THEMES
On Friday afternoons the girls of the Oliphant school were required to
read original papers which they had written through the week, and which
were technically known as “Themes.”
These Themes were Patty’s special delight. Her more prosaic lessons she
learned from a sense of duty, and also because of her ambition to
achieve the prize which was to be given at Christmas to the pupil with
the best general average of marks.
Patty knew she stood high on the list, but Clementine, Adelaide, Hilda,
and even Lorraine were also far above most of the other pupils.
The rivalry was a good-natured and generous one. Elise stood no chance
for the prize, as she had entered school a fortnight later than the
others. Her sympathies were entirely with Patty, and she strongly hoped
that she would win the prize.
The markings of the Themes counted for a great deal, and the uniform
excellence of Patty’s essays kept her average up in spite of her
occasional low marks in mathematics, a study which she detested.
It was no trouble for Patty to write imaginative compositions. Her
fertile fancy and her sense of humour provided ample material, and her
natural gift of expression made it easy for her to write excellent
Themes.
One Wednesday afternoon in November she sat down to write her paper for
Friday.
“Give me a subject, Grandma,” she said gaily; “I want to get my Theme
done in a jiffy to-day.”
Grandma Elliott looked at the pretty girl who sat at her desk with her
pen held above her paper. Patty’s sunshiny face, in its frame of curling
gold hair, was an ideal vision of youth and happiness.
“Why don’t you write on the ‘Spirit of Happiness?’” said Grandma, “and
then you can put yourself right into your work.”
“I’ll do it!” cried Patty; “I _am_ happy, and I might as well tell it to
the world at large.”
She dashed into her subject, and scribbled rapidly for some time.
“There!” she said, as she finished the last page, “I do believe,
Grandma, that’s the best Theme I’ve written; and if you want to read it,
you may. I’m much obliged to you for suggesting the subject.”
Grandma read the merry little composition, and quite agreed that it was
among the best of Patty’s efforts at literature.
“Now that’s off my mind, for this week,” she said; “I do like to get it
done, and then I can frisk about with a clear conscience. Now I’m going
to run up to Adelaide’s for a minute, and see what she’s doing.”
Patty ran upstairs to the next floor of The Wilberforce, and rang the
bell of the Harts’ apartment.
She found Adelaide also busy at work on her Theme.
“Oh, then I won’t disturb you,” said Patty; “I’ll go away until you get
the old thing done, and then you come down and see me.”
“I’ll never get it done,” said Adelaide, disconsolately; “I can’t dash
things off in a minute like you do; I have to grub over them, and then
they’re no good. I wish you’d stay and help me.”
“All right, I will. I won’t help you enough to make it wrong, you know;
suppose I just give you a subject, and a sort of an outline of the
points, and then you write it all yourself.”
“Do,” cried Adelaide, eagerly; “what a comfort you are, Patty!”
Easily Patty detailed the foundation of a theme, and then while Adelaide
was writing, she left her to herself and went in search of the rest of
the family. She made a new bonnet for Jeannette’s doll, and listened to
Editha’s new song. Then she helped Mrs. Hart arrange some flowers which
had just arrived, and by that time Adelaide’s work was finished, and the
two girls went off by themselves for a cosey chat.
“What do you think I heard to-day?” began Adelaide; “Flossy Fisher told
me this afternoon when we were in the coat-room, getting our wraps, and
I couldn’t tell you on the way home from school because Lorraine was
with us. But it’s the most surprising thing I ever heard.”
“Well, what is it? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”
“Why, it’s just this: Flossy Fisher overheard Miss Oliphant say——”
“Oh, if Flossy was eavesdropping I don’t want to hear what she heard.”
“No, she wasn’t eavesdropping; honest, she wasn’t, Patty. But she was
just passing through the hall, and she couldn’t help hearing Miss
Oliphant say it to Miss Fenton. Miss Oliphant had just come out of her
private study, where she had been making up the averages. And she said
to Miss Fenton that you and Lorraine were exactly even.”
