CHAPTER I_A Dear Little Girl at School

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A DEAR LITTLE

GIRL AT SCHOOL

_Amy E. Blanchard_

[Illustration]

WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.

Racine, Wisconsin

Printed in 1924 by

Western Printing & Lithographing Co.

Racine, Wis.

Printed in U. S. A.

CHAPTER I

COUSIN BEN

Edna and Cousin Ben Barker were on the back porch. It was a favorite

place, for it was always shady there in summer and out of the wind on

cold days. If big Cousin Ben did not always like to be where Edna was,

on the other hand Edna invariably sought out Cousin Ben if he were to be

found about the premises.

On this special afternoon he was doing something to his wheel, getting

it in order for a long ride which he had planned for the next day. Edna

stood watching him, ready to hand a tool or run for a piece of rag to

be used in cleaning, or to fill the oil can from the bottle on the shelf

upstairs.

"Where are you going to-day, Cousin Ben?" Edna always asked this for

Cousin Ben's replies were generally so funny.

"I'm going to the woods," he said, "to see Johnny-jump-up."

"Why will he jump up?" asked Edna in pleased expectancy of something

amusing.

"Because the dog-wood bark, you know."

"I know dog-wood blossoms," returned Edna a little doubtfully.

"Of course, and I dare say you know the dog-wood bark, too, don't you?"

"Ye-es, I suppose so."

Cousin Ben went on burnishing the metal he was at work upon. "You see,"

he continued after a moment, "the catkins will all be out and when I

meet one I shall say, 'Pussy, will oh, will you tell me the way to the

elder Berries.'"

"What do you suppose she will say?" inquired Edna settling herself well

content to continue this sort of talk, though thinking it was scarcely

the season for Pussy-willows.

"She will say: 'The elder Berry? My dear boy, any dog ought to know the

way there.' You see she knows I am a Barker."

Edna laughed. "Go on."

"And I will say, 'Yes, madam, but that sassy Fras always tries to get in

my path. It is a very easy matter to whip poor Will, but sassy Fras is

another matter.' Then she will ask: 'Did you ever try to haze L. Nutt?'

and I will reply, 'Chestnuts!' for I don't like to talk about hazing,

being in a position to expect a little of it any day. Well, Ande, I must

be off or I will find Pip's sis away." Cousin Ben always called Edna

Ande because he declared that was what her name really was but had been

turned hind side before. Some persons, Edna's sister Celia and Agnes

Evans, for instance, called Cousin Ben a very silly boy, but Edna

thought his kind of nonsense great fun.

It was an afternoon in autumn. For some time past, Edna and her sister

had been going into the city to school every day, but this was the last

week when this would be done, for after this they would go only on

Mondays returning on Fridays till the days became long again. During the

winter when it was still dark at seven in the morning, and when the

afternoons were so short, it had seemed better that they should not come

home every day. Therefore, as Aunt Elizabeth Horner and Uncle Justus

wanted much to have them remain, it was so arranged. Edna was a great

favorite with her Uncle Justus, for she had spent the winter previous at

his house and had gone to his school. Then, on account of Mr. Conway's

business, the family had removed from the town in which they had

formerly lived and had taken a house a little out of the city.

Like most children Edna loved the country and was glad of the change. A

little further up the road lived her friend Dorothy Evans and her sister

Agnes, the latter was a little older than Edna's sister Celia. All four

girls attended Uncle Justus' school and so did Margaret MacDonald, the

adopted daughter of good Mrs. MacDonald who lived in the big gray stone

house with the lovely grounds. Margaret was having a pretty hard time of

it, as she had never had much opportunity of going to school and was far

behind the girls of her own age. Edna and Dorothy were her staunch

defenders, however and when matters came to a too difficult pass the

older girls were appealed to and could always straighten out whatever

was wrong. Frank and Charlie, Edna's brothers, were almost too large for

Uncle Justus' school, where only little fellows went, so they went

elsewhere to the school which Roger and Steve Porter attended. It was

Cousin Ben's first year at college, and he was housed at the Conways,

his mother being an elder sister of Edna's mother.

After seeing Cousin Ben start off, Edna left the porch and stood for a

moment thinking what she would do next. This being the last time she

would be at home for the entire week, she concluded she ought to make

the most of it, but first she must get together such things as she

should want for Monday. "Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoons,

and Monday, too. There are only four, after all," she said, counting the

days on her fingers. "It seems very much longer when you first think of

it." And then, as she continued to think, to her surprise she discovered

that only Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays would be the entire days

she would spend away from home.

