SANFORD'S LATEST FRESHMAN
"Will you tell me the way to the principal's office, please?"
A clear voice broke in upon the conversation of two girls who had paused
before the broad stairway leading to the second floor of the Sanford
High School for a last word before separating for their morning
recitations.
At the sound of the soft, interrupting voice, which contained a touch of
perplexity in its tones, both girls turned quickly to regard the owner.
They saw an attractive little figure, wearing a dainty blue cloth gown,
which was set off by hand-embroidered cuffs and an open rolling collar
of sheerest white. From under a smart blue hat escaped a wealth of soft,
brown curls, while two brown eyes looked into theirs with an expression
of appeal that brought forth instant reply.
"Miss Archer's office is the last room on the east side of the
second-floor corridor. I am going there now and shall be glad to show
you the way," was the quick response of the taller of the two girls,
accompanied by a cheery smile that warmed Marjorie Dean's heart and made
her feel the least bit less of a stranger in this strange land which she
was about to explore.
"Thank you," she returned gratefully, trying to smile in an equally
friendly manner.
Marjorie's first day of school had begun far from propitiously. She had
not reckoned on making her initial appearance in Sanford High School
alone. It had been planned that her mother should accompany her, but
when Monday morning came, her beloved captain had awakened with a
racking headache, which meant nothing less than lying in bed for a long,
pain-filled day in a darkened room.
Torn between sympathy for her mother and her own disappointment,
Marjorie had experienced a desire to go to her captain's room and cry
her eyes out, but being fashioned of sturdier stuff, she made a
desperate effort to brace up and be a good soldier. This was just
another of those miserable "vicissitudes" that no one could foresee. She
must face it without grumbling. Her father had already telephoned for a
physician when she entered her mother's room, and Marjorie put on her
sweetest smile as she kissed her mother and assured her that she didn't
in the least mind going to school alone.
As she followed the young woman up the stairs and down the long corridor
Marjorie felt her heart beat a little faster. Her low spirits of the
early morning began to rise. How good it seemed actually to be in school
again! And what a beautiful school it was! Even Franklin would appear
dingy beside it. She gazed appreciatively at the high ceiling and the
shining oak wainscotings of the wide corridor through which she was
passing. When her guide, who was tall, thin and plain of face, opened
the last door on the right and ushered her into a beautiful sunshiny
office which seemed more like a living-room than a place wherein
business was transacted, Marjorie uttered an involuntary, "Oh, how
lovely!"
"Yes, isn't it though," returned the tall girl. "This is Miss Archer's
own idea, and, so far, it's proving a brilliant success. That is, we all
think so. Is Miss Archer in her private office?" she asked the young
woman who had risen from her desk near the door and came forward to
receive them.
Marjorie would have liked to ask her new acquaintance what she meant,
but at that moment a door at the farther end of the room opened and a
stately, black-haired woman, with just a suspicion of gray at her
temples, emerged. She turned a pair of grave, deep-set eyes upon the
tall girl and said, pleasantly: "Well, Ellen, what can I do for you this
morning?"
"Oh, Miss Archer!" exclaimed the tall girl, eagerly, with an impulsive
step forward, "you haven't forbidden basketball this year, have you?
Stella and I couldn't believe our ears when we heard it this morning!"
It was evident that the impetuous Ellen was on the best possible terms
with her principal.
"I don't remember having issued an order to that effect," smiled Miss
Archer. "Where did you hear that bit of news?"
Ellen Seymour's plain face flushed, then paled. "It was just a rumor,"
she replied with reluctance. "I'd rather not mention names. Still, when
I heard it, I could not rest until I had asked you. The sophomores hope
to do something wonderful this year. We couldn't bear to believe for a
minute that there would be no basketball. We had planned to have a
tryout some day this week, after school. I'm so glad," she added
fervently. "Thank you, Miss Archer. Oh, pardon me," she turned to
Marjorie, "this is Miss Archer, our principal. Miss Archer, this young
lady wishes to see you. I met her in the corridor downstairs and
volunteered my services as guide."
With a courteous nod to Marjorie, the tall girl left the room and the
principal turned her attention toward the prospective freshman.
At the calm, kindly inquiry of the gray eyes Marjorie's feeling of
shyness vanished, and she said in her most soldierly manner, as though
speaking to her mother: "Miss Archer, my name is Marjorie Dean, and I
wish to enter the freshman class of Sanford High School. We moved to
Sanford from the city of B----. We have been here just a week. I was a
freshman in Franklin High School at B----."
Miss Archer took the young girl's hand in hers. Her rather stern face
was lighted with a welcoming smile. Marjorie's direct speech and frank,
honest eyes had pleased the older woman.
