we mean to love her, too. From what you have written, I know
that she must be just ever so nice. Good-bye for now.
“‘Adele Doring and the Sunny Six.’”
Carol sprang to her feet as she exclaimed excitedly, “Why, to-day is
Saturday, and it is half-past four now.”
“And if I am not mistaken, here come your friends this very moment,”
Evelyn declared as she pointed down the hill road. Carol looking, saw
the school bus turning into the drive, and then, as it drew near, six
merry faces beamed out of the windows and a moment later Carol and
Evelyn were surrounded. No one was properly introduced, but no one
seemed to care.
“First of all you must come right in and meet our wonderful Madame
Deriby,” Carol said, as she slipped her arm about Adele’s waist, and led
the flock of laughing girls into the school, where they were to have
many happy times in the months to come.
Madame Deriby, the matron of Linden Hall, was delighted with the group
of young girls. She looked into one eager face after another with her
welcoming smile and then bade Carol and Evelyn show them the way to the
south wing, where they would find their rooms in readiness.
Up the broad, softly-carpeted front stairs they trooped. In the upper
corridor, they saw uniformed girls in twos and threes who glanced at
them curiously and the more friendly smiled upon them.
“There were forty pupils at Linden Hall before you came,” Evelyn told
them, “and now there are forty-six.”
Carol, in the lead, opened a door and stepping back with a wave of her
hand, she exclaimed, “Enter, young ladies! This is your future home.”
“Oh, how pretty!” Adele declared, as they entered the corridor, the
walls of which were a warm, creamy tint, bordered with apple-blossoms.
There were four large, sunny rooms opening from this hall. Each had a
bow-window, two of them looked out over the gardens and orchard toward a
rolling hill country, the other two had a view of the valley and the
blue water of the lake not far away.
“Girls,” Adele exclaimed, “the rooms are each just as lovely as another,
and I know that Betty and I shall be content to live in any one of
them.”
Rosamond Wright and Bertha Angel, who were to be roommates, entered the
door nearest and said that they would take possession of that room.
Peggy Pierce and Doris Drexel, who were called the “Inseparables,” chose
the corner overlooking the gardens; and Adele happily drew her little
roommate into the sunny corner room which looked out toward the lake.
Carol and Evelyn followed Adele. “We’ll go if we’re in your way,” Carol
said, but Adele assured them that they were welcome visitors.
“Oh, girls,” Betty Burd exclaimed as she looked about at the pretty
bird’s-eye maple furniture, the twin beds, the muslin curtains
fluttering in the breeze, and the window-seat heaped with pillows, “I
just know that we are going to have the best times ever.”
“Of course we are,” Adele declared as she began to unpack her suit-case.
“I’ll keep my pictures and books and things on one side of the room,
Betty, and you keep yours on the other. Oh, how do you do, Miss Angel?”
she added as Bertha appeared in the open doorway. “Haven’t we a pretty
room?”
“Yes indeed!” Burdie replied. “I was just thinking about that fourth
room. Wouldn’t it be nice if Evelyn and Carol could have that instead of
strange girls?”
“Oh, how I wish we could!” Carol exclaimed. “Evelyn, would you like to
move into this wing? I am sure that Madame Deriby would be willing.”
“Yes, I would like it and I know that you would enjoy being nearer your
friends. I will go at once and ask Madame Deriby if she is willing that
we make the change.”
The permission was readily granted and during the next hour the eight
girls were happily busy making excursions to Evelyn’s old room in the
west wing, helping those two girls to move.
When every one was settled Rosamond, the romantic, exclaimed, “I used to
read ever so many boarding-school stories and the girls always had a
name for their corridor. South Wing isn’t a bit pretty. Can’t we call it
something else?”
Adele looked at the walls for inspiration and found it. “Suppose we call
it Apple-Blossom Alley,” she suggested, and the others agreed.
“There’s the get-ready-for-supper bell,” Evelyn told them. “We have
dinner at noon. Madame Deriby thinks it the wiser plan. You have half an
hour to dress and then, when the next bell rings, we will start for the
dining-room. We wear a plain blue uniform during the day, but in the
evening we don any simple dress that we may have. That is, we are
supposed to wear simple things, but Gladys Merle and her set prefer
frills and ruffles, and though Madame Deriby disapproves, as yet she has
said nothing.”
“Who is Gladys Merle?” Adele asked.
Evelyn arose to go as she replied, “Her father is an immensely wealthy
man living in Chicago. He is called a Beef King and Gladys Merle seems
to think that in some way entitles her to the distinction of royalty.
