Kitabı oku: «Dorothy at Oak Knowe», sayfa 7
CHAPTER X
OPEN CONFESSION IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL
A housemaid, passing through the disused “old laundry” on the ground floor, as a short-cut toward the newer one in a detached building, heard a strange noise in the drying-room overhead, and paused to listen. This was unusual. In ordinary the loft was never entered, nowadays, except by some slippered maid, or Michael with a trunk.
Setting down her basket of soiled linen she put her hands on her hips and stood motionless, intently listening. Dorothy? Could it be Dorothy? Impossible! No living girl could make all that racket; yet – was that a scream? Was it laughter – terror – wild animal – or what?
Away she sped; her nimble feet pausing not an instant on the way, no matter with whom she collided nor whom her excited face frightened, and still breathlessly running came into the great Assembly Hall. There Miss Tross-Kingdon had, by the advice of the Bishop, gathered the whole school; to tell them as quietly as she could of Dorothy’s disappearance and to cross-examine them as to what anyone could remember about her on the evening before.
For the sorrowful fact could no longer be hidden – Dorothy Calvert was gone and could not be found.
On the faces of those three hundred girls was consternation and grief; in their young hearts a memory of the “spookish” things which had happened of late, but that had not before disturbed them; and now, at the excited entrance of the maid, a shiver ran over the whole company. Here was news! Nothing less could explain this unceremonious disturbance. Even Miss Muriel’s face turned paler than it had been, could that have been possible and without a word she waited for the maid to speak.
“Oh! Lady Principal! Let somebody come! The drying-loft! screams – boards dragging – or trunks – or murder doing – maybe! Let somebody go quick – Michael – a man – men – Somebody quick!”
Exhausted by her own excitement, the maid sank upon the nearest chair, her hand on her heart, and herself unable to add another word. Miss Tross-Kingdon rose, trembling so that she could hardly walk, and made her way out of the room. In an instant every assembled schoolgirl was on her feet, speeding toward the far west wing and the great loft, dreading yet eager to see what would there be revealed.
Still anxious on his own account, but from a far different cause, and still listening at the closed door with wonder at what seemed going on behind it, was Jack, the boot-boy. At the approach of the excited girls, he lifted his ear from the keyhole and looked behind him, to find himself trapped, as it were, at this end of the narrow passage by the multitude which swarmed about him, feverishly demanding:
“Boy, what is it? What is it? Is Dorothy in there? Is Dorothy found?”
“Is Dorothy – ”
Poor Jack! This was the worst yet! At full comprehension of what that question meant, even he turned pale and his lips stuttered:
“I – I – dunno – I – Jiminy cricket!”
He must get out of that! He must – he must! Before that door was opened he must escape!
Frantically he tried to force his way backward through the crowd which penned him in, but could make little progress; even that being suddenly cut off by a strong hand laid on his shoulder and the chef forcing into his hand a stout crowbar, and ordering:
“Help to break her down!” at the same instant Michael, the porter, pressing to his side armed with an ax. “Now, all together!” cried he, and whether or no, Jack was compelled to aid in the work of breaking in.
But it was short work, indeed, and the crowd surged through the opening in terror of what they might behold – only to have that terror changed into shouts of hilarious delight.
For there was Dorothy! not one whit the worse for her brief imprisonment and happily unconscious of the anxiety which that had caused to others. And there was Baal, the goat! Careering about the place, dragging behind him a board to which he had been tied and was unable to dislodge. The room was fairly lighted now by the sun streaming through the skylight, and Baal had been having a glorious time chasing Dorothy about the great room, from spot to spot, gleefully trying to butt her with his horns, leaping over piles of empty trunks, and in general making such a ridiculous – if sometimes dangerous – spectacle of himself, that Dorothy, also, had had a merry time.
“Oh! you darling, you darling!” “Dolly Doodles, how came you here!” “Why did you do it? You’ve scared us all almost to death!” “The Bishop has gone into town to start detectives on your track!” “The Lady Principal – Here she is now! you’ve made her positively ill, and as for Dawkins, they say she had completely collapsed and lies on her chair moaning all the time.”
“Oh, oh! How dreadful! And how sorry I am! I never dreamed; oh! dear Miss Muriel, do believe me – listen, listen!”
The lady sat down on a trunk and drew the girl to her. Her only feeling now was one of intensest gratitude, but she remembered how all the others had shared her anxiety and bade her recovered pupil tell the story so that all might hear. It was very simple, as has been seen, and needs no repetition here, ending with the heartfelt declaration:
“That cures me of playing detective ever again! I was so anxious to stop all that silly talk about evil spirits and after all the only such around Oak Knowe was Baal!”
“But how Baal, and why? And most of all how came he here in the house?” demanded Miss Tross-Kingdon, looking from one to another; until her eye was arrested by the expression of Jack, the boot-boy’s face. That was so funny she smiled, seeing it, and asked him:
“Can’t you explain this, Jack?”