She was so interested in having found this out that she ran upstairs to

her mother, to tell of it. "Mother," she said, "I have made a

discovery."

"You have, and what is it?" said Mrs. Conway.

"Why, here I've been thinking I'd be away from you the whole week all

but Saturday and Sunday, and now I find out I shall see you every day

but three, 'cause, you know, I don't start till after breakfast on

Monday, so that's one day. Then Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I don't

see you, but I get back in time for dinner on Friday, so there is

Friday, Saturday and Sunday, three more days. Isn't it fine?"

"Very, I think."

"And the funny part is," Edna went on busily thinking, "I am at school

five days out of the seven. It's almost like a puzzle, isn't it? I think

I shall take Ada with me and leave her there. She is used to it, and

won't mind as much as some of the other dolls, for she was there all

last year and besides, Aunt Elizabeth gave her to me. Aunt Elizabeth is

quite kind sometimes, isn't she?"

"She means to be kind all the time, but she has rather a stern manner."

"Did you used to be afraid of her when you were a little girl?"

"No, honey, because I didn't know her. She is your papa's aunt, you

know."

"And he told me he didn't see much of her, for he lived in quite

another place, and I suppose by the time he grew up he wasn't afraid of

anybody. Well, anyhow, I'm glad it won't be 'butter or molasses' all the

week."

"What do you mean, dearie?"

"Why, you know we couldn't have both and there were never any preserves.

Sometimes there were stewed apples, the dried kind, and they were not so

very bad when they were sweet enough and had a lot of lemon flavor in

them. I used to ask Ellen to do them that way and she always would,

except when Aunt Elizabeth was in the kitchen and then she had to do as

Aunt Elizabeth told her. If you have more preserves than you can use,

don't you think you could send her some, mother? You see we shall not be

here to eat them, Celia and I, and you won't have to use so many."

"That is an idea. Why, yes, I can send some in every week when you go,

and Celia can tell Aunt Elizabeth to have them for your supper."

"How will she tell her?" asked Edna, feeling that this was an ordeal

that she would not like to go through.

"Why, it will be very easy to say, 'Aunt Elizabeth, here are some

preserves mother thought would be nice for supper to-night.' Don't you

think that would be easy to say?"

"Ye-es," returned Edna a little doubtful if this would have the proper

effect. "I think myself it would be better to let Ellen have them or

Uncle Justus."

Her mother laughed. Edna's awe of Aunt Elizabeth was so very apparent.

"There is one thing I wish you would promise," the little girl went on,

"and that is, that you will always have hot cakes on Saturday mornings

so I can have butter and syrup both."

"I promise," replied her mother smiling.

"I know Louis is mighty glad not to be going back," Edna continued, "and

I'm rather glad he isn't myself, for this year I shall have Celia."

"I thought you were fond of Louis."

"I am pretty fond of him, but I'd rather have girls about all the time

than boys all the time. Girls fuss with you, of course. They get mad and

won't speak, but I'd liefer they'd do that than try to boss you the way

boys do. Mother, there is another thing I wish you would do, and that is

I wish you would tell Aunt Elizabeth that she will please let Dorothy

come to play with me sometimes. Dorothy is my particular friend, you

know, and Aunt Elizabeth will never allow me to have her visit me unless

you say she can."

"Did she never allow you to have company last winter?"

Edna shook her head and a sigh escaped her.

"I will arrange that Dorothy shall come," said her mother quite firmly.

"It's going to be much nicer than last year," remarked Edna in a

satisfied tone, "for I shall always have Celia to go to, and you will be

so near, too, and besides I like Uncle Justus much better than I did at

first."

"Of the two I should think you would have more fear of Uncle Justus than

of Aunt Elizabeth," said her mother looking down at her.

"I did at first, but I found it was mostly on account of his eyebrows;

they are so shaggy."

Mrs. Conway smiled. "I have heard it said that he can be rather

terrible," she remarked.

"Oh, well, so he can, but he isn't all the time and Aunt Elizabeth is."

"I hope this year you will find out that it is only Aunt Elizabeth's

eyebrows, too."