She puts on a great many foolish airs and affectations. Of course it is
easy for any one used to good breeding to tell that Gladys Merle has
recently risen from the ranks of the uncultured. Not that that would
matter in the least if she were a sweet sensible girl, but she isn’t.
She leads a clique of her own and they try to cultivate only the very
rich and they snub each newcomer until they find out her social
standing.”
“Up to the present moment I have been completely and entirely snubbed,”
Carol exclaimed brightly. “Come, Evelyn, we must hasten, for the
half-hour will soon be over.”
When the second bell rang, the girls met in their Apple-Blossom Alley
and Evelyn led them down the front stairs and into the dining-room where
there were several long tables.
Miss Sharpleigh, the teacher in attendance, welcomed the new pupils and
told them that Madame Deriby had granted them the privilege of having
one table just by themselves.
“Oh, isn’t this jolly?” Betty Burd exclaimed when they were seated, as
she looked about the dining-room with her friendliest smile.
“Evelyn,” Bertha Angel said softly, “who is the girl across the room?
The one with the fluffy blonde hair and the china-blue eyes?”
“Why, that is Gladys Merle Jones. The girl I was telling you about,”
Evelyn replied.
“I thought so,” Bertha declared with twinkling eyes. “Well, she will
surely snub me because my father is a grocer.”
“And me because my dad owns a dry-goods store,” Peggy Pierce chimed in.
“Well, if she snubs any one of us, she may snub us all,” Doris Drexel
declared, and then they talked of other things.
That very evening the cattle king’s daughter held a secret meeting of
her clique to decide the fate of the newcomers. Strangely, however, the
result of that meeting turned out disastrously for the one who least
expected it, and that one was Gladys Merle Jones.
CHAPTER NINE
GLADYS MERLE’S CLIQUE
That night Madame Deriby permitted the newcomers to retire to their
rooms directly after supper. At that hour it was the custom of the
pupils to gather in the big recreation hall, either to play games or to
converse in groups of three or more. They were not permitted to remain
in groups of two at Linden Hall.
As soon as Evelyn and the other girls from Sunnyside had gone, Gladys
Merle called a meeting of her particular clique in a palm-sheltered
corner.
“Well, what do you make of these new girls?” Anita Ryan asked. Anita
never ventured an opinion of her own, being always content, it would
seem, to echo Gladys Merle.
“I presume that some of them come from well-to-do families,” this young
lady condescended to say, “but I am not so sure of all of them, and
there is one among them whom I think we should especially ignore until
we find out something definite about her social standing.”
“Which one is that?” Anita inquired.
“It’s the one who came first,” was the answer. “That Carol Lorens! Now,
is there any way for us to find out how much money her father has?”
“I overheard Madame Deriby saying that the Lorens family were old
friends of the Dartmoors and that surely ought to be enough for us,”
little Janet Nagel declared.
Janet was not always as submissive a follower as Gladys Merle would
wish.
“Well, hearsay is not enough for me if it is for you. I shall not
associate with that girl until I know who she is, nor with any of the
rest of them!” Gladys declared with a toss of her head.
“I have an aunt living near Sunnyside,” Anita said. “I’ll write her and
ask about these new girls.”
“But Madame Deriby reads every letter that goes out of this school, and
she never would permit us to write and inquire about the social standing
of these new pupils,” Janet Nagel declared.
“Indeed, is that so?” Gladys Merle inquired with a slight lift of her
brow. “I am quite sure that Madame Deriby does not read all of my
letters, Miss Nagel. There are other ways of mailing them than in the
school box, as perhaps you do not know.” Then turning to Anita she said,
“Go up to your room and write that letter and then you and I will slip
out to the front gate and put it in the letter box.”
Anita went and soon returned with the letter concealed in her pocket.
They waited their chance and when all of the girls, with the teacher in
charge, were interested in a basket-ball contest, they slipped out of
the basement door and ran as fast as they could down the dark
shrubbery-edged path to the gate which seemed very far away at night.
Suddenly they heard footsteps crunching on the gravel walk. They darted
behind a bush to hide and none too soon, for in another moment two
figures appeared. One of them was Patrick O’Neil and the other was
Billie, who assisted him in the gardens and stables.
“It’s mighty queer!” the boy was saying. “I am sure I saw somebody on
the walk a minute ago, but now there isn’t anybody there.”
