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[Illustration: "Do you know, Miss Dum, you looked like Diana when you
stood on that rock?"--_Page 230._]
AT BOARDING SCHOOL WITH THE TUCKER TWINS
By NELL SPEED
AUTHOR OF "THE MOLLY BROWN SERIES," ETC.
_WITH FOUR HALF-TONE ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR O. SCOTT_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LEAVING HOME 5
II. ENTER THE TUCKERS 23
III. GRESHAM 36
IV. MY ROOMMATES 48
V. LETTERS 60
VI. THE FOUNDLING 69
VII. KITTY'S FOSTER-FATHER 88
VIII. ABOUT MATHEMATICS AND ME 102
IX. FOOTBALL 110
X. BOYS 123
XI. LETTERS AND SEVERAL KINDS OF FATHERS 137
XII. ANNIE'S MOTHER 147
XIII. THE CONCERT 167
XIV. THE SPREAD 176
XV. HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS 191
XVI. A VISIT FROM THE TUCKERS 201
XVII. DEER HUNTING 210
XVIII. THE MIGHTY HUNTER 227
XIX. A VISIT TO RICHMOND 241
XX. DINNER AT COUSIN PARK'S 259
XXI. THE DESPERATION OF DUM 274
XXII. MORE LETTERS 294
XXIII. ZEBEDEE'S VISIT 300
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Do you know, Miss Dum, you looked like Diana when you
stood on that rock?" _Frontispiece_
They made such a racket that a sad, crooked face was
poked into the door 48
"From mother," exclaimed the girl, trembling with
excitement 156
Dum looked at me aghast. "Page, you here, and Dee" 271
At Boarding School with the Tucker Twins.
CHAPTER I.
LEAVING HOME.
Leaving home to go to boarding school was bad enough, but leaving on a
damp, cold morning before dawn seemed to be about the worst thing that
could befall a girl of fifteen. I have noticed that whatever age you
happen to be seems to be the age in which hardships are the most
difficult to bear.
Anyhow, there I was, only fifteen, facing the necessity of saying early
morning farewells, the first one of all to my comfortable bed, where I
had slept off and on, principally on, for those fifteen years. And now I
and my bed must part.
"Day done bus'ed, Miss Page. The doctor is stirrin' an' you'd better
rise an' shine," and kind old Mammy Susan leaned yearningly over me. "I
hate to wake up my lamb. I knowd dis day would come when dey'd take you
'way from me, but I nebber did think 'twould be 'fo' dawn wif all de
long day 'head er me to be studyin' 'bout you. What yo' mammy goin' ter
do 'thout you, chile?"
"Well, Mammy, we'll have to grin and bear it. I'll be home Christmas,
and that isn't so far off." I jumped out of bed and pulled my hat-tub
into the middle of the floor, ready for my daily cold sponge bath.
Probably I had inherited the habit of the cold bath from my English
grandfather along with the big hat-tub.
"Law, chile, can't you leave off punishin' yo'self jes' dis onct? You
can't be to say dirty, an' dis here water is pow'ful cold."
Mammy and I had had this discussion about my cold bath every morning
since I had been old enough to bathe myself. It was only after many
battles that she had stopped sneaking warm water into my big can. That
morning I let it pass, although the water was lukewarm.
"Y'ain't mad wif yo' ole Mammy, is yer, honey chile? Looks like I didn't
have de heart to plunge my baby lamb into sho'nuf cold water on sech a
dark chilly day, wif her a-leavin' an' all. 'Tain't ter say warm now. I
jes' tempered it a leetle."
"That's all right, Mammy. 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb' and
you, it seems, temper the water. They say there are lots of bathrooms at
Gresham, and I can have the water as deep and cold as I want it."
"Well, don't you go drown yo'self in any er dem new-fashioned plumbin'
tubs, an' fer de lan's sake, Miss Page, don't you let yo'self be drawed
down inter none er dem was'e pipes," and Mammy Susan hurried off to
bring in the all too early breakfast.
I dressed in my usual haste, putting on my nice blue traveling suit,
ordered by mail from New York. It was quite long, well down to my shoe
tops, and I felt very stylish and grown-up. I had never given any
thought to my appearance, and no one else in my life seemed to have
except Cousin Sue Lee and Mammy. I don't know just what Cousin Sue
thought about me, but Mammy thought I was the most beautiful creature
in the world and freely told me so. That morning as I put on the little
black velvet toque, also purchased by mail, I looked at myself very
critically in the mirror.
