PROMISE
“What are you going to do in the winter, Maida?” Rosie asked.
“I don’t know,” Maida answered. “Father hasn’t made up his mind yet and
it all depends of course upon what he is going to do.”
“Then if he went to Europe, you’d go too?”
“Yes,” Maida admitted. “But I don’t think we’ll go to Europe. At
least,” she added conscientiously, “he hasn’t said we would. I don’t
know what we’ll do.”
“But if you don’t go to Europe, will you go to school?” Silva asked.
“I don’t know,” Maida responded. “Perhaps I’ll have a governess.”
“What would you rather do, Maida?” persisted Rosie.
“I think I’d rather go to school,” Maida answered honestly.
“And what kind of a school?” Rosie kept it up.
“Oh the school you all go to--in Charlestown. I’d love that.”
“Oh how I wish your father would let you,” Rosie declared fervently.
“Wouldn’t it be fun? But then you know all they could teach you there.
You know geography and history and literature.”
“Oh but my arithmetic is dreadful,” Maida declared, “and my spelling,
and father says he is perfectly ashamed of my writing.”
“But you speak French,” Laura said enviously, “and Italian!”
“A very little Italian,” Maida confessed.
“But you can read fairy tales in French,” Dicky said. “Oh what a lucky
girl!”
“Yes, I _do_ think I’m lucky in that,” Maida agreed with him.
“And if you aren’t very good in arithmetic, you know all about English
and French and Italian money,” Harold asserted. “I think that’s great!”
“It’s very easy to learn that,” Maida said deprecatingly. “How I wish I
knew fractions and percentage and square root--like you, Rosie.”
“Rosie was the smartest girl in the room in arithmetic,” Dicky
declared. “She could beat any one of us, and as for mental
arithmetic--whew! And she always won in the spelling matches.”
“I never was in a spelling match in my life,” Maida said in a grieved
tone. “How I should enjoy it--except of course that I’d fail in the
first word they gave me.”
“Yes,” Dicky informed her, “they always give you something like
_receive_ and _believe_ or _Mississippi_ or _separate_! I shall never
learn how to spell _separate_ as long as I live.”
“I’ll tell you how to remember it,” Harold offered. “You know there’s a
city in South America called Para. Well, I always remember that there’s
a Para right in the middle of separate.”
“Gee that makes it easy!” Dicky’s voice was grateful. “I won’t forget
that.” After an instant he added, “I hate school!”
“So do I,” said Rosie.
“So do I,” said Laura.
“So do I,” said Arthur.
“So do I,” said Harold.
“I never went to school,” Maida said sadly.
“Nor I,” admitted Silva.
“Nor I,” admitted Tyma.
“You’d want to go to school if you’d never had the chance,” Maida
announced to the quartette of discontented ones. “Isn’t that true?” She
appealed to Silva and Tyma.
They both nodded.
“Everybody wants what he doesn’t have,” Rosie said eagerly. “Now I
should like to travel like Maida.”
“Who wouldn’t!” exclaimed Laura and Arthur together.
“And I’d like to have a tutor,” Dicky declared. “Somebody to read to
you and answer all your questions. I should think that would be great.”
“I don’t believe you would like school long, Maida,” Rosie went on. “At
least if you went to the same kind of school we go to. Isn’t that so,
Arthur?”
Arthur nodded. “They’re no fun.”
“When the teacher puts the arithmetic problems on the blackboard,”
Rosie said, “I always get them done in five minutes. I’m good in
arithmetic and they’re almost always correct. Then there’s nothing for
me to do until the rest of the children have finished but read in my
Reader that I’ve read through a million times; or my Geography that I
have read just as often; or in the Supplementary Reading that I know
just as well.”
“That’s stupid,” Maida decided reflectively.
“And then, when we have to write compositions, I nearly die,” Rosie
went on in the same discontented vein. “I hate compositions. I never
can think of anything to say. I always have to stay after school--”
“Why Rosie, you write the most _wonderful_ letters,” Maida protested.
“Oh how I enjoyed getting them abroad! You told me all the things I
wanted to know and how I used to laugh at them too.”
