THE FIRST NIGHT AT IVY HALL
That first night at Ivy Hall--for this was the name of the boarding
school--was long remembered by Tabitha. Fifty bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked
girls gathered with the little staff of instructors around the long
tables in the breezy dining hall, laughing and chattering merrily about
their happy vacations, greeting friends of the previous year with
girlish enthusiasm, and welcoming the strangers among their number with
a cordiality that made them feel as if they had always belonged there.
It was such a wonderful experience to our little maid from the desert
that she could scarcely touch the tempting meal spread before her, but
sat like a statue, drinking in the happy scene with a hungry heart.
"See that little dark-eyed lady at the end of our table?" said a
winsome-faced girl at Tabitha's right, who answered to the name of
Jessie Wayne. "She is Madame DuBois, the French teacher, who is in
charge of our floor. Your room is across from Carrie's, isn't it?"
"Yes," answered Tabitha, shyly. "She looks as if she might be lovely."
"Oh, she is! Next to Miss Pomeroy, she is the most popular teacher here.
The red-headed, cross-looking, fat woman at the second table is Miss
White, who has classes in music and drawing. She is lots better than she
looks. Miss Summers is the next teacher. People often mistake her for a
pupil here. Isn't that a joke? She does look awfully young, but this is
her fourth year at Ivy Hall. She is a darling, too."
"Who teaches Latin?" ventured Tabitha, as her talkative companion lapsed
into silence long enough to take a bite of bread. "Carrie said there was
to be a change this year."
"Yes, we have a new Latin instructor. Her name is Miss Cornwall. She is
the one sitting in the corner, wearing glasses. She looks mighty severe,
but I'll bet she can be jolly. Miss Pomeroy never has a cross teacher
here. I heard her tell Madame that Miss Cornwall is to be on our floor,
too. I suppose she will have the room next to Carrie's, as that is the
only vacant one at that end of the corridor."
"Who is the tall lady at Miss Pomeroy's table?" asked inquisitive
Tabitha, eager to make the acquaintance of all the staff of teachers.
"Miss King, of the domestic science department. Oh, you will like her!
She is splendid!"
"That's what you've said about them all," laughed the black-eyed girl,
privately thinking she had found the Garden of Eden.
"Well, they are! Really, I believe Ivy Hall is the loveliest boarding
school there is in the world. We are just like one great, big family
here. Miss Pomeroy makes the _dearest_ mother."
"What are the other teachers, then? Aunts?" Tabitha asked.
Jessie shouted. "I never thought of it before, but that is surely what
they are, and they do give us the loveliest times, and make the lessons
so interesting that it doesn't seem like study at all. But they are
awfully particular. They won't take _any_ kind of a girl here. She has
to be well recommended and even then there are always about twice as
many girls who want to enter as there is room for. This year there were
forty who couldn't get in."
"Oh!" breathed Tabitha, recalling with alarm Miss Pomeroy's words on
the stairs. "Do they ever send them away after they have begun school
here?"
"I--don't--know. Why, yes, sometimes. There was a girl here last year
who cheated and took things that didn't belong to her and was real saucy
to the teachers; and when she went home at Christmas time she never came
back. She told us that she didn't want to, but I think Miss Pomeroy
wouldn't let her. There goes the signal for assembly. We always meet
just after tea each evening for chapel services."
"Chapel services?"
"Yes. We sing a hymn or two and listen to a short talk from one of the
teachers before going up to our rooms for study. Likely Miss Pomeroy
will speak tonight, as this is the first evening. Sit anywhere you wish.
Here's a hymn-book."
Tabitha accepted the book, slipped into a vacant seat in the corner, and
marvelled at the sudden hush that fell over the noisy throng as the
silvery-haired principal arose to address them. This wise lady was not
given to sermonizing, but talked in a confidential, motherly fashion,
telling them of her hopes and expectations for the school year lying
before them, explaining the few rules it had been found necessary to lay
down for the governing of so many active little bodies, and filling each
girlish heart with inspiration and a desire to win this dear woman's
approval.
