SCHOOL IN EARNEST
On Monday the real work of school began. Besides the boarding scholars,
was a day-school of the young ladies and larger girls, who were either
sent away or went to Aldred House. There was an excellent school for the
little ones, and a very good public school, but Westchester did not take
cordially to this except for the boys.
Two of the teachers had arrived on Saturday evening. Madame Meran, the
French teacher, who also gave music lessons to the younger pupils, and
Miss Lane, who taught Latin and German to the few who desired it, and
had dreams of college life. Mrs. Aldred made no specialty of this, but
some of the pupils insisted on remaining until that time. There were two
divisions in the senior class, two in the junior. Helen was glad that
Daisy Bell was in the B. division. She was not as gay as Roxy Mays, but
there was a quality of tenderness in her that was very attractive.
She was not quite sure that she would desire to make a warm friend of
Miss Mays though on Friday evening her whole heart had gone out to her.
She could turn any subject into ridicule so easily, she could seize on
small foibles and distort them with such a winsome grace that they were
amusing at the time, but when one thought them over afterward one saw
the little stings that were left behind.
It was so different from anything Helen had dreamed of. At first she
thought she would have been happier going to the Hope High School and
working her way through. There was a feeling that she did not truly and
honestly belong in this circle of girls, many of whom had rich fathers
and luxurious homes; and she wondered if some day she would come to have
the careworn and unsatisfied look that Miss Lane had. Miss Lane had
taught ten years, beginning when she was nineteen. So she was
twenty-nine.
"And I do not believe she has ever had a lover," said Miss Mays. "She
looks so."
"What kind of a look is that?" questioned someone.
"Why that discontented, hungry expression, that curious alertness, as if
you were looking for something that had never come, and you were afraid
never would. Girls, if I had to live until I was twenty-nine
unmarried----"
"Well, what then?" queried three or four voices.
"I'd find some way of finishing it out at twenty-five."
"Oh, you couldn't," cried Daisy, shocked.
"Well, there are sisterhoods in churches and they are very respectable.
My great-aunt Roxalana has been married twice, both times to rich men.
She's eighty-six now and looks like a fright, though it is said she was
a very pretty young woman. It's safe to say that when your compeers are
all dead. Oh, I do hope I will never outlive my beauty."
They all laughed at that.
Days were divided up like clock-work. You were called at six while the
mornings were light. Breakfast was at seven. At eight there was a study
period. Quarter before nine they assembled in the small seated room
called the chapel, by courtesy, and at nine went into the schoolroom. At
eleven they had ten minutes' recreation, then study until twelve; an
hour for luncheon, and two hours' study and recitation again. Two
afternoons a week music lessons. Dinner from five to six; from seven to
nine study period, unless one could get through sooner.
Helen thought this first day that she had never really studied in her
life. She had a quick memory, at least, so it had always seemed, and an
absolute genius for mathematics. History, as far as she had gone, was a
delight. But the Latin! Was there any sense in it? Did the old Romans
talk in that tongue? And what was the use of it now, when Rome itself
was Italian.
"You will understand the use of it by and by," said Miss Lane. "I am
afraid, so far, what you have acquired has come too easy, but a year
hence you will be laughing over this when you hear some other girls
moan."
If the Latin was a trial, the music was still more so. When slim fingers
glided over the keys with chords of melody it penetrated her very soul,
and she just drew in long breaths of delight. But hers were not slim
fingers and running up and down the scale seemed as much beyond her as
conversing in Latin.
"You are in too great a hurry. You go too hard, with too much force,"
said Madame Meran.
All that she had done thus far in life had been done in a hurry, except
waiting on Mrs. Van Dorn, who took everything leisurely. She tried not
to run upstairs, as she found only new girls did that, and not to walk
heavily on the uncarpeted floor. And she was glad enough of the
experience at Mrs. Dayton's. She was not an awkward girl, and she
watched the others with keen eyes. A fortnight passed before the school
was full. One day Mrs. Aldred summoned her.
"You said the first day you came that you liked people," that lady began
smilingly. "As yours is a double room and the other part needed, I am
going to give you a choice. You can have a small room to yourself or
Miss Daisy Bell will share yours, and the new scholar take hers."
"Oh, I should like that," her eyes shining with pleasure. "But if
she----"
"She is quite willing. This is a first year for both of you, since she
only came last Easter, and you may be able to help each other. She is
already a fair musician and has had a year's tuition in Latin; in
several English branches you are much in advance. Then you have a study
habit, and that she lacks."
"I am glad I have one good quality," and the eager face flushed with
gratification.