“Oh well, letters aren’t writing!” Rosie said scornfully. “Anybody can
write letters.”
“I can’t,” Arthur declared, “I hate writing letters.”
“I don’t think it’s easy to write letters,” Laura interrupted,
“although Maida and Rosie do it so easily. I think they’re just as hard
as a composition. If you can write a letter, you ought to be able to
write a composition, and if you can write a composition, you ought to
be able to write a letter.”
“And then,” Arthur went on with the argument, “geography is so dull in
school. You never learn about the places you’d like to know about--like
Gibraltar and the Desert of Sahara and the North Pole and the jungles
of Africa and the Great Wall of China, and the Mammoth Cave and the
Grand Cañon. Or history. Now I’d like to study about Richard Cœur de
Lion and Robert Bruce and William Tell and Thermopylæ and the Alamo and
the Battle of Hastings and Waterloo and Gettysburg. But you never get
anything about them.”
“Gracious!” Rosie commented, “I don’t even know what those are.”
“Sometimes I like school,” Dicky said hesitatingly.
“That’s because you have only gone to school one year,” Laura declared
scornfully.
“Well I’d rather be with you in a school that wasn’t very interesting,”
Maida persisted, “than not be with you at all. Now next summer in the
Little House--”
“Next summer!” Rosie interrupted. “_Oh Maida, is there going to be a
next summer?_”
“Is there going to be a next summer?” Maida repeated. She stared about
the circle of faces; all very intent; all waiting almost with hushed
breath, for her reply. “Of course there’s going to be a next summer.
What made you think there wasn’t?”
“You never said once there was going to be a next summer,” Dicky
accused her out of the hubbub which succeeded this statement. “Oh I
could jump up and down!”
“I _shall_ jump up and down,” Rosie announced--and did until the glass
pendants to the candelabra tinkled.
Maida could only repeat feebly, “But of course there’s going to be a
next summer. It never occurred to me to tell you so. I thought you
understood.”
“Not only a next summer, but next summers,” a voice said back of them.
They all started and then jumped to their feet. Mr. Westabrook, coming
in very quietly, had apparently caught much of their discussion.
“A whole line of summers, all in a row,” he added as he took the easy
chair which Arthur pushed into the middle of the circle for him. He
helped himself to popcorn from the plate which Rosie filled and placed
in his lap; took one of the apples which Laura offered him; a piece of
the molasses candy which Tyma pressed upon him. “You’ve got a permanent
engagement with us every summer.”
Again Rosie did what Dicky had threatened to do--she jumped up and
down. Laura danced the whole length of the room, turning out one after
another a series of the most beautiful pirouettes. Silva did not move
except to lean forward and stare intently at Mr. Westabrook. The boys
drew their chairs in a circle closer about him.
“So you don’t think schools are very interesting?” Buffalo Westabrook
went on, bending his eagle glance on Arthur.
“Not any I have ever been to,” Arthur answered promptly.
“Do you think they could be made interesting?” Mr. Westabrook went on.
“I’m not sure they could,” Arthur answered.
But Rosie broke in with an impulsive, “Of course they could.”
“How?” Mr. Westabrook asked with his disturbing brevity.
“By letting you study the things you want, in the way you want to study
them,” Rosie answered immediately.
“I guess that’s as good an answer as I could get,” Mr. Westabrook
admitted. “What would you say,” he went on very slowly after a pause,
“if we tried to have such a school as that _here_?” He continued
apparently unconscious of the excitement which was developing in his
hearers. “A school where, as Rosie says, you could study the things
you want to study, in the way you want to study them. A school with
plenty of books to read and dictionaries and encyclopedias and books
of reference to consult. A book with all the newest maps and globes. A
school with plenty of travel and discovery and exploration. A school
with gardens to grow. A school with a magic lantern, an aquarium, and--”
Maida could contain herself no longer. “Father,” she burst out, “you’re
going to have such a school for us!”
“I’ve got it,” Buffalo announced. “And you’re all going to that school
this winter.”
