NEWS FROM SCHOOL
Virginia settled comfortably on the warm sand still holding the
letter from Tom while Margaret eagerly opened the plump epistle from
her best friend in the far away East.
“I just love to get these chatty letters from Babs,” she prefaced
and then read:
“Vine Haven Seminary,
“March 15, 1922.
“Dearest Cowgirls:
“Megsy, you remember how prim and proper Miss Pickle was when you
were here at school and how ‘skeered’ of her we girls always were.
Well, some mysterious power is surely working a transformation. I
told you about the Surprise Valentine party she gave for us and how
we entertained young Prof. Pixley and thirteen of the boys from the
Drexel Military Academy. Well, ever since that night Miss Piqulin
has been kindlier in her manner; she hasn’t done her hair up quite
so tight and she even attempted a joke in algebra class. We girls
hardly dared laugh, however, but yesterday something happened to
convince us that Miss Piqulin can be called the sour Miss Pickle no
longer.
“It was her birthday and it was also mine. It being Saturday Miss
Piqulin decided to celebrate and she invited her algebra class to
spend the day in the city with her. Weren’t we excited though? You
know our club, ‘The Lucky Thirteen,’ (we asked Jennie Clark to join
when you left school that we might keep the same number), are all in
that class. We decked up in our very best and looked pretty nice, so
we thought, when we gathered in the lower corridor to await the
coming of the school bus. Betsy Closson was the last down and she
seemed excited about something. ‘Girls,’ she said, ‘watch Miss
Martin’s office door.
“‘A strange young lady just went in there and she had on the
prettiest spring suit. It’s the very latest style. I wonder who—’
Betsy said no more for the office door was opening. The strange
young lady appeared with her back toward us, but suddenly she
turned, and if it wasn’t our very own Miss Pickle. She had on the
prettiest grey suit and a grey tulle hat trimmed with crushed pink
roses.
“I’m afraid we stared our astonishment, but luckily the bus arrived
just then and so we went out and climbed in. Miss Piqulin was with
Patrick on the front seat but she smiled at us over her shoulder. We
sat there in two rows as solemn as though we were at a funeral.
“‘Girls,’ Miss Pickle said, ‘have a happy time; laugh and chatter
all you want to.’
“Megsy, did you ever suppose the day would dawn when Miss Pickle
would say that? Well, anyway, she did, so we started to sing a
school song when suddenly Betsy Closson held up one hand and said,
‘Hark! Don’t you hear bugles?’
“‘Look! Look!’” Jenny Clark was pointing back at the bend in the
road. ‘There comes a carryall and it’s filled with boys from the
Drexel Military Academy. Don’t they look nice in their dress
uniforms?’
“‘That jolly young Professor Pixley is with them,’ Flora Wells
added. Miss Piqulin heard this and her cheeks became as pink as the
roses on her hat. The mystery was solved. Miss Pickle is in love!
“Well, to make a long story short, the carryall dashed up and both
vehicles stopped while greetings were exchanged. When Prof. Pixley
heard that we were to spend the day in town, he asked us to join
them at a theater party at two in the afternoon. Weren’t we girls
excited and delighted, and what a fine time we did have! I sat next
to such a nice boy and Virg, how pleased I was when he said that his
home is in Arizona. His name is Benjamin Wilson. Have you ever heard
of him?
“That was a whole lot of excitement for boarding school girls all in
one day, wasn’t it Megsy? Nor was that all, for when I reached my
room that night, I found a birthday box from China. In it was a pale
blue silk kimono embroidered with pink cherry blossoms and slippers
to match. It was from my dear brother Peyton. He has never missed
giving me something on my birthday. Now that I know where he is, I
am so happy and content.
“Farewell for now. Your Babs.”
“Then after all our Tom isn’t Peyton Wente,” Margaret said as they
started walking toward the V. M. Ranch.
“I’m disappointed,” Megsy continued. “I did hope your outlaw would
turn out to be—well—somebody just ever so nice and of course even
if he did run away from a very stern father, Peyton Wente must be
nice, else how could he be my adorable Barbara’s brother?”
“That argument can’t be disputed.” Virginia said, then leaping to
her feet she added: “Let’s go home, dear, I’m hungry as a lean
coyote! How I do hope that Uncle Tex will have a fine dinner waiting
for us.”
Upon reaching the ranch house the girls went at once to their rooms
to prepare for the midday meal, but when the Chinese gongs rang,
they sallied forth arm in arm and were confronted by a young giant
of a lad.
“Malcolm Davis, are you home at last?” Virginia fairly flew at her
dearly loved brother, and was caught in his arms. Then turning, the
smiling young man, held out his right hand to Margaret.
“I feel as though I ought to be introduced to my ward all over
again,” he said with his pleasant smile. “I have been away at the
mines for so long that I have hardly had time to become acquainted
with her. Has she been a dutiful ward?”
Virginia smiled at her friend as she replied, “Oh, Malcolm, you
can’t know what a comfort Margaret is to me. We two girls do have
the nicest times together.”
Then, when they were seated about the table, Slim having been
detained at the corral and Lucky still being out on the range,
Malcolm remarked, “Slim tells me that Tom is not here now. Did you
have cause to dismiss him from our service, sister?”
“No, indeed, Buddie,” was the earnest reply. “Tom proved to be as
trustworthy as you believed that he would, but, for some reason, he
seems to be a fugitive from justice as he told you. We advised him
to go farther north, but he would not leave the V. M. until we girls
were well protected. That very night Uncle Tex returned telling us
that Mr. Wilson up Red Riverton way needed help on his sheep ranch
and so we urged Tom to go. We have had two splendid letters from
him. He seems to be enjoying his work up there and he likes the
Wilson family just ever so much. Do you know them, Buddie?”
“Yes, indeed I do. I often stayed all night with the Wilsons when I
was one of dad’s range riders, and when I had gone that far north in
search of strayed cattle. Of course the cowmen and the sheep
ranchers are supposed to be bitter enemies, but my theory is that
there is room enough in our big state for all of us to live and let
live. The Wilsons are the nicest kind of a family, Virg. Mrs. Wilson
is a dear, mothering sort who reminds me of a hen with wide, warm
wings that can always take one more chick in out of the cold. Dad
thought very highly of Mr. Wilson, and then, there are two sons. One
of them, Harry, is about my age and there is a younger chap. I think
he is nearly sixteen. He was fonder of books than Hal and so they
sent him East to school. I can’t recall his name.”
“Was it Benjamin?” Virginia asked.
“Yes, that’s it. Benjy, his mother called him. I haven’t ridden that
far north for two years at least. However, I hope that I will get up
that way some day. I like to keep in touch with such kindly
neighbors.”
Malcolm then told the girls about the progress made at the mine.
“I am very much encouraged with the output,” he told Virginia, “but
I am a rancher, not a miner, and so I asked Pat Mahoy to send for
his former associates in Bisbee to assist him. I can trust Pat to
look after our interests as he will his own. I will stay at home for
a time and get acquainted with my ward and my sister.”
“Oh brother, I am so glad, and some day will you take us for a long,
long ride? I am eager to have Margaret see more of our wonderful
desert.”
“That’s a splendid suggestion,” Malcolm said with enthusiasm. “We
might even ride as far north as the Wilson Ranch.”
Although Virginia’s reply expressed her pleasure, it did not reveal
to her brother how very much she did hope that plan would soon be
carried out.