Miss Hanscom was nervous when she called the school to order. Her voice
was sharp and her body rigid as steel. Her state of mind was felt all
over the room. The silence was ominous. It was not that of a healthy,
well-disciplined set of boys and girls. It was a condition impelled by
fear.
The girls sat bolt upright, not daring to glance at the door through
which the visitors were being ushered by Miss Ward, the vice-principal.
The boys twisted the tops of the ink wells or sat with their hands deep
in their pockets, trying their best to appear unconcerned, while their
eyes were anywhere but upon the visitors.
Miss Ward was a wholly different type from Miss Hanscom. She never
thought of herself or the impression that she might be making. Her
desire was to make everyone about her comfortable and happy. It follows,
of course, that one loves that person who brings out the best in one.
The instant Miss Ward entered the room there was a relaxation of tense
muscles and a sigh went over the room. Unconsciously each boy and girl
felt easier. Miss Ward made them feel at ease. They could do their best
if she were presiding in the school-room.
The guests who were being ushered in were worth notice. The dignified,
stately judge with his silver hair, and judicial, yet kindly bearing;
Colonel Evans, who bore the marks of military training in every move,
although years were heavy upon them. Mr. Laurens, a prominent engineer
and construction man who had built the finest bridges in the world, and
who was always called in for conference whenever any great engineering
feat was in prospect. He was a man in the forties, perhaps. He was
particularly fine appearing, with no thought of self in his bearing or
expression. Indeed, his whole attitude was centered upon his wife. He
was careful of her comfort, and most considerate toward her in every
way. She was a dainty woman, slender in physique, with delicate,
exquisite coloring, and wonderfully expressive eyes. She smiled and
laughed as she talked with Miss Ward, yet her face, when at rest,
expressed only sadness.
Beth's eyes rested upon her and remained there. She fairly held her
breath. Never in her life had she seen anything so exquisite as this
woman. Her heart gave a great leap. Beth watched her while she was
talking and until she moved across the room and took her place with the
others before the school. Then the woman sat silent, and the peculiar
look of wistful sadness came to her face. Beth felt it. She did not know
what had caused the change in her own feelings; but her heart sank, and
great tears sprang to her eyes.
"She's so sweet that it makes my heart ache," she told herself.
"Wouldn't it be heavenly to be her little girl. I'd love her to death.
I'd hug her until she couldn't breathe."
Poor little prosaic Beth had grown sentimental. She sat quite still with
her eyes upon the woman. She neither spoke nor moved. She forgot that
there was any one else in the room. As far as she was concerned, Mrs.
Laurens was the only one.
But the woman's glance never turned in Beth's direction. After that
sweet, fleeting glance over the room, she had let her eyes droop upon
her hands folded in her lap, and she did not raise them again. Her
husband sat near her. He talked with those about him and seemed a part
of everything, yet it was evident that his wife engrossed his thoughts,
for his tender, yet uneasy glances were turned upon her. She seemed
unconscious of this and sat quiet as though in deep thought.
The program began. There was a general stiffening of spines. Carrie
Laire leaned over to ask Beth if she didn't think Mrs. Laurens the most
beautiful creature in the world, and if she was not sorry that she did
not have a mother who would come to visit school. Adee had come and was
sitting up in front among the visitors. Mrs. Laire was near her.
"I have Adee. She's better than any mother I ever saw. She's the
prettiest woman there--except Mrs. Laurens," she said.
Tilly Jones was straightening out her hair-ribbons. She smoothed her
sash and drew it over the edge of the seat that it might not muss. Then
she adjusted her rings and bracelets. Her fussiness brought the eyes of
the visitors upon her. Tilly was not abashed. She met their glances and
turned to give a loving pat to her sash. Then she leaned forward to
speak to Beth. "Look at Mrs. Laurens' motor-coat. Isn't it simply
divine? It must have cost fifty dollars. Look at the heels of her shoes.
They're the most expensive shoes that can be bought. My aunt Tilly--."
She continued her monologue in a whisper. Beth was not listening to a
word she said. Her eyes and mind were upon the wonderful woman who sat
at the front of the room.
The fairy-stories and "make-believe" tales between Adee and Beth had
continued all the years that they were together, so that the child's
native imagination had been well developed. This would be such a lovely
story. The lady would be the princess or queen who had had a great
sorrow. Beth thought it all out as she sat there. She would write about
it, and read it at the next meeting of the Literary Society. She was
glad that Sally Monroe had put her on the program.
The exercises were progressing nicely. Some one thumped out a solo on
the piano. There were essays on subjects which a sage would have
hesitated to handle. _The High School Daily_ was presented. Harvey
Lackard, the red-headed, freckle-faced boy, was editor-in-chief and read
the edition. There were editorials and poems. Beth sat up to listen.
This was something new and really worth while. She forgot for a time the
sweet-faced woman sitting before her. She laughed aloud when Harvey
read, "What They Remind Me Of." There followed a list of the pupils with
some characteristic appended.
Tilly Jones--An Animated Price List.
Carrie Laire--The Living Question Mark.
Sally Monroe--A Lubricating Oil Can.
Beth Wells--The Verbal Pugilist.
Beth laughed as heartily as any at the gibe at herself. It was a little
odd. Only twice in her life had she spoken sharply. Harvey had been
present. He knew nothing of the thousand times she had maintained a
discreet, though painful, silence.
She laughed, but nevertheless she was sorry that Harvey had received
such an unpleasant impression of her.
