HIGHACRES
Old Peter Westley had made up his mind, so gossip said, to build
Highacres when he heard that Thomas Knowles, a business rival, had
bought a palatial home on the most beautiful avenue of the city.
"Pouf"--that was Uncle Peter's favorite expression and he had a way of
blowing it through his scraggly mustache that made it most impressive.
"Pouf! _I'll_ show him!" The next morning he drove around to a real
estate office, bundled the startled real estate broker into his car and
carried him off to the outskirts of the city, where lay a beautiful
tract of land advertised as "Highacre Terrace," and held (with an eye to
the growth of the city) at a startling figure. In the real estate office
it had been divided into building lots with "restrictions," which meant
that only separate houses could be built on the lots. Peter Westley
struck the ground with his heavy cane and said he'd take the whole
piece. The real estate man gasped. Uncle Peter said "pouf" again and the
deal was settled.
Then he summoned architects from all over the country who, to his
delight, spent hours in the office of the Westley Cement-Mixer
Manufacturing Company trying to outdo one another in finesse and
suavity. Fortunately he decided upon a man who had genius as well as
tact, who, without his knowing it, could quietly bend old Peter Westley
to his way of thinking. Under this man's planning the new home grew
until it stood in its finished perfection, a mass of stone and marble
surrounded by great trees and sloping lawns. Gossip said further that
Highacres so far surpassed the remodeled home of Thomas Knowles that
that poor gentleman had resigned from the Meadow Brook Country Club so
that he would not have to drive past it!
What sentiment had led Peter Westley to leave Highacres to the Lincoln
School no one would ever know; perhaps deep in his queer old heart was
an affection for his nephew Robert's children, who came dutifully to see
him once or twice a year, but made no effort to conceal the fact that
they thought it a dreadful bore.
"I think," Isobel said seriously to her family, as they were gathered
around the breakfast table, a few days after Jerry's arrival, "that it'd
be nice if Gyp and I put on black----"
"_Black_----" cried Gyp, spilling her cocoa in her astonishment.
"Yes, black. We should have worn it when Uncle Peter died and now, going
to school out there, it would show the others that we respected----"
Mrs. Westley laughed, then when she saw the color deepen on Isobel's
cheeks she added soothingly: "Your thought's all right, Isobel dear, but
it will be hardly necessary for you and Gyp to put on black now to show
your respect. I think every pupil of Lincoln can best do it by building
up a reputation for scholarship that will make Lincoln known all over
the country."
"Isobel just wants everybody to remember she's Uncle Peter's----"
"Hush, Graham." Mrs. Westley had a way of saying "hush" that cleared a
threatening atmosphere at once.
"Oh, isn't it going to be _fun_?" cried Gyp. "Mother, can't we take
Jerry out there this morning?"
"But I have to use the car----"
"If you girls were fellows, we could walk," broke in Graham.
"We can--we can! It's only two miles and a half. Simpson watched on the
speedometer the last time we drove out."
Graham looked questioningly at Jerry and Jerry, suddenly recalling the
miles of mountain trail over which she had climbed, laughed back her
answer.
Because a new world, that surpassed any fairy tale, had opened to Jerry
in these last few days, it seemed only fitting to go to school in a
building that was like a palace. She thrilled at the thought of the new
school life, the girls and boys who would be her classmates, the new
teachers, the new studies. For years and years, back at the Notch she
had always sat in front of Rose Smith and back of Jimmy Chubb; she had
progressed from fractions to measurements and then on to algebra and
from spelling to Latin with the outline of Jimmy's winglike ears so
fixed a part of her vision that she wondered if now she might not find
that she could not study without them. And there had always been, as far
back as she could remember, only little Miss Masten to teach
multiplication and geography and algebra alike; she and the other
children who made up the "advanced grade" of the school at Miller's
Notch always called her "Miss Sarah." Would there be anyone like Miss
Sarah at Lincoln?
As they walked along, Gyp bravely measuring her step to Jerry's freer
stride, Gyp explained to Jerry "all about" Uncle Peter.
"He's father's uncle. Father's father--that's my grandfather--was his
youngest brother. He died when he was just a young man and Uncle Peter
never got over it. Mother says my grandfather was the only person Uncle
Peter ever really liked. He always lived in the same funny little old
house even after he made lots of money, until he built Highacres. He was
terribly queer. I used to be dreadfully afraid of him because he always
carried a big cane and had the awfullest way of looking at you! His eyes
sort of bored holes right through you, so that you turned cold all over
and couldn't even cry. I'm glad he's dead. He was awfully old,
anyway--or at least he looked old. We used to just hate to have to go to
see him. The old stingy wouldn't ever even give us a stick of candy."