“Probably ’twas just shadows,” Patrick replied. “When the moon goes in
and out behind the clouds, the way it’s doin’ to-night, it’s
ghostly-lookin’ here under the trees.”
“I don’t believe it was shadows,” Bill insisted. “It might be robbers or
something. I’m going to hunt among the bushes. Give me your flashlight.”
Gladys and Anita clung to each other scarcely daring to breathe. There
was a moment of suspense and then Patrick said: “Guess I didn’t bring
it. Thought I put it in my coat pocket. Come along, Bill. I tell you
’twasn’t nothing but shadows.”
The girls could see that Bill went reluctantly, and they didn’t dare
creep out from behind the shrubbery until they were sure that the man
and boy had reached the stables, but they didn’t know Bill.
He told Pat that he guessed he’d stay out a spell and watch the moon,
but instead he hid not far from the girls, for he was very sure that he
had not been mistaken. When the crunching footsteps were heard no more,
Anita and Gladys crept out and ran at top speed for the gate. Bill,
elated to find that he had not been wrong, darted behind the hedge and
kept close back of them.
The gate was a long way from the school, and a large iron-framed lantern
hung just above it. For one second the girls were in the full light, and
Billie, who had hoped they were robbers, was indeed disappointed.
As they returned, he stepped out in front of them and said, “Huh!
Nothin’ but girls. Breakin’ the rules, I s’pose.” Then, thrusting his
hands in his pockets, he strode off toward the stables.
The two girls, keeping hidden in the shadows, crept back through the
basement door and joined the others behind the palms.
“Well, the letter is safely mailed,” Anita whispered to the waiting
group. “I told Auntie to be careful how she worded her answer so that
Madame Deriby would not suspect that we had written.”
“You would probably be expelled if it were found out,” Janet remarked.
“Perhaps _you_ are planning to tell on us, Miss Nagel,” Gladys Merle
flashed.
“No, I’m not,” was the calm reply, “but probably Billie will, or
Patrick.”
Gladys Merle, pretending not to hear, turned to Anita as she said, “We
ought to have an answer from that letter in two or three days, so keep
on the lookout.”
[Illustration: “Huh! Nothin’ but girls.”]
CHAPTER TEN
THE DOWNFALL OF GLADYS MERLE
On Monday morning, Gladys Merle and Anita Ryan, the two who were
especially interested, began to watch for an answer, but of course none
came that day. On Tuesday morning, the rain fell heavily. Gladys Merle
looked out of a class-room window watching for the rural postman, but no
one appeared.
“Isn’t it just our luck?” Gladys exclaimed at the mid-morning
recreation, as the two girls stood gazing dolefully out at the storm.
“The hill road will be so muddy in a few hours that it will be
impossible for the postman’s horse and cart to get up here,” Anita
declared, when Gladys, clutching her arm, whispered excitedly, “Look,
there he is now!”
A man, well protected by a rubber slicker, soon entered the school and
deposited a mail-bag at Madame Deriby’s door.
“How I do wish Miss Sharpleigh would come now and sort out the letters,”
Gladys Merle had just said, when a gong sounded, which called them back
to their classes. Never before had an hour seemed so long, and when at
last they were free, they went directly to Madame Deriby’s office, but
the mail-bag was still unopened.
“Oh, Miss Sharpleigh,” Anita said in her sweetest manner, “would it be
too much trouble for you to see if there is a letter for me? I am
expecting one from my Aunt Laura.”
Miss Sharpleigh, chancing to be in a pleasant humor, unfastened the
mail-bag and glanced over the letters. Selecting one, she opened it, as
was the custom, but, instead of reading it, as she usually did, she
merely glanced at the end to see if it were really from a relative.
“Your loving Aunt Laura” was all that she read, and then, believing that
the contents of the letter must be all right, she handed it to Anita,
who, with a look of triumph at Gladys, hurried from the office.
“Now let’s all meet in my room as soon as dinner is over,” she
whispered. “Tell the others to be there promptly.”
An hour later eight girls were gathered in Anita’s room. Because of the
storm, they could not have their usual outdoor recreation and so they
had been told that they might do whatever they wished.
“Sit down, every one,” Gladys Merle exclaimed. “Anita has read the
letter to herself and now she will read it aloud to you. I guess you
will be surprised at what you are to hear.
“Lock the door, somebody,” Gladys Merle went on. “We don’t want to be
interrupted while we are deciding the fate of these newcomers.”
