THE FIRST NIGHT AT SCHOOL
Miss Leland's school wore that sober title with a somewhat frivolous
air. It seemed to be saying, "Oh, call me a school if you want to--but
don't take me seriously." It was like a pretty girl, who puts on a
pair of bone-rimmed spectacles in fun and assumes a studious
expression, while the dimples lurk in her cheeks.
It was a low, rambling, white building, with a stately colonial
portico, and broad porches at each wing. In front, an immaculate lawn
swept to the trim hedges that bordered the road; in the back, this lawn
sloped downward to a grove of trees, which were now almost bare. Under
them stood several picturesque stone benches, while just beyond lay a
wide, terrace-garden with a sun-dial in the centre. Altogether, it
resembled a pleasant country place, dedicated to merriment and good
cheer.
Through the dusk of a rather bleak autumn night, its friendly lights
shone out comfortably as the two Prescotts jogged up to the door in the
station wagon.
The trip up from the Broadmore Station had not, however, been a lively
one, despite the fact that two other girls besides the Prescotts had
taken the hack with them; the first spasm of homesickness having
evidently seized them all simultaneously. One of the girls, a little,
sallow-faced creature, sat like a mouse in her corner, and by
occasional dismal sniffles, gave notice that she was weeping and did
not want to be disturbed. The other, a plump miss with scarlet cheeks
and perfectly round eyes, had bravely essayed a conversation.
"Are you going to Miss Leland's?"
"Yes."
"Is this your first year?"
"Yes."
"What's your names?"
The Prescotts gave her the information, and she told them in exchange
that her name was Maizie Forrest, that she was from Pittsburgh, that
she had a brother at Yale, and another at Pomfret, and that she thought
it no end of fun that they, the Prescotts, were going to Miss Leland's.
After this flow of confidence, conversation languished and expired in
the silence of dismal thoughts.
The hack drove up to the door, and deposited the four girls on the
steps. Then they entered the hall, from which was issuing a perfect
babel of feminine squeaks and chattering.
As Nancy and Alma stood together, frankly clinging hand to hand, a
husky damsel rushed past them and precipitated herself on the neck and
shoulders of the conversational Maizie.
"Maizie, darling!"
"Jane, dearest! When did you get here?"
"Been here hours. My dear, we're going to room together! Isn't that
scrumptious?"
"Perfectly divine. Where's Alice?"
"Hasn't come yet. Come on, let's go see M'amzelle."
The small, weepy girl stood still gazing mournfully at the rapturous
meetings about her.
Nancy looked at her sympathetically, but she felt much too blue and
strange herself to try to urge anyone else to be cheerful.
"I don't know where we go, or what we're supposed to do, do you?" she
whispered to Alma.
"No. I hope to goodness it's near supper time. There, I think that's
Miss Leland."
A tall, very thin, very erect lady, wearing nose-glasses attached to a
long gold chain, and with sparkling, fluffy white hair that made her
face look quite brown in contrast, was descending the stairs. Several
of the girls rushed to her, and she kissed them peckishly. Evidently
they were old pupils. Nancy and Alma heard her asking them about their
dear mothers and their charming fathers, and where they had been during
the summer, and if (playfully) they were going to work very, very hard.
And the girls were saying:
"_Dear_ Miss Leland, it's so _nice_ to be back again!"
Nancy and Alma approached her a little uncertainly. The other girls
drew back and frankly stared at them. "New girls," they heard
whispered, and for some reason the appellation made them both feel
terribly "out of it."
"Miss Leland," began Nancy, coloring, "I--I'm Anne Prescott--I--this is
my sister Alma--I--er----"
"Why, yes. I'm so glad you got here safely," said Miss Leland, quite
cordially, taking Nancy's hand and Alma's at the same time. "Of course
you want to know where your room is. You two are going to room
together to-night, anyway. Later you will probably have different
roommates. Now, let me see--Mildred, this is Anne Prescott, and this
is Alma. They are new girls, so I'm going to count on you to help them
find themselves a little. They are going to be next door to you
to-night, so will you take them up-stairs?"
