CASTLE AFTERGLOW
Jean’s first act on shutting herself up in her castle was to fling her
book across the room. Then she picked it up and tore it into fragments.
Busy with destruction, she forgot to put the disordered premises to
rights, and by the time that a mass of scraps in the wastebasket and a
bent and inky cover were all that was left of the book, Miss Sargent
came in. Finding that chaos still reigned, she made her scolding doubly
sharp. The tired, nervous teacher found her pupil most exasperating, for
Jean would give her only scowls and glum silence, and Miss Sargent left
her with the assurance that her “disobedience and ill-temper” would be
reported to Miss Carlton on her return from the city.
Slowly and wearily Jean put the room in order, tormenting herself over
her grievances as she did so, and hotly rebelling against life.
Suddenly, in collecting the scattered contents of her desk, she picked
up the paper on which she had been copying her code of rules for the
order. Her eyes fell on the heading: “The Order of the Silver Sword.”
The name of that sword was Caritas,—it was a sword of love! At the very
outset of her quest, Jean had forgotten her silver weapon and been
worsted when she might have gained a victory! Her brave resolutions came
back to her: she had decided that her own hot temper should be one of
the enemies she would fight down with the sword of love; and now she had
fallen in her first battle! Cecily had seen her, and all the girls must
have heard her! “I founded the order, and then I got angry the first
minute!” she said to herself. “And I felt as if I hated Frances and
Adela! I said I’d never forgive them! They’ll all think I wasn’t in
earnest in what I said about fighting our battles, and charity, and all
that! I’ve disgraced myself! I can’t ever look them in the face again!”
Then came passionate longing for home. If only she could tell out the
whole trouble in the comforting shelter of her mother’s arms! And the
humiliation of her downfall, and the rush of homesickness, together,
brought the rain after the thunder.
That evening, when the girls gathered in the gymnasium for the Saturday
dance, Carol was missing. She had slipped away in her pretty white
dress, and just as the music was beginning she was knocking at the door
of Castle Afterglow. No answer came. She opened the door and went in.
The room was dark, but the light from the hall showed Jean huddled in a
forlorn bunch on the window-seat. Her head was turned away, and she was
resting her forehead against the pane.
“May I come in?” asked Carol.
Jean started and looked at her visitor.
“You poor little soul, all alone here in the doleful dark!” said Carol.
“May I light up? It’s against the rules to come, I know, but I can’t
help it. I simply _had_ to run up and see you! You don’t mind if I pay
you a call?”
“Oh, no!” said Jean, longingly, for her heart was very hungry just then.
Carol turned on the electric light. “Why, Jean, dear!” she cried, as she
saw the poor girl’s face. It was feverishly flushed, and disfigured with
the burning tears that had been shed.
Jean was ashamed to have her piteous state found out, and bent her head.
But Carol seated herself beside the pathetic little figure, and, putting
her arms around her, drew her close and kissed her.
“You poor little girlie!” she said. “They’ve been martyring you! The
idea of shutting you up in prison like this! It was an outrageous shame!
Never mind! You just wait till Miss Carlton comes back, and she’ll set
things straight! But I’m glad I got the book, any way! To think I might
have gone on to the end of school, and never found you out, you dear!”
Jean listened to the girl who had seemed so far above her, and had
suddenly come so close, and her poor, little, lonely heart began to be
consoled: yet she held herself stiff and erect, for she felt her
self-control giving way under kindness. The tears were rising again,
and, in spite of her efforts to keep them back, down her cheeks they
rolled. She tried to jerk herself away, but it was no use. Carol had
seen the tears, and she drew the tired, aching head gently down on her
shoulder. Then Jean gave up the struggle, and nestling close to her new
friend, had her cry all over again; but all the time there was the sense
of being comforted, for Carol’s arms were holding her fast, and she
heard a soft voice speaking the first loving, petting words that she had
heard in all those dreary months at school. Jean lifted her head at
last.
“I can’t help it!” she said. “I was so homesick, and I
wanted—somebody—so much! And—and—I thought—nobody cared. And I was so
dreadful to-day. I got so angry! I disgraced myself so! Oh, my head! It
never ached so before!” She pressed her hands to her temples where it
seemed as if hammers were pounding.
“Does your head ache so, dear?” Carol stroked Jean’s forehead. “Why, you
poor child! Your head’s burning!” she exclaimed. “Bed’s the place for
_you_.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” said Jean, too tired to stir.
“Oh, yes, you do! Then we can have the light out and let in some fresh
air. This room’s cooking hot! I don’t wonder your head aches.”