"It couldn't be, for she hasn't any to speak of," returned Edna. As she

talked she was carefully packing the little trunk in which Ada's clothes

were kept. It was a tiny trunk, only about six inches long. Aunt

Elizabeth had made it, herself, by covering a box with leather and

strapping the leather across with strips of wood glued on. Edna liked

the trunk much better than a larger one which had been bought at the

store. Aunt Elizabeth was very clever in making things of this kind and

would sometimes surprise her little niece with some home-made gift which

was the more prized because it was unusual. The child remembered this

now and began to feel that she had not shown herself very grateful in

speaking as she had done a moment before. "Mother," she said. "I didn't

mean that Aunt Elizabeth was frightful all the time. She is very kind

when she gives me things like this trunk."

"You don't mean frightful," replied Mrs. Conway laughing, "you mean she

is rather formidable."

But that was too much of a word for Edna, though she did not say so.

Having stowed away Ada's belongings, three frocks, two petticoats, a red

hood and sacque, a blue dressing-gown and apron, she shut the lid. "I

don't think I'll take her furs this week because she'll not need them,"

she remarked, "and I don't think I will take any of my other dolls

because I will be so glad to see them next Friday. Mother, if you come

into town any time during the week will you come out to see us?"

"If I have time I certainly shall."

Edna gave a sigh of content. It was surely going to be much better than

last year. "Mother," she said, changing the subject, "do you think

Cousin Ben is silly?"

"He can be rather silly but he can also be very sensible. He is silly

only when he wants to tease or when he wants to amuse a little girl I

know."

"I like his silly better than some of the big girls's sillies. They

giggle so much and aren't funny at all. I think he is very funny. He

says such queer things about the trees and plants in the woods. He

twists their names around so they mean something else. Like the

dog-wood, bark, you know. Mother, what is hazing?"

"It is the kind of thing the college boys do to those in a lower class;

they play tricks on them which sometimes are really very cruel."

"Do you mean they really hurt them?"

"Sometimes they hurt them very much. I knew of one young man who was

forced into a pond of water on an icy day in the fall, and who nearly

died of pneumonia in consequence of the cold he took from having to be

in his wet clothes so long."

"Do you think they will do anything like that to Cousin Ben?"

"I certainly hope not, though no doubt there will be some tricks played

on him as he is a Freshman."

Edna knew what a Freshman was but the matter of hazing was quite new to

her and troubled her very much. Cousin Ben had gone out alone to the

woods. Perhaps this very moment someone was lying in wait for him.

Hastily setting away the doll and trunk she ran downstairs, put on her

coat and hat and started up the road toward the woods nearest. She had

no exact plan in her mind, but she knew Cousin Ben had probably gone to

see one of his classmates who lived just beyond this piece of woods. The

college was on the outskirts of the city and the dormitories were within

easy walking distance, so that one was liable to see a group of college

boys at almost any time. Edna trotted along hoping to overtake her

cousin. She did not believe anyone would attack him unless he were

alone, and she meant to keep him company on his return walk. Just as she

reached the edge of the woods she came upon a group of Sophomores

standing a short distance away and she heard one say. "We'll nab him as

he comes out, boys."

Who could they mean but Cousin Ben? She walked slowly that she might, if

possible, hear more.

"You're sure he came this way?" she heard another say.

"Sure," was the reply. "We saw him go in Abercrombie's gate."

That settled it in Edna's mind, for it was Will Abercrombie whose house

Cousin Ben most frequented. She hesitated a moment, wondering what path

her cousin would take, and then she remembered that the short cut was

through the woods; it was much longer by the road. It was already

getting rather late and it looked grim and gloomy in the woods, but

there was nothing to do but face any danger and go straight ahead. She

was crafty enough not to turn in at once for fear the boys might

suspect, so she kept on a short distance to where the road turned and

then she cut into the bit of forest scrambling up the bank and

scratching her hands, with the brambles, but reaching the path in a few

minutes. The further she went the darker it grew. The sun was setting

and she could see long fingers of light between the trees. She wished

she had some one with her, that Cousin Ben would appear before she went

much further, but there was no sign of him and she plodded on, the dead

leaves rustling about her feet or falling from overhead, giving her

little starts of fear. It seemed a long, long way, and she almost wished

she had not undertaken the work of rescue, but at last she saw, dimly

ahead of her, a figure approaching and heard a cheerful whistling which

she recognized as her cousin's. And she darted forward to meet him.