A very handsome, very haughty-looking girl, with gray eyes and a Roman
nose, shook hands with them briefly. The sisters followed her in a
subdued silence. She was the sort of girl plainly destined to become
one of the most frigid and formidable of dowagers; it was impossible to
look at her profile, her fur coat, or to meet her cold, critical glance
without immediately picturing her with a lorgnon, crisply marcelled
gray hair, and the wintry smile with which the typical, unapproachable
matron can freeze out the slightest attempt at an unwelcome
friendliness on the part of an inconsequential person. Her last name
was weighty with importance, since she was the daughter of Marshall
Lloyd, the well-known railroad magnate.
"I shan't like _her_," Nancy remarked to Alma, when this young lady had
indicated their room to them, and left them with a curt announcement
that they should go down-stairs in fifteen minutes.
"She is sort of snob-looking," agreed Alma, throwing her hat on her
narrow white bed. "But there's no sense in being prejudiced against a
person right away. Goodness, this room is chilly. I wish we knew
somebody here. I hate being a new girl. Everyone else sounds as if
they are having such a good time. I feel dreadfully out of it, don't
you? And all the girls look at you as if they were wondering who in
the world you are."
"Well, it's only natural that we feel that way now," said Nancy, trying
to sound cheerful. "Come on, we've got to hurry."
From the line of rooms along the corridor issued the unceasing chatter
of gay voices; there was a continual scampering back and forth, bursts
of tumultuous greetings, giggles, shrieks. Alma, comb in hand, stood
at the doorway, listening with a wistful droop to her lips. Two doors
down, four girls were perched up on a trunk, kicking it with their
patent-leather heels, and gabbling like magpies. In the room opposite,
five girls, curled up on the two beds, were gossiping blithely, while a
sixth, a pretty, red-haired girl, was gaily unpacking her trunk,
flinging her lingerie with great skill across the room into the open
drawers of the bureau, which caught stockings and petticoats very much
as a dog will catch a bone in his mouth. They were all having such a
good time--and they all seemed to have a lengthy history of gay
summer's doings to relate. Each one jabbered away, apparently
perfectly regardless of what the others were saying.
"Oh, my dear, I _did_ have the most marvellous time----"
"Dick told me----"
"Are you going to come out next winter----"
"Margie's wedding was perfectly gorgeous--and _I_ caught the
bouquet----"
"Tom is coming down for the midwinter dance----"
"Who _is_ that frump who's rooming with Sara----"
"Dozens of new girls. Hope some of 'em are human, anyway----"
"Come on, Alma. Hurry! You haven't even washed yet," said Nancy,
impatiently. "We've got to go down-stairs----"
"Yes, and stand around gaping like ninnies," added Alma, morosely,
coming back to the mirror, and beginning to brush out her thick, yellow
hair.
"It'll be ever so much nicer when we come back here after the Christmas
holidays," said Nancy, busily polishing her nails, to hide the mist
that would creep over her eyes. "To-morrow we can fix up this room a
bit--if we can put up some chintz curtains, and get a few books and
cushions around, it'll be as good as home, almost."
"But--but Mother won't be here, and neither will Hannah--boo-hoo!" And
here Alma quite suddenly burst out crying, wrinkling up her pretty face
like a child of two. With the tears dripping off her chin, she
continued to brush her hair vigorously, sobbing and sniffling
pathetically. Nancy looked up, and, unable any longer to control her
own tears, while at the same time she was almost hysterically amused by
Alma's ridiculously droll expression of grief, began to sob and giggle
alternately. Alma, still clutching the brush, promptly threw herself
into Nancy's arms, and there they sat, clinging together, and frankly
wailing like a pair of lost children, in full view of the corridor.
"I--I want to--g-go h-home----" sniffled Alma.
"I--I don't like that girl with th-the n-nose----" wailed Nancy. "D-Do
f-fix your hair, Alma. I-If you're l-late for d-dinner w-we'll be
expelled. Here----" she tried to twist up Alma's unruly mane, hardly
realizing what she _was_ trying to do, while Alma tenderly mopped
Nancy's wet cheeks with her own little, soaking handkerchief.
"I--I say! You two aren't _howling_, are you?" inquired a drawling,
utterly amazed voice from the doorway. The two girls looked up, their
hostile expressions plainly asking whose business it was if they _were_
howling--but promptly their hostility vanished.
A very tall, astonishingly lank girl was standing in the doorway, feet
apart, and hands clasped behind her back, regarding them amiably
through a pair of enormous, bone-rimmed goggles. Every now and again,
she would blink her eyes, and screw up her face comically, while she
continued to smile, showing a set of teeth as large and white as
pebbles.
"You were saying something about being expelled. Are you expelled
already? _Ex plus pello, pellere pulsi pulsum_--meaning to push out,
or, as we say in the vernacular, to kick out, fire, bounce. Miss
Drinkwater likes us to note the Latin derivations of all our English
words, and I've got the habit. You two seem to be lachrymosus, or
blue--by which I take it that you are new girls. I sympathize with
you, although I am an ancient. Two years ago this very night, I wept
so hard that I nearly gave my roommate pneumonia from the dampness.
How-do-you-do?" With this unconventional preliminary, accompanied by
one of the friendliest and most disarming grins imaginable, the
newcomer marched over to the bed and shook hands vigorously.
"My name is Charlotte Lucretia Adela Spencer. Really it is. You must
take my word for it. But I only use the 'Charlotte.' The others I
keep in case of emergency. I room next door, with Mildred Lloyd--who,
incidentally, is a perfect lady, while _I_ am not. I was born in the
year 1903, in the city of Denver, Colorado--but of that, more anon.
It's tremendously interesting, but if _you_--is your name Alma?--if you
don't get your coiffure coifed, you'll miss out on our evening repast.
Wiggle, my dear, wiggle!"
Thus urged, Alma "wiggled" accordingly; and while she carefully washed
her tear-stained face, and put up her hair, their visitor, sprawling
across the bed, kept up a running fire of ridiculous remarks, all
uttered in her peculiar, dry, drawling voice, and punctuated with the
oddest facial contortions. Yet, in spite of her nonsense, there was
very evidently a good deal of real sense, and the kindest feeling
behind it, and her singular face, too unusual to be called either plain
or pretty, beamed with satisfaction when she had won a genuine peal of
laughter from the two dejected Prescotts.
"We'd better go down now. To-night of course everything is more or
less topsy-turvy. My trunk, I think, must be still out in Kokomo,
Indiana, or some such place. I don't even expect to see it for another
month or so. But _I_ don't mind. I'm a regular child of nature
anyway--it's just Amelia who's pernickety about our appearing in full
regalia every night for dinner. Amelia is Leland, of course. She's
tremendously keen on preserving a refining influence about the school,
and I think she looks on me as a rather demoralizing factor. There
goes the gong."
The three went down-stairs together, Charlotte linking herself between
Nancy and Alma.
As if by magic, the din of a few moments before had been lulled. The
fifty or sixty girls had gathered in the large reception room, where a
wood-fire was blazing up a huge stone chimney, and where Miss Leland,
wearing a dignified black evening dress, was seated in a pontifical
chair, chatting with eight or ten of her charges, with the air of a
gracious hostess. All the voices had sunk to a lower key.
"Is everyone here?" She looked about her, and closing the book she had
been toying with led the way into the dining-room beyond, where the ten
or twelve small tables, with their snowy covers, and softly shaded
candles gave the room more the appearance of a quiet restaurant than
the ordinary school refectory.
Charlotte Spencer sat with Nancy at a table near Miss Leland's; while
Alma found herself separated from her sister, and relegated to another
table where she was completely marooned among five strange girls.
