THE SOCIAL SIX
It was about time for news of the steamer's arrival to reach Ruth,
and in spite of her many new experiences the thought of her father
was always uppermost in her mind. The morning and evening newspapers
meant to her simply the shipping news, and, several days before
the steamer could possibly arrive, she began her daily study of
the shipping lists. Eight days had seemed long to wait for news
of one's best-beloved chum, but Ruth had to confess that the time
had been filled so full that it had passed quickly. Starting in
school had not been so great an ordeal as she had expected. To her
joy she was to be allowed to see what she could do in the class
with Betty and Charlotte, and she was determined to succeed, though
she knew it meant harder work than she had ever done in her life.
The Glenloch Academy was the pride of Glenloch and the envy of the
surrounding towns. The money for its establishment and maintenance
had been left the town by a public-spirited citizen, and the fund
had been so generous that the best in the way of teachers and equipaient
had been made possible. It took the place of a high school in its
methods of study, gave a thorough preparation for college, and
offered six years of the most liberal training to those whose school
education must of necessity stop there. Ruth felt an interest at
once in her new teachers, was charmed with the idea of doing regular
gymnasium work in the fine gymnasium which had lately been added
to the school, and altogether felt that her lines had fallen in
pleasant places.
"Don't be in such a rush," called Dorothy, as Ruth ran down the
school steps. "I want to talk to you."
"I'm in a hurry every day now," confessed Ruth, "to get home and see
if I have any news from papa. Mr. Hamilton thinks that by to-night
surely the ship's arrival will be cabled, and I have a faint hope
that I may have a cablegram from papa almost any minute."
"I'll walk around your way," said Dorothy. "Doesn't it make you
feel terribly important to be expecting a cablegram?"
"Why, I don't know," laughed Ruth, "perhaps it does, a little.
It's been such a long time to wait to hear that papa is safe that
I can't think of anything else."
As she finished speaking a long, low call made them both turn to
see Charlotte and Betty running after them.
"What are you going to do this afternoon, Ruth?" called Charlotte
as they got within speaking distance. "We want you to go to walk
with the 'Social Six.'"
Dorothy raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Ruth asked curiously,
"The Social Six? Who under the sun are the Social Six?"
"It's all right, Dolly," said Betty reassuringly. "You see," she
added, turning to Ruth, "we couldn't tell you about them at first,
because we had all agreed never to have more than six in the club
and our number was full. But just to-day one of the girls has told
us that she is going to resign at this meeting, so we want you to
join right away if you will." "Why, of course I will," said Ruth,
with perfect faith that whatever the three wanted her to do would
be worth doing. "But what is the club for and what do you do?"
"It's a walking club in spring and fall," answered Betty.
"And a skating club when we have ice," added Dorothy. "That's the
best part of it all, for we have bonfires on the edge of the pond,
and go to some house for supper when we get through skating."
"Well, it all sounds lovely, and I shall be delighted to join.
What time do you start?" asked Ruth.
"At two sharp, and we are to meet at the schoolhouse," answered
Charlotte. "Miss Burton is going with us this afternoon, and she's
to be made an honorary member of the club." "All right. I'll be
there," said Ruth, as the girls left her at Mr. Hamilton's door.
Once in the house she looked first to see if there were letters or
the much-desired cablegram, and finding nothing ran up-stairs to
get ready for lunch. The house was strangely still, and she missed
Mrs. Hamilton's cordial welcome, which she had found vastly comforting
in these first days of feeling so much alone.
On her desk was a note which she hastened to open.
"MY DEAR RUTH" (it began):
"I am sorry you will find neither a cablegram nor me writing for
you this noon. Mr. Hamilton has telephoned me that friends of ours
are in town who will not have time to come out to us. So we are
all to dine together in Boston to-night. I am sorry that you will
have two lonely meals, and hope some of the girls will dine with
you. Invite them for me, and forgive me for leaving you in such
unexpected solitude.
"Yours lovingly,
"AUNT MARY."
"How sweet of her to sign herself that way," thought Ruth, as she
folded the note. "I do miss her, and I'm glad there's something
pleasant ahead for this afternoon."
