HIGH CLIFF SEMINARY.
The High Cliff Seminary was surely well named, for from the windows of
its grey stone turrets one had a sweeping view of the surrounding country
with its lovely woodlands, its wide meadow where grain was yellowing or
stacked in the sun, with here and there a nestling town, a suburb of the
big city that was several miles nearer the sea. Directly beneath were the
sheer cliffs and then the broad, busy Hudson.
On the sun porch, one Saturday afternoon in September, a group of girls
was gathered. It was evident that they were all old friends, as indeed
they were since they had attended High Cliff Seminary the year previous.
Among them were Faith Morley, Gladys Goodsell and Marianne Carnot.
Leaning back in a comfortable cushioned wicker chair, Marianne looked at
the other through partly closed eyes.
"Your democracy in America is crude, n'est-ce pas?" she said, shrugging
her shoulders and looking toward the far end of the long glassed-in
veranda.
There, all alone, stood a girl dressed in dark blue whose red-brown hair
was neatly fastened at her neck. With hands idly clasped in front of her,
she watched the boats plying up and down the great river, and, oh, the
loneliness, the bleak, grey loneliness in the heart of the girl.
Without a glance at the curious group at the other end of the sun porch,
she soon turned and went within.
"Well, I confess democracy is carried rather far in this particular
instance," the plump, good-natured Gladys Goodsell remarked. "Not that I
care greatly. We do not have to associate with her, whoever she is,
unless we so desire."
"Doesn't anyone know who she is?" Catherine Lambert inquired.
The questioner did not look at the French girl, nor would she have been
able to interpret the meaning of the slight sneer that appeared on the
dark, handsome face for a fleeting second even if she had seen it.
Marianne had told no one that she had met Muriel the year before on Windy
Island, and Muriel herself, though conscious of the presence of Marianne
Carnot, was so numbed with grief that she cared little that she was being
snubbed.
The coming of that "crude island girl" to this fashionable school had
angered Marianne, but the memory of Gene's very evident preference for
Muriel's companionship had aroused in the heart of the French girl a
desire to make the other suffer, but she would bide her time.
"Is it true that she cannot speak the English language correctly?" The
tone of the questioner was horrified in the extreme.
Faith Morley nodded, adding hastily (because her heart was kind): "But
that in itself is not vital, for surely she can learn to speak correctly,
but--but of course her family is rather impossible."
"A lighthouse-keeper's grand-daughter!" This from Adelaine Stuart, whose
family tree was always shown to each new pupil at High Cliff, if she
chanced to be one whom Adelaine wished to impress. That her father was
imprisoned for having robbed widows and orphans with his wildcat schemes
she did not tell.
"But, Faith, you know something of the girl's story. Why don't you tell
it?" This from Gladys.
Faith hesitated. Would Helen wish her to tell, and yet surely there was
nothing in what she knew that ought to be kept secret.
"Well, what I know is not much," Faith confessed. "Muriel Storm is an
acquaintance of Gene Beavers and----"
Exclamations of amazement interrupted the speaker.
Conscious of the shock and surprise her statement had caused in the
group, Faith hurried on to explain. "You remember Gene had to leave
college last fall because of a collapse of some kind." Several nodded.
"Well, he then went to Tunkett, a sea-coast town, to recuperate, and
while there he met the keeper of the light who was Muriel's grandfather.
They did a good deal, Helen told me, to help Gene regain his health."
This last, rather defiantly. Faith, unlike the others, was not a snob at
heart.
Nor, for that matter, was Gladys. "Poor girl," she now put in. "I do feel
sorry for her. Anyone who watches her for five minutes can tell that she
has a broken heart."
"Why that? What has happened to her?" Adelaine Stuart was curious.
"I wonder if any of you recall that terrible electric storm that we had
last June," Faith continued. "I remember how it crashed over New York.
Old-timers said there had not been one as severe in twenty years. Well,
it was during that storm that the lighthouse was struck by lightning, the
old man was instantly killed and the girl hurled beneath the debris. She
was unconscious hours later when she was finally rescued. All summer long
she has been in a hospital in the city under the care of some physician
whose home was formerly in that same sea-coast town. He it is who is
sending her here." They saw that the girl about whom they were talking
left the veranda, apparently without having noticed them.
