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POLLY'S SENIOR YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
[Illustration]
DOROTHY WHITEHILL
[Illustration: Apparently, she had made little or no progress in
unpacking her suitcase, for nothing was put away. (Page 14)
Frontispiece]
POLLY'S SENIOR YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
by
DOROTHY WHITEHILL
Author of "Polly's First Year at Boarding School,"
"Polly's Summer Vacation," etc.
Illustrated by Charles L. Wrenn
New York
Barse & Hopkins
Publishers
BOOKS FOR YOUNG GIRLS
* * * * *
THE POLLY PENDLETON SERIES
By Dorothy Whitehill
_Illustrated._
1 POLLY'S FIRST YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
2 POLLY'S SUMMER VACATION
3 POLLY'S SENIOR YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
(_Other volumes in preparation_)
Barse & Hopkins
Publishers
New York
* * * * *
Copyright, 1917, by
Barse & Hopkins
* * * * *
_Polly's Summer Vacation_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I SENIORS! 9
II A CLASS MEETING 21
III FANNY 32
IV BASKET-BALL ELECTION 44
V THANKSGIVING 58
VI MAUD 72
VII A SENIOR DISPUTE 80
VIII AN EVENTFUL STRAW-RIDE 93
IX A STARTLING DISCOVERY 108
X A SURPRISE TO MANY 121
XI THE CONCERT 130
XII CHRISTMAS 144
XIII POLLY'S LETTER 156
XIV MAUD'S DISAPPEARANCE 166
XV THE JUNIOR PROM 179
XVI MUMPS 193
XVII SPRING 205
XVIII FIELD DAY 219
XIX THE SENIOR DANCE 232
XX COMMENCEMENT 244
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Apparently, she had made little or no progress in unpacking
her suitcase, for nothing was put away _Frontispiece_
Polly was standing on a chair which threatened every minute
to topple from its precarious position on her bed 21
They cut it down, dragged it to the sleigh and bore it home
in triumph 147
Polly felt that she had not really earned the cup when it
was presented to her at the close of the game 198
CHAPTER I
SENIORS!
Polly Pendleton and Lois Farwell returned to Seddon Hall as seniors.
Up the long hill that led from the station their carriage crawled as it
had done on every other opening day.
From the summit of the hill the low, red-roofed buildings of the school
smiled a welcome from their setting of blazing Autumn leaves, and all
around them girls were calling out greetings.
There was a marked change in the two girls' outward appearances--their
hair was up and their skirts were longer, their whole bearing was older.
They were different from the two youngsters whose Freshman year has
already been recorded. That is, they looked different, and if you had
asked them about it they would have assured you that they were indeed
different.
But, the old-time twinkle in Polly's eyes and Lois' sudden merry laugh
gave you a comforting feeling that, after all, in spite of assurances
and looks, they were still the same Polly and Lois.
Nothing very eventful had happened in either one of their lives, during
the past years. They had spent their Winters at Seddon Hall and their
vacations at Polly's old home in New England with Mrs. Farwell. Polly's
uncle, Mr. Pendleton, and Dr. Farwell, had come up on visits when they
could. Bob, Lois' big brother, had come, too, but less frequently of
late. He was at college now and working very hard.
They had made new friends, but, what is more important, they had kept
their old ones.
This well ordered way of living, however, had to change. Time had gone
on slowly, but steadily and now, suddenly, they were Seniors. It was an
exhilarating thought and Polly and Lois hugged each other whenever it
struck them afresh.
Their carriage finally reached the door. In a second they were in the
reception room, and, after they had greeted Mrs. Baird and the faculty,
they dashed up the front stairs--a privilege only accorded the
Seniors--and found their room, a big corner one, which they were to
share in Senior Alley. Rooming together was another Senior privilege.
"Poll, we're back." Lois threw her suitcase without regard to contents
on one of the beds and looked around her.
"Yes, we're back, and we're Seniors and, what's more, we've the best
room on the Alley," Polly answered, enthusiastically. "We'll put your
window box there." She indicated a broad bow window, overlooking the
campus and gym. "And we'll--"
"Oh! don't let's fuss about the decorations now," Lois interrupted.
"Let's find Betty and the other girls. I'm dying to know who's back."
"I am too, sort of," Polly agreed reluctantly, as they left the room and
started for the Assembly Hall. "Do you know, Lo, I always feel funny
about the new girls."
"Why?"
"Oh, I can't exactly explain, but I don't like them; I wish they hadn't
come. We were so all right last year. Why couldn't just the old girls
come back and go on where we left off?"