The Social Six to a girl were prompt at the meeting-place, and
as Miss Burton appeared just as the clock was striking two, the
expedition started with no delay. "It's a perfect day for Bear Hill,"
said Dorothy enthusiastically, as she led the way with Miss Burton,
and unconsciously tried to imitate her swinging gait. Since Miss
Burton had taken charge of the gymnasium, Dorothy, who was always
to the fore in out-of-door life, had been more than ever devoted
to everything pertaining to physical culture.
"See Dolly walk," said Charlotte, who was ambling along in the
extreme rear; "she walks as though she positively enjoyed the mere
motion of it, while I am so lazy that I shouldn't even belong to
the club if it weren't for being with the girls, and for the fun
we have at our parties."
As they crossed the railroad and entered the narrow wood-path
on the other side, the girls fell into single file and walked on
steadily, talking gaily. It was one of those brilliant October days
when all the warmth of the fleeting summer is in the air; when the
sky is a radiant blue, and the red and gold of the foliage casts
a glory over the sombre woods.
Ruth was enchanted. "I've never seen anything so beautiful,"
she said breathlessly, as, after a long walk through the winding,
shaded path, they came out into the open, and almost at the top of
the hill.
"Wait till you get to the tip-top," said Dorothy, her eyes sparkling
from the exercise. "Can you stand it to climb for five minutes
more?"
"Of course," answered Ruth stoutly, "though I'm not sorry that
we're almost there," she added in a low tone to Katharine French
who, with Alice Stevens and Louise Cobb, made up the membership of
the club.
The climb of the last five minutes was harder than ail the rest,
and Ruth groaned as she sank on the ground at the very top. "My
Chicago training hasn't prepared me for this," she said plaintively.
"You'll have to take me in hand, Miss Burton, and help me to get
my muscles in condition."
"Don't sit too long on the ground now," laughed Miss Burton, "or
we shall have to carry you home."
"Miss Burton, would you and Ruth mind going over behind that big
rock for a few minutes?" asked Dorothy. "The club always has its
business meeting the first thing, and as we are to admit a new
member it will take longer than usual."
Over behind the big rock proved to be a very agreeable place to sit,
for the girls had covered some smaller rocks with pine boughs and
a golf cape, and the view of the surrounding country was glorious.
"Rather different from Chicago, isn't it, Ruth?" asked Miss Burton.
"I'm a Western girl myself, and I taught in Chicago for ayear, so
I know how this must seem to you."
"Are you really a Western girl?" cried Ruth interested at once.
"Then you won't mind if I talk Chicago to you once in a while,
will you? This is quite the most beautiful place I've ever lived
in, but," she added honestly, "I'm dreadfully homesick for Chicago
sometimes, and I don't like to confess it because they are all so
lovely to me."
"Come and talk to me when you feel like that," said Miss Burton,
with one of her radiant smiles; "it will do us both good."
"I'd love to," said Ruth fervently, "and----"
She was interrupted by a call from the girls, and with Miss Burton
hastened to join the others, only to stop short in amazement
as they rounded the rock against which they had been sitting. The
girls had worked fast and with no noise, and it was so undeniably
a gypsy camp into which Ruth had walked that she could hardly
believe her eyes. A small fire was built on some rocks, and over
it hung in the crotch of a branch an odd-looking kettle. Three of
the girls had unbraided their hair and made themselves gay with
artificial flowers, bright ribbons and brilliant scarfs. Alice
Stevens, who was dark enough to look really like a gypsy, was
reading Louise Cobb's hand, while Betty looked on and occasionally
stirred an imaginary something in the kettle. Charlotte, Dorothy
and Katharine French, who were all tall and preferred masculine
parts, sat on the other side of the fire dressed in colored paper
caps, and bright sashes draped over one shoulder.
Miss Burton broke the silence by clapping her hands. "It's fine,
girls," she cried with enthusiasm. "I didn't know we were to see
anything really artistic."
"We only do this when we admit a new member," said Betty.
"And not then unless the weather happens to be just right," added
Dorothy. "But we must hurry and make Ruth a member. Go on, Betty."
"Kneel here, Ruth," said Betty, who was presiding officer for the
day. Then looking as solemn as her dimples and twinkling eyes would
permit, she added, "Being about to lose a well-beloved member of
our club," here ail looked at Louise Cobb, "we are at liberty to
admit another. Do you desire to become a member of this club?"
"I do," answered Ruth, much impressed.