Faith went on: "Years ago Doctor Winslow's sister and our Miss Gordon
were friends." Miss Gordon was the charming middle-aged woman who
presided over High Cliffs. "Then this Muriel Storm not only belongs to a
class of fisherfolk, but she is also a charity pupil." Adelaine Stuart
tried to show by her tone and expression the pride and scorn which should
be exhibited by one possessed of a family tree.
"I shall write my mother," she concluded, "and if I am not much mistaken
Miss Gordon will consider it greatly to her advantage to at once dismiss
that girl."
"I shall do the same," Phyllis Dexter echoed. "We ought not to be forced
to breathe the same air with--with----"
"Une bourgeoise," Marianne concluded the sentence for her.
The others did not notice when Faith Morley slipped away. She rebuked
herself for not having thought of it before. Surely her dear friend Helen
Beavers would wish her to be kind to the girl whose grandfather had been
kind to Gene.
Faith paused outside of a room on the third floor of High Cliff Seminary
and listened. Surely someone within was sobbing. Again her loving heart
rebuked her. How many, many hours during the last week that the island
girl had been in their midst had she sobbed like this and no one had come
to comfort her? Muriel was in none of Faith's classes and so she seldom
saw her. Nor did she eat with the other pupils in the main dining hall,
for, temporarily, she was seated at the right of Miss Gordon at the
teachers' table, there being a vacant chair which soon would be occupied
by Miss Humphrey, the English teacher, whose leave of absence had not yet
expired.
The problem of finding a seat for poor Muriel at first had been a hard
one for Miss Gordon to solve, for she knew full well how heartless and
snobbish were many of the daughters of her wealthy patrons.
When she received a message from Miss Humphrey stating that she would not
return for another fortnight, the principal talked the matter over with
the faculty and Muriel was then invited to sit with the teachers until
the absent one should return. This would give Miss Gordon time to
discover if any of the pupils were kindly disposed toward Muriel, and if
so, she could then be placed at one of the three long tables in the main
dining hall at which the young ladies were seated.
The teachers' table was in a curtained alcove, and so many of the girls
were not even aware of the fact that Muriel dined there. Moreover, it had
been Doctor Lem's wish that the island girl should receive private
instruction, and as Miss Humphrey was the only teacher whose time could
be arranged to make this plan possible, Muriel's studies had not as yet
begun.
Every day Miss Gordon sent for the girl to come to her room at the
twilight hour. At first she did this for the sake of Doctor Lem, whose
sister had been her dear friend, but after a time she did it gladly, for
she found in the soul of this untutored girl much that it would be a joy
to awaken and develop.
But, of course, there were many hours every day when Muriel was left
alone. Oh, so alone. While the other girls were at their classes she
wandered about the extensive, parklike grounds that grew wilder and more
beautiful, so Muriel thought, a quarter of a mile down the Hudson and
away from the school.
There she found a spot on an overhanging ledge where a young pine tree
was clinging, none too securely, to the bank, for after each storm the
earth beneath it loosened and a day was coming when that small pine and
the ledge on which it stood would be hurled down the steep cliff into the
blue waters seething far below.
The cliff on which the light had stood the island girl had thought high,
but this was a sheer wall of rock that rose twice as far from the water
toward the sky. The little pine had grown very dear to the girl who so
loved nature, and often she would sit on the ledge, her cheek pressed
against the rough bark, her eyes gazing far up the river, seeing not the
boats of all kinds that were plying back and forth, hearing not the
discordant sounds of screeching tugs or warning whistles, but picturing
in memory the island she so loved and the lighthouse standing as it had
for so many, many years, and tears gathered in her eyes as, in a dream,
she saw her grandfather again as he had looked on that
never-to-be-forgotten day, and then suddenly she would sob and hold her
arms out, calling, "Grand-dad! Grand-dad, come and get your Rilly gal!"
On one of these occasions she had cried herself weary, and for a moment
she had slept on the little overhanging ledge. Her grand-dad seemed to
come to her and say so plainly that she heard his voice: "Fust mate,
didn't you'n me agree that we'd trust the Skipper at the helm, knowin'
His guidin' to be for the best?"
