IN SCHOOL
Ruth thought it all over, and she came to this conclusion: Uncle Jabez
had given his permission--albeit a grumpy one--and she would begin
school on Monday. The black cloth dress that was so shabby and would
look so odd and proverty-stricken among the frocks of the other girls
(for she had watched them going to and from school, and already knew
some of them to speak to) would have to be worn, if possible, through
the term. Perhaps Uncle Jabez might notice how shabby she looked,
finally, and give her something more appropriate to wear. Especially
as it had been through him that her other frocks were lost.
But it was not an easy thing to face a whole schoolroom full of girls
and boys--and most of them strangers to her--looking so "dowdyish."
Ruth's love of pretty things was born in her. She had always taken
pride in her appearance, and she felt her shortcomings in this line
quicker and more acutely than most girls of her age.
She faced the school on Monday morning and found it not so hard as she
had supposed. Miss Cramp welcomed her kindly, and put her through
quite a thorough examination to decide her grade. The Darrowtown
schools had been so good that Ruth was able to take a high place in
this one, and the teacher seated her among the most advanced of her
pupils, although Ruth was younger than some of them.
The fact that Ruth was well grounded in the same studies that the
scholars at this district school were engaged in, made a difficulty
for her at the start. But she did not know it then. She only knew that
Miss Cramp, seating her pupils according to their grade, sent her to
an empty seat beside one of the largest girls--Julia Semple.
A good many of the girls stared at the new-comer with more than
ordinary attention; but Julia immediately turned her back on her new
seatmate. Ruth did not, however, give Julia much attention at the
time. She was quite as bashful as most girls of her age; and, too,
there were many things during that first session to hold her
attention. But at recess she found that Julia walked away from her
without a word and that most of the girls who seemed to be in her
grade kept aloof, too. As a stranger in the school the girl from the
Red Mill felt no little unhappiness at this evident slight; but she
was too proud to show her disappointment. She made friends with the
younger girls and was warmly welcomed in their games and pastimes.
"Julia's mad at you, you see," one of her new acquaintances confided
to Ruth.
"Mad at me? What for?" asked the surprised new scholar.
"Why, that seat was Rosy Ball's. Rosy has gone away to see her sister
married and she's coming back to-morrow. If you hadn't come in to take
her place, Rosy would have been let sit beside Julia again, of course,
although like enough she's fallen behind the class. Miss Cramp is very
strict."
"But I didn't know that. I couldn't help it," cried Ruth.
"Just the same, Julia says she doesn't like you and that you're a
nobody--that Jabe Potter has taken you in out of charity. And Julia
pretty nearly bosses everything and everybody around this school. Her
father, Mr. Semple, you see, is chairman of the school board."
Her plain-spoken friend never realized how much she was hurting Ruth
by telling her this. Ruth's pride kept her up, nor would she make
further overtures toward friendship with her classmates. She
determined, during those first few days at the district school, that
she would do her very best to get ahead and to win the commendation of
her teacher. There was a splendid high school at Cheslow, and she
learned that Miss Cramp could graduate pupils from her school directly
into the Cheslow High. It was possible, the teacher assured her, for
Ruth to fit herself for such advancement between that time and the
fall term.
It seemed as though Ruth could never make her crotchety old uncle love
her. As time passed, the loss of his cash-box seemed to prey upon the
miller's mind more and more. He never spoke of it in the house again;
it is doubtful if he spoke of it elsewhere. But the loss of the money
increased (were that possible) his moroseness. He often spoke to
neither the girl nor Aunt Alvirah from sunrise to sunset.
But although Uncle Jabez was so moody and so unkind to her, in the
little old woman, whose back and whose bones gave her so much trouble,
Ruth found a loving and thoughtful friend. Aunt Alvirah was as
troubled at first about Ruth's lack of frocks as the girl was herself.
But before Ruth had been attending school a week, she suddenly became
very light-hearted upon the question of dress.
"Now, don't you fret about it, deary," said Aunt Alviry, wagging her
head knowingly. "Gals like you has jest got ter hev frocks, an' the
good Lord knows it, jest the same as He knows when a sparrer falls.
There'll be a way pervided--there'll be a way pervided. Ef I can't
make ye a purty dress, 'cause o' my back an' my bones, there's them
that kin. We'll hev Miss 'Cretia Lock in by the day, and we'll make
'em."