"You have more than one," smiling. "You are too impatient about
learning. Everything does not come by nature, and there may be many
years to devote to it."
"I think of only two. I want to crowd in everything I can."
"Do not look so far ahead. It is better to live day by day; better to do
to-day's duty."
"But I am falling behind all the time. I spent Saturday trying to catch
up, instead of having a good time. And I do so want to walk in those
haunts over the river, those woods and wilds, before the frost comes
on."
"You were brave to give it up. They are beautiful even after frost, and
there will be some time to spare. The first week, the first month,
indeed, is generally the hardest. Then I'll send Miss Bell to you? I
think you will make good comrades."
"Oh, I shall be delighted."
She almost ran into Daisy's arms in the hall.
"I was coming to tell you some news," exclaimed the girl eagerly, her
eyes shining with pleasure.
"About----"
"Oh, I know Roxy Mays ferreted that out! I do believe it is as she says,
a bird in the air tells her."
"No. Mrs. Aldred spoke to me."
The sweet face lighted up instantly.
"That is all right then. I like to have the telling of something first,
don't you? I think we shall get along nicely. I should not like every
girl----"
"Oh, thank you;" laughingly.
"That is true of us all, isn't it, or most of us? I would not like to
room with anyone who was not neat, I'd like someone fond of study to
spur me on. I'm dismal at algebra, and I can help you in the Latin. And
then your room isn't crowded up with everything. I think so much makes
you tired. And this is an awful heresy, but I am tired of Gibson girls,
and nearly all having the same pictures and ornaments. It isn't restful.
Think of Claudine Marr's room. I wonder if she ever draws a good,
unimpeded breath? I'm not surprised that she has headaches."
"When I am tired I look out of the window at the most beautiful picture
I have ever seen. And I think how it will change all the autumn."
"And be dreary in the winter."
"I do not believe I feel about leafless trees as most people do. You see
all the fine little twigs and branches, some days in a gray-purple sort
of haze, some days tipped with shimmering gold, then silvered with
moonlight or sparkling with frost, and I am content that the leaves drop
off so that you can see how really wonderful they are. And when the wind
tosses them all about, nature seems rocking them with a lullaby, you
feel as if they were in some degree human."
"Oh, Helen, you ought to be a poet," Daisy exclaimed enthusiastically.
They had walked to Helen's room. Her clothes were all in the closet, her
books lay on the table, only her writing-desk was on the chair. She had
added nothing to the room, but she did want a case of shelves. And oddly
enough she had not encroached on the other side. Daisy wondered rather
at that.
"Then I may move in at once."
"Oh, yes. I shall be delighted."
"Come and help me empty my closet."
Helen did this with pleasure. They had a gay time settling things and
were all in order when Miss Mays came flying along the hall.
"So you have formed a partnership, have you? I had half a mind to
suggest it last night when we heard that Miss Craven was coming. I've
just been introduced to her, and she's a positive fright. Lean, long,
and lanky, beautiful alliteration, is it not? Helen, she would have
given you the nightmare."
"I am satisfied," and Helen nodded with a secret feeling of exultation
as she met Daisy's eyes.
"What conspiracy are you hatching now?" glancing from one to the other.
The sound of the dinner bell was sufficient excuse for not answering.
For once they had the innings.
The new scholar was at the next table to them. She was tall and looked,
as Roxy said afterwards, of a very uncertain age. Her hair was a rather
dull light brown, her eyes a sort of hazel with bluish lights, which
made them dull, and a complexion that would never be fair, with quite a
shadow under the eyes. The features were not bad, but something was
needed to give them life.
After the study period the two girls went upstairs with their arms
around each other.
"Let us run away to-morrow and have a walk and a splendid talk about
trees," said Daisy. "I was thinking all dinner time that I needed to be
introduced to them. I believe I am only acquainted with Mr. Evergreen
and Mr. Horse-chestnut. It bothers me to tell an elm tree from a maple
and a white-skinned beech from a white birch."
"Oh, dear! I've promised to devote the afternoon to scales. I've had a
little Latin hammered into me, but I am almost afraid that,
extravagantly as I love music I shall make small headway in the divine
art. And Madame Meran was good enough to offer me an extra lesson."
"Then we will take it some other Saturday."
"How delightful it is to be together!"
Then they kissed, girl fashion, for the first time, and uttered a tender
good-night.
Two rooms away Miss Craven was crying softly and wishing she had not
come here. It seemed an out of the way place, it was a small school, and
Mrs. Aldred's letter had been encouraging. There was all the fortune for
her alone. If it had come earlier, while some of the others were alive
to share it! She, too, longed for an education so that she might be more
able to enjoy it.