“Oh my goodness,” Rosie said in a quiet awed voice, “if anything else
happens I shall die of happiness.”
“Do our fathers and mothers know?” Laura asked.
“Know,” Mr. Westabrook repeated, though very tranquilly, “they helped
to decide what you should study there.”
“And we won’t be separated after all,” Dicky declared in a voice shaken
with happiness.
“No.”
“What’s the name of the school?” Harold asked.
“It hasn’t any name yet,” Mr. Westabrook answered.
“I know what to call it,” Arthur said, his face lighting up. “We’ve
had _Maida’s Little Shop_ and _Maida’s Little House_. Why not call it
_Maida’s Little School_?”
THE END
Three Stories of Fun and Friendship
THE MAIDA BOOKS
by INEZ HAYNES IRWIN
MAIDA’S LITTLE SHOP
In a darling little shop of her own Maida makes many friends with the
school children who buy her fascinating wares.
MAIDA’S LITTLE HOUSE
All of her friends spend a happy summer in Maida’s perfect little house
that has everything a child could wish for.
MAIDA’S LITTLE SCHOOL
Three delightful grownups come to visit and the children study many
subjects without knowing that they are really “going to school.”
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK
The MARY and JERRY MYSTERY STORIES
By FRANCIS HUNT
THE MESSENGER DOG’S SECRET
The big police dog Flanders carried a strange message in his collar. By
following its directions, Mary and Jerry Denton were able to bring a
lost fortune to someone in need.
THE MYSTERY OF THE TOY BANK
Jerry Denton was saving for a bicycle, but when his little bank
strangely disappeared he had a big mystery to solve. With the aid of
Mary, several chums and a queer old sailor, this eager lad brought
about a happy solution.
THE STORY THE PARROT TOLD
A fire in a pet shop started a long chain of adventures for Mary
and Jerry Denton. The tale the talking parrot told caused plenty of
excitement and mystery before the bird was restored to its rightful
owner.
THE SECRET OF THE MISSING CLOWN
Mary and Jerry have many happy adventures at the circus while searching
for the missing clown and his beautiful pony, Silverfeet.
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK
THE MARY JANE SERIES
By CLARA INGRAM JUDSON
Take a trip with Mary Jane. She is the heroine of this popular series
for young girls. You’ll find her a charming traveling companion. Her
good nature, her abounding interest in her friends and surroundings,
and her fascinating adventures both at home and abroad have endeared
her to thousands all over the country.
MARY JANE--HER BOOK
MARY JANE--HER VISIT
MARY JANE’S KINDERGARTEN
MARY JANE DOWN SOUTH
MARY JANE’S CITY HOME
MARY JANE IN NEW ENGLAND
MARY JANE’S COUNTRY HOME
MARY JANE AT SCHOOL
MARY JANE IN CANADA
MARY JANE’S SUMMER FUN
MARY JANE’S WINTER SPORTS
MARY JANE’S VACATION
MARY JANE IN ENGLAND
MARY JANE IN SCOTLAND
MARY JANE IN FRANCE
MARY JANE IN SWITZERLAND
MARY JANE IN ITALY
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
_There is the high, happy spirit of youth in these famous_
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
by JANE D. ABBOTT
APRILLY
The charming story of a young girl, child of the circus, and the
adventures which led to her goal of happiness.
HIGHACRES
A school story of Jerry Travis and her chum Gyp Westley. A thread of
romance and mystery in Jerry’s life runs through the tale.
KEINETH
How Keineth Randolph kept a secret--a war secret--for a whole year
makes one of the best stories ever written for girls.
RED ROBIN
In attempting to bring happiness into the lives of mill workers, Robin
Forsythe, heir to a fortune, has many strange adventures.
HEYDAY
Twenty-three! The heyday of life. Jay, a small town girl, finds
happiness in New York.
LARKSPUR
Especially interesting to any Girl Scout because it is the story of a
Girl Scout who is poor and has to help her mother.
HAPPY HOUSE
How an old family quarrel is healed through a misunderstanding and an
old homestead becomes a “happy house” in reality.
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK