INTRODUCING MARY TO THE GIRLS
"We've come for a last inspection, Captain. How do we look?"
Marjorie Dean danced into her mother's room, her brown eyes sparkling
with anticipation, her charming face all smiles. Mary Raymond followed
her excited chum.
"Halt! Company, attention!" commanded Mrs. Dean, as she turned from her
dressing table to pass an opinion upon the waiting brigade of two. Her
brown eyes rested approvingly upon the trim figures drawn up in their
most soldierly attitude before her. Marjorie's frock of pink linen, with
its wide lace collar and cuffs, exactly suited her dark eyes and hair,
while Mary's gown of pale blue of the same material served to accentuate
the fairness of her skin and the gold of her curls.
"Shall we do, Captain? Are we absolutely spick and span?" Marjorie
turned slowly about, then made a laughing dive at her mother and
enveloped her in a devastating embrace.
"Now see the havoc you've wrought," complained Mrs. Dean. "I shall have
to do my hair over again. Never mind. I'll forgive you, and, being
magnanimous, will state that I am very proud of the appearance of my
army."
"You're a gallant officer and a dear, all in one." Marjorie caught her
mother's hand in hers. "Now, we must be on our way. We are going to
school early because Mary will have to see Miss Archer. Besides, I'm
anxious for her to meet Jerry Macy and some of the other girls. If only
she had come to Sanford sooner, I'd have loved to give a party for her.
Then she'd know every one of my friends. Oh, well, there is plenty of
time for that. Good-bye, Captain. We'll be back before long. There is
never very much to do in school on the first day."
Dropping a gay little kiss on her mother's smooth cheek, Marjorie left
the room, followed by Mary, who stopped just long enough to kiss Mrs.
Dean good-bye.
Three weeks had slipped by since Mr. Raymond and Mary had come to
Sanford upon the so-called mysterious mission that had made Mary Raymond
a member of the Dean household. They had returned to the city of
B---- the following day. From there Mr. Raymond had gone directly to the
mountains, for his wife, who, in spite of her ill-health, had insisted
on returning to her home to oversee the making of Mary's gowns and the
choosing of her wardrobe in general. Two days before coming to Sanford,
Mary had seen her mother off on her journey to Colorado in quest of
health. She had put on a brave face and smiled when she wished to cry,
and it was alone the thought that she was going to live with Marjorie
during her mother's absence that kept her from breaking down at the last
sad moment of farewell.
It was a sober-faced, sad-eyed Mary that Marjorie had met at the train,
but, under the irresistible sunniness of Marjorie's nature, Mary had
soon emerged from her cloud, and now the prospect of entering Sanford
High School filled her with lively anticipation.
As Marjorie and Mary emerged from the house and swung down the stone
walk in perfect step, they beheld a stout, and to Marjorie, a decidedly
familiar figure turning in at the gate. In the same instant a joyous
"Hello" rent the air, and the stout girl cantered up the walk at a
surprising rate of speed. There was a delighted gurgle from Marjorie,
that ended in a fervent embrace of the two young women.
"Oh, Jerry, I'm so glad to see you! I was afraid you wouldn't be back in
Sanford before school opened. I saw Irma day before yesterday and she
said she hadn't heard a word from you for over a week."
"We didn't get here until last night at ten o'clock Maybe I'm not glad
to see _you_." Jerry beamed affectionately upon Marjorie.
"This is my friend, Mary Raymond, Jerry," introduced Marjorie. "She is
going to live with us this winter and be a sophomore at dear old Sanford
High. There will be six of us instead of five now."
"I'm glad to know you." Jerry smiled and stretched forth a plump hand in
greeting. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I've heard Marjorie speak of you, too. I'm ever so pleased to meet
you." Mary exhibited a friendliness toward Jerry Macy that had been
quite lacking in her greeting of Constance Stevens.
As the three stood for a moment at the gate Jerry's eyes suddenly grew
very round.
"Why, Marjorie, your friend looks like Connie, doesn't she?"
"Of course she does," replied Marjorie happily. "Don't you remember I
told you long ago that that was why I felt so drawn toward Connie in the
first place?"
"Yes, I remember it now. Isn't it funny that your two dearest friends
should look alike? Have you met Constance, Mary? I'm going to call you
Mary. I never call a girl 'Miss' unless I can't bear her. I'm sure I'm
going to like you. Not only because you're Marjorie's chum, but for
yourself, you know. If you turn out to be even one half as nice as
Constance Stevens, I'll adore you. Connie is a dear and no mistake
about it."
The shadow of a frown touched Mary's forehead. Why must she be compelled
to hear continually of Constance Stevens? And why should this Jerry Macy
place her and Constance on the same plane in Marjorie's affection? She
did not propose to share her place in her chum's heart with anyone. Of
course, this girl could not possibly know just how much she and Marjorie
had always been to each other. Later on they would understand. They
would soon see that Marjorie preferred her above all others.
