ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK
With the approach of the Thanksgiving holidays a great pleasure and a
great sorrow came to Grace. The "pleasure" was the joyful news that Mr.
and Mrs. Harlowe had accepted an invitation to spend Thanksgiving in New
York City with the Nesbits. This news meant that, for the first time
since her entrance into college as a freshman, Grace would have the
supreme satisfaction of being with her adored parents on Thanksgiving
Day. Anne, Miriam and Elfreda would be with her, too, which made the
anticipation of her four days' vacation doubly dear.
Then almost identical with this great joy had come the great sorrow.
Miss Wilder was going away. For the past year she had not been well, and
now she had been ordered West for her health. During Grace's first year
at Harlowe House the regard which Miss Wilder had always felt for her as
a student had gradually deepened until the two were on terms of
intimacy. Grace felt the same freedom in going to the dean with her
difficulties as she had with Miss Thompson, her loved principal of
high-school days.
It seemed to her as though this staunch friend, with her kindly
tolerance, and her amazing knowledge of girl nature, could never be
replaced. No matter how worthy of respect and admiration her successor
might be, she could never quite equal Miss Wilder. The possibility of
Overton without her had never occurred to Grace. True she had noted on
several occasions that Miss Wilder looked very pale and tired. She was
considerably thinner, too, than when Grace had entered college as a
freshman, yet she had always given out the impression of tireless
energy. Grace had never heard her complain of ill health, yet here she
was, threatened with a nervous breakdown. The only remedy, a complete
rest. As soon as her successor had been appointed she would start for an
extended western trip in search of health, which only time, the open air
and rest could restore. At the older woman's request Grace spent as much
time as possible in her company. They had long talks over the subject
that lay closest to the young house mother's heart, the welfare of her
flock, and Grace derived untold benefit from the dean's counsel.
It now lacked only a little time until Overton College would lose one of
its staunchest friends. Divided between the anticipation of meeting and
the pain of parting, Grace hardly knew her own state of mind. It was
with a very sober face that she hung the telephone on its receiver one
gray November morning, and slipping into her wraps, set out for Overton
Hall in obedience to Miss Wilder's telephoned request. The new dean,
Miss Wharton, had arrived, and Miss Wilder was anxious that Grace should
meet her. Miss Wharton had expressed herself as interested in Miss
Wilder's account of Harlowe House and its unique system of management.
She had also expressed her desire to meet Grace, and Miss Wilder,
hopeful that this interest might prove helpful to Grace, had readily
acceded to her wish.
Grace set forth for Overton Hall in good spirits, but whether it was the
effect of the raw November morning or that the shadow of parting hung
heavily over her, she suddenly felt her exhilaration vanish. A strange
sense of gloomy foreboding bore down upon her. She found herself
strangely reluctant to meet Miss Wharton. She had a strong desire to
about-face and return to Harlowe House. "What is the matter with you,
Grace Harlowe?" she said half aloud. With an impatient squaring of her
shoulders she marched along determined to be cheerful and make the best
of what she could not change.
As she entered Miss Wilder's office her quick glance took in the short,
rather stout figure seated beside Miss Wilder. This, then, was Miss
Wharton. What Grace saw in that quick glance was a round, red, satisfied
face lit by two cold pale blue eyes, and surmounted by lifeless brown
hair, plentifully streaked with gray. There was neither grace nor
majesty in her short, dumpy figure, and Grace's first impression of her
was decidedly unpleasant. An impression which she never had reason to
change.
Miss Wilder rose to meet Grace with outstretched hand. "My dear, I am
glad to see you this morning."
"And I to see you," responded Grace, her gray eyes full of affectionate
regard. "How are you feeling to-day, Miss Wilder?"
"Very well, indeed, for me," smiled the dean. "Almost well enough to
give up my western rest, but not quite. My heart is in my work here. It
is hard to leave it even for a little while. But I am leaving it in good
hands. I wish you to meet Miss Wharton, Grace."
She presented Grace to the other woman, who did not offer to take the
hand Grace extended, but bowed rather distantly. The color stung Grace's
cheeks at the slight. Still she forced herself to try to say honestly,
"I am glad to know you, Miss Wharton."
"Thank you," was the cold response, "You are much younger than I was
led to believe. It is rather difficult to imagine you as the head of a
campus house. You give one the impression of being a student."
