels, eternally
wound up, were to whirl around forever. Sometimes the lights of the
gymnasium blurred, and something sang in her ears; but still she
smiled and moved her feet. At the end of each dance when her charge
was returned to her to await the arrival of her partner for the next,
Miss Wallace grew more and more anxious.
“Priscilla dear, I’m sure you’re ill. What is it?”
“Really, Miss Wallace, I’ve just a headache. Oh, don’t make me stop,
please!”
But at intermission—that blessed time when one could rest and close
her eyes when nobody looked her way—at intermission while they sat in
Carver’s study and ate ice-cream and cake, Priscilla all at once gave
a little worn-out sigh, and fainted quite away. Poor Carver Standish
III was all consternation. Had he tired her out? Hadn’t there been
enough air in the room? Had he done anything he shouldn’t? He plied
Miss Wallace with anxious questionings while a guest, who by good
fortune happened to be a doctor, bent over Priscilla.
But Priscilla, coming to herself just then, answered his questions.
“No, you haven’t done a thing, Carver. It’s the German Measles. They
wouldn’t stay frozen in!”
Then, to the greatly amused doctor, and to the greatly disturbed Miss
Wallace, and the greatly relieved Carver, the patient told in a weak
little voice of how they had tried two weeks ago to steam them out;
and how, when they had unexpectedly come that morning, they had, with
doubtful logic, striven to freeze them in. The doctor, though he
looked grave, laughed as though he never could stop; and it all ended
by his taking her and Miss Wallace home in his own machine, leaving
Jean to be chaperoned by her aunt, and a sympathetic but indignant
host, who thought they ought to let him go along.
Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called
upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven
o’clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was
unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried
in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress—a figure, who cried in a
muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her:
“Oh, Virginia, ’twas no use. They came out all the same!”
“So this is the other member of the new medical school,” announced the
gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. “Miss Virginia, I’m
honored to meet you!”
The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace’s
room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady
returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be
much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour
later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen’s nurse, in
charge.
But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had
been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate.
“Oh, Priscilla,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry! I thought ’twas just the
right thing to do.”
“It was,” said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to
steaming had been prescribed. “It was, Virginia! Else I never could
have gone, and I wouldn’t have missed the one half I had for the
world. Only I’ve just thought of the awful result! I’ve probably given
them to Carver and all the others; and he’ll never invite me again!
Oh, why didn’t we think?”
Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss
Wallace’s room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the
awful consequences to Colonel Standish’s grandson. But both she and
Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the
solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers
and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had
ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note:
“Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19—.
“Dear Priscilla:
“I’ve got them, and so has Bob, and the four other
fellows you danced with. Don’t mind, because we’re
all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort,
let us out of the February exams and we’re some happy,
I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of
new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you
were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob
and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom
grandfather’s always cracking up to me.
“Your speckled friend,
“Carver Standish.”