little Portuguese--and Nora was very brave. It's just like you, Belle,
to think that a thing isn't of any account unless you have had something
to do with it."
Belle was silent. In the presence of a stranger she never forgot her
good manners, and Julia was still sufficiently a stranger to act as a
check on the sharp reply which otherwise might have risen to her lips.
Edith now came in as a peacemaker.
"Well, it was great fun to have anything out of the ordinary happen at
school. You can't imagine," turning to Julia, "how stupid it is to have
things go on in the same way day after day. Last week there was a fire
alarm about two blocks away, and just think, the engines passed scarcely
five minutes after recess was over, and Miss Crawdon wouldn't let us run
out to see where the fire was."
"Naturally not," said Mrs. Barlow, as she left the room, adding, as she
passed out,
"By the time you are ready, Julia, the carriage will be here."
"Yes, Aunt Anna," answered Julia, and she, too, after a few pleasant
words with Edith, excused herself with the explanation that her aunt had
promised to accompany her to do some important errands down town.
"Come upstairs with me," said Brenda, with an air of relief, as Julia
left. "There's Nora, now, I know her ring of the bell."
Nora soon joined the other three in Brenda's pretty bedroom.
"Here we are, all four together again," exclaimed Brenda, as she threw
herself down on the chintz-covered sofa. "It's so much pleasanter not to
have any strangers about."
"Do you call your cousin a stranger?" asked Nora.
"Why, yes, any one can see that she's terribly serious, and that she
won't take a bit of interest in the things we do."
"Aren't you going to ask her to join the Four Club?"
"Well, then it wouldn't be a Four Club. Besides five is a horrid number.
You never can plan things together when there are five."
"But you can't leave her out."
"I don't see why not. She'll have other things to do in the
afternoon--like to-day. We needn't tell her about the Club at all, need
we?"
Edith and Nora, to whom Brenda seemed to appeal, said nothing. Belle was
looking out of the window, and though she usually would have agreed with
Brenda, they had lately had so many little disagreements, that she would
not gratify her friend by assenting to her words.
Brenda, however, perceiving that her views were not shared by the other
three girls, decided to avoid discussing Julia any further.
"Let us come to order like a club," she exclaimed, "and decide what we
shall work for this winter."
In the preceding spring the four friends had decided that it would be
very interesting to give their occasional meetings a club form. Instead
of passing their afternoons in mere idle talk, they would have some
object. They would all do fancy work, and perhaps have a sale in the
spring for some charity. Each of the girls had already spent all her
spare pocket-money on materials for needlework, although as yet they had
made but little headway in their work. Nor had they decided for what
object the sale should be held.
"It's a good deal like counting your chickens before they are hatched,"
Mrs. Barlow had said when Brenda consulted her on the subject. "It would
be better to wait until you have enough work for a sale, before deciding
what to do with your money."
In her heart Mrs. Barlow doubted that the girls would make enough money
to be worth giving to any institution. She doubted even that they would
persevere in their work, and have a sale. Brenda, herself, was too apt
to begin with enthusiasm some undertaking which after a while she would
let languish until it came to nothing. In this case Brenda was indignant
at her mother's want of faith.
"Now you know that I'm older than I used to be, and I'm perfectly in
earnest about wanting an object to work for."
"Very well, Brenda," said Mrs. Barlow smiling, "I certainly will not
interfere, only you must give me time to think of a beneficiary for your
money."
Now if the girls had started with a definite object to work for, their
club meetings would have lost much of their interest. As it was, more
than half their time was spent in earnest discussions of the merit of
different institutions. Edith thought that a hospital was the noblest
object of charity, although the others objected that the City or the
State usually looked after hospitals. Nora hoped their money would be
given to some orphan asylum, or a home for old persons, Belle believed
that there was nothing so worthy as the Institution for the Blind, and
Brenda changed her point of view from week to week.
"What are we to work for _this_ week, Brenda?" asked Belle, somewhat
derisively, as she opened her sewing-bag.
"Oh, I don't know. We're not working for anything in particular." Then,
as her eye met Nora's, a new idea came.
"Oh, I'll tell you what, girls,--let us work for--Manuel!"