Grace's eyes were fixed on the new dean with grave regard. Was this
salutary speech purely impersonal or did a spice of malicious meaning
lurk within it? Not since those far-off days when Miss Leece, a
disagreeable teacher of mathematics at Oakdale High School, had made her
algebra path a thorny one had she encountered any instructor that
reminded her in the least of the one teacher she had thoroughly
despised. Yet, as she strove to fight back her growing dislike and reply
impersonally, she was seized with the conviction that even as she and
Miss Leece had been wholly opposed to each other, so surely would she
and Miss Wharton find nothing in common. After what seemed an hour, but
was in reality a minute, Grace forced herself to smile and say with
quiet courtesy, "This is my second year as house mother at Harlowe
House. I am frequently taken for a student. I really feel no older than
my girls, and I hope I shall always feel so."
"It isn't years that count with Miss Harlowe," smiled Miss Wilder,
coming to Grace's defense. "It is the ability to keep things moving
successfully, and Miss Harlowe has shown that ability in a marked
degree," she added.
"Has she, indeed?" returned Miss Wharton, with what Grace felt to be
forced politeness. "I shall be interested in visiting Harlowe House and
learning Miss Harlowe's successful methods of management." Then she
turned to Miss Wilder and began a conversation from which it appeared as
though she deliberately sought to exclude Grace.
"I must go, Miss Wilder," said Grace, rising almost immediately. She
decided that she could not and would not endure Miss Wharton's rudeness.
Miss Wilder looked distressed. She could not understand Miss Wharton's
attitude, therefore there was nothing to do save ignore it.
"Very well, my dear. Run in and see me to-morrow. I shall be here from
two o'clock until four in the afternoon." She took one of Grace's soft
hands in both of hers. The brown eyes met the gray questioning ones with
a look of love and trust. Grace's resentment died out. She said a formal
good-bye to Miss Wharton and hurried from the room. She would go to see
Miss Wilder the next day as she had requested. Perhaps Miss Wharton's
rude reception of her was due merely to a brusque trait of character.
Perhaps she belonged to the old school who believed that youth and
responsibility could not go hand in hand. At any rate she would try
hard not to judge. Although she usually found her first impressions to
be correct, still there were always exceptions. Miss Wharton might prove
to be the exception.
On her way home she stopped at Wayne Hall. To her it was a house of
tender memories, and she never entered its hospitable doors without half
expecting to see the dear, familiar faces of the girls long gone from
there to the busy paths of the outside world.
"Why, how do you do, Miss Harlowe?" was Mrs. Elwood's delighted
greeting. "It certainly is good to see you. I think you might run over
oftener when you're so near, but I s'pose you have your hands full with
all those thirty-four girls. Did you come to see Miss West and Miss
Eliot? If you did, they're both at home, for a wonder. Miss West doesn't
have a recitation at this hour, and Miss Eliot's sick."
"Sick!" Grace sprang to her feet. "Oh, I must run up and see her at
once. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Elwood, I came to see you. I hadn't
the least idea that either of the girls were in, but if you'll forgive
me this time I'll run upstairs to see Patience and make you a special
visit some other day."
"Oh, I'll forgive you, all right," laughed Mrs. Elwood. "I'm glad to see
your bright face, if it's only for five minutes, Miss Harlowe."
"You're a dear." Grace dropped a soft kiss on Mrs. Elwood's cheek, then
hurried up the stairs, two at a time. Pausing at the old familiar door
at the end of the hall, she knocked. There was a quick, light step. The
door opened and Kathleen West fairly pounced upon her.
"Look who's here! Look who's here!" she chanted triumphantly. The tall,
fair girl in the lavender silk kimono, who reclined in the Morris chair,
turned her head languidly, then gave a cry of delight.
"You poor girl!" Grace embraced Patience affectionately. "Whatever is
the matter?"
"Oh, just a cold," croaked Patience. "In the words of J. Elfreda, 'I'm a
little horse.'" Her blue eyes twinkled. "It's worth being sick to have
you here, Grace."
"I've been intending to come over every night this week, but I'm so
busy," sighed Grace. "The Service Bureau keeps me hustling."
"What a progressive lot of people you Harlowites are," praised Kathleen.
"Did you know that Mary is doing a story about you and your family for
our paper. Of course there are no names mentioned. I saw to that."
Kathleen flushed. She recalled a time when she had used Grace's name
without permission.
"Yes, I know about it," smiled Grace, "and I know that no names are
mentioned."
