The little god of Chance must have sat smiling on his throne when Mrs.
Wally Bryce decided upon Hill Top School as the spot to which her
daughter should be banished. She felt that Christiansen's recommendation
was enough, together with the list of girls who attended it, so she did
not trouble to visit the place. The few necessary letters which passed
between herself and Adam Benjamin, the head of the school, were formal
business communications, in regard to terms, books, equipment, and such
details. Mr. Benjamin's insistence upon the simplest clothes suited her
exactly. The girl had to be put somewhere until she could be admitted to
a fashionable New York finishing school where she had been entered as a
baby. This Hill Top place would do as a stop gap.
As for Isabelle, in the bitterness of her spirit, her only thought was
that, whatever the place proved to be, she would hate it.
She and Miss Watts arrived in the afternoon of a perfect autumn day. The
train was late, so that Miss Watts was forced to hand over her charge to
Mr. Benjamin, who met them at the station, with only a few minutes' wait
for her train back to New York.
"I'm sorry not to have taken you to the school, and seen your room,
Isabelle," she said.
"That's all right."
"We will look after her," Mr. Benjamin said with a genial smile.
Isabelle looked at him again. He was a big man, strong and bronzed, as
if he lived in the open. When he smiled, his very blue eyes smiled too,
and many little wrinkles appeared about them, as if his smile sent out
rays, like the sun. He wore loose, snuff-coloured clothes, and a
broad-brimmed hat.
Miss Watts's train thundered in. There was a moment of confusion, of
exhortation to be a good girl, of farewell; and then the train was gone.
The last member of Isabelle's world had deserted her, and she choked
back a sob of loneliness, of rebellion. It was all mirrored in her
tell-tale face. A big strong hand suddenly enclosed her own, and she
looked up into Mr. Benjamin's wrinkly smile.
"Thee must not feel lonely, little girl," he said, gently. He led her
away to a wide, low surrey, with two fat dappled horses. Isabelle tried
to snatch her hand away, but Mr. Benjamin seemed unaware of it.
"If thee will get into the front seat with me, we will put thy trunk in
the back."
Without any reply she got in. Presently they were off at a good pace,
through lovely country, mellow in the late afternoon sunshine. Mr.
Benjamin talked to the horses in a friendly way, but he left Isabelle to
herself. After a little they were among the hills. The sumac flamed
everywhere, and bronze oak trees smouldered in the sun. Once Mr.
Benjamin drew up and pointed to a flower beside the road.
"Does thee see that flower, Isabelle?"
She nodded.
"It is very interesting," he mused, and he unfolded the tale of this
plant. How exacting it was, how its seed germinated in only a certain
soil, how it bloomed in only certain seasons under special weather
conditions. Isabelle's quick imagination kindled at the tale. It was
hard to hate this man, whom she had visualized as her jailer.
"Why do you say 'thee' instead of 'you'?" she asked as her first remark.
"Because I am a Quaker, and we use the Friends' speech."
"What are Quakers?"
He smiled, and explained to her, and as he talked they swung between
gates into a long tree-bordered drive that climbed and climbed until it
reached a hill top; and here a low, rambling, many-roomed house spread
itself pleasantly upon the earth. Some girls were raking leaves and
waved to them as they passed. The fat horses stopped at the house. Mr.
Benjamin got out and lifted out the trunk and bag. Just then the door
opened and Mrs. Benjamin appeared.
"Phoebe, my dear, this is our new child, Isabelle Bryce," he said.
Mrs. Benjamin bent and kissed her.
"Thee is very welcome, Isabelle," she said, taking her hand and leading
her indoors. A great, broad hall bisected the house. In the living room,
to the right, a fire sparkled and crackled. The room gave out a feeling
of friendliness. There were big chairs, student lamps, pleasant colours
and shadows.
"I hope thee did not get chilled coming up the hill. There is a nip in
the air these fall nights," Mrs. Benjamin remarked.
"No, I wasn't cold, thank you," Isabelle replied. The last two words
dragged themselves out in spite of her.
It was as difficult to hate Mrs. Benjamin as it was to hate Mr.