“Uh – er – Ah! Wull – wull, yes, Ma’am, I allow ’t I might. I mean ’t I can. Er – sho! – Course, I’ll have to. Wull – wull – You see, Miss Lady Principal, how as last summer, after school was took in, I hired myself out to work for old John Gilpin an’ he had a goat. Dame didn’t hanker for it no great; said it et up things an’ got into places where ’twarn’t wanted and she adwised him, that is to say she told him, how ’t he must get rid of it. He got rid of it onto me. I hadn’t got nobody belongin’ and we’ve been first rate friends, Baal and me.”
This was evidenced by the quietude of the animal, now lying at the boot-boy’s feet in affectionate confidence, and refreshing itself with a nap, after its hilarious exercise.
“Strange that we didn’t know he was on our grounds, for I did not. Where have you kept him, Jack, and how?”
The lad flushed and fidgetted but dared not refuse to reply. He had been too long under the authority of Miss Tross-Kingdon for that, to whose good offices his mother had left him when she died.
“Wull – Wull – ”
“Kindly stop ‘wulling’ and reply. It is nearly lunch time and Dorothy has had no breakfast.”
“Yes, Miss Muriel, please but I have. When I waked up after I’d slept so long it was real light, so I went poking around to see if I could find another door that would open, or any way out; and I came to a queer place away yonder at the end; and I heard the funniest noise – ‘ih-ih-ih – Ah-umph!’ something like that. Then I knew it was the goat, that I’d heard pat-pat-pattering along the hall last night and that I’d followed. And I guessed it was Jack, instead of a burglar, who’d rushed past me and locked me in. I was mighty glad to see anybody, even a goat, and I opened the gate to the place and Baal jumped out. He was tied to that board – he’d pulled it off the gate, and was as glad to see me as I was him. That little sort of cupboard, or cubby-hole, had lots of excelsior in it; I guess it had come around crockery or something, and that was where Baal slept. There was a tin box there, too, and I opened it. I was glad enough then! For it was half full of cakes and apples and a lemon pie, that you call a ‘Christchurch’ up here in Canada; and before I knew it Baal had his nose in the box, like he was used to eating out of it, and I had to slap his nose to make him let me have a share. So I’m not hungry and all I care is that I have made you all so worried.”
But already that was almost forgotten, though Miss Muriel’s curiosity was not yet satisfied.
“Jack, are you in the habit of keeping that animal here, in this room?”
“Yes – yes, Ma’am; times I am. Other times he stays in the old shed down by the brook. Most of the men knew I had him; Michael did, anyhow. He never said nothing again’ it;” answered the boy, defiantly, trying to shift responsibility to the old porter, the most trusted servant of the house.
“No, I cannot imagine Michael meddling with you and your foolishness; and for a lad who’s lived so long at a great school, I wonder to hear such bad grammar from your lips. How did you get Baal into this room without being detected in it?”
“Why, Ma’am, that was easy as preachin’. That back end, outside steps, what leads up from the ground for carrying up wet clothes, it used to be. He comes up that way, for goats can climb any place. Leastwise, Baal can, and the door’s never locked no more, ’cause I lost the key;” answered Jack, who was now the center of attention and proud of the fact.
“Very well, Jack. That will do. Kindly see to it that Baal is permanently removed from Oak Knowe, and – ” She paused for a moment, as if about to add more, then quietly moved away, with Dorothy beside her and all her now happy flock following.
Never before had the laughter and chatter of her girls sounded so musical in her ears, nor her own heart been lighter than now, in its rebound from her recent anxiety. She wasn’t pleased with Jack, the boot-boy; decidedly she was not pleased. She had not been since his return from his summer’s work, for he had not improved either in industry or behavior. She had not liked the strange interest which Gwendolyn had taken in his slight gift for drawing, which that enthusiastic young artist called “remarkable,” but which this more experienced instructor knew would never amount to anything.
Yet that was a matter which could wait. Meanwhile, here was a broken day, with everybody still so excited that lessons would be merely wasted effort; so, after she had sent Dorothy to put on her ordinary school dress, she informed the various classes that no more work was required that day and that after lunch there would be half-holiday for all her pupils.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers for Dolly and may she soon get lost again!” shouted Winifred, and, for once, was not rebuked because of unladylike manners.
Left to himself, Jack regarded his beloved Baal, in keen distress.
