MURIEL RECEIVES A LETTER.
When Muriel Storm returned from the hike to the woodlands and found upon
her desk a letter from Gene Beavers she did indeed rejoice, and without
stopping to remove her hiking apparel, she curled up on her window seat
to read the missive, which, as usual, was couched in the simplest words.
The two weeks of tutoring which Muriel had received from Faith had helped
her to read with far greater ease. The lad told of his long illness which
had resulted from the cold, stormy weather, the rough voyage and the
damp, foggy climate of London.
He had seen nothing of the city since his arrival, but even though they
were living in one of the fashionable outlying districts, he could hear
the distant roar of the traffic, and now he yearned to be back on Windy
Island, where only were to be heard the sounds of nature.
When Gene wrote that letter he knew nothing of the tragedy of the
lighthouse, for although Faith had mentioned it in a letter to Helen, his
sister had thought best not to sadden him with news that might be a shock
to him, for she well knew how greatly he admired the old man who had been
keeper of the light.
However, she had been glad to tell him that Muriel Storm was attending
the High Cliff Seminary. This did not really surprise him, for often he
had heard Doctor Winslow say that, as soon as he could convert the old
sea captain to his point of view, he, at his own expense, intended
sending the girl, of whom he was fond, to some good boarding school.
Little did Muriel dream that Gene's proud mother had sent for him that
she might get him away from the degrading influence of the fisherfolk
with whom he had been staying and about whom she had heard from
Marianne's father, who was a business friend of Mr. Beavers.
Then for months she positively forbade the boy to write to the "island
girl," but at length, when his illness lasted so long, the mother
consented to permit Gene to write if he would promise to remain in
England until he was twenty-one. By that time he would have forgotten
that daughter of the common people, for she, of course, would be unable
to travel, and so they would not meet.
For a long time after the reading of the epistle Muriel sat with the
letter lying in her lap as she gazed with unseeing eyes at the busy
Hudson. If only she knew how to write! As yet she had never answered one
of Gene's letters, nor had he expected a reply. Of course, Faith, Gladys
or Catherine Lambert, all dear friends, would gladly pen a letter at her
dictation, but that would not be quite the same. She wanted to write the
very first letter all by herself.
She wondered how long it would be before she could learn.
It was nearing five o'clock when there came a rap-i-tap upon her door, a
signal meaning that Faith awaited without.
In reply to Rilla's "Come in!" the door opened.
"Muriel Storm, I do believe that you have been day-dreaming again! Why
haven't you removed your hiking togs? I came up to tell you that Miss
Widdemere wishes us to gather in the study hall at five-fifteen for the
first class of the year in politeness."
The island girl sprang up and hastily began to change her costume. "A
class in politeness, is it?" she repeated, in a puzzled tone of voice.
"What does one have to be learnin' in that kind of a class?"
Faith sat on the window seat to wait until her friend was ready to
accompany her. "Oh, it's a sort of society stunt, so to speak," she
explained. "We practice curtsies for grace, make seven different
varieties of calls, more or less, are taught what to do with our hands
and feet, how to be a hostess and how to be a guest. Oh, yes, and what to
do and what not to do if we're ever presented to a queen." Faith was
purposely exaggerating. She really believed the class in politeness
rather unnecessary, since the young ladies came from homes where they
learned from babyhood all that they would need to know.
She had forgotten for the moment that Muriel had not had these same home
advantages.
"Oh, I wish I didn't have to be goin' to it," the island girl said as she
turned away from the mirror, again dressed in her dark blue school
uniform. "I'll be that awkward, an' I don't know nothin' about manners."
Her voice was so truly distressed and the expression on her face so
tragic that Faith sprang up from the window seat and, slipping a
protecting arm about her friend, she said: "Dear, I'll ask Miss Widdemere
to excuse you today; that is, just let you watch the others, and then,
this evening, I'll come up to your room and teach you the curtsy. It
would hardly be fair to ask you to begin with the others when many of
them practiced during the whole of last year."
Faith had suddenly recalled overhearing a conversation when she was on
her way to the cupola room. Adelaine Stuart and the French girl had been
just ahead of her and she had distinctly heard the former say: "If it is
your desire to humiliate that lighthouse person wait until she has to
take the part of hostess in politeness class. That will show her up
before the whole school."