"Have you written to Mrs. Van Dorn?" asked Mrs. Aldred on Saturday
morning.
"I intend to this morning. And to my uncle."
Mrs. Aldred nodded approvingly.
Mrs. Van Dorn had said, "In a fortnight you may write me a letter. Then
once a month."
So it had been a fortnight. She found a good deal to say. She liked the
school very much and described her room-mate, her new studies, the
little she had seen of the town. And there was an enthusiastic gratitude
that satisfied the waiting and doubtful heart.
There was a good deal to say to Uncle Jason, and yet it was rather
difficult not to write too rapturously. When she had finished that she
bethought herself of Mr. Warfield. He had asked her to write.
She found no trouble here. Indeed the luncheon bell rang before she had
quite finished.
"You can go down to the post-office," Daisy exclaimed. "I want some
stamps and some sewing cotton. Roxy borrowed mine."
She hurried her letter in the envelope. Daisy had asked permission. She
sent her letters on their way with a light heart, though as she came
back it was rather heavy. Such a golden day as it was. And several of
the pupils were going out botanizing with Miss Grace. They all liked
Miss Grace very much. A girl less used to giving up would have
considered it very hard. But she enjoyed every moment of this brief walk
and came home with a great bunch of asters.
"If you only _were_ going! I should take twice the pleasure. Helen
Grant, I do believe I have fallen in love with you."
"I am very glad," returned Helen with shining eyes.
To think how she had run around the woods in Hope and never thought of
the wonderful beauty God had scattered so lavishly everywhere. This
delight was knowledge. Jenny never felt it as she walked in and out to
the factory. And Aunt Jane called it nonsense!
Madame Meran had some needlework and sat by her counting time, fingers
and thumbs. Helen was so in earnest she could not help being interested
in her.
"Oh, do you suppose I ever shall learn?" she inquired with a discouraged
sigh. "And I love music so."
"That is my hope about you. I have seen worse beginnings. You will never
make a wonderful pianist, but you have a really fine voice, and it is
nice to be able to play your own accompaniments."
"And someone I care for very much desires me to learn, someone to whom I
owe a debt of gratitude. So I shall do my best."
Then she went on steadily and did master two or three points.
"Now you may go in the study and practice, as I have to take Miss Craven
in hand, and I can trust you."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Helen delightedly. She was just as honest as if
Madame's eyes were on her. She gave the full hour although her wrist
ached, and her thumb seemed to lose its agility. But she had made a
slight advance, she could see that. And there were ten months to be
given to study.
She went out on the back porch presently, and then almost to the edge of
the flat space. One _could_ go down the hill, even that was school
grounds, fenced in at the sides, and up here where there was a gate,
kept locked for the most part. The sun was going down behind the next
hill, and across in the other State, almost as if there were two suns.
What gorgeous coloring, changing, melting into new and indescribable
tints and burnishing here, making scarlet shades there as if the
tree-tops were on fire, and the rocks molten silver. How could it take
on or give out so many colors?
She had an impression someone was near and turned. It was the new
scholar. There was a wistful expression in her eyes that touched Helen.
No one had taken any special notice of her. Helen remembered her own
warm welcome. Of course, now everyone was busy with lessons and had
settled upon her friends and chums.
What could she say? To ask her if she felt at home would be a platitude,
and Helen knew she did not come any nearer, as if she might be
intruding. What a slim figure she had, and her frock was of fine, soft
material that clung like the draperies in some of the "studies." She
wore a very handsome chain and the watch edge just showed above her
belt. Her hands were long and thin and she had a nervous manner of using
them. She wore two beautiful rings.
Helen took a step towards her. "I wonder if you had such a battle with
music as I did," she began, with girlish gayety. "It seemed as if I must
have tried Madame's patience until there was nothing left for you. I am
beginning to wonder how an excellent player who has an ear attuned to
harmony can endure such stupidity."
Miss Craven stared with a sort of uncertainty.
"I should not think you were stupid. You look so bright and vivacious."
"I am afraid I wasn't born with the art of music along with the love for
it."
"I have studied a little, alone mostly, and find I have some bad habits.
And I like it beyond everything."
If she only wouldn't be so stiff and distant!
"I never touched a piano until I came here. And one can't expect to be
an expert in four lessons," Helen said in a half-humorous tone.
Miss Craven flushed and it was not a pretty color.
"You like it here? Were you a new scholar this year? You look very
young."