“I’ll go to bed later, but I want _you_, now.”
“Well, you’re going to have me! I’m the one that’s going to put you to
bed. Come along! I’m a terrible boss, you know; and I always get my own
way, so you might as well give in prettily first as last.” Merrily
masterful, Carol took possession of Jean, and a few minutes afterward
the patient found herself in bed.
“I love to play trained nurse,” said Carol, tucking her up. “Now I’m
going to show you the way I cure Eunice when she’s studied herself into
a headache. I’ll have to go and get something first. Will you be a good
baby while I’m gone?”
“I’ll be good,” Jean promised, and she lay still, feeling as if the
world had turned around in a very unexpected way during the last few
minutes.
Carol’s “something” turned out to be cracked ice, and she returned from
a trip to the lower regions with a bowlful.
“Delia was a jewel,” she said. “She’s given me enough to freeze ice
cream. She’s quite broken-hearted because you wouldn’t eat any dinner,
and she says she’s going to bring you up some ‘crame toast’ when she
comes upstairs, to ‘timpt your appetoite.’”
While Jean cooled her parched throat with ice Carol rummaged about for
handkerchiefs, taking tidy Blanche’s when she could not find Jean’s. She
soaked a handkerchief, wrung it out, cooled it in her bowl of ice, and
laid it on the burning forehead.
“Oh, but that feels good!” murmured Jean.
Carol put out the light, raised the window, letting in the crisp night
air, and settled herself in a chair by the bedside.
“Now,” said she, “we’re as cozy as can be, and you’re going to sleep
like a well brought up infant.”
She began to stroke the aching head with a soft, quieting touch. Jean
closed her eyes and lay obediently still; and gradually, as the cold
compresses were renewed and the gentle stroking soothed her, the hammers
in her head beat less and less violently, until only a dull, throbbing
pain was left. But after a while she stirred restlessly; then came a
sigh; then: “How much did you read of that thing?”
“You disobedient baby!” said Carol. “I thought you were sound asleep.”
“I was, almost. But then I got thinking. I feel ever so much better now,
and I’d rather talk. Carol,—you’re _so_ dear and lovely to me!—I think
you’ll understand. I think if I just talk everything out first, then
maybe I’ll really go to sleep.”
“Very well, if you don’t think it’ll hurt your head,” said Carol.
“That’s what I came up for, to talk it all out.”
Jean found Carol’s hand and held it gratefully; but her mind was
troubled. “Tell me what you read,” she pleaded.
“I will. But first I want you to understand that nobody had the least
idea of doing anything dishonorable. I didn’t mean the girls to read the
book at all. But like a goose I left it out on my chiffonnier, and Nan
got hold of it when I wasn’t noticing and the first thing I knew, there
she was, reading away! She’s very sorry now,—we all are,—so you’ll have
to forgive us all round. You would, I’m sure, if you’d heard us praising
you this evening. Promise me you’ll let me have a copy of those poems.”
“I tore the old book up,” the poet confessed.
“Jean! You Goth, Vandal, and Hun! How could you!” exclaimed Carol,
reproachfully. “Where are the pieces? In the scrap-basket?”
“Yes, but please don’t get them out! I don’t want ever to see that
miserable old stuff any more. Please, Carol!” And, as Carol rose, Jean
pulled her back.
“No, dearie, I won’t tease you when you have a headache. Only it was
wicked of you,” said Carol. “Promise you won’t let the scraps be thrown
away till I’ve fished out what I want. I’m going to compile all the
lovely things you said about me, and send a copy to my family. Then
perhaps they’ll really begin to appreciate me at last! No, dear, I’m not
making fun of you,—indeed I’m not! Honest Injun! Now I’ll tell you what
I read. I read all there was of the novel—”
“Oh, that idiotic old novel!” groaned Jean.
“It’s a fine old novel, and you must finish it! I’m wild to find out if
I marry Arthur de Lancy! Oh, Jean! Now I know who’s been leaving me
presents of candy and flowers all winter! It was Arthur!”
“Yes, it was Arthur,” said Jean laughing, and she hid her face in the
pillow.
“You rogue!” cried Carol. “Please tell him the flowers were perfectly
lovely, and he always picked out my favorite kinds of candy. I read the
_odes_ to myself, too,” she went on, “and my head’s so turned I’ll never
get it straight again! And I read most of the poems; and, dearie, I
never heard anything so pathetic as some of them! Jean, dear, have you
really been so lonely and homesick all this time?”
“Oh, I’m dreadfully homesick! You see I never was away from mother, even
for a night, till I came to school.”
