They had talked over the summer holidays quite thoroughly, when Beth
brought up the subject of class elections.
"We want Dolly for president next year; we shall want Margaret as
editor-in-chief of the _Chronicle_ (the _Chronicle_ was a college
monthly managed entirely by the senior class, although contributions
were frequently accepted from members of the other classes), we want
Constance for class historian, too, and Mary ought to be on the executive
committee; as we shall want so much then, I think that we had better
keep in the background this year, don't you?"
"Is that all you want, Beth?" Dolly questioned dryly.
Beth ignored the protests that Constance and Mary both were making
regarding their fitness for the positions to which Beth wished them
elected.
"I do not want too much, and I do not want more than I mean to get
either! If we work for the other girls this year, they can afford to help
us next. I was president last year, and of course I am still president
for a few days yet. After I go out we will all keep in the background
during this junior year, for really we are not pigs."
"So glad you told us that; some people might think we were," murmured
Dolly. Beth gave her a vigorous pinch and went on calmly. "You girls
are just the ones for the places I named, and we want our best material
to the fore during our senior year. None of you have any special
candidates at heart this year, have you?"
"I do not want to interfere with any of your plans for Dolly's election
next year, Beth, but I would be glad if Margery Ainsworth could be
elected to one of the minor committees this year."
"Now, in the name of common sense, why do you care about her?"
"I feel sorry for the girl, Beth. She is studying well now, she has no
special friends, and a little honor like that would do her an immense
amount of good."
"Do you really like her, Con?"
"I am not sure that her character is enough settled yet for me to
say. Of course, I do not care for her as I do for you girls here, but
I feel immensely sorry for her. Her pride is hurt continually. She will
either develop into something strong and good, or else grow unlovable
and unloving. Let us help her this wee bit, girls. Her pride is being
wounded all of the time now, and a little recognition by her classmates
may come at just the right time."
"Oh, if you want us to do missionary work, Con, and put it on high moral
grounds--"
"Be still. I just ask you to do a nice little thing for a girl who feels
that she has no friends. And you will do it, too."
"Will I?" and Beth looked mutinous. Constance smiled serenely. She was
sure of Beth's help when the time should come.
The girls all felt that the one who was made president, during this,
their junior year, should be both capable and popular. Either Constance
or Dolly could have been elected, had they so chosen, but Constance
utterly refused to consider the matter, and Beth would not hear to
Dolly's being nominated. It ended with the election of Hope Brereton,
and the "diggers" were not represented at all in the offices, with
the exception of Beth, who was made chairman of the executive committee
since she was the retiring president. Margery Ainsworth, to her own
intense surprise and gratification, was put on the entertainment
committee.
It did not take long for the girls to settle into their former grooves
again. The old friendships were cemented, and some new ones were formed.
Mary retreated again into her shell, and Dolly felt more than once
like shaking her. In other ways Mary had improved materially. She could
not afford handsome dresses, but those that she had, were becoming in
color and soft in texture. Her hair was arranged to show its real
beauty, and while she was far from being a pretty girl, she had a fine,
intelligent face, and the promise of future beauty. She was looking
forward to the time when she could teach, and earn money to lighten the
burdens on that western farm.
Just before Thanksgiving time, the sophomores gave a little entertainment
to the juniors. Mary came into Dolly's room one day with a wry face.
"I fear that I shall not be able to attend that entertainment which the
sophomores are giving us."
"I would like to know why?"
"We shall have to wear some sort of evening dress, I suppose, and the
only thing that I have is my white."
"That would be just the thing," said Constance, who chanced to be
present.
"It's not very elegant, but it would do, only I have not got it. I sent
it to Mrs. O'Flaherty three weeks ago to be laundered, and it hasn't
been sent back yet."
"Write to her."
"I have. I've sent her a dozen missives. But she does not answer."
"Go and see her."
"She lives too far away."
"Then try one more note; make it pathetic and appealing and stern and
threatening all in one. That will surely bring the dress."
"Very well, I will."
But as she was about to commence the note, Mary decided, that after all,
she had better go herself. She dressed rapidly, and started out alone.
Either Dolly or Beth would have gone with her willingly, but she would
not ask them. Mrs. O'Flaherty lived at the farther side of Westover.
Mary found herself out of breath and impatient when she reached there.
She was about to knock when the door opened, and Constance came out,
Mary's dress in her arms.
"I was going to take the liberty of carrying your dress to a woman whom
I know. She will do it up beautifully for you, even on this short notice.
Mrs. O'Flaherty is ill--too ill to answer your notes or to think about
your dress at all."
"Then I had better go in and see her a moment."
"You can do no good, I am sure."
"Perhaps not, but still I will go in; if you can wait for me just a
moment, I will relieve you of that bundle."
"There is really nothing to be done, Mary, and Mrs. O'Flaherty is just
falling asleep."
Mary made no comment, but went directly in, taking care, however, to
move more gently than usual. Mary was not a quiet person ordinarily,
being the last one that an invalid would care to have in a sick room. She
wondered angrily why Constance had tried to prevent her from entering.
If she were as rich as Constance Van Gerder, she would do something
for poor Mrs. O'Flaherty. She was too poor to do anything herself,
but at least she could show a little sympathy! Full of indignation
against Constance, Mary was pushing into the tiny house, when her way
was suddenly barred.