[Illustration: "'OH, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, GIRLS,--LET US WORK FOR--MANUEL!'"]
V
MISS CRAWDON'S SCHOOL
A girl's first day at a new school is very trying to her. The scrutiny
which two or three dozen pairs of sharp young eyes give her is hard to
bear. This ordeal is often more dreaded by a girl than many of the
important events of her later years. Now Julia, although she was to go
to school in her cousin Brenda's company, looked forward to her first
day with considerable anxiety. In the first place she was naturally shy,
and in the second place she had never regularly attended school. For the
most part her lessons had been given her by her father. But at times
when they had stayed long enough in some place to make this possible,
she had had special instruction from private teachers. Her father had
been very fond of books and had bought many expressly for Julia's
benefit. She was, therefore, much better read than most girls of her
age. Her education, too, was ahead of that of the average girl of
sixteen. Of this fact Julia herself was unaware. She fancied that
because she had gone to school so little, she would be found far behind
her cousin Brenda and Brenda's friends. Before going to school she had
had an informal talk with Miss Crawdon, in which she had revealed more
to the keen mind of the latter than she had suspected. For Miss Crawdon
never wasted words, and she did not tell the young girl that in some
studies she was far ahead of many of her pupils of the same age. The
teacher's questions had been far-reaching, and she felt pleased at the
prospect of having among her pupils one evidently so fond of books as
Julia.
The young girl, on the contrary, on the way to school with her cousin,
expressed to the latter her fear at the prospect before her.
"Oh, you needn't worry," said Brenda, more patronizingly than she really
intended, "Miss Crawdon won't be hard with you, she knows you haven't
been at school much, and even if you have to start in one of the lower
classes, you'll probably be able to push on rather quickly."
But even this did not reassure Julia. She was thinking less of her
standing in the classes than of the reception she should meet from the
girls. It was by no means comforting to feel the many strange eyes that
followed her as she walked up the stairs with Brenda to enter the main
schoolroom. Miss Crawdon was busy in another room, and Brenda who always
had a great many things on her mind, rushed off to speak to one of the
girls, leaving Julia alone near the door. There were perhaps a dozen
girls standing about in little groups of three or four. They did not
mean to be unkind, but when they saw Julia, they not only glanced
curiously toward her, but for the time ceased their conversation. When
they began to talk again it was not in the loud tone they had used
before, and Julia would have been less than human if she had not
received the impression that they were talking about her. Every one
knows how uncomfortable it is for a girl to feel that she is in the
presence of people who are making comments upon her. As a matter of fact
what they said to one another was almost harmless.
"Is she Brenda Barlow's cousin?"
"What is she in mourning for?"
"How old is she?"
"Do you suppose she is coming here to school?"
This was the kind of question exchanged by the girls, with here and
there a less good-natured comment.
"I don't call her so very pretty."
"She doesn't look like Brenda."
"Wouldn't you say that dress was made in the year one. I never saw such
sleeves."
Unluckily the girl who made this last remark was standing rather nearer
Julia than she had realized. It happened that Julia herself, who usually
cared little for fashion, was sensitive about these very sleeves. They
had been made a little smaller than the prevailing mode required by a
dressmaker whom Julia had employed in a spirit of kindness without
regard to her skill. She had not remembered when dressing that this was
to be her first day at school. When she did recall this fact she had not
thought it worth while to change her gown. She flushed a little when she
overheard the criticism, and walked farther away from the groups toward
Miss Crawdon's desk.
As she stood there looking more serious than usual, she was more than
pleased to hear Nora's well-known voice exclaiming,
"Why, Julia, are you here all alone? Where's Brenda? Dear me, is this
really your first day of school?"
Julia smiled. "I can't answer all your questions at once, but I _don't_
know where Brenda is, and this _is_ to be my first day of school."
"Is that why you look so mournful? Now we're not such a bad lot. Come,
let me introduce you to some of your companions in misery." Then before
Julia could object, she found herself receiving introductions to most of
the girls in the room, even to the very one whose criticism had annoyed
her. She was a thin girl with light hair and eyes and eyelashes. Her
chin was long and her face was somewhat freckled.