Comforted by this reflection the shadow passed from Mary's face and the
trio started down the street for school, chatting and laughing as only
carefree schoolgirls can.
Once inside the school building, Jerry said good-bye to them and turned
down the corridor toward the study hall. Marjorie smiled with tender
reminiscence as she and Mary climbed the familiar broad stairway to the
second floor. She was thinking of another Monday morning that belonged
to the past, when a timid stranger had climbed those same stairs and
diffidently inquired the way to the principal's office. How far away
that day seemed, and how much had happened within those same walls since
that fateful morning.
"I'll never forget my first morning here," she said to Mary, as they
walked down the corridor toward their destination--the last room on the
east side. "Captain had a headache and couldn't come with me. I had to
march into Miss Archer's office all by myself. I felt like a forlorn
stranger in a strange, unfriendly land. Then I met such a nice girl,
Ellen Seymour, a friend of mine now, and she took me to the office and
introduced me to Miss Archer."
Before Mary had time to reply they had entered the cheerful living-room
office that had so greatly impressed Marjorie on her first introduction
to Sanford High. A tall, dark girl, seated at a desk at one end of the
room, glanced up at the sound of the opening door. She hurried forward
with a little exclamation of delighted surprise. "Why, Marjorie!" she
exclaimed. "I was just thinking of you. I was wondering if you'd be in
for the first day. I had made up my mind to run down to the study hall a
little later and see." She now had Marjorie's hands in an affectionate
clasp.
"I've been wondering about you, too," nodded Marjorie. "You are another
stray who didn't come back until the last minute."
"I'm a working girl, you know," reminded Marcia. "Doctor Bernard was
dreadfully disappointed because I wouldn't give up high school and keep
on being his secretary. But I couldn't do that."
"Of course you couldn't," agreed Marjorie, "especially now that you are
a senior."
Mary Raymond had drawn back a little while Marjorie and Marcia Arnold,
Miss Archer's once disagreeable secretary, but now a changed girl
through the influence of Marjorie, exchanged greetings. Marjorie turned
and drew her chum forward, introducing her to Marcia, who bowed and
extended her hand in friendly fashion.
"Is Miss Archer busy, Marcia?" asked Marjorie, after she had explained
that Mary was to become a pupil of Sanford High School.
"Wait a moment, I'll see." Marcia went into the inner office, returning
almost instantly with, "Go right in. She is anxious to see you,
Marjorie."
Miss Archer's affectionate welcome of Marjorie Dean brought a blush of
sheer pleasure to the girl's cheeks. Her heart thrilled with joy at the
thought that there was now no veil of misunderstanding between her and
her beloved principal.
"And so this is Mary Raymond." Miss Archer took the newcomer's hand in
both her own. "We are glad to welcome you into our school, my dear. Your
principal at Franklin High School has already written me of you. How
long have you been in Sanford?"
Mary answered rather shyly, explaining her situation, while Marjorie
looked on with affectionate eyes. She was anxious that Miss Archer
should learn to know and love Mary.
"I will put you in Marjorie's hands," declared Miss Archer, after a few
moments' pleasant conversation. "She will take you to the study hall and
see that you are made to feel at home. We wish our girls to look upon
their school as their second home, considering they spend so much of
their time here. Please tell your mother, Marjorie," she added, as the
two girls turned to leave the room, "that I shall try to call on her
this week."
"How do you like Miss Archer? Isn't she splendid?" were the quick
questions Marjorie put, as they retraced their steps down the long
corridor.
"I know I'm going to love her," returned Mary fervently. "I hope I'll be
happy here, Marjorie." There was a wistful note in her voice that caused
Marjorie to glance sharply at her friend. Mary's charming face was set
in unusually sober lines.
"Poor Mary," was her reflection. "She's thinking of her mother." But
Mary Raymond's thoughts were far from the subject of her mother.
Instead, they were fixed upon what Jerry Macy had said that morning
about Constance Stevens. Miss Archer had asked about Constance, too. She
had spoken of her as though she and Marjorie were best friends. What had
she meant when she said, "Well, Marjorie, you and Constance deserve fair
sophomore weather after last year's storms." The flame of jealousy,
which Mary had sought to stifle after her first meeting with Constance,
was kindled afresh.
"What did Miss Archer mean when she spoke of you and Miss Stevens--and
last year's storms?" she asked abruptly.
"Oh, I can't explain now. It's too long a story. Here we are at the
study hall." Her mind occupied with school, Marjorie had not caught the
strained note in Mary's voice.
"She doesn't wish me to know," was Mary's jealous thought. "She is
keeping secrets from me. All right. Let her keep them. Only I know one
thing, and that is--I'll _never_, _never_, _never_ be friends with
Constance Stevens, not even to please Marjorie!"