SENIOR PLANS.
It was past the middle of September, but the well-kept, well-watered
and closely shorn lawns of the school still looked like velvet. A
little rolling, with concrete walks, flower beds, fine shrubbery, great
old trees with heavy foliage, close as a grove in some portions, the
large grounds contained some handsome buildings of modern make, as well
as several of stately old style no longer built.
Most attractive of all, perhaps, was the lake front, where Lake
Michigan stretched out widely and a boathouse of a conservative style
stood by a small dock, to which were tied a number of boats. What had
probably been a bluff, of no great height, had been smoothed into a
gentle incline toward a strip of sandy beach. Out at some distance a
strong breakwater had been constructed to protect the small shipping of
this girls’ school.
Back a little in the quiet open grove, on two of the rustic benches,
which had been drawn close together, a small group of girls in their
summer frocks talked in animated fashion.
Any group of girls is interesting and attractive, but these girls,
representing the cream, so to speak, of girls who cared enough
for education to receive it and who had reached the senior year
successfully, might claim a second look from anybody.
“Oh dear,” said one, “classes begin tomorrow!”
“Hate to take up the grind, Fleta?” queried another, whose locks of a
reddish gold were gathered into a little net over the fluffed mass at
the back of her head. Irma Reed was letting her “bob” grow out.
“Sort of,” laughed Fleta, a tall, grey-eyed girl with good features,
whose hair she declared was grey at the start, though its soft ash
color was becoming to Fleta’s fresh complexion.
“I shall quite welcome it,” a plump, brown-haired lass contributed. “I
have had the pokiest summer that you ever imagined. It is one grand
adventure to get back to school! Mother was sick all summer, too sick
to leave town, even, and we could not get to our summer cottage at all.
Of course no help wanted to stay where there was sickness, and beside
the trained nurse I had one lone woman in the kitchen and I had to take
care of one small brother and two smaller sisters and keep them quiet
on account of Mother.
“I was glad to do it, of course, and you may know that I learned first
aid to the injured, beside a whole kindergarten and primary course! The
only poetry that I can repeat is Mother Goose and the like. But perhaps
it paid. I’ve been up against some real things, girls; and I am _so_
thankful that Mother is well now and that things are so I can come back
here!”
A pair of beautiful dark eyes were watching Edith Stuart as she related
her summer’s experience. A pretty little chin lifted as Sidney Thorne
remarked, “‘All’s well that ends well,’ as the immortal Shakespeare
hath it. You have had a hard summer, Ede. But I am rather glad, too, to
get back, though I had quite as full a summer as usual of good times.
It is our last year here, girls. Can you realize it?”
“Sidney has been East this summer girls,” a very slight, dainty girl
remarked, with a gesture of complete information. “That’s the Boston
accent she is bringing back. Yes, Sidney, I’m ‘ratheh’ glad to get
back, too, and it is ha’d to realize that indeed it is our _lawst_
year!” The girl’s face was dimpling with mischief and she shook back
from her face hair almost as golden as Sidney’s own.
Sidney looked a trifle taken back at this. Sidney Thorne did not like
to be made fun of and preferred to do the criticising herself if there
were any to be done; but after a moment, during which she did not know
whether she wanted to freeze up or not, she gave way to smiles instead.
“Little sinner,” she said, “don’t you make fun of me! But you are all
wrong, though I have been with my aunt all summer and I talk more
or less like her all the time, which is _perfectly_ proper for any
Standish to do! I haven’t been East at all. I was on a big western
trip, partly by rail, partly by auto. If you are good, I will tell
you about some of the good times I had. But give me hotels and cars,
no camps except for very limited stops. I did some mountain climbing,
though, and I like the riding, though I had one terrible scare, riding
on a ‘sky-line,’ when the horse slipped and there were only inches to
slip in.”
“Oo-ooh!” shivered Dulcina Porter.
“Not so bad,” said Sidney, “after it is over. Think how many times you
just miss being hit when you cross a street, or your car just escapes a
collision. The great event of the trip was going up into Alaska, where
I had never been before.”
As if in memory of cool places, Sidney drew her light scarf closer
around her shoulders. But the breeze from Lake Michigan’s waters was
blowing more strongly just now.
“To change the subject, Sidney,” said Fleta Race, “what plans have you
for the Double Three this year, and what must we have in senior doings?
How about the elections and everything? What’s our play going to be and
how are we going to work it diplomatically with you know whom, to have
what we really want instead of working at something we’ll hate?”
Sidney smiled a little, though she was annoyed. It was like Fleta to
blurt everything out, she thought. She dropped her eyes, playing with
the end of her gay scarf. “Why ask me, Fleta?” she asked.
“Because you have the most influence of anybody in school, and because
you are the president of the Double Three,” Fleta replied. “I’m sure
that you have some little ideas. What’s been floating around in the
little old brain this summer while you have been climbing and sailing
and swimming and everything?”
“Don’t push our president, Fleta,” gently said Edith, who sat next to
Sidney. She tapped Sidney’s proud little shoulder with a soft finger as
she continued. “Of course, Sidney has ideas, but let her have a chance
to work them out. If she has any plans she will tell us fast enough.
This isn’t a formal meeting anyhow. It just happened.”
Edith’s remarks made Sidney feel in a more responsive mood. Fleta’s
compliment, too, was not unacceptable. She had no objection to an
addition to the idea, either, and said in a low tone, as if some
listening spirit might be near, “What do you think, girls,--the dean
spoke to me about Miss Gibson this morning. I was talking to her about
several things and she said, ‘By the way, Sidney, I noticed that a
number of the girls were making it hard for Miss Gibson last year. I
wish that you would use your influence among them. Your scholarship is
uniformly so high and your courtesy is always so irreproachable that I
am sure you will want to help Miss Gibson. She was new last year, you
will remember, but her knowledge and standing are such that I expect
loyalty from my girls!’
