SUNDAY
Little has been said about the living-room at Miss North's; one of the
pleasantest places in the building. The approach to it was by the way of
a rather unusual stairway, and this stairway had a peculiar significance
in the school life. It parted on a landing just before it reached the
living and dining-room floor, dividing into two separate avenues. One
side was claimed by the Seniors; the other by the Juniors. A Senior
never thought of coming down the Junior side; and the Juniors were quite
as particular. Each class had its own "stair song" and on festive
occasions the stairs played an important part.
The living-room was just across the hall from the dining-room; and when
classes entertained--as they did often--the rooms were thrown open and
used as one.
But it was on Sunday that the living-room appeared at its best. A
beautiful fire of hickory logs always blazed on the ample hearth,
casting a rosy glow over the polished oak beams in the ceiling, dancing
and flickering on the handsome rugs and old mahogany furniture which had
come down with generations of Norths.
At the extreme end of the room were placed three chairs--similar to
bishops' chairs in design. The centre one belonged to Miss North. From
it on Sunday morning, and often on Sunday evening, she read to the
girls; and the girls loved this quiet hour more than almost any other
thing that came into their lives. It was a diversion to come into the
living-room's warmth and cheer directly after breakfast on Sunday
morning, rather than file into chapel. It was delightful to relax after
the strain and discipline of the week; to gather in groups and chat
intimately; to sit where one pleased--even on the hearth rug, if one
desired, while listening to the reading.
It was Miss North's desire to make this place as much a home living-room
as possible; to get far away from institutional life.
There was always a little time in which to chat after the girls gathered
on Sunday morning; then Miss North took her seat and the exercises
began. There were a few hymns and the lesson for the day from the
Scriptures. Miss North was an excellent Bible student, and she
interested and held the girls in these readings and talks through her
knowledge and ability to impart what she knew in a fascinating manner.
Thus a quiet and peaceful hour was spent, which meant much in the
general culture and up-building of the girls' characters. Many a young
woman looking back in after years felt grateful for the high ideals put
before her at that time.
"I adore these Sunday mornings," Blue Bonnet said, linking her arm
through Annabel Jackson's as they left the room after an especially
helpful talk. "I think Miss North is wonderful. She never preaches at
you; but what she says sticks. I'd a lot rather hear her talk than Sarah
Blake's father--our minister at home. Aunt Lucinda says Mr. Blake is
very spiritual, but he's terribly prosy. I have the awfullest time
trying to keep awake when he talks--it's dreadful!"
"Well, you'll have a treat to-day at Trinity, Blue Bonnet. The Bishop is
going to preach. I adore him. He's terribly good to look at, too, with
all his fixings--his cross and ring and beautiful robes. I had a letter
to him when I came here, and he called one day. He wasn't nearly so
handsome without his robes; but he was perfectly dear--and quite jolly.
I expected to be awed by him; but I wasn't, a bit. I almost caught
myself telling him everything I'd done since I arrived here; but I
checked myself in time."
Blue Bonnet looked at Annabel with new respect.
"It must have been a beautiful experience," she said.
Annabel paused at Blue Bonnet's door.
"We've just time to do our rooms before we dress. Help me make my bed
and I'll return the compliment."
Blue Bonnet complied willingly. Then they went back to her room.
"What are you going to wear to-day, Blue Bonnet?" Annabel asked, her eyes
straying toward Blue Bonnet's closet. "I haven't a thing! I've just got
to have some new clothes."
Blue Bonnet laughed.
"Poor little 'Flora McFlimsey,'" she said. "'Nothing but your new
tailored suit and your velvet hat and your silk waist,' to say nothing
of--"
"But I'm tired of them all! I'd so love a change."
Blue Bonnet opened her closet door.
"Choose," she said generously. "Only leave me my muff, to-day. I perish
by the wayside in this climate. I'd give--oh, most anything, for a
streak of Texas sunshine!"
Almost unconsciously a sigh escaped her. There were days when a vision
of the Texas prairie obliterated every other sight.
"Oh, thank you, dear! You're so good about your things. I'll take your
black fur hat, if you don't mind--and the blue waist. I'm quite mad
about blue just now. I never used to think I could wear it."
Blue Bonnet got out the waist, and Annabel held it against her face,
trying the effect.