Kathleen's color heightened. Then she remarked: "By the way, that Miss
Brent must have realized a nice sum of money from her sale. When did she
have it, Grace? We didn't hear a word of it. It must have been a very
select affair. I'm sorry I didn't know of it, for I wanted to buy an
evening dress. Rita Harris bought a beauty. Tell us about this latest
acquisition to Harlowe House. How does she happen to have such wonderful
clothes, and why didn't she go to work for the Service Bureau instead of
selling them? I'm fairly buzzing with curiosity."
Grace viewed Kathleen in amazement. "I don't understand you, Kathleen,"
she said, in a perplexed tone. "I have heard nothing of a sale."
"But Miss Brent held it at Harlowe House a week ago last Saturday,"
persisted Kathleen. "It is evident she didn't wish you to know it or you
would have been there, too."
Grace's amazed expression changed to one of vexed concern. She now
understood. "One week ago last Saturday I was in New York City," she
said soberly. "Until this moment I knew nothing of any such sale. In
fact I had objected to the plan when Miss Brent proposed it to me. If
she had wished to dispose of certain of her personal belongings to any
one girl I should have said unhesitatingly that it was her own affair,
but a general sale is a different matter. The eyes of the college are,
to a great extent, directed toward Harlowe House. It's position among
the other campus houses is unique. That the girls who live there are
given a home free of charge makes them doubly liable to criticism. They
must be worthy of their privileges."
Kathleen nodded in emphatic agreement. "Of course they must. I
understand fully your position in regard to them, Grace."
"You mean the girl we met that day at Vinton's, don't you?" inquired
Patience. "She had been robbed of her money in the train."
"Yes; she is the very girl."
"How do you reconcile her lack of means to pay her college expenses with
this wonderful wardrobe that Kathleen has just told us of?"
"I don't reconcile them. I can't. That is just the trouble." Grace
looked worried. "Speaking in strict confidence, I have really taken Miss
Brent on trust. I have asked her to explain certain things to me, and
she has refused to do so. On the other hand she is warmly championed by
the principal of one of the most select preparatory schools in the
country. Then, too, she assures me that at some future day she will
explain everything. Emma calls her the Riddle. It's an appropriate name,
too." Grace made a little despairing gesture.
"You are the greatest advocate of the motto, 'Live and let live' that I
have ever run across, Grace," smiled Patience, "but," her face grew
serious, "I believe you ought to insist on Miss Brent's full explanation
of her mysterious ways. If the news of this sale happens to reach
faculty ears _you_ are likely to be criticized for allowing it."
"But I didn't allow it," protested Grace. "I refused my consent to it."
"Yet you are the last one to defend yourself at another's expense,"
reminded Kathleen. "You'd rather be misjudged than to see this girl, who
hasn't even trusted you, placed in an unpleasant position."
Grace's color deepened. "I promised to trust her," she said at last. "At
first I felt just as you do about this. Then I talked with her. She
seemed honest and sincere. I decided that perhaps it would be better not
to force her confidence. Young girls are often likely to make mountains
of mole-hills. Still, Emma thinks just as you do," she added. "She
didn't at first, but she does now. I'm sure _she_ knows nothing of the
sale. She would have told me."
"I just happened to remember," began Kathleen, her straight brows drawn
together in a scowl, "that Evelyn Ward rooms with Miss Brent. Evelyn
must have known of the sale. Do you mind, if I ask her about it?"
"Ask her if you like." Grace spoke wearily. Everything was surely going
wrong to-day. She had intended to tell Patience and Kathleen about her
trip to New York. She had visited Anne and the Southards and spent two
delightful days. After what she had heard she felt that there was
nothing to say. "I must go," she announced abruptly. "I'll come again
to-morrow to see you, Patience. A speedy recovery to you. Come and see
me, both of you, whenever you can. By the way, I met Miss Wharton, the
new dean, this morning."
"What is she like?" asked Kathleen.
"I can hardly tell you. She is different from Miss Wilder. I saw her
only for a moment. She seems distant. Still one can't judge by first
appearances. I must go. Good-bye, girls."
Grace left her friends rather hurriedly. She was ready to cry. The
revelations of the morning had been almost too much for her. It was hard
indeed to be snubbed, but it was harder still to be deceived. "It's all
in the day's work," she whispered, over and over again, as she crossed
the campus. "I must be brave and accept what comes. It's all in the
day's work."