Charlotte introduced Nancy to a sallow maiden with prominent front
teeth, named Allison Maitland, to a statuesque brunette named Katherine
Leonard----
"The school beauty," was her brief comment. "And this is Denise Lloyd,
sister of Mildred, my roommate. Hope we have soup."
"Are you any relation to Lawrence Prescott, who goes to Williams?"
asked the beautiful Katherine, turning to Nancy with a slightly
patronizing air. Nancy vaguely disclaimed a kinship that might have
won her Miss Leonard's interest, and thereby quickly lost some of it.
"No, she's not, she says," said Charlotte. "Is he a beau of yours?
'Yes,' replied the girl, a soft blush mantling her damask cheek.
'Naturally he's a beau of mine. Who isn't?' and with this keen retort,
she again lost herself in her maiden meditations. But I'll tell you
who she is a relation of--she's the thirty-second cousin once removed
of 'Prescott's Conquest of Peru'--aren't you, Nancy?"
"Charlotte, you're a scream," said Katherine, with an affected laugh,
and turning to Nancy, she went on, speaking in a mincing voice, and
always placing her lips as if she were continually guarding against
spoiling the symmetry of their perfect cupid's bow. "You know, we
always expect Charlotte to say funny things."
"I'm the school buffoon, in other words," commented Charlotte,
dryly--evidently not much liking to be marked as a professional
humorist. "I'm supposed to be '_so_ amusin', doncherknow'--and
consequently, everyone is expected to haw-haw whenever I open my mouth.
But if you listen carefully, you'll be surprised to hear that at times
I talk sense. Now, Allison here is the school genius. You'd never
suspect it, but she is. I wish to goodness that new waitress would
bring me some more bread. It isn't considered stylish around here to
have the bread on the table, but I do wish they'd consider my appetite."
"Is that perfectly sweet-looking girl over there your sister?" asked
Katherine, indicating Alma, her slightly patronizing air still more
pronounced.
"Your new rival for the golden apple, Kate," remarked Charlotte, with a
grin. "And a blonde, too."
Katherine flushed, and tried to laugh off her annoyance at Charlotte's
impish teasing.
"I think she's perfectly lovely."
"Oh, handsome is as handsome does, so they say. The question is has
she a beautiful soul. Now, my soul is something wonderful--if it would
only show through a bit," murmured Charlotte. "I'm plain, but good, as
they say of calico. There's a rumor to the effect that Cleopatra was
very ugly; hope it's so. There are two alternatives for an ugly
woman--either to be tremendously good and noble, or to be very, very
wicked--I can't make up my mind which career to choose. It's an awful
problem."
"I'm going to take muthick lethons thith year, Tharlotte--with Mithter
Conthtantini," lisped Denise Lloyd. "Don't you think he'th jutht
wonderful?" Denise did not resemble her sister in the least. She was
a plump, roly-poly girl of sixteen, still at the giggly, gushing stage
of her life--but much more likable than the haughty Mildred.
She turned to Nancy, with the polite desire of including the new girl
in the conversation, and went on with a blush, "Mithter Conthtantini is
jutht _wonderful_. Are you going to take muthick lethons? You'd jutht
_love_ him! And bethides, if you take muthick, you can drop thience."
"I don't think I could get very far with the piano in one year," said
Nancy with a smile.
"Oh, he doethn't teach piano. He teacheth violin."
"And of course, the violin is so much simpler," remarked Charlotte.
"Mr. Constantini has a rolling black eye, and an artistic
temperament--inclined to have fits, _I_ think----"
"Fitth, Tharlotte!" cried Denise, in bitter reproach. "Why, he'th
jutht _lovely_! He doethn't have fitth at _all_!"