"It is not our aim to make our school a prison," said the sweet voice to
the attentive throng, drinking in every word. "We want our girls to be
happy and light-hearted and gay; we hope to fill every hour with
sunshine and music and laughter. We are anxious that each one of you
shall love Ivy Hall with your whole heart--not merely because of the
merry days you enjoyed inside its walls, but because of the lasting help
you shall have gained here, for we are gathered under this roof to
study, you know, and not to idle away the golden hours, but you will
find there are many lessons to be learned in boarding school that are
not contained in books. You are all away from home and its influences,
many of you for the first time in all your lives; and it is the duty of
this little band of teachers to train and instruct the minds and bodies
intrusted to our care. This is a pleasant task for us, and we shall do
our best for each individual girl, but in return we shall expect you to
do your best for us.
"Our lives are like gardens; our faults are the weeds, our good traits
the flowers, and we are the gardeners. If we are careless and do not try
to overcome the faults, they flourish and grow stronger each year, and
in the end will choke out all the flowers. While if we honestly seek to
cultivate the good qualities we all possess, and to weed out the
unworthy acts and thoughts, our gardens will grow beautiful and will be
a pleasure to all our friends, as well as to ourselves. I hope my girls
will all try to root out the weeds in your lives--the hot
tempers"--Tabitha thought the kindly eyes looked straight at her as
these words were spoken--"thoughtless words, selfish habits, envy,
jealousy, and the countless other things that make so many lives
unhappy. Cultivate kind thoughts, gentle words, good deeds,
unselfishness and sunny dispositions. Don't let bickerings or harsh
speeches or unkind acts mar the spirit of harmony we want in our school.
Take for your motto the Golden Rule, and treat all your companions as
you would like them to treat you. Be the best girl you know how to be."
From her corner of the room Tabitha sat glowering at Chrystobel
opposite, trying to absorb the teacher's helpful words, while in her
heart she was blaming her room-mate for the scene of the previous hour,
and wondering how she could get even with the enemy. Chrystobel returned
the sour looks with interest, even making a wry face occasionally behind
her hand when Miss Pomeroy chanced to be looking in the other direction,
for this spoiled maid was equally as sure that Tabitha was the sole
cause of the disturbance.
But when the girls were all in bed that night, the lights turned out and
the great building silent, Tabitha's anger abated, Miss Pomeroy's words
kept repeating themselves in her mind, Jessie's unconscious warning
filled her with uneasiness, gentle Mrs. Vane's motherly lectures came
back to haunt her, and Mr. Carson's advice of long ago suddenly sprang
into memory and would not let her rest. When she closed her eyes they
rose before her inner vision in such a provoking fashion that sleep
refused to come to soothe the tired, aching body.
"I have been hateful and horrid," sighed the weary girl at last, giving
up the struggle and facing the accusing conscience. "No one will like
me if I behave like that. I promised Mrs. Vane to be good and just see
what a beginning I have made! A scolding already and I haven't been here
a day. Oh, dear! Chrystobel _was_ selfish, but maybe if I had been good,
she would have given up that drawer and the hooks without any fuss. I
acted like a perfect--cat! Because she was selfish and--mean, yes, I
think she was mean--that was no reason for my being hateful. Oh, it is
such hard work to be good! I wonder if it will ever be any easier.
Carrie doesn't seem to have any trouble that way at all, and her
room-mate is a spoiled darling, too. If she can put up with Cassandra, I
ought to be able to deal with Chrystobel. I suppose--I--ought to--tell
her I am sorry. I hate to think of doing such a thing, for maybe she
will be a--cat. Perhaps I needn't tell her, but just explain to Miss
Pomeroy how bad I feel to think I made such a scene--no, I didn't fight
with Miss Pomeroy, and apologizing to her won't make Chrystobel feel any
better toward me. Oh, dear, I suppose I must do it! Well, here
goes--I've got the shivers clear to my toe-tips already, thinking of
what she may say. Chrystobel!"
She spoke the name softly, but the occupant of the other bed heard, and
slowly turned over facing the window, surprised, wondering whether or
not her ears could have deceived her.
"Chrystobel!"
There was no mistaking that sound. Should she answer? Chrystobel, too,
had passed a very uncomfortable evening, and found bed far from
agreeable. Away from her mother for the first time, she was battling
with pangs of homesickness as well as with her conscience, for she had
suddenly come to realize just how selfish her acts must have seemed not
only to the queer little girl, who was to share this room with her, but
also to the white-haired principal, whom she wanted to love her. But
fear that Tabitha would only say something to make matters worse held
her silent when she heard the whispered name from the bed by the window.