"I was fourteen in the summer. Yes, I am a new scholar. But I have grown
very much at home."
Then there was a pause. Helen bethought herself of the other question.
"Yes, I like it extremely. It is such a beautiful place. I've been
studying the sunset and wishing I could paint a picture of it. I've come
to wish so many things of late," laughing at herself. "And I like the
teachers. I don't know many of the seniors, and I am in junior B."
"I am taking some private lessons," hesitatingly.
Poor girl! She could not even have passed a junior B examination.
"There's such a pretty girl at your table. Her hair is the color one
sometimes gets in a sunset, a bright gold, and yet it isn't the color so
much as the curious waviness and stir all about it. It seems alive. And
her complexion is beautiful, her eyes fairly laugh."
"That is Miss Mays. She isn't really in our class. She's an 'A' scholar.
Every month someone new is elected for hostess. You are at the head of
the table. You see that everything is served, that no one is--well, not
exactly rude or awkward, but not up to the mark. And you keep a certain
order."
"I spilled my coffee this morning. My spoon was in my cup and I just
touched it with my cuff. I wish I could have gone through the floor or
run away. But one has to learn all these nice things if one means
to--to be anybody."
"I learned some of them in the summer. I was with a friend," and Helen
flushed without quite knowing why. "I was a regular country girl--on a
farm."
"I was too. I begin to think I ought not have come here, but I did not
want to go where there were one or two hundred girls, and I did want to
learn nice ways," hesitatingly.
"Then this is the very place to come."
"Only I did not imagine they were all rich girls; that is, society
people," awkwardly.
"Oh, they are not. Two of the seniors mean to teach next year, so they
cannot be rich. And one girl is going to an art school and means to work
her way through. Of course most of them have fathers to care for them."
"I have never had anyone to care in that way. And it is curious, but on
my father's side I have not a single near relative, perhaps none at all.
And my mother was an only child."
"I have neither father or mother," returned Helen. "But I have some very
kind relatives on my mother's side."
"It is dreadful to be all alone, and to think----"
Miss Craven paused and compressed her lips, looked indeed as if she
would cry, but winked very hard. And then Helen noticed that she had
lovely long lashes, much darker than her hair and that her upper eyelids
were thin, almost transparent. It was queer how she was beginning to see
these little points of comeliness.
"Oh, there are the girls!" she said.
They were winding round into Elm Avenue, with great bunches of wild
flowers and bright leaves, and one girl with an armful of golden-rod.
"I am much obliged for the talk," and with a sudden abruptness Miss
Craven disappeared.
Helen looked after her a moment. She was lonely and unhappy. She would
like very much to know her story. The girls speculated upon her and
decided that she was a nobody come into a fortune. Private lessons, of
necessity, cost more, so she must have money. Then her clothes, though
not showy, were expensive and had a true _modiste_ air. There was
evidently something she did not want the world to know; she had not been
used to society, and she was hopelessly plain. Miss Mays made rhymes
about her on the Lear nonsense pattern. You really couldn't help
laughing at a great deal of bright criticism she indulged in if her
comments were rather sarcastic.
Helen ran down the steps out to the sidewalk, looking happy and merry.
"You poor child, you are not yet resolved into a demi-semi-quaver or any
other shaky thing. But you should have been with us! I was awfully
afraid of snakes, and one had to sit down and help to pick out the
beggar ticks, though I long to give them the old-fashioned, appropriate
country name. Why such things were allowed to grow I can't see. We
discovered a new rivulet meandering down the mountain side, and a royal
bed of ferns, and one of two new specimens of bloom. As for you--I
observe the jabberwock has not slain you, so I suppose you conquered
him!"
Helen laughed as she took Roxy's outstretched hand, which she could not
very well help, and said, "I have the answer of a good conscience."
"And we have the answer of sights and sounds and a wonderful sunset."
"Yes, I saw that."
The girls were talking across each other and showing flowers. Becky,
the general factotum, brought a jardiniere and put in all but the
golden-rod, which was reserved for a tall Japanese vase, and they were
set on each side of the hall door. Then the crowd went to fix up a
little for dinner.
Helen stole a furtive glance over at Miss Craven. She was simply stolid,
indifferent, and went to her room while the others paced up and down the
piazza in twos and threes, exchanging confidences, or someone sang a
song in the long parlor. Miss Lane, down in one corner of the veranda,
was telling Greek legends to half a dozen girls. It was a picture of
friendly content and enjoyment.
"I wonder if Miss Craven is crying in her room?" and Helen really longed
to go to her. She was so overflowing with happiness.