“You poor little thing; it must be fearfully hard for you! And coming
all the way from Brazil! It’s very different from being able to go home
every vacation like the rest of us! We ought to have a good shaking,
every one of us, for not joining together and petting you. But you
sha’n’t be lonely any more—no, you sha’n’t! Now, dear, tell me, for I’m
puzzled to death. How did you ever come to choose _me_, and talk as if I
really were your best friend, and write all those beautiful things to
me?”
“I did want a friend so,” Jean answered. “I mean a real intimate friend.
Every girl in school has one except me, and it hurts so to be left out!
I don’t mean the girls aren’t friendly enough, but they all have their
own chums, and I don’t like to push myself in. I _can’t_ make friends
somehow! And so I thought if I couldn’t have a real friend, I could play
I had one, anyway. And I thought I’d rather have _you_ than any one else
in the world. You’re so beautiful, and—”
“Jean! You have the _wildest_ imagination!”
“But you _are_ beautiful; all the girls think so.”
“They _don’t_.”
“They _do_. And then you’re so—so sort of splendid, you know!”
“Oh, mercy!” gasped Carol. “No, I _don’t_ know! I’m anything but
splendid!”
“Well, you _are_ splendid. And I just imagined you were my best friend.
You know if you imagine hard enough, you can make anything seem true.
And,—please don’t think me a perfect goose,—sometimes I pretend we’re
having lovely times together. I can stop homesick fits that way.”
“Jean, darling,” said Carol. “Why didn’t you come right to me? Then we
really would have had lovely times together. But how was I to know you
wanted me, when you never came near me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to bother with a little snip like me. You’re
so high up, you know!”
“Please just where between heaven and earth do I hang?” Carol inquired.
“Oh, well, you know what I mean. You’re president of the senior class,
and you’re so popular; everybody just adores you! Carol, do you think
I’m terribly crazy and queer?”
“I think you’re a darling,” said Carol, and kissed her. “And I think we
were a set of horrid, old, blind bats not to see you needed looking
after! And I think I want to have you for my friend just as much as you
want me for yours, so we’ll turn the make-believe into real, won’t we?
Just you come right straight to _me_, whenever you want me. Will you,
dear?”
For answer Jean raised herself in bed and flung her arms around Carol’s
neck.
“The real _me_ isn’t half as nice as the make-believe,” said Carol, “but
I’ll do the best I can.”
“You’re a million times nicer!” declared Jean. “But won’t you get tired
of me?” she added. “I’ll want to be coming to you all the time.”
“Very well, come all the time,” said Carol. “Come and tell your ‘best
friend’ all your troubles, and I’ll pet you up. I think everybody needs
some one to tell troubles to.”
“I’m sure _I_ do,” sighed Jean. “I always had mother at home; but
here,—why, I can’t even write them to her, because she’s such an invalid
now, and she’d worry. Oh, I’m so glad I can tell _you_! I have such
stacks of troubles, all the time! Something goes wrong about every day.
I have such a dreadful temper!”
“Nobody else ever had one, you know!” remarked Carol.
“Nobody ever had such a dreadful one. I get so furious, I don’t know
what I’m saying or doing,—as I did to-day!”
“Shake hands, Jeanie, I’m a terrible pepper-pot, myself!” said Carol.
“Carol! I don’t believe it! I _know_ you’re always perfectly lovely.”
“‘Distance lends enchantment,’” quoted Carol. “Wait till you know me
better.”
“Do you really mean you have a quick temper too?” asked Jean, delighted
to find this link between herself and Carol.
“Indeed I have! Why, Fräulein Bunsen named me the ‘Storm Child,’ the
first year I came here.”
“Storm Child?” exclaimed Jean.
“Yes. I was only fourteen when I came, and I skylarked straight through
my first year. I used to get into tempers, too; and once there was a
blizzard raging out-of-doors, and little Carol Armstrong was raging away
indoors, and Fräulein Bunsen came out from her German class just then,
and she said: ‘You are like that tempest, liebchen! I shall call you the
_Sturm Kind_—the Storm Child.’ She said it in the cunningest way. But it
made me feel so ashamed of myself that I did try to hold my tongue after
that.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t call you that now,” said Jean.
“Oh, yes, she does! It’s her pet name for me. And I call her ‘Bunny.’
Little Fräulein and I are regular chums.”
“I think you’d better call _me_ Storm Child. It exactly suits me,” said
Jean.
“I’ll name you ‘Storm Child the Second,’” replied Carol. “Now, Storm
Child the Second, next time you feel tempestuous, just come and pay
Storm Child the First a visit; because, you see, I know just how hard it
is to keep from blazing out.”