Tilly Jones was to recite. When her name was called, there was a little
flutter of excitement about her desk, she straightened her sash and
turned her bracelet about so that the sets might show. She did this
while she walked up the aisle. All the while she watched the visitors to
see how her elegance was impressing them. They smiled. She accepted this
as a sign of admiration, and, self-confident, took her stand in the
middle of the platform. There was a moment's silence. She twisted her
bracelet, put her hand back of her and coughed. This was followed by a
longer silence. She raised her eyes imploringly toward Miss Ward. The
teacher knew the symptoms.
"The Assyrian came down like a wolf," repeated Miss Ward.
"The Assyrian came down like a wolf," cried Tilly confidently. Then she
paused, coughed, and brought her hands to the front.
"The Assyrian came down like a wolf," she said again. After this, she
straightened herself, changed her weight to her left foot, and caught
the ends of her sash. She bent her head as though trying to recall the
elusive next line. She pressed her lips and fixed her eyes vacantly upon
a picture at the farthest end of the room.
"The Assyrian came down like a wolf--like a wolf--"
"Take your seat," said Miss Ward.
Tilly obeyed. As she passed Harvey Lackard he whispered, and every one
heard: "All price lists marked down." Tilly smiled good-naturedly. She
had not grasped the wit of his remark and in no way thought it applied
to her.
Mrs. Laurens's eyes followed her until she took her seat. Beth had moved
so that her face was in full view. The eyes of the woman fell upon her.
Then she leaned forward, looking intently at Beth, studying her face as
an artist might study that of the subject he would put on canvas.
A moment she sat intent, rigid, with her eyes fixed on Beth's face. Then
turning to her husband, she laid her hand upon his arm and spoke to him
in a low tone.
He looked startled, surprised. Then he too looked at Beth with more than
passing interest. He turned to his wife and talked with her. Then he
arose and, offering his arm, led her from the room.
"Mrs. Laurens has become faint," he said. "If you will excuse us, Miss
Ward."
"Miss Hanscom, escort them to the teachers' room," said Miss Ward. The
younger teacher did as requested. The rest room was across the hall. Mr.
Laurens found a chair for his wife.
"You are very foolish, Ermann," he said gently, "do give up this
feeling. Control yourself, please do."
"Have I not up to this? I have kept everything to myself until now. The
resemblance was startling. She looks just like you and your sisters,
Joe."
"Such resemblances often appear," he said, sitting down beside her.
"It might be--strange things happen, you know. I've always had a queer
feeling about coming here. I've had a premonition. You know how I felt.
I have not been so eager for anything for years. She's such a dear
looking child, Joe, and just about the age that our girl is."
"Would have been," he corrected. "You know we decided over a year ago
that we would give up hope of finding her. We'll think of her as dead.
That will be a better way of looking at it."
"I try, but I can't. Something within me will not let me think of her
but living. Who knows, Joe? This might be. We might have been led here."
"I think it nonsense," was the reply. "No doubt the child's parents live
here. You saw that she was dressed well, and looked happy. She looked
like a child of well-to-do parents."
"But Joe, you might inquire," she pleaded. No one could resist the
entreaty of her eyes.
"I will, but make up your mind that the thing cannot be true. You know
how you feel after a disappointment. I'll ask, but you must expect
nothing. I'll not have you 'fagged.' Remember that you have me yet. You
must brace up and be cheerful for my sake."
"I'll try, Joe. You'll ask?"
Miss Hanscom had gone into the class-room adjoining. Mr. Laurens went to
her.
"Who was the little girl who failed in her recitation?" he asked.
"Tilly Jones. We always expect Tilly to do that. We never permit her
name on the program when visitors are present. We always have the same
experience with her. Your coming was unexpected."
He waved her suggested apologies away.
"And the little girl who sits in front of her?" Walking to the swinging
doors, he pushed them slightly open. "She's sitting there now. Who is
she?"
Miss Hanscom peeped into the room.
"That's Elizabeth Wells, or Beth, as we call her."
"Ah, yes. Her face attracted me. Does the family live here?"
Miss Hanscom really did not know, but she never was at a loss at giving
information. She would not say, "I have been here but a few years and do
not know all the people about here." Not to know was to argue herself
unknown. So she straightened her shoulders and set forth impressions as
though they were facts.
"The Wells family have lived here for a century. Their farm was one of
the first cleared. It's about two miles out of town. Eliza Wells is the
last of the family, except this little girl who is her brother's
daughter."
"If she was a sister's child, her name would not be Wells," thought Miss
Hanscom to herself as she justified her last remark.
Mr. Laurens moved away. "You heard, Ermann?" he said to his wife who had
joined them.
"Yes," she said dully, as though she had lost interest in everything
about her. "Let us go to the car. I wish to go home."
"Yes, Ermann," he said. He escorted her, half leaning on his arm, into
the main hall. The girls in the freshman class were preparing for
dismissal and were passing into the cloak room, which was a division of
the main hallway.
Mrs. Laurens dropped her hand from her husband's and, erect and
intensely interested, watched them. Suddenly, as Beth came near, she
threw out her arms and hugged the girl to her, kissing her on brow and
cheeks.
"Dear little girl, love me a little for the sake of my baby who is
gone."
"I do--I did from the first," said Beth.
"Ermann, dearest," remonstrated her husband, "you are making a scene.
Come, the car is waiting."
She loosened her arms about Beth and, without another word or glance in
the direction of the cloak room, permitted her husband to escort her to
the car waiting below.