Benjamin. And the warm big room was nice. But no--she wasn't going to
give in. She was a rebel and they should find her such!
Just then a girl came into the room. She was younger than Isabelle--ten
years old, perhaps. She was fair and frail with a discontented little
face.
"Peggy, this is Isabelle Bryce. This is Peggy Starr, Isabelle. I thought
thee might show Isabelle her room, Peggy."
The two girls looked at each other.
"All right; come on," said the younger girl, ungraciously.
They mounted the wide stairs to the corridor above, with bedrooms
opening off on each side. Peggy led the way into a huge room, with many
windows. It had two beds, two bureaus, two closets.
"I s'pose you're my room mate," Peggy remarked, staring at her.
"Do you sleep here?"
"I slept in another girl's room last night, but I belong here."
"When did you come?"
"Yesterday."
"Like it?"
"No, hate it!"
"So do I," said Isabelle, firmly.
"I cried all night," boasted Peggy.
"I never cry," said Isabelle.
The other girl stared.
"Are there many girls here?"
"You make ten. The rest are raking for a bonfire. Sillies!"
"Didn't they invite you?"
"I can't do rough things like that. I'm delicate."
Isabelle heard shouts of laughter, and hurried to the window. Down below
in the twilight a crowd of laughing girls was burying a prostrate victim
under the leaves. They shrieked and cavorted about her. A yellow moon
hung low over the hills. All at once, clear and high, a bugle call
arose, and echoed far and near. It was a scene and impression she was
never to forget.
"What is that?" she demanded of Peggy.
"Time to dress. Mr. Benjamin bugles whenever we have to do anything,"
complained Peggy.
There was a rush on the stairs, more laughter, questions called and
answered, doors slammed. A poignant sense of loneliness, of homesickness,
swept over Isabelle. She turned to Peggy, who sat by.
"I hate it!" she said fiercely.
"So do I. Going to change?"--languidly. "You needn't. Girls don't have
to, their first night. Just wash and come on."
Isabelle followed her suggestion and presently the two girls went
downstairs together. Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin sat together on a high backed
settle by the fire. They were enjoying each other's conversation. Mrs.
Benjamin's face shone as she listened to her husband. It was rather a
plain face, surmounted by hair parted smoothly in the middle and drawn
low into a diminutive knot at the back. She wore a queer dress, Isabelle
thought, and a fine white kerchief was folded across her breast. This
was her costume always, save on Sunday, when the dress was of silk.
"I hope thee found thy room pleasant, Isabelle," she said as the girls
entered.
"Yes, thanks."
"Thee has a fine view over the hills," Mr. Benjamin said.
Then the other girls trooped in, and Isabelle was introduced to them. A
servant announced supper. Mr. Benjamin gave his arm to Mrs. Benjamin,
and they led the way, followed by the girls, two by two, arm in arm,
across the hall to the dining room. There was an unexpected moment for
Isabelle when everybody bowed the head and offered silent grace. The
supper was plain, but how those girls did eat! Cold meats, baked
potatoes and apple sauce, and cookies disappeared in quantities. Even
the rice pudding had to be served twice all round.
There was talk and laughter. No sense of disorder or noise, but it was
just jolly. Mr. Benjamin at one end of the long table beamed at Mrs.
Benjamin at the other end. They both played a part in the sprightly
give-and-take of the children. It was like a happy family. Isabelle was
silent, taking note of everything. Peggy was sullen.
After supper there was a rush for sweaters.
"Get your coat, Isabelle, and come out. We're going to have a bonfire
to-night. No lessons until to-morrow," shouted a girl named Agnes.
Isabelle started up to get her coat, but on second thoughts she went
back for Peggy.
"Oh, I can't do those things, I tell you. I'm too delicate," whined the
girl.
"It won't hurt thee at all, my dear, if thee wraps up well," said Mrs.
Benjamin.
"I'm never allowed out in the night air----"
"Get thy sweater and come out, little sister. Thee doesn't know this
night air," laughed Mr. Benjamin.
So in the end Peggy allowed herself to be persuaded, and went along.