“I will!” and Jean squeezed her friend’s hand tight.
“Well, have we talked it all out, or are there any more troubles that
want to be told?” asked Carol, as Jean lay silent.
“There’s a great big trouble.”
“A great big trouble! Well, let’s hear it.”
“Why, one reason I felt so terribly was because we were getting up an
order. I started it. It was the Order of the Silver Sword.” And won to
confidence Jean poured out the story of the band of battle maids who
were to conquer by love, and of her own miserable defeat.
“Oh, just think of my talking so hard about Caritas, and then being so
bad and wicked the next minute! I’ll have to give it all up! I’ve ruined
everything,” she ended, with a choke in her voice. “I won’t dare to say
a word about the Silver Sword again, ever! They’ll think I didn’t mean
what I said! Oh, dear! I wish I needn’t ever see the girls again!”
“Why, Battle Maid, are you going to cry ‘Quarter’ as easily as all
that?” said Carol, cheerily. “You’ve only been unhorsed in the first
fight, and that was always happening to the knights, wasn’t it? They
were unhorsed, and then they got up again and fought on foot, didn’t
they? That’s what you’ll have to do. Now, you’re up! Now go for the
enemy again with your silver sword. You’ll beat him next time!”
“But they won’t want me in the order after the way I behaved,” said
Jean.
“Won’t they? You ought to see how the girls are all up in arms for you!
I pity those poor Mice when they come out of their hole! Why,
everybody’s on your side!”
“I thought I’d spoiled the whole order,” said Jean with a sigh of
relief.
“No, indeed, you haven’t. And Jean, dear, I’m just as sure as sure can
be that you’ll conquer in the end, with Caritas for your sword.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Jean wistfully.
“I _know_ you will. And I know your order is going to do ever so much
good in the school. It’s a splendid idea of yours: the sword of love and
the shield of truth! They’re just the things that are needed, I’m sure.
And I’m sure a girl like you, who can think of an order like the Silver
Sword, can be a fine influence in her class. You don’t know how much
good you can do, Jean!”
“Carol! not really! Do you think there’s a _chance_?”
“Indeed you can,” said the president of the seniors. “You have no idea
what an influence one single girl can have if she stands up steadily for
what’s right.”
A step sounded in the hall just then. The door opened,—and there stood
Miss Carlton herself.
“Jean, my little girl!” she said softly. “Why, Carol—are _you_ here!” as
Carol turned on the light.
“Miss Carlton, Jean’s sick with a bad headache,” Carol explained.
“My poor child! It often ends so, doesn’t it?” said Miss Carlton. She
bent down and kissed Jean, then took Carol’s place by the bedside.
“I’m sorry I broke the rules,” said Jean. “I lost my head when I found
we were locked in.”
“I’m sorry you could not control yourself better, dear,” said Miss
Carlton. “If you had waited quietly as Cecily did, this trouble would
not have come. Now tell me exactly how it all happened.”
Jean began to explain, but her vague remarks about looking for something
in Frances’ and Adela’s room, and her hesitation and distress made Miss
Carlton turn to Carol and ask her if she could finish the story. Carol
could and did, with no qualms of conscience about bringing the Mice to
justice.
“My child, you have had a hard trial to-day,” said Miss Carlton, when
she had heard it all. “Frances and Adela have done a very wrong and
dishonorable thing, and one which they will be heartily sorry for. And
when they come to make their peace with you, as they will have to do,
you must meet them more than halfway, as we say, and treat them like the
warmhearted, generous girl that you are.”
“I told them I’d never forgive them,” whispered Jean, penitently. “I was
so angry!”
“Ah, little girl,” said Miss Carlton, “we can never unsay the things our
bad tempers make us say. But cheer up, now, for I am trying to help you
fight your battle, and I fancy Carol is too.” Bending over the tired
girl for a good-night kiss, she added: “And wait till the house is on
fire before you let your nervous fears send you on the roof again. Poor
Miss Sargent is trembling still, I’m afraid.”
“I _am_ going to be good, now; I _will_ be good,” answered Jean softly,
with a grateful kiss in return.
While Jean rested contentedly on her pillow, Carol followed Miss Carlton
into the hall.
“Miss Carlton, I ought to confess,” said she with more glee than
repentance in her face, “I’m here without permission.”
“I thought so, Carol,” replied Miss Carlton. “But I understand. I know
your loving heart could not resist going to comfort that poor little
lonely girl. Carol, you have won Jean’s admiration and love, and I
believe you can help her a great deal in the battle she has to fight.
Will you take her for your little sister for the rest of the year?”