"But, dear," said Ruth, wonderingly, "how will we get the goods--and
the trimmings--and pay Miss Lock for her work?"
"Don't you fret about that. Jest you wait and see," declared Aunt
Alvirah, mysteriously.
Ruth knew very well that the old woman had not a penny of her own.
Uncle Jabez would never have given her a cent without knowing just
what it was for, and haggling over the expenditure then, a good deal.
To his view, Aunt Alviry was an object of his charity, too, although
for more than ten years the old woman had kept his house like wax and
had saved him the wages of a housekeeper.
This very day, on coming home from school, Ruth had met Doctor Davison
coming away from the Red Mill. She thought the red and white mare,
that was so spirited and handsome, had been tied to the post in front
of the kitchen door, and that the physician must have called upon Aunt
Alvirah.
"So this is the young lady who wouldn't stop at my house but went to
Sam Curtis' to stay all night," he said, holding in the mare and
looking down at Ruth. "And you haven't been past the gate with the
green eyes since?"
"No, sir," Ruth said, timidly. "I have never even been to town."
"No. Or you would not have failed to see the Curtises again. At least,
I hope you'll see them. Mercy has never ceased talking about you."
"The lame girl, sir?" cried Ruth, in wonder. "Why, she spoke awfully
unkindly to me, and I thought her mother only thought I would feel bad
and wanted to smooth it over, when she asked me to come again."
"No," said the doctor, seriously, shaking his head. "Nobody knows
Mercy like her mother. That's not to be expected. She's a poor,
unfortunate, cramp-minded child. I've done what I can for her back--
she has spinal trouble; but I can do little for Mercy's twisted and
warped mind. She tells me she has cramps in her back and legs and I
tell her she has worse cramps in her mind. Bright! Why, child, she
knows more than most grown folks. Reads every book she can get hold
of; there is scarcely a child in the Cheslow High School who could
compete with her for a month in any study she had a mind to take hold
of. But," and the doctor shook his head again, "her mind's warped and
cramped because of her affliction."
"I pitied her," said Ruth, quietly.
"But don't tell her so. Go and see her again--that's all. And mind
you don't come to town without turning in at the gate with the green
eyes;" and so saying he let the eager mare out and she swiftly carried
him away.
It was after this Aunt Alvirah seemed so confident that a way would be
provided for Ruth to get the frocks that she so sadly needed. On the
very next day, when Ruth came home from school, she found the little
old lady in a flutter of excitement.
"Now, Ruthie," she whispered, "you mustn't ask too many questions, and
I'll surely tell ye a gre't secret, child."
"It must be something very nice, Aunt Alviry, or you'd never be like
this. What is it?"
"Now Ruthie, you mustn't ask too many questions, I tell you. But to
make no secret of it, for secrets I do despise, somebody's made you a
present."
"Made me a present?" gasped Ruth.
"Now, careful about questions," warned Aunt Alvirah. "I told you that
a way would be pervided for you to have frocks. And it is true. You
are a-goin' to have 'em."
"Auntie! New frocks!"
"Just as good as new. Ev'ry bit as good as new. Somebody that's--
that's seen ye, deary, and knows how badly you want to go to school,
and that you need dresses, has given you three."
"My goodness me!" cried Ruth, clasping her hands. "Not three?"
"Yes, my dear. And they're jest as good as new--about. 'Cretia Lock
won't be two days fixin' 'em over to fit you. And you won't mind,
deary, if the little girl who wore them before you is--is--Well,
deary, she won't never want them any more."
"Oh, my dear!" cried Ruth. "Three frocks all at once! And--and I'm
not to ask who gave them to me?"
"That's it. You're not to ask that. I'll git 'em and show you--Oh, my
back and oh, my bones! Oh, my back and oh, my bones!" the old lady
added, starting from her chair and hobbling out of the room.
Ruth was so amazed that she hardly knew what her other feelings at the
moment might be. But there had sprung into her mind, full-fledged, the
suspicion that Doctor Davison had been the donor of the frocks.
Perhaps he had had a little girl sometime, who had died. For Ruth had
quite decided, from what Aunt Alvirah said, that the girl who had
formerly worn the frocks in question was no longer upon earth.