Miss Canfield took hold of her work with genuine interest as science
teacher in the James Fisk High School. Her knowledge of girl nature was
sufficient to save her from many blunders. Mary Turner was her problem.
A giddy set was overturning nearly all of the constructive work done for
her by her teachers.
Miss Canfield decided to go over matters with Mrs. Turner, Mary’s
mother. In the conversation, Mrs. Turner saw where she must take a hand
in Mary’s affairs.
[Sidenote: Overcoming Undesirable Influences]
There was no doubt but what Cecily Gregg, a classmate, was having a bad
influence on Mary. Mrs. Turner rocked fitfully between stitches and
remembered how sweet and natural Mary had been before she got so
intimate with Cecily. But now she was catching some of that young lady’s
affected ways, and, Mrs. Turner feared, some of her lack of modesty with
boy companions. Cecily was seventeen, and Mary, a year younger,
respected her opinions greatly, and gloated over her popularity with
certain overdressed and rather sporty youths who took her about to
picture shows and ice cream parlors. Cecily was slowly convincing Mary
that theirs was the type to admire.
And Mrs. Turner had unwittingly let Mary drift so far from her influence
of late, that she felt helpless. She dared say nothing openly against
Cecily. Mary would only flare up in defense and stand more staunchly for
her friend. If she laid down rules, Mary might secretly break them, and
if she tried to make subtle suggestions, the girl was certain to pounce
on her meaning and resent it.
Mary came home from school that day full of plans for her birthday
party.
“Cecily says I must get some new dance records for the victrola. Ours
are all passé. And I’m going to make little crepe paper favors, by a
cute pattern that Cecily knows. And she wants me to ask Cousin Ralph. Do
you think he’d think us too young for him, since he’s finished college?
I’m crazy to have him meet Cecily! He’ll be ‘dippy’ about her.”
While Mary chattered, a thought lodged by Miss Canfield came to Mrs.
Turner. If she couldn’t influence her daughter herself, unaided, she
must reach her through others.
She answered: “Why, I think it would be lovely to ask him, and I’m sure
he’d like to come.”
And so Mary wrote a cordial invitation to Cousin Ralph and her mother
quietly added a postscript that night—a postscript that grew into an
epistle as she told her nephew, a clean-souled and manly young fellow,
of her problem about Mary.
“Can you help me?” she wrote. “A word from you would weigh much with
her. You’re her ideal of young manhood. Let her see that you are not
fascinated by Cecily; she believes her irresistible. Say no more than
you can judge by seeing her at the party, though. That will be enough.”
His answer to Mary, his “sweet little cousin,” was frank and warm. His
answer to Mrs. Turner was earnest and sympathetic. He would try.
The great evening came, and with it a gay and brightly dressed bevy of
Mary’s friends. Some were rollicking; some were bashful; but Mrs. Turner
fancied she saw the Cecily stamp on all of them. On all except Evelyn
Lewis, a simple, attractive girl with fine manners. If Mary would only
prefer her to Cecily!
Cousin Ralph arrived late and created a sensation, for he was tall and
good-looking and possessed of polish and charm. He led all the fun after
that and Mrs. Turner saw Mary’s eyes sparkling with pride in him.
At a late hour the guests took their leave. But Ralph, lingering after
the others had left, talked over the party with Mary and her mother, for
the former was too excited to want the evening to end.
“How did you like the girls?” Mary inquired, eagerly. And just then Mrs.
Turner found an excuse to leave the room.
“Very much, little cousin. They’re a jolly lot of youngsters. And I’m
quite struck with one of them.”
“Oh, I knew you would be. Cecily, of course!”
“Cecily! O, no!” His emphasis was expressive.
“Not Cecily?” Mary was bewildered.
“That would-be chorus girl with come-hither eyes?” he demanded, and
then, seeing her stricken face, added hurriedly, “But maybe she’s a
special friend of yours.”
“Oh, no,—that is,—not so very. But she’s awfully popular.”
“With only one kind of boys, then, and that’s not the sort I’d like to
see you running round with, cousin mine. The girl that took my eye
was—her name was—Evelyn. She’s a peach. Ask me over some time again when
she’s here, will you?”
Mary nodded a little uncertainly, and then promised.
“Mother,” she said, wonderingly, as Mrs. Turner entered the room, “Ralph
likes Evelyn. And she certainly did look pretty tonight. I’m—crazy about
her myself!”
And as Mrs. Turner squeezed her nephew’s hand, she felt somehow that a
new name was about to be substituted for “Cecily” in Mary’s vocabulary.
Miss Canfield listened attentively to the mother’s report of the party
and of Mary’s drift into better companionship and naturally lent aid to
the scheme in a dozen little ways—assignments of team work, comments to
Mary on certain lovely qualities in Evelyn and her type of girl,
recommendation of books and magazine articles, etc.
Mother and teacher accomplished an important piece of work by this
campaign in which they substituted, in the unformed mind of a school
girl, a correct model of young womanhood in place of a degraded type.