“What? _Lorraine!_”
“Yes; I told you it was surprising. But you know Lorraine hasn’t missed
a day, and she generally has her lessons perfect. She’s like me; her
greatest trouble is with her Themes. But even they have been pretty good
lately, and so, you see, her average has crawled up. So I wanted to tell
you as soon as I could, because you must work harder and get ahead of
Lorraine, somehow. Of course we all want you to have the prize, but
unless you’re careful Lorraine will get it.”
“I _would_ like to get the general prize,” said Patty, “but I’d like for
Lorraine to get it, too. If we’re just even, perhaps Miss Oliphant will
divide it between us.”
“She can’t; it’s always a book; a great big gilt-edged affair, of poems,
or something like that.”
“It isn’t the book I care for, it’s the honor. Papa would be so pleased
if I won the general prize, and so would Grandma, and so would all my
friends—and so would I.”
“So would we all of us; and you _must_ win it. You can do it easily
enough, now that you know you have to spur up a little to get ahead of
Lorraine. And of course it isn’t likely that you two will stay just
even. If you don’t get ahead of Lorraine, she’ll probably get ahead of
you. Only your marks happen to be even just now.”
“I hope they stay even till Christmas, for though I want the prize, I
don’t want to take it away from Lorraine.”
“Don’t be silly; you’re not taking it away from her any more than you
are from the rest of us.”
“I suppose not; but it seems so, when our marks are just even.”
After Patty went home she thought the matter over seriously. It seemed
to her that she had so much happiness in her life, and Lorraine had so
little, that Lorraine ought to have the prize for that reason. “If I
miss a lesson or two,” thought Patty, “that will throw her marks ahead,
for I’m sure she won’t miss any. But even then, I’m afraid I’ll get
ahead of her on my Themes. I wonder if it would be right for me to lose
some marks on purpose that she may get the prize. I don’t know, I’m
sure. And I hate to ask papa anything like this, for it sounds so silly,
and so as if I thought myself ‘noble,’ like _Sentimental Tommy_. I do
hate to pose as a martyr. And anyway it isn’t that sort of a spirit at
all. It’s only just a fair question of proportion. I have so much to
make me happy, and Lorraine has so little, that she really ought to have
the prize. She’s trying awfully hard to be cheery and pleasant, and to
get the general prize would help her along a lot. So I think it’s right
for me to manage to have her get it, if I can do it without actual
deceit.”
The more Patty thought it over, the more she felt herself justified in
purposely losing the prize. It seemed to be a question entirely between
Lorraine and herself. She reasoned that if she didn’t win the prize, it
must necessarily go to Lorraine, and though she felt sorry to give up
her hope of it, yet she knew she would be more truly pleased for
Lorraine to have it. Of course she would never tell anybody the truth of
the matter, for that would look like a parade of her unselfishness, and
Patty was honestly single-minded in her intent.
But as she thought it over further, she realised that it would take a
continuous and systematic missing of lessons to be sure of reducing her
average sufficiently. This was not a pleasant outlook, and a shorter way
to the same end immediately suggested itself.
If she were marked a total failure on her Theme, just for once, it would
set back her record farther than many missed lessons. Now, obviously the
only way to get a total failure for a Theme was not to have any. For
without undue egotism, Patty knew well that her Themes were better than
the other girls’, and of course were marked accordingly. Purposely to
write a poor Theme would be silly, and so the only thing to do would be
to have no Theme. To accomplish this, it would be necessary to stay away
from school some Friday. For to be there without a Theme would be
unprecedented and inexplicable. And, too, an absence of a whole day
would mean no marks for the day in any lesson, and thus the end desired
would surely be attained.
As Patty’s Theme on the “Spirit of Happiness” was beyond all doubt the
best one she had ever written, she concluded that that Friday was the
day to put her plan in operation.