"Well, it sounds as if _somebody_ were having fits, to hear all the
awful squeaks and groans that come out of the music room, while one of
our rising Paganinis is having her lesson. I always imagined that it
was poor Mr. Constantini," replied Charlotte, mildly. "Anyway, the
point is, that Constantini is a beautiful creature, and consequently a
year of violin is considered infinitely more improving than a year of
science. Personally, I think that the study of the violin ought to be
forbidden under penalty of the law, except in cases of the most acute
genius. I think that the playing of one wrong note on the violin ought
to be punishable by a heavy fine, and playing two, by imprisonment for
life, or longer. There are times when I feel that hanging is far too
good for Dolly Parker. She ought to be boiled in oil, until tender----"
Nancy laughed.
"So you take the year of science? That's where I belong, too, I
suppose."
"Tharlotte plays the piano jutht beautifully," said Denise. "She
compotheth----"
"My brother calls it decomposition," said Charlotte, reddening, as she
always did when any of her talents were lauded, and trying to turn it
off with a joke.
Miss Leland rose, and the room became silent, since she appeared to be
about to make an announcement.
"To-night, girls, there is, of course, no study-hour, and special
privileges are extended to you all," she said, in her clear,
well-trained voice. "You have an hour for recreation after dinner, and
I hope that all the old girls will make a point of helping our new
girls to forget that they are not at home. Prayers will be at nine, as
usual, and you will not be required to be in your rooms before
nine-forty-five. No doubt you all have a great deal to talk about, so
I am going to be lenient with you to-night. To-morrow, the regular
school regime will be resumed."
"Hooray! Nancy, you and Alma are herewith cordially invited to my room
to a negligee party at nine-twenty sharp. I had the good sense to
bring a few delicacies with me, leaving my trunk to the tender mercies
of the express company." Charlotte rose, and taking Nancy's arm, filed
out of the dining-room with the other girls, behind Miss Leland. But
in the living-room, a small band of girls fell upon Charlotte.
"Come along, old dear. Some dance-music now. Come on." And they bore
her off to the piano, deposited her almost bodily upon the bench, and
opened the keyboard. Three others rolled back the rugs from the
polished floor, and in a moment a dozen couples were spinning around as
gaily as if they were at a ball.
Nancy, a prey to her usual shyness in the midst of strangers, clung
close to the piano, where Charlotte, without pausing in her
astonishingly clever playing, reached up, and drew her down on the
piano bench, from where she could watch Alma.
Alma's prettiness and natural gaiety was having its usual success. The
younger girls crowded around her, the older girls petted her. Even the
frigid Mildred made her dance with her. Her cheeks were flushed, her
eyes bright again. By some indescribable charm she had walked into
instant popularity.
Without a shadow of envy, Nancy watched her, proudly. Alma was easily
the prettiest girl in the school--everyone must like her, everything
must go smoothly and gaily for her. There were people like that in the
world--people who didn't have to be wise or prudent--some kindly
providence seemed always to protect them from the consequences of their
lack of common sense, just as kindly nature protects the butterflies.
The dancers stopped one by one. Some gathered in groups about, the
fire, others clustered in the window-seats--one or two practical souls
had gone to their rooms to put away some of their things.
Charlotte's nimble fingers began to wander idly among the keys. Nancy
watched her curiously, listening in some surprise to the change in the
music. She felt an instinctive fondness for this big, whimsical,
friendly girl, and knew very well that underneath her nonsense lay a
streak of some fine quality that would make an unshakeable foundation
for a genuine friendship. She would have liked to talk to Charlotte by
herself; but Charlotte was already talking in her own way. She seemed
to have quite forgotten Nancy and everyone else in the room, and with
her head bent over the keys, she was playing for herself. Little by
little, the other girls stopped talking. She did not notice that at
all. Nancy listened to her playing in astonishment. It was far beyond
anything like ordinary schoolgirl facility. It was full of genuine
talent and poetry, now smooth and lyrical, and again as capricious and
impish as some of her own moods.
She raised her head, and looked at Nancy with an absent-minded smile.
"Like music?" Nancy nodded.
"I believe you really do. You aren't just saying so, are you? Well, I
like you--ever so much. Listen, don't get the idea that everything I
say is meant to be funny--sometimes--I'm very serious--you wouldn't
believe it, would you?"