AUNT ALVIRAH AT BRIARWOOD HALL
Mr. Cameron, Helen's father, and Mrs. Murchiston, who had acted as
governess for the twins until they were old enough to go to boarding
school, were motoring to Briarwood Hall for the graduation exercises. They
proposed to pick Tom up at Seven Oaks Military Academy, for he would spend
another year at that school, not graduating until the following June.
They also had another guest in the big automobile who took up a deal of
the attention of the drygoods merchant and Mrs. Murchiston. A two-days'
trip was made of it, the party staying at a hotel for the night. Aunt
Alvirah was going farther from the Red Mill and the town of Cheslow than
she had ever been in her life before.
First she said she could not possibly do it! What ever would Jabez do
without her? And he would not hear to it, anyway. And then--there was "her
back and her bones."
"Best place for old folks like me is in the chimbly corner," declared Aunt
Alvirah. "Much as I would love to see my pretty graduate with all them
other gals, I don't see how I can do it. It's like uprooting a tree that's
growed all its life in one spot. I'm deep-rooted at the Red Mill."
But Mr. Cameron knew it was the wish of the old woman's heart to see "her
pretty" graduate from Briarwood Hall. It had been Aunt Alvirah's word that
had made possible Ruth's first going to school with Helen Cameron. It was
she who had urged Mr. Jabez Potter on, term after term, to give the girl
the education she so craved.
Indeed, Aunt Alvirah had been the good angel of Ruth's existence at the
Red Mill. Nobody in the world had so deep an interest in the young girl as
the little old woman who hobbled around the Red Mill kitchen.
Therefore Mr. Cameron was determined that she should go to Briarwood. He
fairly shamed Mr. Potter into hiring a woman to come in to do for Ben and
himself while Aunt Alvirah was gone.
"You ought to shut up your mill altogether and go yourself, Potter,"
declared Mr. Cameron. "Think what your girl has done. I'm proud of my
daughter. You should be doubly proud of your niece."
"Well, who says I'm not?" snarled Jabez Potter. "But I can't afford to
leave my work to run about to such didoes."
"You'll be sorry some day," suggested Mr. Cameron. "But, at any rate, Aunt
Alvirah shall go."
And the trip was one of wonder to Aunt Alvirah Boggs. First she was
alarmed, for she confessed to a fear of automobiles. But when she felt the
huge machine which carried them so swiftly over the roads running so
smoothly, Aunt Alvirah became a convert to the new method of locomotion.
At the hotel where they halted for the night, there were more wonders.
Aunt Alvirah's knowledge of modern conveniences was from reading only. She
had never before been nearer to a telephone than to look up at the wires
that were strung from post to post before the Red Mill. Modern plumbing,
an elevator, heating by steam, and many other improvements, were like a
sealed book to her.
She disliked to be waited upon and whispered to Mrs. Murchiston:
"That air black man a-standin' behind my chair at dinner sort o' makes me
narvous. I'm expectin' of him to grab my plate away before I'm done
eatin'."
The day set for the graduation exercises at Briarwood Hall was as lovely a
June day as was ever seen. The Cameron automobile rolled into the grounds
and was parked with several dozen machines, just as the girls were
marching into chapel. The fresh young voices chanting "One Wide River to
Cross" floated across to the ears of the party from the Red Mill, and Aunt
Alvirah began to hum the song in her cracked, sweet treble.
The automobile party followed the smaller girls along the wide walk of the
campus. There was the new West Dormitory, quite completed on the outside,
and sufficiently so inside for the seniors to occupy rooms. Not the old
quartettes and duos of times past; but very beautiful rooms nevertheless,
in which they could later entertain their friends who had come to the
graduation exercises.
The organist began to play softly on the great organ in the chapel, and
played until every girl was seated--the graduating class upon the
platform. Then the school orchestra played and Helen--very pretty in white
with cherry ribbons--stood forth with her violin and played a solo.
Mrs. Tellingham welcomed the visitors in a short speech. Then there was a
little silence before the strains of an old, old song quivered through the
big chapel. Helen was playing again, with the soft tones of the organ as a
background. And, in a moment Ruth stood up, stepped forward, and began to
sing.