"This is Brenda Barlow's cousin Julia," said Nora, pleasantly.
"Yes, I thought you were Brenda's cousin," said the light-haired girl
turning toward Julia. "Brenda's been dreading your coming to school."
Julia flushed as any girl might at a remark of this kind, even while she
realized the unkindness of the speech.
"Nonsense, Frances," said quick-witted Nora, "I'm sure you never heard
Brenda say anything so disagreeable."
But the light-haired girl had turned away. She was in the habit of
making thoughtless remarks without caring whom they hit. Nora gave
Julia's hand a gentle squeeze. "Brenda's just as glad as I am that
you're coming to school," she whispered to Julia. But Julia shook her
head, half sadly. She had already begun to see some of her cousin's
peculiarities.
By this time many girls were rushing in from the dressing-rooms laughing
and chattering as if they must say as much as possible before school
began.
A few curious eyes were turned toward Julia, but most of the girls were
so absorbed in their own affairs that they took no notice of the tall
slender stranger in her black dress.
When Miss Crawdon returned to the room she welcomed Julia very
cordially.
"I have arranged a seat for you here at the side near me," she said. "I
had to have an extra desk brought in as there was no vacant place. But I
dare say that you will not mind being by yourself here."
The seat to which Miss Crawdon pointed was in a little alcove at one
side of her desk. It was so placed that it commanded a view of all the
other desks in the room, yet it was not as conspicuous from the other
desks as it seemed to poor Julia. When she took her seat she felt as if
every one was looking at her. Whereas, in fact, only the girls in the
very front rows could see her plainly. Between Miss Crawdon's desk and
the front seat there was a row of settees where those girls who formed
Miss Crawdon's special classes, sat during recitation. There were other
class-rooms in various parts of the house, but the more advanced girls
recited either to Miss Crawdon or to teachers in the small adjoining
room.
Although Julia was less conspicuous than she imagined, it was not long
before the whole school realized that a new girl had arrived. Most of
them were too polite to show any surprise, but as each class filed
through the room on its way to the recitation-room, many curious glances
were thrown in her direction.
Miss Crawdon had told Julia that she would require no regular work from
her that day.
"Perhaps you would like to look over this history," she had added,
giving her a book, "and after recess, you may like to join the class. By
listening to the other classes this morning you will get an idea of the
kind of work I expect."
So Julia divided the two hours before recess between listening to the
recitations and glancing over the history. It happened to be a history
of France, and the special chapter was one dealing with the reign of
Louis XIV. Julia paid much less attention to the book than she did to
the girls who were reciting. It was all so new to her, for it was really
true that she had never been in a school before. She admired the skill
with which Miss Crawdon asked questions, and she wondered if she would
ever be able to give replies herself, as clear as those of some of the
girls. Yet not all the girls, she observed, knew their lesson, and some
of them showed great cleverness in concealing--or trying to conceal this
ignorance from Miss Crawdon. The latter was unusually proficient in
reading girls, and she generally recognized the evasive answer that was
intended to conceal lack of knowledge. The second class of the morning
was one in English history, the period, the beginning of the reign of
Mary. Julia had been engaged with her own book, but she looked up to
hear Miss Crawdon saying, "So Mary succeeded one of the Princes murdered
in the tower, at least I understood you to say Edward V."
"Yes," answered a voice which Julia recognized as that of Brenda's
friend Belle, "yes, she succeeded her brother, the murdered prince, who
had been beheaded by Katharine of Arragon."
Miss Crawdon did not smile, and Belle could not see the look of surprise
on the faces of some of her classmates. But unfortunately she could see
Julia's face and the involuntary smile on the latter's lips. She turned
very red, and while Miss Crawdon proceeded to set her right, she
registered a vow of dislike against that "prig of a Julia" who evidently
knew more history than she did. Julia, too, caught the disagreeable look
that flashed from Belle's eyes, and she greatly regretted that smile.