"Why, you silly," Lois laughed. "Some of last year's girls were new and
you liked them. Anyway, cheer up, and don't worry about it now. Listen
to the racket they're making in the hall."
Polly gave herself a little shake, a trick she had when she wanted to
dismiss a thought from her mind, but her face failed to reflect Lois'
smile of anticipation. She was a queer puzzle, was Polly. Uncle Roddy
once described her as a tangle of deep thoughts, completely surrounded
by a sense of humor. And Mrs. Farwell always insisted that she discussed
the weightiest problems of life when she was running for a trolley. Lois
was the exact opposite, an artist, a dreamer of dreams, who, when her
mind was off on some airy flight, was maddeningly indifferent to
everything else. They were ideal friends, for they acted as a balance,
the one for the other. They were so much together that no one ever
thought of them singly.
A shout of welcome from the old girls, and eager silence from the new
ones, greeted their entrance into the Assembly Hall. There was a hubbub
of hellos for a minute, and then Betty descended upon them.
Betty, the freckled face--she wasn't a bit changed. She still wore a
ribbon on her hair, and her nose was as snubbed and impudent as ever. Of
course, she was taller and her skirts were longer, but no one realized
it. That was the difference. With Polly and Lois the years had really
added themselves and marked a change, but Betty was still Betty and
years mattered not at all.
"Jemima!" she exclaimed, joyfully, "but I'm glad you've come. What
under the sun did you wait until the late train for. I've been here all
day and I've felt like a fish out of water. There's a raft of new girls,
but no Senior specials, thank goodness. The two Dorothys are here,"--she
paused and wrinkled her nose just the least little bit in disapproval,
and then rushed on. "I'm rooming with Angela, you know. Isn't it mean
Connie isn't back? Ange misses her already."
Constance Wentworth, of whom she spoke, was one of the old girls and
Angela Hollywood's chosen companion. She had not returned this year
because her music professor had insisted upon her starting in at the
Conservatory of Music, for she was a remarkable pianist. The girls
realized that no one would ever quite fill her place.
"Where is Ange?" Lois inquired, when Betty paused for breath.
"In her room, I mean our room; she's moping," Betty answered. "She said
three distinct times that she wished Connie were back, and so I left.
I'm not sensitive, but--" Betty left the rest unsaid, but her look
expressed volumes.
"Poor Ange!" Polly said with exaggerated feeling. "I don't blame her;
let's go find her; she must need cheering up; besides, I'm tired of
meeting new girls."
Angela answered their knock a few minutes later with a "Come in,"
uttered in her own particular drawl. She was sitting on her bed in the
midst of clothes. Apparently, she had made little or no progress in
unpacking her suitcase, for nothing was put away.
Angela had always been, and was still, the unrivaled beauty of Seddon
Hall. Her complexion was as soft and pink as a rose petal, and her
shimmering golden hair and big blue eyes made you think of gardens and
Dresden china. She was never known to hurry, and she spoke with a soft
lazy drawl, which, curiously enough, never irritated any one. She had
won quite a renown as a poet, but was too quiet to be generally popular.
"Hello, you three!" she greeted, as the girls entered. "I'm awfully glad
you're back. Isn't this a mess?" She included the room with a wave of
her arm. "I don't know where to begin."
"It's exactly the way it was when I left you," Betty exclaimed with
pretended wrath.
"I know it; but you've been so piggy with the dresser drawers and the
wardrobe that there's no room for my things," Angela teased back.
She was apparently willing to leave the argument so, for as the girls
dropped into comfortable positions on the floor and window seat, she
discarded the shoe she was holding, stuffed a pillow behind her and
folded her hands. Her guests stayed until dinner time and talked. It was
almost a class meeting; for it was a well established fact that when
these four girls decided anything the rest of the class agreed with an
alacrity that was very flattering to their good judgment.
It was not until Mrs. Baird, who sat at the Senior table the first night
as a special favor, asked them if they had discovered any homesick new
girls, that they realized that as Seniors, holding responsible positions
in the school, they had failed already.
After dinner they stopped to consult on the Bridge of Sighs--the covered
way that connected the two main buildings of the school.
"Well, what's to be done?" inquired Lois. "Instead of deciding what
color shoes we'd wear at commencement we should have been drying
somebody's eyes."
"Quite right," Betty mimicked Lois' righteous tones. "We were very
selfish; in fact, I'm ashamed of _us_. Let's go to Assembly Hall and be
giddy little cheerers up."
Polly laughed.
"Oh, Bet, be sensible! Hasn't your observation in the past taught you
that homesick girls don't go to Assembly Hall to cry? They tuck their
silly heads under their protecting pillows in their own room. Let's go
to Freshman Lane."