"I am glad to know that we are to have a new pupil," she said cordially.
"The freshman class is smaller than usual this year. So many girls leave
school when their grammar school course is finished. I wish we could
persuade these mothers and fathers to let their daughters have at least
a year of high school. It would help them so much in whatever kind of
work they elected to do later."
"That is what mother says," returned Marjorie, quickly. "My mother
intended to come with me to-day, but was unable to do so." She did not
go into details. Young as she was, Marjorie had a horror of discussing
her personal affairs with a stranger. "She will call upon you later."
"I shall be pleased to meet your mother," Miss Archer made courteous
answer. "The first and most important matter to be considered this
morning is your class standing. Let me see. B---- is in the same state as
the town of Sanford. I believe the system of credits is the same in all
the high schools throughout this state, as the examinations come from
the state board at the capital. What studies had you begun at B----?"
"English composition, algebra, physiology, American history and French,"
recited Marjorie, dutifully.
Miss Archer raised her eyebrows. "You are ambitious. We usually allow
our pupils to carry only four subjects."
"But these are quite easy subjects," pleaded Marjorie; "that is, all
except algebra. I am not especially clever in mathematics. I am obliged
to study very hard to make good recitations. Still, I should like to
continue with the subjects I have begun. Won't you try me until the end
of the first term?" she added, a coaxing note in her voice.
"I will at least try you for a week or two. Then if I find that you are
not overtaxing your strength you may go on with them."
"Thank you." Marjorie's relieved tone caused the principal to smile
again. It was not usual for a pupil to show concern over the prospect of
losing a subject. Many of the students rebelled at having to carry four
subjects.
"Have you your grammar school certificate with you?" asked Miss Archer,
the smile giving way to a businesslike expression.
Marjorie handed the principal the large envelope she had been carrying.
Miss Archer drew forth a square of thick white paper, ornamented with
the red seal by which the state board of school commissioners had
signified their approval of Marjorie Dean and her work in the grammar
school.
The older woman read it carefully. "Yes, this is, as I thought the same
form of certificate. From this moment on you are a freshman in Sanford
High School, Miss Dean. I trust that you will be happy here. Sanford has
the reputation of being one of the finest schools in the state. I am
going to assign you to a seat in the study hall at once. Miss Merton is
in charge there. She will give you a printed form of our curriculum of
study. School opens at nine o'clock in the morning. The morning session
lasts until twelve o'clock. We have an hour and a quarter for luncheon,
and our last recitation for the day is over at half past three o'clock.
We have devotional exercises in the chapel on Monday and Friday
mornings, and the course in gymnastics is optional. There are, of
course, many other things regarding the regulations of the school which
you will gradually come to know."
"Miss Arnold," the thin-faced, sharp-eyed young woman, who had been
covertly appraising Marjorie during her talk with Miss Archer, came
languidly forward. "This is Miss Dean." The two girls bowed rather
distantly. Marjorie had conceived an instant and violent dislike for
this lynx-eyed stranger. "Take Miss Dean to the locker room, then to
Miss Merton. Say to Miss Merton that Miss Dean is a freshman, and that I
wish her assigned to a desk in the freshman section."
With a last glance of pleasant approval, which Marjorie's pretty face,
dainty attire and frank, yet modest bearing had evoked, the principal
retired to her inner office, and Marjorie obediently followed her guide,
who, without speaking, set off down the corridor at almost unnecessary
speed. "This way," she directed curtly as they reached the main
corridor. They passed down the corridor, descended a second stairway and
brought up directly in front of long rows of lockers. Within five
minutes Marjorie's hat had been put away, and she had received a locker
key. This done, her companion hurried her upstairs and down the wide
corridor through which they had first come.
Then she suddenly opened a door, and Marjorie found herself in an
enormous square room, which contained row upon row of shining oak desks,
occupied by what seemed to her hundreds of pupils. In reality there were
not more than two hundred and forty persons in the room, but in the eyes
of the little stranger everything was quadrupled. How different it was
from Franklin! So this was the study hall, one of the things on which
the school prided itself. In front of the rows of desks was one large
desk on a small raised platform, reminding Marjorie of an island in the
midst of a sea. At the desk sat a small, gray-haired woman, who peered
suspiciously over her glasses at Marjorie as she was lifelessly
introduced by Miss Arnold.
"I don't like _her_ at all," was the young girl's inward comment as she
walked behind the stiff, uncompromising, black-clothed back to a desk
almost in the middle of the last row of seats on the east side. But
Marjorie experienced a little shiver of delight as she seated herself,
for directly in front of her, and gazing at her with reassuring, smiling
eyes, was the Picture Girl.