"Do you promise to further our interests in all possible ways and
to keep our secrets?"
"I do."
"Then I pronounce you a fully initiated member," said Betty, striking
her on the shoulder with a twig tipped with scarlet leaves. "We
really haven't any secrets," she added unofficially, "except that
we don't want the other boys and girls to know where we go or that
we dress up like this. We don't make our honorary members promise
anything, but we know Miss Burton won't tell."
"Of course not," said Miss Burton. "I feel too much honored to be
admitted to the club to betray their secrets."
"Now, Ruth," continued Betty, "the next thing is that the new member
must do something; sing or dance or tell a story."
"Oh!" gasped Ruth. "I'll resign at once. Imagine me singing or dancing
when I'm so tired I can hardly move; and as for story-telling, I
simply can't."
"Perhaps you'd rather recite a poem," said Charlotte.
"May I have it as short as I please?" asked Ruth as if an idea had
struck her, and as Betty nodded assent, she added, "Give me five
minutes by myself and I'll do it."
The girls chatted while Ruth went just out of hearing and communed
with herself.
"Time's up, Ruth," called Dorothy.
"All right," answered Ruth, walking into the circle and sitting
down, while she met the expectant eyes with a roguish twinkle in
her own. Then she recited:
"There was a young girl from the West,
Who very much needed a rest.
When asked, 'Can you sing?'
She replied, 'Not a thing:'
And felt very sadly depressed."
Ruth suited her expression to her last words in so comical a fashion
that the girls shouted with laughter.
"However did you do it, Ruth?" asked Betty. "I couldn't make a
rhyme to save me."
"Oh, father and I got into the habit of making up those five-liners,
and I often do it just for fun."
"We're proud to have such a poetess in the Social Six," said
Charlotte, making her a sweeping bow with her hand on her heart.
"Miss Burton, we don't insist that our honorary member shall perform,
but we'd like it if you would," said Betty.
Miss Burton smiled good-naturedly. "I would tell you a story,
only I am afraid our Western member would be too stiff to move if
she sat through it. How would you like to postpone my part of the
program until after school some day, and then come and have a cup
of chocolate with me?"
"Oh, lovely!" cried Dorothy, always ready for anything that Miss
Burton proposed.
As she spoke a sound as of some one sliding came from behind the
big rock, and then a low but unmistakable chuckle.
"It's some of those horrid boys," said Dorothy tragically.
The girls tore off caps and sashes, but before they could wholly
divest themselves of their gypsy appearance two heads peered around
the rock and a pleading voice said, "Please, may we come in?"
"Indeed you may not," cried Dorothy, quite white with anger. "I
think you're the meanest boy I ever saw, Frank Marshall, and you're
not one bit better, Bert. Between you, you always spoil all my good
times. I think it's the most despicable thing to spy on people,
and----"
There was such a sudden stillness about her that Dorothy became
conscious of Miss Burton's troubled expression and Ruth's surprised
face.
"Well, I don't care; it was a mean trick," she muttered as she
turned her back on the boys and walked away.
"Honestly, girls, we didn't mean to make you mad," said Frank as
his sister finished. "We came up for a walk and didn't know any
one was here till we saw the smoke from your fire. We came over to
find out about that, and heard the young lady from the West recite
her poem. We should have gone off without letting you know if Bert
hadn't slipped on the rock."
"Of course," added Bert with an extremely virtuous air, "if we
had guessed that this was the famous club we should have put our
fingers in our ears and have run away."
"You sinner," said Betty, who couldn't help laughing, "you know
you have tried ever since we have had the club to make me tell you
about it."
"I propose," said Miss Burton, "that we put the boys on their honor
not to tell what they have seen and heard."
"Second the motion," said Charlotte with great promptness. "We have
them there, for boys never tell when they're on honor."
"Good for you, Charlotte," said Frank gratefully. "We'll promise,
won't we, Bert?"
"Of course," agreed Bert. "And, girls," he continued, "we've got
some potatoes roasting in the ashes near here that'll be just the
thing to brace you up for the walk home. Come along and help us
eat 'em."
"I should say we would," accepted Charlotte. "Did you ever know us
to refuse anything to eat?"
The little feast and the walk home became the jolliest things possible.
Tired as she was, no one was merrier than Ruth. for in her inmost
heart she was sure that she should find news of her father waiting
for her.