"Silly, spoiled little minx," commented Mr. Benjamin.
"Oh, we'll soon manage her, my dear, but what about this smouldering
Isabelle with her old eyes?" sighed his wife.
He patted her hand.
"I leave her to thee, my Phoebe."
Outside the moon rode high, the air was crisp and sweet, the silence
unbroken save for the shouts of the girls. The leaves were piled in a
huge mound, in a cleared space some distance from the house. They set a
match to it, and the flames leapt hungry and fierce. The girls formed a
circle and danced around it, singing. Mr. Benjamin stopped a second on
his way to the barn, and called a warning about whirling skirts as he
went on.
The circle broke into dancing pairs. Some one started leap frog.
Isabelle forgot everything except that she was having a good time. There
were friendliness and joy and freedom. She drank of them to the full.
She played wildly, excitedly. She began to lead in the games. Even Peggy
forgot her role and joined in.
The flames were lower now, and with a sudden running leap Isabelle
jumped over them. Without hesitation the whole line followed--all except
Peggy, who held back.
"Come on, Peggy, don't be a 'fraid-cat!" shouted Isabelle.
So Peggy made a half-hearted jump and landed in the fire. In a second
her skirts were ablaze, and the silence of terror struck the girls dumb.
Isabelle ran at Peggy and dragged her out, she threw her on the ground,
tearing at her skirt with her bare hands.
"Pile sweaters on her!" she ordered the girls.
They obeyed, and Isabelle threw herself upon the smouldering heap, in an
effort to quench the fire. Mr. Benjamin came upon them, and the girls
explained in shrill unison. He lifted Isabelle off; picked Peggy up,
half unconscious; cut away the still smoking skirt, and carried her into
the house.
The girls followed, awed and weak from fright. They sat in silence in
the living room awaiting the report from upstairs. Both the Benjamins
were up there. There had been no serious damage done. The heavy wool
shirt had protected her legs, but the shock had played havoc with poor
Peggy's nerves, and she screamed and cried long after she was rubbed,
greased, bandaged, and comfortable.
When Mrs. Benjamin finally came downstairs to get some hot milk for her,
she found the frightened girls still sitting there. She relieved their
minds at once.
"How did it happen?" she inquired.
They explained how Isabelle jumped the blaze and urged timid Peggy to
follow.
"Where is Isabelle?" demanded Mrs. Benjamin.
It appeared that nobody knew. In the excitement they had not noticed her
absence. Should they go and look for her?
"No; I'll find her. Agnes, go to the kitchen and get a glass of hot milk
and take it to Peggy. The rest of you go to bed as quietly as possible.
I will find Isabelle," said Mrs. Benjamin.
They tiptoed away as silent as ghosts. Mrs. Benjamin put a heavy coat
about her shoulders, and went out. The clearing where the bonfire had
been, lay on a knoll above the house. As she approached it she saw
silhouetted against the moon a small figure, head bent upon drawn-up
knees, silent, "lonely as a cloud."
"My dear, thee will take thy death of cold," she said gently, leaning
over the girl.
She lifted tragic, pitiful eyes to Mrs. Benjamin's.
"Have you come to send me home?"
"No, I've come to take thee to bed,"--simply.
She drew the girl to her feet, put her hand on her shoulder; and
together, in silence, they approached the house. She led her to the fire
and chaffed her cold hands.
"You ought to punish me," said Isabelle at last.
"My dear, when any one at Hill Top breaks the rules, or acts wilfully,
we ask her to punish herself."
Isabelle could scarcely believe her ears.
"I think thee has been sufficiently punished, Isabelle, and now I shall
give thee a hot lemonade to warm thee up before thee goes to bed," the
kind voice went on.
Suddenly without warning, Isabelle threw herself on the couch and began
to sob. Not like a child's easy tears, but like the tortured sobbing of
a nature long pent up. Mrs. Benjamin said nothing. She sat down on the
couch, drew the child's head into her lap, and let the spasm spend
itself.
So it was that Isabelle, who never wept, spent her first evening at Hill
Top School.