Jenny Clark sprang up to do their leader’s bidding, and then, when she
was reseated in the semicircle on the floor in front of the fireplace,
Anita Ryan opened the letter and began to read:
“My dear Niece: You ask about a group of girls who
recently left Sunnyside to attend the Linden Hall
boarding-school. They all belong to well-to-do families
except Carol Lorens. I have been told that her father is a
poor lawyer who could not afford to send his daughter to a
fashionable school and it is rumored that she was sent there
as a paid companion for the wealthy Mr. Dartmoor’s
granddaughter.”
“There! What do you think of that?” Gladys Merle exclaimed as she looked
about triumphantly. “You see I was right. It pays to snub a girl until
you find out who she really is.”
Then, to the surprise of the others, little Janet Nagel said, defiantly,
“I don’t care if Carol Lorens’ father is poor. I think she is a lovely
girl, and I, for one, am not going to snub her. One might think that
your father was nobility, Gladys Merle, by the way you act.”
The young lady addressed tossed her head indignantly. “My father is rich
enough to buy any kingdom on this earth,” she boasted, “and he’s
handsome and stately,” she added, but before many days passed she had
occasion to regret that she had uttered this untrue statement, since it
had not been necessary.
That night when the pupils were gathered in their recreation hall,
Gladys Merle brushed against Carol and did not apologize for her
rudeness. Janet Nagel, who had seen this, flashed an indignant glance at
Gladys and then hurrying after Carol, she slipped her arm about her
waist as she said: “I like you, Miss Lorens. I wish I might be one of
your friends.”
Gladys stared after the retreating form of this, the first of her
followers to desert her, and then turning to the others she remarked,
scornfully, “We are well rid of her! Hereafter we will snub Janet Nagel
as well as this Carol Lorens. Adele Doring is the one whom we should
cultivate, for Anita’s aunt wrote that Mr. Doring owns nearly all of the
land around Sunnyside and that he is very rich.”
The next day Gladys Merle tried to cultivate Adele but to her surprise,
instead of acting as though she felt highly honored, that maiden,
nodding coolly, gathered up her books and walked away.
“Well, I declare!” Gladys Merle thought. “Such airs! But perhaps she
hasn’t heard how rich my father is.” Gladys was secretly glad that none
of her clique were in the library to see their leader being snubbed.
Adele _did_ know how rich Gladys Merle’s father was, but she also knew
that her friend, Carol Lorens, had been rudely treated, and the
Sunnysiders were always loyal one to another.
Before many hours had passed, Gladys Merle deeply regretted that she had
asked Anita to write that letter of inquiry.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TRUE NOBILITY
The next day Gladys Merle received a letter from her mother in Chicago
stating that her father had gone to Buffalo on business and would drop
in at Linden Hall and pay her a call. Gladys was alone in her room when
she read this letter, which was lucky, for her uncontrolled anger and
grief were so great that she threw herself down on the bed and sobbed.
“I’ll be disgraced forever if Pa comes here,” she thought, “after all
I’ve said about his handsome looks. But he shan’t come! When he
telephones, I’ll tell him that I would rather meet him in Buffalo.”
Because of her tear-swollen face, Gladys Merle did not go down to the
library for the “hour of politeness.” It might have been better for her
peace of mind if she had been there. Miss Merritt had been drilling the
girls in graceful curtsies and they were just resting in groups, when,
at the open front door there appeared a short, stout, red-faced man who
was smiling affably. To the amazement of the girls, he walked into the
room without ceremony.
“This here is the young ladies’ boarding-school, ain’t it?” he asked
genially of Janet Nagel, who happened to be nearest.
“Is my gal anywhere handy? I dropped in to surprise her sort of, though
her ma did write that I’d be hikin’ around this way.”
Miss Merritt stepped up to the stranger and said kindly, “If you will
tell me the name of your daughter, I will have her called.”
“My gal is Gladys Jones,” the father said proudly. He did not notice the
murmur of amazement, nor would he have understood it, but in that moment
Gladys Merle lost her following.
A maid was sent to call the girl, but she pleaded illness, and asked
that her father be permitted to come to her. What happened, even the
girls in her own clique never knew, but for hours after Mr. Jones had
left, a puzzled and saddened man, Gladys Merle refused to leave her
room. She was sure that all the pupils would be laughing at her and she
determined that she would not remain in that school another day. She
would pack her trunk and leave the very next morning for her home. She
had told an untruth. She had said that her father was stately and
handsome, when all the time she knew, only too well, that he was merely
an uneducated ranchman. True, he had great wealth, but Gladys Merle had
been learning in the last few days that the girls of Linden Hall did not
have the respect for riches that she had supposed they would have. She
was still feeling humiliated from the cool manner in which Adele Doring
had treated her.