"Page Allison, are you pretty or not? I, for one, think not. You've got
freckles on your nose and your mouth is simply huge. I'd like to say
something about your eyes to take the conceit out of you, but they look
so like Father's that I'd feel just like I was sassing him if I did.
Anyhow, I'm glad your hair curls."
I had intended to sentimentalize over leaving my room and going out into
the world, but I forgot all about it, and grabbing my ready-packed
suitcase, also a mail order, I raced downstairs as Mammy Susan rang the
breakfast bell.
Father was already in the dining-room, standing with his back to the
little wood fire that Mammy had kindled to cheer us up with. Mammy
always seemed to feel that when we were in any distress she must warm us
and feed us whether we were cold and hungry or not. That morning we were
neither, but we warmed by her fire and tried to choke down a great deal
of her batter bread and roe herring to show her we appreciated her
efforts.
Father looked up as I came in and for a moment regarded me in speechless
amazement.
"Why, honey, you almost took my breath away! You look so grown-up in the
new dress and hat. I didn't know you were so like your Mother, child,"
and he drew me to him and kissed me.
Father and I were as a rule not very demonstrative, but I clung to him
for a moment and he held me close with his long, wiry arm.
"I wish I could take you to Gresham, honey, but old Mrs. Purdy is very
low and she expects me to be with her at the end."
"That's all right, Father, don't you worry. There are certain to be
other girls on the train who are going to Gresham and I'll butt in on
them," I answered much more bravely than I felt. It did seem terribly
lonely and forlorn to be going off and installing myself in boarding
school. "I think it's fine that you can drive me over to Milton and put
me on the train. Last night when I heard such a knocking at the door I
was afraid I wouldn't see you in the morning because you'd be off on
some life or death mission. What was the matter?"
"Oh, just Sally Winn's bread pills had given out and she was afraid she
would not last through the night without them." Father always took me
into his confidence about the bread pills he administered to the
hypochondriacs.
"Do you know, Father, I believe if you charged midnight fees for those
bread-pill and pink-well-water prescriptions, that Sally Winn and some
more just like her would at least wait until morning to die."
"Oh, well, little daughter, Sally's got lots of good in her, and trying
to die is the only excitement she has ever had in her whole life."
"Well, I won't begrudge it to her but I do hate to have your rest
broken. Mammy," I said to Mammy Susan as she came in bearing a plate of
red-hot flannel cakes, "don't you let Father be too late getting into
his heavy underwear; and make a row every time he drives the colt until
he will stop it from sheer weariness. And, Father, you make Mammy take
her tonic; and don't let her go out in the wet dew waddling around
after her ducks. She will catch her death."
"Susan, you hear Miss Page? Don't dare go in anything but dry dew. A few
inches on her skirt and her curls tucked up under her bonnet make her
think she's been taking care of us all these years instead of our taking
care of her."
"Law, ain't she the spit of her Ma, Doc Allison? 'Cep fer yo' eyes.
Ain't quite so tall; but she's young yit in spite er sich a long
trailin' skirt. I's sorry to be de one to break de news, but de colt is
out dere a-prancin' an' pawin', an' ef you's a-goin' you'd better go."
I had often pictured my going away and had always seen myself with
difficulty restraining my tears; but now the time had come and the colt
was cutting up, so I forgot to cry even when I told the dogs good-by;
and just as I was giving Mammy Susan a last hug, and if tears were ever
to come they must hurry, Father called to me to jump in, for he couldn't
hold the colt another minute. And in I was and away and not crying at
all but laughing, as we turned around on one wheel and went skimming
down the drive.
The sun was all the way up at last and it wasn't a cold, damp day at
all, but promised to be fair and clear. We had a six-mile drive to the
station at Milton and the colt saw to it that we got there in plenty of
time.
"Now, Page, be certain when you make the change at Richmond, if you have
to ask any questions to ask them of a man in brass buttons."
"Yes, Father," and I smiled demurely, remembering how I always acted as
courier when we went on our trips. Father, being the most absent-minded
of men except where his profession was concerned, was not to be trusted
with a railroad ticket.
