WHAT WAS IN REBECCA'S HEART
It was some time before Ruth could quiet the almost hysterical girl.
Rebecca Frayne had held herself in check so long, and the bitterness of
her position had so festered in her mind, that now the barriers were
burst she could not control herself.
But Ruth Fielding was sympathetic. And her heart went out to this lonely
and foolish girl as it seldom had to any person in distress. She felt,
too, did Ruth, as though it was partly her fault and the fault of the
other freshmen that Rebecca was in this state of mind.
She was fearful that having actually forced herself upon Rebecca that
the girl might, when she came to herself, turn against her. But at
present Rebecca's heart was so full that it spilled over, once having
found a confidant.
In Ruth Fielding's arms the unfortunate girl told a story that, if
supremely silly from one standpoint, was a perfectly natural and not
uncommon story.
She was a girl, born and brought up in a quiet, small town, living in
the biggest and finest house in that town, yet having suffered actual
privations all her life for the sake of keeping up appearances.
The Frayne family was supposed to be wealthy. Not as wealthy as a
generation or so before; still, the Fraynes were looked upon as the
leaders in local society.
There was now only an aunt, Rebecca, a younger sister, and a brother who
was in New York struggling upward in a commission house.
"And if it were not for the little Fred can spare me and sends me twice
a month, I couldn't stay here," Rebecca confessed during this long talk
with Ruth. "He's the best boy who ever lived."
"He must be," Ruth agreed. "I'd be glad to have a brother like that."
Rebecca had been hungry for books. She had always hoped to take a
college course.
"But I was ignorant of everything," she sighed.
Ruth gathered, too, that the aunt, who was at the nominal head of the
Frayne household, was also ignorant. This Aunt Emmy seemed to be an
empty-headed creature who thought that the most essential thing for a
girl in life was to be fancifully dressed, and to attain a position in
society.
Aunt Emmy had evidently filled Rebecca's head with such notions. The
girl had come to Ardmore with a totally wrong idea of what it meant to
be in college.
"Why! some of these girls act as waitresses," said Rebecca. "I couldn't
do _that_ even to obtain the education I want so much. Oh! Aunt Emmy
would never hear to it."
"It's a perfectly legitimate way of helping earn one's tuition," Ruth
said.
"The Fraynes have never done such things," the other girl said
haughtily.
And right there and then Ruth decided that Rebecca Frayne was going to
have a very hard time, indeed, at Ardmore unless she learned to look
upon life quite differently from the way she had been taught at home.
Already Ruth Fielding had seen enough at Ardmore to know that many of
the very girls whose duties Rebecca scorned, were getting more out of
their college life than Rebecca Frayne could possibly get unless she
took a radically different view of life and its comparative values from
that her present standards gave her.
The girls who were waitresses, and did other work to help pay for their
tuition or for their board were busy and happy and were respected by
their mates. In addition, they were often the best scholars in the
classes.
Rebecca was wrong in scorning those who combined domestic service with
an attempt to obtain an education. But Ruth was wise enough to see that
this feeling was inbred in Rebecca. It was useless to try to change her
opinion upon it.
If Rebecca were poverty-stricken, her purse could not be replenished by
any such means as these other girls found to help them over the hard
places. In this matter of the tam-o'-shanter, for instance, it would be
very difficult to help the girl. Ruth knew better than to offer to pay
for the new tam-o'-shanter the freshman could not afford to buy. To make
such an offer would immediately close the door of the strange girl's
friendship to Ruth. So she did not hint at such a thing. She talked on,
beginning to laugh and joke with Rebecca, and finally brought her out of
her tears.
"Cheer up," Ruth said. "You are making the worst possible use of your
time here--keeping to yourself and being so afraid of making friends.
We're not all rich girls, I assure you. And the girls on this corridor
are particularly nice."
"I suppose that may be. But if everywhere I go they show so plainly they
don't want me----"
"That will stop!" cried Ruth, vigorously. "If I have to go to Dr.
Milroth myself, it shall be stopped. It is hazing of the crudest kind.
Oh! what a prettily crocheted table-mat. It's old-fashioned, but
pretty."
"Aunty does that, almost all the time," Rebecca said, with a little
laugh. "Fred once said--in confidence, of course--that half the family
income goes for Aunt Emmy's wool."
"Do _you_ do it, too?" Ruth asked suspiciously.
"Oh yes. I can."
"Say! could you crochet one of these tams?" cried Ruth, eagerly.
"Why--I suppose so," admitted the other girl.
"Then, why not? Do it to please the seniors and juniors. It won't hurt
to bow to a custom, will it? And you only need buy a few hanks of wool
at a time."
Rebecca's face flamed again; but she took the suggestion, after all,
with some meekness.
"I _might_ do that," she admitted.
"All right. Then you'll be doing your part. And talk to the girls. Let
them talk to you. Come down to the dining-room for your meals again. You
know, the housekeeper, Mrs. Ebbets, will soon be getting into trouble
about you. Somebody will talk to Dr. Milroth or to some other member of
the upper faculty."
"I suppose so," groaned Rebecca. "They won't let poor little me alone."
"Oh, you can't expect to have your own way at school," cried Ruth,
laughing. "Oh, and say!"
"Well, Miss Fielding?"
"_Do_ call me Ruth," begged the girl of the Red Mill. "It won't cost you
a cent more," but she said it so good-naturedly that Rebecca had to
laugh.
"I will," said the other girl, vehemently. "You are the very nicest
little thing!"
"Well, now that's settled," laughed Ruth, "do something for me, will
you?"
"Any--anything I can," agreed Rebecca, with some doubt.
"You know we girls on this corridor are going to have a sitting-room all
to ourselves. That corner room that is empty. Everybody is going to
buy--is going to give something to help furnish the room."
"Oh, Ruth! I can't----"
"Yes you can," interrupted Ruth, quickly. "When you stop this foolish
eating by yourself, you can bring over your alcohol lamp. It's just what
we want to make tea on. Now, say you will, Rebecca!"
"I--I will. Why, yes, I can do that," Rebecca agreed.
"Goody! I'll tell the girls. And you'll be as welcome as the flowers in
May, lamp or no lamp," she cried, kissing Rebecca again and bustling out
of the room.