“I’ll pack my trunk this very minute and I’ll leave this school without
facing a one of those horrid girls,” she thought, and springing up she
pulled open her bureau drawers and was just about to take out an armful
of clothing when there came a light rap on her door. Gladys Merle tossed
her head. “I just won’t see anybody,” she thought. “I suppose it’s Janet
Nagel come to taunt me, but she won’t get the chance, so she might as
well go away.”
However, the rapping continued, and a sweet voice, which certainly was
not Janet’s, was calling, “Gladys Merle, may I come in a moment,
please?”
Out of curiosity Gladys opened the door a crack. Then she stepped back
in surprise, and her face flushed a deep crimson, for the girl standing
without was no other than Carol Lorens.
Only a few moments before Janet Nagel had told Carol the whole story and
that kind girl felt sorry indeed for Gladys and decided to call on her
and see if she could not help her in some way. “May I come in?” Carol
repeated pleasantly.
Gladys Merle’s first impulse was to slam the door but instead, she heard
herself saying, “Oh, come in if you want to. I’ve been so humiliated I
don’t care about anything.”
Then, flinging herself on the bed, she sobbed and sobbed. Carol closed
the door and went to the bedside as she said kindly, “I know that I am a
stranger to you, Gladys, but my mother has so often told me how to find
the silver lining of each trouble that comes, I thought perhaps I might
help you.”
“There isn’t any help out of my trouble,” Gladys Merle sobbed afresh.
“I’ve been a silly, that’s what! I told the girls that my father was
stately and handsome, and he isn’t, he’s as backwoodsy as he can be, but
he had no right to come to the school and humiliate me.”
“I saw your father,” Carol said, “and I liked his honest face and the
merry twinkle in his kind blue eyes, and if you are better educated than
he is, remember that it is your father to whom you owe it. My
great-grandfather, Gladys, had a royal title offered to him by the king
of England, but he refused it, saying that he would rather remain simply
a minister of the gospel and a gentleman. There is a book down in the
library called ‘The Making of Royalty,’ that tells all about it, and my
name is in it as being the youngest member of the American branch of the
family of Lorens. I was the youngest member then, but now there are the
twins.”
Gladys Merle gasped. To think that she had been trying to snub a girl
whose ancestor might have been royalty and wouldn’t.
An hour later the pupils of Linden Hall Seminary were amazed to see
Gladys Merle Jones and Carol Lorens enter the dining-room together.
The next morning Gladys telephoned to Buffalo and asked her father if
she might come up and spend the day with him.
Mr. Jones was overjoyed and decided that a headache had been the cause
of the outburst of the day before.
After that the young ladies of Linden Hall heard no more about Gladys
Merle’s great wealth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A WISH FULFILLED
A week, crowded with new and delightful experiences, had passed since
Adele Doring and her friends had arrived at Linden Hall Seminary. The
girls from Sunnyside were well started in their classes and having
resolved to study earnestly, they spent much of their time with their
books, but of course there were the recreation hours and the free time,
and long rambles accompanied by the youngest teacher, Miss Merritt, and
horseback rides down the beautiful wood roads with the riding-master,
Mr. Haley.
One day when the girls were leaving their classes, Janet Nagel met them
in the corridor and told them that Madame Deriby wished them to remain
in the library for a while and come to her office one by one as their
names would be called.
What could it mean? Had they broken any of the rules they wondered as
they filed into the large quiet room which happened to be unoccupied.
Before they could discuss the matter, Madame Deriby’s door opened and
Bertha Angel was called.
Little Betty Burd clutched Adele and whispered, “Oh, Della, do you
suppose Madame Deriby would mind very much if I went in with you? I’m
scared to go alone!”
“Scared of what, Little One?” Adele asked merrily. “Madame Deriby is not
a witch! She is as kind and motherly as she can be.”
Five minutes passed and Bertha came out of the office smiling as though
her visit had been a pleasant one.
“Doris, you are to go in next,” she said.
When the door had closed behind Doris, Betty seized Bertha and
whispered:
“What happened to you in there, Burdie? Were you scared?”
“Of course not,” Bertha declared. “Madame Deriby just wanted to know
which courses I preferred taking and if I cared to study music and
languages.”