Moving away on the train at last and waving good-by to his long, sad
face, made me realize that the knot was cut. What a good father he was!
How had we ever been able to make up our minds to this boarding school
scheme? Nothing but the certainty that my education was a very one-sided
affair and that I must broaden out a bit had determined Father; and as
for me, I longed to know some girls.
I, who yearned for friends, was growing up without any. Fifteen years
old and I had never had a real chum! I couldn't remember my mother, but
I am sure she would have been my chum if she had lived. Mammy Susan did
her best and so did Father, but a little girl wants another little girl.
We had neighbors in plenty, but our county seemed to be composed of old
maids and childless widows with a sparse sprinkling of gray-bearded men.
My mother's people were English and she had no relatives on this side of
the water. Father belonged to a huge family, all of them great visitors,
but so far as I knew, no children among them. All kinds of old maids:
rich and poor, gentle and stern, soft and hard, big and little, they all
managed once a year to pay their dear cousin, Dr. Allison, a visit at
Bracken. I did not mind their coming. The soft ones seemed to have been
little girls once, which was something. I used to think when I was quite
a little thing that the hard ones must have been little boys, because
of the statement in my Mother Goose that little boys were made of "Snaps
and snails and puppy dog tails,"--not nice soft collie pups' tails,
either, but the tight, hard kind that grew on Cousin Park Garnett's pug.
Cousin Park Garnett was the rich, hard one whom I visited in Richmond
the winter before. On her annual visitation to us she had remarked to my
father:
"Cousin James, are Page's teeth sound? White teeth like that are, as a
rule, not very strong. Her mouth is so enormous you had better look to
it that her teeth are preserved," and she pursed up her own thin lips
and put on her green persimmon expression.
"Perfectly sound, I think, Cousin Park. Of course her teeth must be
preserved. As for her mouth being big, she'll grow up to it." But the
outcome of the conversation was that I had to visit Cousin Park and take
in the dentist. Think of the combination! Cousin Park took me to the
Woman's Club in the afternoon where we listened to a lecture on "The
Influence of Slavic Literature on the Culture of the Day." I was
longing for the movies but managed to keep my big mouth shut and listen
to the lecture, so I could tell Father about it and make him laugh. I
stayed in Richmond three days and did not speak to one single soul under
fifty. Even the dentist was old and tottering, so shaky that I was
afraid he would fall into my mouth.
I saw loads of nice girls my own age skating on the sidewalk or walking
arm-in-arm chattering away very happily, but Cousin Park didn't know who
they were or did know and knew nothing to their credit. I was glad to
get back to Bracken where there were no girls to know. There were at
least the dogs at Bracken that I could talk to and race over the hills
with. Even Cousin Park could not doubt their royal pedigrees.
It was dear little Cousin Sue Lee who persuaded Father and me both that
I ought to go to boarding school. Cousin Sue was the best of all
Father's female relatives. She was gentle and poor and had a job in the
Congressional Library in Washington. With all her gentleness, she was
sprightly and had plenty of what Father called "Lee spunk"; and with
all her poverty, she wore the sweetest clothes and always brought me a
lovely present every year and a nice shawl for Mammy or a black silk
waist or something or other to delight the old woman's heart. Cousin
Park never gave me anything,--not that I wanted her to. She would visit
us two weeks and then present Mammy with a dime, using all the pomp and
ceremony that a twenty-dollar gold piece would have warranted.
"Jimmy," Cousin Sue had said one day (she was the only one of all the
cousins who called Father Jimmy), "I know you and Page will think I am
an interfering old cat, but that child ought to go to school. I am not
going to say a word about her education. She has an excellent education
in some things. I have never seen a better read girl of her age. But the
time may come when she will regret knowing no French, and she tells me
she stopped arithmetic last year and never started algebra."
"Well, what good did algebra ever do you or me?" quizzed Father.
"Now, Jimmy, don't ask such foolish questions. It's just something all
of us have to have. What good does your cravat do you? None; it's not
even a thing of beauty, but you have to have one all the same."
"Oh, you women," laughed Father, "there's no downing you with argument."
"But as I was saying," continued Cousin Sue, "it is not dear little
Page's education I am thinking of. It's something much more important. I
want her to know a whole lot of girls and make a million friends. Why,
I'm the only young friend the child has, and I am getting to be nearer
fifty than forty."