Looking up, she recognized Dr. Leonard, the leading physician in
Westover. "I cannot let you in, Miss Sutherland. Mrs. O'Flaherty has
some kind of a low fever. I cannot tell just what it will develop into
yet, but I could not allow you to run the risk of going in there."
"But is there nothing I can do? The woman is so horribly poor. I'm not
rich myself, but--"
"She will be all right now. Miss Van Gerder has gotten hold of her.
She just chanced to learn today, that Mrs. O'Flaherty was ill, or she
would have had me here before. You need not worry, Miss Sutherland. Miss
Van Gerder will do all that is necessary. She has given me money for
food, fuel and nurse. I can call upon her for as much more as I need. I
wonder if you girls up at the college know half the good that Miss Van
Gerder is doing with her wealth?"
"No, we don't," Mary said shortly, and then, ashamed of her curtness,
she lingered to make some more inquiries.
Constance was waiting for her by the gate. Mary took the bundle from her
arms, despite Constance's remonstrances. "You are not going to carry
my bundles, when I am along, at least. If you will tell me where that
other woman lives of whom you were speaking just now, I will try to hunt
her up."
"I can take you there, but she lives on such a funny back street that I
cannot well give you any directions."
"How do you know all these people? I have never been to Mrs.
O'Flaherty's house before, and I should not have gone this time,
if my dress had been sent home on time. Did you go because of what I
said today? I would really like to know." And Mary meant it.
"Yes, I suppose I did, but there is nothing very wonderful about that. I
concluded that she must be sick or in trouble, when you failed to hear
from her, so I looked her up."
"And you, probably, had never heard of her before, while she has been
doing my laundry work ever since I came to Westover. It strikes me that
I have been both thoughtless and selfish."
"You have been busy," Constance said gently, "and then, in a certain
sense, I feel as if these cases were my work just as much as Greek
and History. Mother does not believe in indiscriminate giving. She
believes in personal investigation as far as possible. That takes
longer, of course, and is much more bother, but she has made me feel
that I have no right to waste my money (even if I do have more than
most girls), by a lazy way of giving. What I give carelessly to some
unworthy person who asks aid, may really belong by right to someone
else who is deserving and whom I would have found, had I investigated
personally. Do you see what I mean? I cannot help everyone, and so where
I _do_ help, I want my money to do good, not harm."
"Your way must cost a great amount of time and trouble."
"It often does, and that is my real, personal part of the giving. I
cannot take credit to myself for giving the money which comes to me with
no exertion on my part."
"What shall you do when you are out of college and in society?"
"I never expect to be in society, as I suppose you understand that
term. I have no particular fondness for receptions and germans and
balls. One tires of it all fearfully soon. I shall do some sort of
college settlement work, but I shall not undertake it until I feel
better prepared than at present."
"Dolly always said that I never knew anything about you, and she was
right. In your place I know that I should just be getting all of the good
times that I could for myself. I'm afraid that I should not care for
much except the frivolous part of life. It is well that I am poor, and
not likely to see much gaiety, because it has an irresistible attraction
for me. You would not imagine it, would you?"
But Constance could understand perfectly how Mary's hard, prosaic life
on the western farm had caused her to think with deep longing of the
bright, fashionable world in which she had no part or lot. Constance's
comprehension was so perfect, and her sympathy so delicate, that Mary
grew bitterly ashamed of the narrow feelings and jealousy which had
marred all her sophomore year. There should be no more of it, she told
herself sharply. Mary was not afraid to face facts when she once met them.
She owned, now, that she had been jealous of Dolly's open admiration
for Constance. Then she had called Constance proud and unfeeling. Who had
stood Margaret Hamilton's friend? Who was helping Margery Ainsworth to
regain her self-respect? Who had gone to Mrs. O'Flaherty on the first
hint of sickness? And had not the doctor declared that the college girls
were ignorant of the greater part of her charitable deeds?
"I believe that I have been a big snob," Mary told herself. "We can
only be measured by our inclinations and our deeds. Certainly, even in
proportion to my limited means, I have done far less good than Constance.
It never occurred to me, for instance, to look up Mrs. O'Flaherty for
her own sake, because she might be ill. I only thought of getting my
dress."
Mary never resorted to half-way measures. She now gave as frank and open
admiration to Constance as did any of the "diggers;" Dolly and Beth
rejoiced over her conversion.
But Beth said, "If she felt at all toward Constance as I now feel
toward Margery Ainsworth, when I see Constance wasting her sweetness
in that direction, I can sympathize with her. Mary was rather jealous of
your affection for Constance, Dolly, and while I do not think that I
myself am jealous, I surely hate to see Con lavishing time and patience
on Margery."
"You are sure it is wasted?"
"Yes, I am. Don't forget that I was Margery's room-mate. I flatter
myself that I know about all that there is to know concerning that young
lady."
"Yet I think that Constance is a tolerably good judge of character.
There must be latent possibilities in Margery which you have never
discovered."
Beth shook her head obstinately, but that very day proved the correctness
of Dolly's conclusions and made Beth resolve to be more charitable in
her judgments.