Belle was one of those girls who seldom study a lesson thoroughly. She
always had vague general ideas of the topic under consideration, gained
by a rapid survey of the pages assigned for a lesson. When she could do
so unobserved, sometimes during recitation she would look between the
covers of her book to refresh her lagging memory. Nora and Edith and
Brenda were also in the class with her, and sometimes one or the other
of them would prompt her to save her from disgrace. Nora occasionally
had pangs of conscience, and announced that she considered looking in a
book or prompting, dishonorable. But sometimes she yielded to Belle's
signals for help over a hard place. Belle did not often signal, for she
relied as a general thing on her own fluency of language to conceal her
lack of knowledge. Miss Crawdon, however, had what Belle called an
aggravating way of making her repeat her words until her mistakes were
displayed in all their nakedness to the rest of the class.
"It's bad enough," she said to a group surrounding her at recess. "It's
bad enough to have Miss Crawdon always down on one, but really I can't
stand it if Julia is to sit where she can watch everything I do when I'm
reciting to Miss Crawdon. I shouldn't think that you girls would like it
either," she concluded.
"Oh, we're not afraid; we generally know our lessons," answered Frances
Pounder, the girl whose careless remark had hurt Julia's feelings
earlier in the day.
"Well, it doesn't matter whether you know your lessons or not, you can
see for yourself that it's very funny for Miss Crawdon to put any girl
in so conspicuous a place, right beside her, almost. I hate favoritism."
"Why, how you talk, Belle. This cousin of Brenda's hasn't been in school
a day yet, and you talk of favoritism."
"Well, why shouldn't she have been in the history class with us? She
told me she was going to have French history with the older girls. Just
think of it, she's only a little older than we, and she's going to
recite with girls nearly eighteen."
"She isn't so very pretty, is she?" said another girl, and so a
conversation went on which luckily Julia could not hear. She spent the
recess walking up and down with Nora, who was rapidly becoming her most
intimate friend.
VI
MISUNDERSTANDINGS
Little by little Julia accustomed herself to the routine of school. At
first it was much harder for her than any one suspected. Even after she
had become fairly well acquainted with the girls in her classes, she
dreaded each recitation. It was no easy task to put her knowledge into
the definite form needed in answering questions. She had much more
general information than many of her classmates, but nearly all were
better skilled in reciting lessons. Although in history, Latin and
literature she was two classes ahead of Brenda and the three other
inseparables, she was with all but Edith in mathematics, and, rather to
Brenda's delight, a class below them in French. Julia's father had been
much less interested in modern than in ancient languages, and Julia had
had limited opportunities for learning French. Belle, on the contrary,
was a really fine French scholar. She was fonder, indeed, of introducing
French words and phrases into her conversation than should have been the
case with a girl who really understood the French language. Edith
excelled in mathematics, Nora, strange to say, Nora, who was so careless
about most of her lessons, had a real gift for English composition.
Brenda did well in all her studies "by fits and starts," as the girls
said. She had fine powers, her teachers often told her, which she seldom
exerted to the utmost. But Brenda and her friends formed only a small
part of the school, and Julia soon found that in every class she had one
or two competitors whose proficiency spurred her on.
To be perfectly frank, however, it must be said that the majority of
Miss Crawdon's girls were not hard workers. Miss Crawdon, herself, often
felt greatly discouraged that girls with the opportunities of most of
her pupils, should appreciate these opportunities so little. With most
of them attending school was a mere duty, a way in which several months
of each year must be spent until they should "come out." Miss Crawdon
tried in vain to arouse in most of them something more like a passing
interest in their work. Occasionally she found a spark of earnestness in
one of her pupils which she was able to fan into ambition. But more
often she had to give up the attempt to induce a bright girl to become a
genuine student. There were too many distractions out of school, and
parents were apt to be slow in seconding her efforts. Miss Crawdon was
pleased, therefore, to find in Julia a girl who loved study and who was
inclined to persevere.
One day Brenda came home from school in a state of considerable
excitement.
"What do you think, mamma, Julia is going to study Greek! Did you ever
hear of such a thing?"
"Why shouldn't Julia study Greek?" said her mother. "Why are you so
excited about it?"
"Oh, it's so foolish. No girl at Miss Crawdon's ever studied Greek
before. Julia says she's going to college, _is she_? Oh, dear, I think
it's horrid."
"Why, Brenda, really----"
"Well, it makes me so conspicuous."