"Yeah, Grand-dad," she said aloud, sitting up and looking about. Then she
rose and drew back, shuddering, for she had been very close to the edge
of the overhanging ledge. How easy it would be to fall off and---- The
girl turned and ran all the way back to the school. That had been the day
before and today she was staying indoors, half afraid to visit the ledge.
She sat up and looked toward the door when she heard a knock. "Come in!"
she called, leaping to her feet. Her visitor, she supposed, would be
either Miss Gordon or the maid of that corridor.
When Muriel saw a strange girl in the hall she felt rebellious, believing
that she had called out of unkind curiosity, but Faith held out her right
hand as she said graciously: "Miss Storm, I am Faith Morley, one of your
schoolmates. I am sorry that I have not been up to see you sooner. Helen
Beavers and Gene are dear friends of mine, as perhaps you do not know,
and I am convinced that they would wish me to be your friend, too." Then,
feeling that the sentiment could be put in an even more kindly way, she
added impulsively: "Truly, I want to be your friend. May I?"
Tears gathered slowly in the clear hazel eyes and the lips that replied
quivered: "Thanks, but I dunno why you'd be carin' for my frien'ship. If
you do, though, I'm glad."
They sat in chairs near each other, and Faith, looking for the first time
with eyes that really saw Muriel, decided that she had a most interesting
face. There was far more depth of character expressed in it than in many
of the pretty doll faces of the pupils at High Cliffs. For one wild
second the visitor groped for a subject of conversation that would
interest this island girl. Of course she might have gossiped about the
other pupils in the school, but Faith had been taught never to talk of
persons, but rather of things and events. She now recalled having heard
Helen say that Muriel had never been farther inland than Tunkett, while
she, Faith, had circled the globe with her parents two years before. Then
her eyes fell upon the copy of "Treasure Island," Muriel's gift from
Gene.
"Do you enjoy that book?" the visitor asked.
"I can't read," Muriel replied simply, "but I love the sea an' the life
on it. Cap'n Barney often told me tales of sea adventure an' Gene Beavers
read to me out of this book."
Faith's dark eyes lighted. "Oh, Muriel," she exclaimed, "my father gave
me such an interesting book about the sea for my birthday, and I'm
reading it now. I'd just love to read it aloud to you if you would enjoy
hearing it. Of course it will come in your reading course, in time. Shall
I get the book?"
There was real eagerness in Faith's voice, and also in her heart, for she
yearned to help this girl who as yet hadn't been given a chance.
Muriel was indeed pleased with the suggestion and so Faith went at once
to her room, returning a few moments later with a beautifully illustrated
copy of "Two Years Before the Mast."
"Muriel," she announced when she opened the door, this time without
knocking, "I wonder if you know how lucky you are. You have the nicest
room in the school. This round cupola room with so many windows, and such
a sweeping view in three directions, is the one that many of us hope each
year will be given to us."
Then she laughed. "Honestly, I do not eavesdrop, but I happened to be in
the reception room the first day of this term and heard Adelaine Stuart's
mother offering to pay extra if her spoiled darling could have it. But
Miss Gordon said it had been reserved for you.
"Think of that, young lady. Moreover, you are doubly lucky, for, not only
have you the nicest room in the school, but you are invited to spend an
hour every evening with the idol of all our hearts, the adorable Miss
Gordon."
Muriel smiled at her new friend's enthusiasm. "'Twa'n't last long,
though," she replied. "I mean, Miss Gordon's just bein' kind to me now
because she knows as I'm lonesome an' she'n Uncle Lem are friends."
Faith looked pityingly at the girl whose shadowed eyes plainly showed
that many hours had been spent in tears.
"Muriel," she suggested, "suppose you lie on the window seat. Pile those
pillows under your head and try to rest while I read. I'm afraid you are
holding yourself too tense these days, as our gym teacher tells us."
Muriel did as she was bidden and Faith continued: "Now, take a deep
breath and drop down on the pillows with every muscle relaxed. Listen
idly while I read until you fall asleep. I really think that restful
sleep is what you most need."
Then Faith read for an hour. Muriel was greatly interested, but she was
also very weary, and after a time she did fall into the first restful
sleep that she had had since she arrived at the school.
Faith drew a cover over her new friend and stole out, but she did not go
directly to her own room. Instead she went to the office of Miss Gordon.