"Why Freshman?" Angela inquired softly. "Freshmen are too young and
excited to be homesick so soon. Let's go to the Sophs quarters."
They went, tapping gently at every door all the way down the corridor,
but received no response.
"They're a heartless lot," Betty declared at the last door. "Not one of
them in tears. It's not right, they're entirely too cheerful for so
young a class." And she scowled wrathfully as an indication of her
displeasure.
"Never mind, Bet," Lois laughed, "maybe we'll have better luck with the
Juniors."
Betty took heart and led the way.
Lois was right, though the doleful sobs that met their ears at the door
of Junior Mansions--nicknamed the year before because the present
Seniors had been so very elegant--could hardly be called luck.
"Jemima!" Betty exclaimed. "A deluge, our search proves fruitful at
last."
Polly went to the door through which the sounds came and pushed it open.
The room was dark. The light from the hall cast a streak over the bare
floor and discovered a heap of something half on, and half off the bed.
At one side of the room a wicker suitcase stood beside the dresser, its
swelling sides proclaimed it still unpacked. A hat and coat were flung
on the chair--but these were minor details. The heart-breaking sobs
filled every corner of the room, and the figure on the bed heaved
convulsively with each one.
Polly was the first to speak.
"What's the matter, homesick?" she asked cheerfully as she pressed the
electric button and flooded the room with light.
On closer inspection they saw that the girl had heaps of black hair that
had become unfastened and lay in a heavy coil on the bed. Also, she had
on a crumpled silk waist and a dark green skirt.
Lois and Betty helped her on to the bed and Polly bathed her face with
cold water. Angela was tongue-tied, but she patted her hand and murmured
incoherent things. Finally the sobs stopped.
"We've got to get her out of here," Lois whispered. "Don't you want to
do up your hair and come down to the Assembly Hall?" she said aloud.
"Everybody's dancing."
The new girl--she was still just the new girl, for she had refused to
tell her name, or say one word--sat up and smoothed her waist.
Betty sighed with relief.
"Come on, that's right," she said encouragingly. "Don't mind about your
eyes, all the other new girls will have red ones too. Why when I was a
new girl," she said grandly, "I cried for weeks."
Polly and Lois and Angela gasped. Betty had never been known to shed a
tear. As for weeks of them, that was a bit extravagant. But the fib had
the desired effect. The new girl turned her large, drenched gray eyes on
Betty and studied her carefully.
"I reckon you looked something like a picked buzzard when you got
through," she said with a broad Southern accent.
There was an astonished silence for a second, then the girls burst into
peals of laughter. It was contagious, happy laughter, and the new girl,
after a hesitating minute, joined in. After that, it was an easy matter
to make conversation and to persuade her to leave her room.
The girls found out that she was Fanny Gerard, and had come straight
from South Carolina. Her father--she had no mother--had brought her to
school and then returned to the city by the next train. Unfortunately,
it had been Miss Hale, the Latin teacher--nicknamed the Spartan years
before by Betty, the only unpopular teacher in Seddon Hall--who had
shown Fanny to her room.
"She just opened the do' and pointed at that little old plain room with
her bony finger and said: 'This is you alls room, Miss Gerard,' and left
me. I tell you I like to died."
The tears threatened to burst forth again. Betty and Polly hastened to
explain that the Spartan was not even to be considered as part of Seddon
Hall. And they brought back the smiles when they explained that the
Bridge of Sighs was so named because the Spartan's room was at the end
of it.
All together, they made a very satisfactory cure and when they left
Fanny for the night, after having unpacked her suitcase for her, she was
quite bright and contented.
"What do you think of her?" Polly demanded, when she and Lois were
alone, after the good night bell.
Lois considered a minute.
"She's rare, and I think she's going to be worth cultivating. Certainly
she's funny," she said.
"Seddon Hallish, you mean?" Polly inquired.
"No, not exactly."
"She couldn't take Connie's place for instance?"
"Never in a thousand years!"
"Lois."
"Yes."
"You're thinking about the same thing I am."
"What are you thinking of?"
"The five boy's pictures she brought in her suitcase."
"Yes, I was. Sort of silly of her. Maybe they are her brothers."
"They're not, she's an only child."
"Well, all Southern girls are sentimental." Polly was almost asleep.
"Maybe we can cure her," she said.
"Maybe," Lois answered drowsily.
"We're Seniors, Lo."
"Yes. This is the first night of our last year."
"I know, pretty much all right rooming together, isn't it?"
"You bet."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."