ON THE LAWN
“When I was a very small girl,” exclaimed Mollie Richards, otherwise
known as Dick, “I used to hope I would die young so I could escape the
tooth-filling process, but here I am, doing these dreadful exams, and I
haven’t died yet.”
“Never despair,” quoted Rose-Mary. “The worst is yet to come.”
“Cheer up, fellows,” lisped little Nita Brandt, “We’ve been promised a
clam-bake when it’s all over.”
“Yes, I fancy it will be all over with me when that clam-bake arrives,”
sighed Edna Black. “Since Tavia has ‘turned turtle’ I don’t even have the
fun of sneezing for exercise.”
“It’s an ill wind—and so on,” ventured Dick. “That was a most abominable
habit of yours—sneezing when you were too lazy to open your mouth to
laugh.”
“But I never would have believed that Tavia would get so—so—”
“Batty,” finished Amy Brooks. “It’s slang, but I know of no English word
into which the explicit ‘batty’ may be translated.”
“And Tavia of all girls,” added Ned, ponderingly.
“But it seems to agree with her,” declared Cologne. “Haven’t you noticed
her petal complexion?”
“Too much like the drug store variety,” objected Nita. “I like something
more substantial.”
“Sour grapes,” fired back Ned, who could always be depended on to take
Tavia’s part. “Yours is so perfect—”
“Oh, I know—freckles,” admitted the confused Nita with a pout. “Fair
skins always freckle.”
“Then why don’t you close the ‘fair’ and raffle off,” suggested Dick.
“Much easier than sleeping in lemon juice every night.”
“Molly Richards, you’re too smart!” snapped the abused one.
“Not altogether so,” replied Dick. “At least this abominable French can’t
prove it. I have always believed that the only way to acquire a good
French accent would be to get acute tonsilitis. Then one might choke out
the gutterals beautifully.”
The girls of Glenwood school were supposed to be busy preparing for
examinations. They had congregated in little knots, out of doors,
scattering under the leafing oaks, and the temptation to gossip was
evidently more than mere girls could withstand amid such surroundings.
“There’s Dorothy now,” announced Cologne, as the latter turned into the
path.
“Yes, and there’s Tavia,” followed Ned, showing keen pleasure as the late
absent one made her appearance on the lawn.
“Now we will have a chance to study her complex—” lisped Nita with rather
a malicious tone.
“Suit you better to study your complex—verbs,” snapped Ned, while Tavia
and Dorothy came up at that moment.
Profuse greetings were showered upon Tavia, for the girls were well
pleased to have her back with them, and it must be admitted that every
eye which turned toward her came back in an unanimous vote “beautiful.”
Even Nita did not dare cast a dissenting glance—she could not, for indeed
Tavia had improved wonderfully, as we have seen, under the “grooming.”
Her hazel eyes shown brighter than ever in her clear peach-blow skin, her
hair was not now “too near red” as Nita had been in the habit of
declaring, but a true chestnut brown, and as “glossy as her new tan
shoes,” whispered Ned to Cologne.
Tavia wore her brown gingham dress, and much to the surprise of her
companions, had “her neck turned in.”
“What happened to your collar?” asked Dick, with a merry twinkle in her
eyes.
“I happened to it,” answered Tavia promptly. “No sense in having one’s
neck all marked up from collars—going about advertising capital
punishment.”
“Behold the new woman! We will make her president of our peace
conference. But of course we would not expect her to settle her own
‘squabs’ with Nita. We will have a committee of subs, for that department
of the work,” said Cologne as she made room for Dorothy at her side,
being anxious to get a private word with her. Tavia found a place between
Ned and Dick, and soon the others were at least pretending to be at their
books, realizing that too much time had already been wasted on outside
matters.
The morning typified one of those rare days in June, and the girls on the
lawn were like human spring blossoms—indeed what is more beautiful than a
wholesome, happy young girl?
She need not be especially beautiful in feature, for health and happiness
make her irresistible to the real student of beauty, and the wonderful
charm of human life seems nowhere to be so perfectly depicted as in the
personality of a young girl.
“At last,” announced Lena Berg, rolling over as the bell for recreation
sounded, ending the period of open-air study usually allowed at this
season.
Instantly the others were on their feet, and, as quickly had paired off
for their favorite pastime. Ned and Tavia were together, Dorothy was with
Cologne, and the others had selected their companions to suit their
particular fancy.
“Say, Parson,” began Cologne, using the name made for Dorothy from her
initials “D. D.,” and placing her arm about Dorothy’s waist, “we’ve got a
great scheme on. We’re going swimming!”
“Swimming!” Dorothy almost screamed.
“Exactly that,” insisted Cologne. “Mrs. Pangborn has given the permission
and we are to go to Squinty Lake to-morrow afternoon.”
“Squinty Lake?” echoed Dorothy in surprise.
“Well, they call it Sunset, you know, but Ned declares it is ‘Squinty’ as
no one can look out of the front of her eyes on the shores of it. But
isn’t it too giddy—to go swimming so early. And to think that Higley is
the best swimmer of the respected faculty. Now if our dear little Camille
Crane were here—Feathers, you know. But I don’t suppose she will be back
to the bench this season. Wasn’t it too bad she should break down?”
rattled on Cologne. “But for the swimming! Aren’t you perfectly
delighted? You haven’t said a single word.”
“Why I haven’t had a chance,” replied Dorothy laughing. “Of course it is
lovely to think you can go.”
“I can go! Aren’t you going?”
“I don’t believe so. Tavia is so fond of swimming, and I am sure she
would not dare go in the water so soon after her fever. So I guess I’ll
stay home to keep her company.”
“Oh, you silly!” exclaimed Cologne. “Why should you stay out on her
account?” and, possibly there was a note of jealousy in the girl’s tone,
and a hint of it in her manner. “I’m very sure she wouldn’t do as much
for you.”
“Indeed she would, Cologne,” Dorothy hurried to say. “You have no idea
how kind Tavia can be and has been to me. Why, when I was sick home in
Dalton, she stayed with me night and day.”
“Well, I can’t see why you shouldn’t go in bathing when you get a chance.
Precious seldom the chance comes at Glenwood.”
“I suppose Mrs. Pangborn has hired the beach,” ventured Dorothy.
“Yes, worse luck. Afraid any one would see our orphan asylum bathing
suits.”
“Indeed, I think those brown suits very pretty,” objected Dorothy. “I
thought so when I saw them taken out this spring. Of course I have never
worn one.”
“Of course you haven’t,” agreed Cologne. “That’s why you like ’em, but
you should try to swim dog fashion in one of those knickerbockers. The
skirts are built for hoops, but they seemed to run short of goods on the
bloomers.”
“But it is awfully good of Mrs. Pangborn to provide for bathing when we
will soon be at our own summer quarters for it.”
“Yes, I admitted that much at the start, if you will remember. But,
really, Doro, you had better make up your mind to go in. It’s all
nonsense to stay out to keep Tavia company. I’m sure she would rather see
you in the swim.”
“I’ll see,” answered Dorothy, as they turned back into the path that led
to the Hall.