"How can that be?"
"Why every one will point me out and say, 'Oh it's her cousin who
studies Greek.' It sounds so strong-minded to talk of going to college.
The next thing she'll want to be a teacher."
"It seems to me you are very unreasonable, Brenda. You ought to be glad
that your cousin is so ambitious. I only wish that you were half as fond
of study."
"There, that's it. I knew there'd be comparisons. Oh, dear! It never was
so before Julia came."
"Daughter," said Mr. Barlow from behind his paper. Brenda trembled, for
her father's "Daughter" was generally the introduction to a lecture.
"Daughter, I fear that you are jealous."
Brenda shook her head. "Oh, papa!"
"Yes, Brenda, I have noticed in several ways that you are less kind to
Julia than you should be. How does it happen that you and she never
start off to school together?"
"Brenda is never ready when Julia is," said Mrs. Barlow.
"Ah, Brenda, your habit of tardiness is a very bad one."
"I'm hardly ever late at school. Belle and I get there a full minute
before the bell rings."
"That may be, but it would be better if you and Julia started together."
"She does not have to go alone. Nora is generally with her."
"Ah, Brenda, the point I am trying to make is this; you do not spend
nearly as much time with your cousin as I had hoped you would, and you
are too ready to find fault with what she does!"
"You always blame me, and you never find any fault with Julia. Why
didn't she tell me that she was going to study Greek? The girls all
asked me to-day if I knew about it, and I had to say that I hadn't heard
a word."
"You and Belle have been very much occupied with your own affairs this
week. Julia consulted us about her plans and----"
"Well, _is_ she going to college?" interrupted Brenda.
"I cannot say positively," smiled Mrs. Barlow. "It rests with Julia
herself."
"I never saw anything like it," pouted Brenda. "Julia isn't two years
older than I, and you let her do whatever she wants to. Oh, dear!" And
Brenda pushed aside the portiere and left the room.
"That is just what I feared for Brenda," said Mr. Barlow. "Julia's
coming makes her even a little more suspicious than she was before. She
constantly has the idea that something of importance has been concealed
from her which she ought to know."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Barlow, "I am afraid that Brenda is hopelessly
spoiled. We did not realize the danger when she was little. The other
two girls were so different."
"It would not surprise me," responded Mr. Barlow, "if after all some
change should come to Brenda's point of view from having to consider her
cousin more or less."
"If only she _would_ consider her," sighed Mrs. Barlow.
If Julia felt at all slighted by Brenda, she did not say so. Indeed she
was too well occupied with her lessons and her music to be disturbed by
trivial things. What her object was in studying Greek she did not
disclose fully to any one, but she studied diligently the difficult
declensions and conjugations. The serious looking man with eyeglasses
who came to the school three times a week, was an object of much
interest to most of the girls.
"Doesn't he look learned? Oh, Julia, I should think that you would be
frightened to death," said Edith. But Julia smiled.
"I wish myself that Greek were just a little easier. I've got to the
verbs and it seems to me I never shall know them."
"I don't wonder," responded Edith. "I don't see how you ever learn
it,--all those queer letters and marks and things. Well, I should feel
just as though I were standing on my head if I tried to study Greek."
Edith had no vanity about herself, at least in the matter of lessons.
Her special talent was for drawing and mathematics but although she was
conscientious about her school work, she rarely distinguished herself in
her recitations. Like Nora, she had begun to have a great admiration for
Julia. The latter shook her head when Edith spoke of the difficulty she
had in learning Greek.
"It's like everything else," she said, "you can learn it if you make up
your mind to try hard enough."
"I wish that had been the way with my German, for I really did try. Papa
is disappointed, because he wanted me to speak by the time we go to
Europe again."
"Then why don't you persevere? It would please him and it would do you
good. If I were you I would take it up now."
"Well, perhaps I will after Christmas. Miss Crawdon won't let us make
any changes until then."
As Edith watched Julia's diligence and perseverance she really became
ashamed of her own rather indolent way of treating her lessons.
When Nora or Brenda came for her to go to walk early on some bright
October afternoon she was very apt to say, "Oh, I cannot go now, I must
finish studying."