"I don't know about this 'Alice' shade. What do you think? Can I wear it
all right?"
"You look beautiful in anything to me, Annabel--yes, I think it is very
becoming. Will you walk with me to-day?"
"Surely; though I suppose Ruth will pout--but no matter! Reckon we had
better hurry a little."
Blue Bonnet always declared that there was something about Trinity
Church that put her in a pious mood. She felt it first when she came in
sight of the splendid edifice. She loved its majesty--- its vast
impressive central tower; the quaint cloisters; the rich Galilee porch
and the ivy-clad walls; and once inside she could never keep her eyes
from straying to the wonderful Tiffany stained glass memorial windows;
the famous frescoes, of which "Jesus and the Woman of Samaria" was her
favorite. She loved the service, too. Loved it because amid all the
grandeur it was simple and impressive, and she could have a part in it.
It was a pretty sight to see the girls from Miss North's school march in
to the church, and it spoke well for Miss North's training that they
were always dignified and attentive. They took an active part in the
service and sang for the very joy of singing. Blue Bonnet's strong,
sweet soprano often rang above her fellows, clear and true, and her
face reflected the glow that stirred her heart.
"That _was_ a wonderful sermon, Annabel," she said as they left the
church. "Dear me, how I do wish Mr. Blake could sit under the Bishop for
a while. I wonder if he ever heard him. I daresay he hasn't. He's what
Grandmother calls a 'dyed in the wool Presbyterian.'"
She sighed, regretful of Mr. Blake's lost opportunities.
"Cheer up! You don't have to listen to him often," Annabel said
consolingly.
"No, that's true. But _think_ of Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda! They've
been listening to him for most twenty years."
"Oh, well, 'habit's a cable,'" Annabel quoted glibly. "It jerks us along
and we get into the way of thinking we like things whether we do or not.
I daresay your aunt dotes on him."
"Aunt Lucinda isn't--well--she isn't just the doting kind, Annabel; but
I don't suppose she'd trade Mr. Blake for the Bishop if she could.
Loyalty's the backbone of Aunt Lucinda. She's very fond of Sarah, too.
By the way, did I tell you that Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda are coming
up to spend a few days of the spring vacation with me? Aunt Lucinda has
a lot of shopping to do, and Grandmother loves a little change. They've
asked Sarah Blake to come with them. I wish the rest of the girls could
come. Wouldn't it be fun if the Lambs could meet the We Are Sevens?"
"Oh, lovely, Blue Bonnet! I'm quite wild to see Kitty Clark. I'm real
jealous of her. She's your best friend, isn't she?"
Blue Bonnet hedged.
"Kitty's a dear," she said; "and the prettiest girl you almost ever
saw--but I'm fond of all the girls."
Silence fell between them as they walked homeward. Suddenly Blue Bonnet
gave a little joyful cry.
"Annabel! I know what I'm going to do! Alec said that Uncle Cliff was
coming at Easter. I'll write to him this very afternoon and ask him to
invite the We Are Sevens up here for a day or two just before vacation
begins--just the day before--and give us, the Lambs and the We Are
Sevens, a party. Maybe a matinee party with a dinner at the Copley Plaza
afterward."
"Oh, Blue Bonnet! _Do_ you think he would? That would be heavenly."
"He'd adore to do it. I am sure."
Sunday afternoon at Miss North's was given over almost entirely to
letter writing, and Blue Bonnet was not long in getting a note off to
Uncle Cliff. She was a little ashamed of its scrappiness as she read it
over; but what it lacked in news and length was more than made up in
affection. It fairly throbbed with love and anxiety to see him, and she
had plead the cause of the We Are Sevens with the eloquence of a young
Webster.
"He'll never be able to resist that plea," she said to Annabel, who had
brought her writing materials into Blue Bonnet's room. "He'll just
_have_ to come when he gets this. I shouldn't wonder if it didn't bring
him sooner than he expected."
She sealed the letter and pounded the stamp on with enthusiasm. To think
was ever to act with Blue Bonnet, and the next half hour was given over
to planning for the coming event--"the gathering of the clans."
"Don't you think that a matinee party with tea afterward at the hotel
would be lovely, Annabel? Then dinner about seven o'clock. We might do
something in the evening, too."