"Chrystobel!"
The voice was not only insistent, but pleading, and the elder girl
lifted herself somewhat impatiently on her elbow, as she muttered
ungraciously, "Well?"
"I was afraid you would be asleep," came the relieved reply. "Say,
Chrystobel, I'm sorry I got mad this afternoon. Maybe if I had had more
patience I could have shown you just how selfish you were without all
that fuss and squabble. Will you forget the hateful things I said and be
friends with me? You can have both big drawers and twenty-one hooks in
the closet if you want them."
Chrystobel gasped, overcome by mingled emotions. Surprise, anger, regret
in turn filled her heart, and for a moment she was silent because the
lump in her throat choked her.
Tabitha, misconstruing the deep pause, began again anxiously, "I've got
the worst temper in seven counties. I reckon it's my name; I have always
hated it, but that doesn't help matters any. I am always sorry after I
get mad like that, but it is awfully hard to say so. I never know how to
say it so the other person will believe me. But I really mean it,
Chrystobel. I am sorry I was so horrid to you. We ought to be friends,
and then you could help me keep from getting mad, and I could help you
not to be such a pig. Will you, Chrystobel?"
"Well," breathed her astounded room-mate, "you are the queerest girl I
ever saw, and you say the oddest things. I--I don't know what to think."
"I don't mean to say odd things. I am truly sorry, and I wish you would
believe me."
The plaintive voice was too much for the haughty Chrystobel, and with a
quick spring she scrambled out of bed and groped her way to where
Tabitha lay curled under the covers, saying with more real feeling than
her companion had given her credit for, "I do believe you, and I am just
as sorry as you are for my actions--sorrier, for I was to blame for the
whole fuss. I _am_ a selfish pig, but no one ever dared to tell me that
before, so I have gone on being thoughtless and unkind and horrid. I
have no brothers or sisters at home to share things with, and I have
always had my own way until I've come to expect it from everybody, I am
afraid. Forgive me, Tabitha, I never knew before how really selfish I
was."
Chrystobel's arms had encircled Tabitha in an impulsive embrace, and
before the astonished girl had recovered her breath sufficiently for a
reply, there was a quick kiss pressed upon her lips, and Chrystobel had
slipped away in the dark to her own bed.
For a moment Tabitha lay motionless on her pillow, almost too surprised
for utterance at this turn of affairs; then she smiled happily in the
dark and whispered shyly, "I don't hate you, Chrystobel. I didn't mean
all those hateful things I said to you. I was mad and that's why I spoke
that way. I--I--love you."
"Then I'm glad," came the joyful answer through the blackness of the
room, "I take back all the mean things I said about you, too, Tabitha. I
am sure we are going to be splendid friends."
"So am I. Good-night, Chrystobel!"
"Good-night, Tabitha!"
A great peace descended upon both hearts, and the two girls drifted away
to happy dreams, their differences forgiven and forgotten.
Oh, no, they did not become saints on the spot; they were only human
beings like the rest of us, and many and frequent were the girlish
squabbles that marred the serenity of those happy school days, but they
honestly tried to do better, and that is half the battle. Chrystobel
_was_ selfish and Tabitha _was_ a pepperpot, and neither of those faults
is easily overcome, but thanks to the common sense of the kindly
principal and her staff of teachers, the battle was not unsuccessfully
waged.
Tabitha soon became a favorite among her mates, who were quick to
discover the sweet spirit under the fierce, hot temper, and quick to
feel the lonely girl's craving for affection. Understanding that her
home life had never been as glad and joyous as theirs, they one and all
strove to make the new surroundings bright and beautiful, succeeding so
well that gradually Tabitha forgot her old griefs and vexations, and
blossomed into a serene loveliness that captivated both teachers and
mates.
The name which Bertha had given her the day of her arrival clung, and
Kitty she became to the whole school,--the mascot of the second floor.
At one time this title would have been an added affliction to her
over-sensitive nature, but Tabitha was growing wise, and was learning
that people do not care how ugly one's name may be, if the heart is good
and beautiful. True, she had not ceased to mourn because other girls
were blessed with the pretty names which had been denied her, but she
was beginning to understand the sentiment:
"Laugh, and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the poor old earth has to borrow its mirth,
It has troubles enough of its own."