VIOLA'S MOTHER
At the change of cars the Dalton girls were met by Viola and Mrs.
Green. Viola and her mother soon arranged seats for four in the chair
car, and Dorothy, with Tavia, joined them in such comfortable quarters
as are provided for long distance passengers. Then the little party
settled down for a long ride--and all the enjoyment that might be
discovered therein. Viola appeared delighted to meet the Dalton
girls--she inquired particularly about Dorothy's cousin Nat, but this
society "stunt," as Tavia termed it, was due more to the city habit of
remembering friends' friends, than a weakness on Viola's part for good
looking boys.
But it was Viola's mother who interested both Dorothy and Tavia. She
was a small woman, evidently of foreign extraction (Spanish, Dorothy
thought) and with such a look of adoration for Viola that, to Dorothy
and Tavia, observing the wonderful mother-love, it seemed like
something inhuman, divine perhaps, or was it a physical weakness?
They noticed that Mrs. Green used her smelling salts freely, she often
pressed her hand to her head, and seemed much like a person too
delicate to travel.
"Are you all right, momsey?" Viola would ask continually. "I do wish
you had not risked coming."
"But I could not allow you to travel all alone," the mother would
answer with a delightful foreign accent. "And you know, my daughter,
that father was too busy."
"But, momsey, do not sit up if you are tired," cautioned Viola. "Just
lie back and try to be comfortable."
"I am enjoying every word you speak," declared the little woman,
inhaling her salts. "You and your charming friends."
Dorothy had never seen so wonderful a mother--to actually hang on her
daughter's frivolous nonsense. And the attention was a positive tonic
to Tavia's chatter. She said such amusing things and saw such
ridiculous comparisons--the kind little children surprise their elders
with.
To Dorothy, who had never known a mother's affection (she was such a
tot when her own dear mother left her), this devotion appeared to be
nothing short of marvelous. Tavia thought it unusual--Viola seemed
worried when it became too extreme. Then she would urge her mother to
rest and not excite herself over foolish schoolgirl talk. Even such an
admonition from a mere daughter did not appear to bother the strange
little woman, with the almost glaring black eyes. Tavia observed this
peculiarity, then made a mental observation that whatever ailed Viola
might have to do with a similar affliction on the mother's
part--perhaps a family weakness!
As they journeyed on Dorothy found it very pleasant to talk with Mrs.
Green and so left Viola and Tavia pretty much to themselves.
Numbers of Glenwood girls were picked up at various stations, and, as
each was espied, the chair car party hailed them, Viola being
acquainted with the last year's girls. Before the last station--some
twenty miles from the destination of the students--had been struck off
the time-table, there were actually twelve "Glenwoods," aboard. Those
from Dalton felt just a bit "green" Tavia admitted, never before having
mingled with a boarding school "tribe," but on the whole the scholars
were very sociable and agreeable, and made all sorts of promises for
future good times.
"You see," explained Rose-Mary Markin, a very dear girl from somewhere
in Connecticut, "we count all this side of Boston in the Knickerbocker
set, 'Knicks,' we call them. The others are the Pilgrims; and isn't it
dreadful to nickname them the 'Pills?'"
Tavia thought that "the best ever," and declared she would join the
Knicks (spelled "Nicks" in the school paper) no matter what the
initiation would cost her.
"Viola is secretary of the Nicks," volunteered Amy Brook, a girl who
wore her hair parted exactly in the middle and looked classical. "We
have lots of sport; plays and meetings. You will join, surely,
Dorothy, won't you?"
"But I will not be secretary this year," interrupted Viola, without
allowing Dorothy to answer Amy. "It's too much trouble."
"But you can't resign until the first regular meeting in November,"
said Amy, surprised that Viola should wish to give up the office.
"I intend to resign the very first thing," asserted Viola. "The Nicks
can get along with a pro-tem until the regular meeting."
Mrs. Green now fixed her strange gaze upon her daughter, and Dorothy,
who was plainly more interested in the delicate little woman than in
the schoolgirls' chatter, noticed a shadow come into the pale face.
Evidently Mrs. Green could stand no arguments, no confusion, and, when
the girls continued to discuss the pros and cons of a secretary
pro-tem, Dorothy suggested that they change the subject as it might be
distressing to Mrs. Green. Quick as a flash Viola was all attention to
her mother, inquiring about her head, offering to bring fresh ice
water, and showing unusual anxiety, so it seemed to Dorothy's keen
observation, when the lady was not really ill.
Then, at the first opportunity Viola called the girls down to the end
compartment, and told them that her mother had only just recovered from
a serious illness.
"She had a dreadful attack this time," said Viola, "and she should
never have come on this journey."
"Then why did she?" asked Tavia, in her blunt way.
"Well, she seemed so set upon it," declared Viola, "that the doctors
thought it more dangerous to cross her about it than to allow her to
come. Our doctor is on the train, but mother does not know it. I do
wish she could get strong!"
The tears that came to the girl's eyes seemed very pitiable--every one
of the party felt like crying with Viola.
Dorothy attempted to put her arms about the sad girl, but Viola was on
her feet instantly.
"We must go back," she said.
"Then we can arrange to sit in another place," suggested Dorothy.
"Perhaps if she were quiet she might fall off asleep."
Viola left the compartment first. There were people in the aisle--in
front of her mother. What had happened?
"Oh!" screamed the girl. "Mother! Let me go to her!" and she hurried
through the car, pushing aside the trainmen who had been summoned.
"Mother! Mother!" called the frightened Viola, for her mother was so
pale and so still!
"Oh, she is dead!" whispered Tavia, who had succeeded in reaching the
chair.
"Open the windows!" commanded Viola. "Call Dr. Reed, quick! He is in
the next car!"
It seemed an eternity--but in reality was only a few minutes--before
the doctor reached the spot. Dorothy could see that Mrs. Green had not
fainted--her eyes were moving. But poor Viola! How could they ever
have thought ill of her when this was her sorrow: this her sad burden!
Dorothy Dale resolved in her heart, at that moment, that never a care
nor a sorrow should come to Viola Green if she could protect her from
it. She would be her champion at school, she would try to share this
secret sorrow with her; she would do anything in her power to make life
brighter for a girl who had this awful grief to bear.
"It's her mind," Dorothy had heard someone whisper. Then the doctor
had the porters carry the sick woman to a private compartment, and with
her Viola remained, until the train reached Hanover. There Dr. Reed
left the train and with him went Mrs. Green in care of an attendant.
When they were gone Viola returned to her companions weeping and almost
sick herself.
"The doctor would not let me go back home," she sighed, "and as soon as
mother was conscious she insisted on me going on to school. Dr. Reed
can always manage her so well, and if I were with him perhaps mother
would fret more. But I did think she would get over those awful
spells--" and the girl burst into fresh tears.
"Viola, dear," said Dorothy soothingly. "Try to be brave. Perhaps the
trip may benefit her in the end."
"Oh, don't try to be kind to me," wailed the unhappy girl. "I can't
stand it! I hate everybody and everything in this world only my
darling little sweet mother! And I cannot have her! She can never go
with me to her own country now, and we had planned it all! Oh, mother
darling! Why did you inherit that awful sickness! Why can't we cure
you!" and so the sad daughter wailed and wept, while her companions
looked on helplessly.
"But you will let me be you friend," pleaded Dorothy. "Try to think it
will all come right some day--every sorrow must unfold some blessing--"
"My friend!" and Viola looked with that same sharp glance that her
mother had shown--that queer glare at Dorothy. "Dorothy Dale, you do
not know what you are talking about!"
And every girl present had reason to remember this strange remark when
days at Glenwood school proved their meaning.