The rest of the sentence Faith had not heard, as she had passed the two
schemers with her head held high, but when she came to think it over she
wondered why Marianne Carnot wished to harm Rilla, whom she barely knew.
Faith resolved to stay close to Muriel to protect her, if she could, from
whatever humiliation Adelaine and Marianne might be planning, and it was
indeed lucky for the island girl that she had so staunch a friend.
Faith was glad to find that the Mistress of the Manners Class was still
in her office, and thither she led Muriel.
The young teacher glanced up and bade them enter. Then Faith asked: "Miss
Widdemere, have you met our new pupil, Muriel Storm?"
There was a brightening expression in the kind grey eyes back of the
large, dark-rimmed glasses. The teacher advanced, her right hand
extended.
"No, indeed, and I am most pleased to meet you. A lucky new pupil you are
to have the friendship of our Faith." This with a loving glance at the
girl who stood at Muriel's side.
"Yes, ma'am. Thanks!"
Miss Widdemere's glance was puzzled, though not unkindly critical. It was
not customary for girls from the North to say "ma'am," but perhaps this
new pupil was a Southerner. The teacher was even more perplexed when
Faith beckoned to Gladys Goodsell, who stood near awaiting her friend,
and said: "Will you take Muriel to the classroom? I wish to speak with
Miss Widdemere for a moment."
When the door was closed, in as few words as possible Faith told the
tragic story of Muriel's coming to High Cliffs.
"She has never had an opportunity to learn the ways of social life, Miss
Widdemere," the girl said earnestly, "but when you know her better you
will think her very unusual, I am sure."
Then, as she was eager to create a favorable impression, she added:
"Muriel has beautiful fancies and our Miss Gordon believes that she is to
be a real poet some day."
"What a loyal friend your friends have in you, Faith? What is your
request?"
It was granted as soon as heard. "Muriel may listen and watch," the
teacher declared, "but we will not ask her to take part until you tell me
that you have coached her sufficiently in private."
Then, as the bell in the corridor was announcing that laggards must make
haste, these two went to the study hall, where the pupils were assembled.
Some were seated on the desk tops, others standing in groups chatting,
but when Miss Widdemere appeared all arose, and facing her, made deep
curtsies. Muriel alone remained erect, not knowing what to do.
Marianne, gazing across the room through half-closed lids, smiled and
nudged her companion.
"She's as graceful as a hitching post," Adelaine replied, loud enough to
be heard by several who stood near.
Muriel felt their gaze and flushed with embarrassment.
"The young ladies will now arrange their chairs in a large semi-circle,
the vacant space in the center to represent a parlor." Miss Widdemere
waited until the confusion was over and the pupils seated before
continuing:
"We will now select a hostess and ten guests to attend an afternoon tea.
Whom do you name as hostess, Phyllis?" She had turned toward that young
girl because she had risen. "I name Muriel Storm," said Phyllis, who had
been well coached by the girls who sat next to her.
Miss Widdemere sent a keen glance in their direction, and she said,
rather coldly: "Young ladies, partly because of Muriel Storm's recent
bereavement, we are not expecting her to share in our imaginary social
functions for a month at least."
Marianne Carnot added in an undertone heard only by those about her, "And
the other 'partly' is that she couldn't if we did expect it."
Faith eventually was chosen as hostess and Muriel intently watched every
move made by her friend. How graceful she was and how gracious! A slip of
a Japanese girl, who was the daughter of the chef of the school, appeared
dressed in an attractive native costume and played the part of maid for
this class. When she was older she, too, would be trained for the sphere
that she was to fill.
That evening Faith found her friend both discouraged and homesick.
"It's out of place I am among you all," she said. "I'd ruther be back
with my seagulls, I'm thinkin'. I'll never take to bowin' and goin' to
teas."
Faith laughed merrily; then shaking a finger at Rilla, prophesied: "The
day is coming when you may be asked to be hostess for a lord or an earl
or someone like that; then won't you be glad that you learned how at High
Cliff Seminary?"
The idea was so absurd that even Muriel laughed.
"Me hostess at an earl's tea party? You're allays sayin' you have no
imagination, but I'm thinkin' you have some and to spare."
Laughter brought a better humor, as it always does, and for an hour that
evening Muriel permitted her friend to teach her the first positions to
be made in the curtsy.