THE BURIAL OF FRIENDSHIP
Both the young people were for the moment quite unconscious of Madam
Hammersly’s presence. They shook hands longer than was necessary, and
burbled inconsequential questions and answers, as most people do to
hide their deepest feelings. Beth’s black eyes sparkled through a film
of teardrops and Larry’s blue eyes expressed all the admiration they
were capable of showing.
But he said: “How nice to see you again, Beth. Say! is there a girl
going to school here named Freylinghausen?”
“Freylinghausen?” repeated Beth, puzzled, yet feeling that the name
struck some chord of memory.
“Yes. Miss Freylinghausen, of Philadelphia. No end of a swell----”
“We have plenty of that kind here, Larry,” said Beth, her eyes
twinkling and the dimples coming into her cheeks at the call of
mischief. “But I do not think that a girl of that name attends
Rivercliff School.”
“Why! I just saw her come out. She passed me on the steps. She took the
car I rode up in just now,” cried Larry, rather excitedly. “I met her
once with a party of Philadelphians that came to New York----”
“Oh, my dear!” laughed Beth. “That was Cynthia Fogg.”
“Who was? The girl I met in New York?”
“No. The girl who just went out. She--she--she has been doing
parlor-maid’s work here, and has just been discharged.”
She said this so low that Madam Hammersly could not hear it. Then she
wheeled and led Larry toward the austere looking lady in the background.
“I beg your pardon, Madam Hammersly,” Beth said. “This is my very
oldest friend, Mr. Lawrence Haven. He is just like an elder brother to
me, and comes from my home.”
The madam welcomed Larry with some cordiality. She evidently liked the
young man’s appearance. After a minute or two of conversation, Beth
asked, placidly:
“May Larry sit down here in the drawing-room, Madam, while I finish my
dusting? We can talk just as well.”
“Why--yes, child. I see no objection,” replied the madam, yet looking
at Beth oddly. “Would you not rather postpone the--er--assistance you
were so kindly rendering me until your guest has gone?”
“Oh, no, Madam,” Beth said brightly. “Can’t afford to put it off till
later. Mother always says, ‘Later never strikes by our clock.’ And
Larry has often bothered me while I did housework.”
Larry said nothing. His face, however, was a study. He followed Beth
with some hesitation into the north room. The madam, who believed in
the proprieties, remained just out of earshot.
“Now tell me about everything and everybody, Larry,” Beth said
blithely, recommencing her dusting. “You may sit in that corner by the
door. I have dusted there.”
“But, Beth!” gasped Larry. “What does this mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“This--er--masquerade?” he said, pointing to her cap and apron.
“I’ll have you know, sir, this is no masquerade,” cried the girl,
laughing. “This cap and apron are the badges of independence.”
“Independence!”
“Yes, sir. I have taken Cynthia Fogg’s place. She did not suit. I am
going to earn real money by doing parlor-maid’s work--if I can satisfy
Madam Hammersly.”
“But, Beth!” Larry repeated. “What--what will people say?”
“What people?”
“The--the young ladies here at school?”
“Why, they don’t care who keeps the furniture polished,” and Beth
laughed again, but she shot her friend a penetrating glance.
“How about Miss Hammersly--the principal? I should think she would not
allow such a thing. Why, Beth! it is dreadful!”
“What is dreadful?” she asked him, with sudden tenseness in her tone.
“My earning money in an honorable way? Why, Larry, you know I came to
Rivercliff with that expectation.”
“But this--er--domestic service,” he said faintly. Then, with sudden
heat: “And is it true that you go out--by the day--to people’s
houses--to do such work?”
“Not just like this, Larry,” said the girl, gently, and still watching
him covertly.
“But it seems too dreadful! Does your mother know it?”
“I presume she has her suspicions,” and Beth laughed shortly.
“I don’t mean to offend you----”
“Then let us talk of something else, dear Larry, for I see that we
never shall agree in this matter. I will tell you that mother borrowed
from some one four hundred dollars to pay for my first year at school
here. I must pay that sum back, for, with father out of work, my
education must cease with the completion of the term paid for. Now! we
will drop it. How is father?”
Larry, too, tried his best to get away from the subject, and to talk
pleasantly of home affairs. But how could he ignore Beth’s domestic
activities when she kept on busily dusting all through his visit?
The drawing-room was finished, Larry’s call came to an end, and her
free hour was over, all at the same time. She went composedly with him
to the front door, removing her cap and apron as she heard the girls
come out of the lecture room above. Madam Hammersly had stolen away and
left them alone.
“Good-bye, Larry,” Beth said calmly, giving him her hand. “Remember me
to everybody at home.”
Larry looked away. He coughed, tried to clear his throat, attempted to
say something, and then suddenly looked around to find his hand empty
and that the door had been gently closed behind him.
Beth went trippingly up to her next recitation, appeared as usual at
supper, and spent some time at her mending afterward. When Molly came
upstairs, the two chums spent an hour conning the problems for the
next day, and Beth showed no shadow of the pain that throbbed within
her with every beat of her pulse.
When the lights were out, however, and a wind-driven moon peered in at
the window of Number Eighty, South Wing, it caught Beth Baldwin lying
wide-awake upon her pillow, and that pillow wet with bitter, bitter
tears. She was busily engaged in burying a friendship that had begun
with her very first childish remembrances.
This day--the one on which Cynthia Fogg departed and Larry Haven
called--was the last day of mark for Beth in this year at Rivercliff
School.
Of course, other important things happened--very important, indeed,
to Miss Hammersly’s graduating class. But little save lessons and the
usual grind of daily duties seemed to stir the life of the freshmen and
the sophomores.
Beth continued to mend and patch for her clientele up to the very last
week of school. She would carry home nearly one hundred dollars with
her.
Mrs. Ricardo Severn had continued to be Beth’s very good friend.
Although the girl earned quite all she was paid at the big stone house
on the Boulevard in mending Mrs. Severn’s drawn-work and laces, she was
really of the most value through her cheering presence.
But the foreign maid and the parrot continued to look askance at the
pretty schoolgirl, whom the former continued to announce as “Miz
Baldwig.” As for Mr. Dennis Montague, or “Dennis Mudd,” as the bird
preferred to call himself, he stared always at Beth with little, evil,
red eyes, and the girl was careful never to go too near when the cage
door was open.
“And, my dear,” begged Mrs. Severn, “don’t ever ask him if he wants a
cracker. That always throws Mr. Montague into a rage!”
Beth saw Mrs. Severn the Saturday afternoon before school closed for
the year. The lady dismissed her kindly, making Beth promise that, if
she should come back to Rivercliff for another term, she would take up
her work at Severn Lodge just where she laid it down.
The parrot yelled after her for the last time, “I don’t care if you
_never_ come back!” The foreign maid scowled her down the grand
stairway; and Beth went away feeling really sorry to be parted from
Mrs. Severn.
The next few days were those of hurry and bustle incident to the
closing of any large school; and finally Beth and Molly were off on the
_Water Wagtail_ again for their trip down the river--and home.