Annabel thought it would be well to consult the Lambs on so important a
subject, which necessitated an impromptu meeting in the "Angels'
Retreat." The tea bell had sounded before the meeting adjourned.
* * * * *
Sunday evening tea was another delight at Miss North's. There was a
pleasant informality about it. It consisted of hot rolls and cocoa, a
salad and cake, with marshmallows which were to be toasted later in the
living-room at the big fireplace.
For an hour after tea the girls sat in the firelight, visiting. Often a
speaker was provided for the evening's entertainment--a celebrity, if
possible. The best in the way of culture for her girls was Miss North's
rule.
To-night the girls were all present. They had dressed with care in
compliment to an expected guest; a noted traveler who was to tell them
of foreign lands and customs. Miss North viewed them with pleasure. They
were her children--a family to be proud of.
A pleasanter scene could scarcely be imagined. The girls stood in groups
chatting; on the hearth rug; in the deep chairs--a picture of youthful
loveliness.
"Will you look at Joy Cross!" Ruth Biddle said to Sue Hemphill. "What
has got into her? She's been fixed up that way for several days; blue
bow--hair curled--"
The close proximity of Joy at that moment stopped the sentence. Blue
Bonnet Ashe was bringing her into the group and Annabel held Joy in
animated conversation.
"Let's all sit together," Blue Bonnet said, and Joy sat down with the
rest. Although but two weeks had passed since Joy's trouble, she was
much changed. A little spot of color burned in her usually pale cheeks;
and--there was no doubt about it--the blue bow _was_ becoming. It
brought out unsuspected possibilities in the white skin, and cast a
deeper tone to the faded eyes. Joy was happy; and the happiness showed
in every change of expression.
It had not been an easy thing for Blue Bonnet and Annabel Jackson to
show Joy the many little kindnesses which they had shown her, without
becoming patronizing; but they had--somehow--to their credit; and Joy,
for the first time in her life, was beginning to taste the sweets of
companionship.
Annabel Jackson was a born leader. When she put the stamp of approval on
anything, it went; and when she began to stop Joy in halls and
recitation rooms for a moment's chat--a bit of advice on lessons--Joy's
stock took sudden flight. If Annabel thought her worth while, she surely
must be; and Blue Bonnet's interest, added to Annabel's, was the needed
touch to bring Joy into the social life of the school.
Not until there was an exodus toward the pipe organ, about which the
girls gathered to sing, did Ruth have a chance to express her opinion of
Joy's sudden popularity.
"_I_ don't intend to take her up," she said haughtily, lagging behind
with Sue. "She isn't our kind at all. I don't know what's got into
Annabel lately. She's perfectly crazy about Blue Bonnet Ashe--completely
under her thumb."
"Lots of us in the same boat, Ruth. I'm quite crazy about her myself."
"Well, she needn't think she can run the school. She's behind this Joy
Cross vogue. She's not going to ram her down my throat. The Biddles
usually choose their own society."
Sue looked at Ruth sharply.
"You've sort of got an idea that name gives you special dispensation,
haven't you, Ruth--kind of a free passport to the upper realms? Well,
forget it! It hasn't. It wouldn't get you any farther with folks that
count than Cross, or Ashe, or Hemphill. It's what you bring to your
name; not what it brings to you. It's like what Miss North said the
other day about life. It isn't what you get out of it, but what you put
into it that counts."
Ruth's lip curled. It takes more than a rebuke to make a democrat out of
an aristocrat.
"Nevertheless I shall retain the privilege of choosing my associates and
not having them thrust upon me."
"That's all right, Ruth, but when you get lonesome, come on back into
the fold. I've an idea that Joy Cross is going to make a place for
herself in the school whether you like it or not. Blue Bonnet seems to
have got at her in some way lately, and she says she's really quite
likable! She says Joy makes her think of the late chrysanthemums in her
grandmother's garden. They never get ready to bloom until everything
else is gone; but you appreciate them all the more after they've
weathered the frost and come out brave and brilliant. Funny idea, isn't
it? Blue Bonnet has such queer ideas. I think she's very unusual."
Ruth, still annoyed, found a place by the organ, while Sue slipped over
by Joy, and putting her arm through hers carelessly, joined in the hymns
with interest and fervor.