“Excuse my repeating a compliment to myself, girls, but I just had
to say the whole speech as she said it. Moreover, was it so much of
a compliment as trying to get me to do something? I did not tell her
that I detested Miss Gibson, of course, and it wasn’t the time to tell
her how autocratic and disagreeable Miss Gibson is. Indeed, there were
people waiting to see the dean. All that I said in reply to the dean
was, ‘Yes, Miss Irving,’ though I looked attentive, and inquiring,
at the proper places. Why should I tell the dean what I was thinking?
Most certainly none of us intend to do any thing that is not in good
form, like a few of the girls. You remember what happened in the junior
English last year that time. At the same time, I do not think that they
should have retained a teacher who is so objectionable to many of the
best girls.”
Sidney Thorne naturally included herself and her companions among the
“best girls” of the school, as she spoke in her most dignified way,
with careful choice of words. If Sidney ever fell into the modern
carelessness of school girl speech, it was not because she had not been
trained from childhood in the best English, chiefly from having always
heard it from her parents.
“I got a good deal out of my work with Miss Gibson last year, Sidney,”
said a girl who had not spoken during these interchanges, though she
had joined in smiles or laughter. She was not a particularly pretty
girl, but had a pleasing face, one of high intelligence. A pleasant
mouth and a firm, though not prominent chin, clear blue eyes, a nose
as straight as Sidney’s and a broad brow, such of it as could be seen,
presented a wholesome combination. Some day, when Hope Holland cared a
little more about her looks, she would make a handsome young woman,
but at present she was far more interested in other things. Today she
wore the simplest of dark blue georgette dresses over a dark slip. Not
a ring, a pin or a string of beads decorated her. Her small hands were
clasped around her knees, as her heels went back under the bench to a
cross bar there. Her silk hose were black and her shoes, while neat,
were not as new as those of the other girls. Hope could have had them,
but had not bothered.
The rest of the girls wore light dresses, with all the pretty
accompaniments, though these were all in good taste and surely not out
of style. No girl who had been at least a year in this school was ever
seen to be over-dressed, for with the lessons from books, other lessons
were taught about the fine arts of living. Whatever their private
tastes, and it would be odd if no girl ever attended the school whose
personal ideas were different, while here the atmosphere prevailed and
had its present and often permanent influence.
“You have never said so before, Hope,” returned Sidney. “Why didn’t you
come to the rescue last year? Have we a disciple of Miss Gibson among
the ‘Double Three?’”
Hope laughed a little. “It takes me longer to make up my mind, Sidney,
than it does some people. I could see that Miss Gibson was making a
mistake in the way she handled some of the girls, but I got more
inspiration out of the way she reads and the interest that she gives to
all”--here Hope hesitated and Fleta inserted, “that old stuff!”
“Yes. That’s it, Fleta. Another thing I found out, and that is that
Miss Gibson writes herself and gets it accepted, which is more to
the point, I imagine, from what my brother tells me. So I’m going to
ask her questions in class and get her to tell us things, if I get a
chance.”
“Don’t imagine that she’d let you! She thinks that she has to pour the
course of study in and assist the process of digestion as little as
possible!”
Hope could not help smiling at Sidney’s vehemence, but to herself
she thought that Sidney was not fair, as sometimes happened when a
prejudice seized Sidney. Hope wondered what it was this time. Did
Miss Gibson lack family, grace of manner, or was there some personal
peculiarity that offended Sidney? Miss Irving was right about Sidney’s
grades. Miss Gibson had not offended by any injustice to the one whom
Fleta called the most influential girl in school. Was that true? Very
likely.
“Nearly time for dinner, girls,” said Sidney, looking at the little
jeweled watch which she wore. “Let’s walk to the beach for a minute.
After all, this is a dear old place. I shall hate to leave it next
spring, I suppose. One thing I want to say right now, girls, and you
must make your plans accordingly. As it is our last year together, I
want you to spend either all or at least part of the Christmas Holidays
with me. We’ll have a house party of the Double Three. I want them all
in my house, Hope, if you don’t mind, and you must come over all the
time and stay all night as much as you can.”
Exclamations of delight at the plan were heard for the next few
minutes. “If we _should_ decide to take in any one else and make it a
Double Four, we can still have our house party, of course. It is all
fixed up with Mother.”
Hope, who lived in the same city, rather protested at her not having
any one at her house, but she gave it up when she saw that it would
make Sidney unhappy to interfere with her plans. Hope often gave up
to the more insistent Sidney, but she was fond of Sidney and knew her
good points as well as some of her faults,--the drawbacks, either in
disposition or in perception of the facts of life, from which no one
can be entirely free.
Together, in happy mood, the girls walked to the edge of the shore,
where the restless waves of Lake Michigan broke on the sand and
pebbles. Coming events of their senior year were discussed, for by this
time the girls were well acquainted with the customs and traditions
of their school. Events social, athletic and intellectual were talked
over, from hockey and basketball to the marvelous “Prom” in the spring,
perhaps the most delightful and exciting of all.
Other groups of girls were drifting toward the buildings when at last
Sidney, Hope and the rest of the Double Three turned their steps in
that direction. For all of them these first days were filled with
expectation, along with the pleasure of meeting each other again
after summer days. Adventures of one kind or another were certain to
come, adventures of success or failure, adventures of friendship and
adventures of good times.