So on Thursday evening she casually asked her father if she might not
stay at home from school the next day.
“Why, are you ill, child?” said Mr. Fairfield, in sudden alarm at this
most unusual request.
“No, papa, I’m perfectly well; but I just want you, as a special favour,
to let me stay home to-morrow. And another part of the favour is that
neither you nor Grandma shall ask why.”
“Why, of course, my dear, if you really want to stay home to-morrow you
may. And I promise you that Grandma and myself will never seek to fathom
the deep and dark mystery of it all.”
“Good for you, papa, you’re a trump! Perhaps some time I’ll tell you all
about it, and perhaps I won’t.”
So on Friday Patty stayed at home.
She busied herself with numberless little occupations, but somehow her
plan, now that it was in operation, did not seem quite so attractive as
it had done before. She wondered whether, after all, it wasn’t quixotic
and ridiculous. But anyway, the deed was done now, and she must abide by
it. Patty never cried over spilt milk, and having committed herself to
her course, she dismissed all doubts from her mind. To strengthen her
purpose she took her Theme from her desk and read it over. It _was_
good; and without a doubt she would have been marked very high for it.
Her spirits rose as she realised that even though Lorraine’s Theme might
not be marked as high, yet whatever its marking, Lorraine would stand
that much ahead in her average.
Grandma, though mystified at Patty’s remaining at home, said nothing
whatever on the subject, and the morning passed pleasantly away. Grandma
asked Patty if she would like to go out with her after luncheon and do a
little shopping, and Patty readily acquiesced.
After they were seated at the luncheon table Patty looked across the
room to where the Hamiltons usually sat, and there, to her amazement,
sat Mrs. Hamilton and Lorraine.
Patty’s face showed such a bewildered expression that Grandma turned to
follow her glance; “Why,” she exclaimed, “Lorraine has also stayed home
from school to-day. Did you know she was going to?”
“I certainly did _not_,” said Patty emphatically, and then the funny
side of the situation struck her and she began to laugh.
At the same time, Lorraine caught sight of Patty, and she, too, looked
utterly blank with consternation and dismay, and then she, too, laughed.
After luncheon Patty took possession of Lorraine and carried her up to
her own room.
“What in the world are you doing at home to-day?” she demanded.
“First, what are _you_ doing at home to-day?” responded Lorraine.
Had it not been for Lorraine’s peculiar expression, and quizzical looks,
Patty might have thought she had stayed at home for reasons in no way
connected with the general prize. But the girl’s embarrassment and
flustered air made Patty wonder if they weren’t both actuated by the
same motive.
“Look here, Lorraine Hamilton,” she said, going straight to the point;
“did you hear what Flossy Fisher overheard Miss Oliphant say?”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Lorraine, temporising.
“You know very well what I mean. _Did_ you?”
“Why, Flossy told me that she heard Miss Oliphant say that you and I
were even in our markings. But what of that?”
“And you stayed home to-day,” said Patty, grabbing Lorraine by the
shoulders, and looking her straight in the eyes, “you stayed home to-day
so that I might get ahead of you!”
Lorraine’s eyes opened wider. A sudden thought had struck her.
“If you suspect that,” she said, “it’s just because you’re doing the
same thing yourself! Otherwise you never would have thought of it. Patty
Fairfield, _you_ stayed home to-day so that _I_ might get ahead of you!”
The two girls read confession in each other’s eyes, and then they
dropped into two chairs and laughed and laughed.
Grandma Elliott, in the next room, heard the shrieks of hilarity, and
concluded that some girlish secret was the reason of Patty’s unusual
absence from school.
“The idea!” exclaimed Lorraine, as the beauty of Patty’s sacrifice
dawned upon her; “how _could_ you do such a thing?”
“The idea!” cried Patty, touched by her sudden realisation of Lorraine’s
loyalty to herself, “how could _you_ do such a thing?”