And so we wrote for catalogues of schools and settled on Gresham. And
Cousin Sue sent for a bolt of nainsook and yards and yards of lace and
insertion and made up a whole lot of pretty underclothes for me.
"Girls need a lot of things in this day and generation," I heard her say
to Father. "A great deal more than they used to when I was young. I am
determined Page shall not go off to school looking like an 'Orphan
Annie.'"
"But, Sue, your holiday won't do you any good if you spend it all
sewing on the machine for my child," objected Father.
"We'll get in Miss Pinky Davis to help and in a week's time Page will
have enough clothes to last her until she gets married,--that is, if she
does not follow the traditions of the family and be an old maid."
It was a pretty well known fact that Cousin Sue had been a belle in her
day, and even now when she came back to visit in the County several
weather-beaten bachelor farmers would manage to have business at
Bracken. I have always noticed that an old maid who is so from choice
does not mind joking about it, but the others do.
A country doctor is seldom a bloated bond-holder; so Cousin Sue and I
ordered, with great care and economy, the necessary things from New
York: suit, hat, gloves, shoes, up-to-date shirt waists and plenty of
middies, a raincoat, umbrella, etc.
"Now, my dear," said my sweet cousin, "you can be perfectly sure that
your outfit is appropriate at least. Your clothes are stylish,
well-made and suitable to your age. I have always felt that young
people's clothes should be so right that they do not have to think about
them."
As I sped away on the train to Richmond, I remembered what Cousin Sue
had said before she went back to the grind in Washington, and had a
feeling of intense satisfaction that my little trunk in the baggage car
held such a complete wardrobe that I would not have to bother my head
about it any more. Up to this summer, clothes had been my abomination,
but I had at last waked up to the fact that it made some difference how
I looked; and now I was going to look all right without any trouble to
myself.
Train pulling into Richmond and still not a tear! "What is the matter
with you, Page Allison? When girls leave their childhood's home in books
they always weep suds. Don't you love your home as much as a stick of a
heroine in a book?" I knew I loved my home, but somehow it was so
delightful to be going somewhere and maybe getting to know a million
people, as Cousin Sue said I must.
An hour's wait in Richmond! I rechecked my trunk, having purchased a
ticket to Gresham; then I seated myself to possess my soul in patience
until the 10.20 train should be called. The station in Richmond was
familiar enough to me, as Father and I took some kind of a trip every
year and always had to come through Richmond. As I have said before, I
attended to tickets and baggage when I traveled with Father, so I was
not in the least nervous over doing it now.
"I must keep my eye open for girls who are likely to be going to
Gresham," I thought. "They'll all have on dark blue suits." That was a
rule of the school, the dark blue suit. "There's one now! But can she be
going?" And I thought of what Cousin Sue had said of "Orphan Annie."
The girl was seated opposite me in the waiting room. She had just come
up the steps lugging a huge telescope, stretched to its greatest
capacity, and looking nervously around had sunk on a bench. She searched
feverishly through a shabby little hand-bag she was carrying and having
satisfied herself that the ticket she had just purchased was safe she
seemed to be trying to compose herself; but one could see with half an
eye that she was nervous and frightened. She glanced uneasily at the
clock every few minutes and constantly compared with it an Ingersoll
watch which each time she had to search for in her bag. Several trains
were called and every time she got up and made a rush for the gates, but
each time came back to her seat opposite me.
Her blue dress was evidently homemade. The skirt dragged in the back and
the jacket was too short for the prevailing fashion. Her hat had been
worn as mourning and still had a little fold of crepe around the edge,
making a suitable setting for that tear-stained face. I couldn't tell
whether she was pretty or not, her features were so swollen with
weeping. Helen of Troy herself looked homely crying, I am sure. I
noticed that her throat was milk white and that the thick plait of hair
that hung down her back, mercifully concealing somewhat the crooked
seams of the ill-made jacket, was as yellow as ripe wheat.
"Poor thing," I thought, "I believe I'll speak to her and see if I can
cheer her up some." But my philanthropic resolution was forgotten
because of the entrance into the waiting room and into my life, I am
glad to add, of the three most delightful and original persons I have
ever seen or known.