The Cheslow party had all heard her before. She was almost always singing
about the old Red Mill when she was at home. But into this ballad she
seemed to put more feeling than ever before. The tears ran down Aunt
Alvirah's withered cheeks. Ruth did not know the dear old woman was
present, for it was to be a surprise to her; but she might have been
singing just for Aunt Alvirah alone.
"This pays me for coming, Miz' Murchiston, if nothin' else would,"
whispered Aunt Alvirah. "I can see my pretty often and often, I hope. But
I'll never hear her sing again like this."
The exercises went smoothly. A learned man made a helpful speech. Then,
while there was more music, a curtain fell between the graduating class
and the audience.
When it rose again the girls were grouped about a light throne, trimmed
with flowers, on which sat the girl who had proved herself to be the best
scholar of them all--the lame girl, Mercy Curtis. She was flushed, she was
excited and, if never before, Mercy Curtis looked actually pretty.
Laughing and singing, her mates rolled the throne down to the edge of the
platform, and there, still sitting in her pretty, flowing white robes,
Mercy gave them the valedictory oration. It was Ruth's idea, filched from
the transformation scene in her moving picture scenario.
Afterward the other girls had their turns. Ruth's own paper upon "The
Force of Character" and Jennie's funny "History of a Bunch of Briers"
received the most applause.
Mrs. Tellingham came last. As was her custom she spoke briefly of the work
of the past year and her hopes for the next one; but mainly she lingered
upon the story of the rebuilding of the West Dormitory and the loyalty the
girls had shown in making the new building a possibility.
There was a debt upon it yet; but the royalties from the picture play were
coming in most satisfactorily. The preceptress urged all her guests to do
what they could to advertise the film of "The Heart of a Schoolgirl" in
their home towns, and especially urged them to see it.
"You will be well repaid. Not alone because it is a true picture of our
boarding school life, but because the writer of the scenario has produced
a good and helpful story, and Mr. Hammond has put it on the screen with
taste and judgment."
These were Mrs. Tellingham's words, and they made Ruth Fielding very
proud.
The diplomas were given out after a touching address by the local
clergyman. The girls received the parchments with happy hearts. Their
faces shone and their eyes were bright.
The graduating class held a sort of reception on the platform; but after a
time Helen urged Ruth away from the crowd. "Come on!" she said. "Let's go
up into the new-old-room. We'll not have many chances of being in it now."
"That's right. Only to-night," sighed Ruth. "Away to-morrow for the Red
Mill. And next week we start for Dixie. I wonder if we shall have a good
time, Helen. Do you think we ought to have promised Nettie and her aunt
that we would come?"
"Surely! Why, we'll have a dandy time," declared Helen, "just us girls
alone."
This belief proved true in the end, as may be learned in the next volume
of this series, to be entitled "Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie; Or, Great
Days in the Land of Cotton."
"I didn't see your father or Tom or Mrs. Murchiston," Ruth said, as she
and Helen walked across the campus.
"They are here, just the same," said Helen, laughing.
"Where?"
"I shouldn't be surprised if we found them up in our old quartette. Ann is
with her Uncle Bill Hicks, and Mercy is with her father and mother. We
shall have the room to ourselves. We'll get out my new tea set and give
them tea. Come on!"
Helen raced up the stairs, opened the door of the big room, and then got
behind it so that Ruth, coming hurriedly in, should first see the little,
quivering, eager figure which had risen out of the low chair by the
window.
"My pretty! my pretty!" gasped Aunt Alvirah. "I seen you graduate, and I
heard you sing, and I listened to your fine readin'. But, oh, my pretty,
how hungry my arms are for ye!"
She hobbled across the floor to meet Ruth and, for once, forgot her
usually intoned complaint: "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" Ruth caught
her in her strong young arms. Helen slipped out and joined her family in
the hall.
In a little while Tom thundered on the door, and shouted: "Hey! we're
dying for that cup of tea Helen promised us, Ruthie Fielding. Aren't you
ever going to let us in?"
Ruth's smiling face immediately appeared. Her eyes were still wet and her
lips trembled as she said:
"Come in, all of you, do! We are sure to have a nice cup of tea. Aunt
Alvirah is making it herself."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Ruth Fielding in Moving Pictures, by Alice Emerson