"The poor old man," Jerry said so feelingly that Gyp stared at her. "My
mother always said that such people are so unhappy that they punish
themselves. Maybe he really wanted to be nice and just didn't know how!
Anyway, he's given his home to the school."
If Peter Westley, looking down from another world, was reading that
thought in a hundred young hearts he must surely be finding his reward.
"There it is!" cried Graham, who was walking ahead.
School could not really seem a bit like school, Jerry thought, as she
followed the others through the spacious grounds into the building, when
one studied in such beautiful rooms where the sun, streaming through
long windows framed in richly-toned walnut, danced in slanting golden
bars across parqueted floors. Gyp's enthusiasm, though, made it all very
real.
"Here, Jerry, here's where the third form study room will be. Look,
here's the geom. classroom! Oh, I _hope_ we'll be put in the same class.
Let's go down to the Gym. Oh--look at the French room--isn't it
darling?" The trees outside were casting a shimmer of green through the
sunshine in the room. "Mademoiselle will say: 'Young ladies, it ees
beau-ti-ful!' Aren't these halls jolly, Jerry? Oh, I can't _wait_ for
school to begin."
On their way to the gymnasium, which was in the new wing of the
building, the girls met another group. One of these disentangled herself
from the arms that encircled her waist and threw herself into Gyp's
embrace. The extravagance of her demonstration startled Jerry, but when
Gyp introduced her, in an off-hand way: "This is Ginny Cox, Jerry,"
Jerry found herself fascinated by the dash and "_camaraderie_" in the
girl's manner.
There were other introductions and excited greetings; each tried to tell
how "scrumptious" and "gorgeous" and "spliffy" she thought the new
school. Like Gyp, none of them could wait until school opened. Then the
group passed on and Jerry, breathless at her first encounter with her
schoolmates-to-be, remembered only Ginny Cox.
"She's the funniest girl--she's a perfect circus," Gyp explained in
answer to Jerry's query. "Everybody likes her and she's the best forward
we ever had in Lincoln." All of which was strange tribute to Jerry's
ears, for, back at the Notch, poor Si Robie had always been dubbed the
"funniest" child in the school and _he_ had been "simple." Jerry did not
know exactly how valuable a good "forward" was to any school but, she
told herself, she knew she was going to like Ginny Cox.
In the gymnasium the girls found Graham with a group of boys. Gyp
greeted them boisterously. Jerry, watching shyly, thought them all very
jolly-looking boys.
"Do you see that tall boy down there?" Gyp nodded toward another group.
"That's Dana King. Isobel's got an awful crush on him. She won't admit
it but I _know_ it, and the other girls say so, too. He's a senior."
The boy turned at that moment. His pleasant face was aglow with
enthusiasm.
"Come on, fellows," he cried to the other boys, "let's give a yell for
old Peter Westley." And the yell was given with a will!
"L-I-N-C-O-L-N! L-I-N-C-O-L-N!
Lincoln! Lincoln!
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Peter Westley! Pe-ter! West-ley!"
Jerry tingled to her finger-tips. Gyp had yelled with the others, so had
Ginny Cox, who had come back into the room. What fun it was all going to
be. Dana King was leading the boys in a serpentine march through the
building; out in the hall the line broke to force in a laughing,
remonstrating carpenter. Jerry heard their boyish voices gradually die
away.
"Before we go back let's climb up to the tower room." That was the name
the children had always given to the largest of the turrets that crowned
Highacres' many-gabled roof. A stairway led directly to it from the
third floor. But the door of the room was locked.
"How tiresome," exclaimed Gyp, shaking the knob. Not that she did not
know just what the tower room was like, but she hated locked doors--they
always made her so curious.
"It's the nicest room--you can see way off over the city from its
windows." She gave the offending door a little kick. "They put all of
Uncle Peter's old books and papers and things up here--mother wouldn't
have them brought to our house, you see. I remember she told Graham the
key was down in the safety-deposit box at the bank. Well----"
disappointed, Gyp turned down the stairs. "I've always loved tower
rooms, don't you, Jerry? They're so romantic. Can't you just see the
poor princess who won't marry the lover her father has commanded her to
marry, languishing up there? Even chained to the wall!"
Jerry shuddered but loved the picture. She added to it: "She's got long
golden, hair hanging down over her shoulders and she's tearing it in her
wretchedness."
"And beating her breast and vowing over and over that she will _not_
marry the horrible wicked prince----"
"And refusing to eat the dry bread that the ugly old keeper of the
drawbridge slips through the door----"
At this point in the heartrending story the two laughing girls reached
the outer door. Gyp slipped an affectionate hand through Jerry's arm.
She forgot the languishing princess she had consigned to the prison
above in her joy of the bright sunshine, the inviting slopes of
Highacres, velvety green, and the new friend at her side.
"I'm so _glad_ Uncle Johnny found you!"