“Said you’d got to go, did she? Well, if you go I do, too. Anyhow I’m sick to death of cleaning nasty girls’, or nasty shoes o’ a lot o’ girls – ary way you put it. Boot-boy, Baal! Think o’ that. If that ain’t a re – restrick-erated life for a artist, like Miss Gwen says I am; or uther a dectective gentleman – I’d like to know. No, sir, Baal! We’ll quit an’ we’ll do it to once. Maybe they won’t feel sorry when they find me gone an’ my place empty to the table! Maybe them girls that laughed when that old schoolmarm was a pitchin’ into me afore all them giggling creatures, maybe they won’t feel bad, a-lookin’ at that hull row of shoes outside cubicle doors waiting to be cleaned and not one touched toward it! Huh! It’ll do all them ’ristocratics good to have to clean ’em themselves. All but Miss Gwendolyn. She’s the likeliest one of the hull three hundred. I hate – I kinder hate to leave her. ‘Artists has kindred souls,’ she said once when she was showin’ me how to draw that skull. Who can tell? I might get to be more famouser’n her, smart as she is; an’ I might grow up, and her too, and I might come to her house – or is it a turreted castle? – an’ I might take my fa – famousness an’ offer it to her to marry me! And then, when her folks couldn’t hardly believe that I was I, and her old boot-boy, maybe they’d say ‘Yes, take her, my son! I’m proud to welcome into our ’ristocraticy one that has riz from a boot-boy to our rank!’ Many a story-book tells o’ such doings, an’ what’s in them ought to be true. Good for ’t I can buy ’em cheap. The Bishop caught me reading one once and preached me a reg’lar sermon about it. Said that such kind of literatoor had ruined many a simple fellow and would me if I kep’ on. But even Bishops don’t know everything, though I allow he’s a grand old man. I kind of sorter hate to leave Oak Knowe on his account, he takes such an int’rest in me. But he’ll get over it. He’ll have to, for we’re going, Baal an’ me, out of this house where we’re wastin’ our sweetness on the desert air. My jiminy cricket! If a boy that can paint pictures and recite poetry like I can, can’t rise above shoe-cleanin’ and get on in this world – I’d like to know the reason why! Come, Baal! I’ll strap my clothes in a bundle, shake the dust of old Oak Knowe offen me, and hie away to seek my fortune – and your’n.”
Nobody interfering, Jack proceeded to put this plan into action; but it was curious that, as he reached the limits of Oak Knowe grounds, he turned and looked back on the big, many-windowed house, and at the throngs of happy girls who were at “recreation” on the well-kept lawns. A sort of sob rose in his throat and there was a strange sinking in his stomach that made him most uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell that this was “homesickness,” and he tried to forget it in bitterness against those whom he was deserting.
“They don’t care, none of ’em! Not a single mite does anyone of them ’ristocratics care what becomes of – of poor Jack, the boot-boy! Come on, Baal! If we don’t start our seekin’ pretty quick – Why jiminy cricket I shall be snivellin’!”
Saying this, the self-exiled lad gripped the goat’s leading strap and set out at a furious pace down the long road toward the distant city. He had a dime novel in one pocket, an English sixpence in another – And what was this?
“My soul! If there ain’t the key to that old door they broke in to see what was racketing round so! I wonder if I ought to take it back? Baal, what say? That cubby of our’n wasn’t so bad. You know, Baal, I wouldn’t like to be a thief – not a reg’lar thief that’d steal a key. Course I wouldn’t. Anyhow, I’ve left, I’ve quit. I’m seekin’ my fortune – understand? Whew! The wind’s risin’. I allow there’s going to be a storm. I wish – Old Dawkins used to say: ‘Better take two thoughts to a thing!’ an’ maybe, maybe, if I’d ha’ waited a spell afore – I mean I wouldn’t ha’ started fortune-seekin’ till to-morrow and the storm over. Anyhow, I’ve really started, though! And if things don’t happen to my mind, I can show ’em what an honest boy I am by takin’ back that key. Come on, Baal, do come on! What in creation makes you drag so on that strap and keep lookin’ back? Come on, I say!”
Then, both helping and hindering one another, the lad and his pet passed out of sight and for many a day were seen no more in that locality.
Yet the strange events of that memorable day were not all over. At study hour, that evening, came another surprise – a visit to her mates of the invalid Gwendolyn. From some of them she received only a silent nod of welcome; but Laura, Marjorie, and Dorothy sprang to meet her with one accord, and Winifred followed Dorothy’s example after a second’s hesitation.
“Oh, Gwen! How glad we are to have you back! Are you sure you’re quite strong enough to come?” questioned Marjorie, while less judicious Laura exclaimed:
“But you can’t guess what you’ve missed! We’ve had the greatest scare ever was in this school! You’d ought to have come down sooner. What do you think it was that happened? Guess – quick – right away! Or I can’t wait to tell! I’ll tell anyhow! Dorothy was lost and everybody feared she had been killed! Yes, Gwen, lost all the long night through and had to sleep with the goat and – ”
Gwendolyn’s face was pale from her confinement in the sick room but it grew paler now, and catching Dorothy’s hand she cried out:
“Oh! what if I had been too late!”
Nobody understood her, not even Dorothy herself, who merely guessed that Gwen was referring to their interview of the night before; but she didn’t know this proud girl fully, nor the peculiar nature of that pride which, once aroused, compelled her to do what she most shrank from. As Dorothy pushed a chair forward, Gwendolyn shook her head.
“Thank you, but not yet. I’ve got something to say – that all of you must hear.”
Of course, everybody was astonished by this speech and every eye turned toward the young “Peer” who was about to prove herself of noble “rank” as never in all her life before.
Dorothy began to suspect what might be coming and by a silent clasp of Gwendolyn’s waist and a protesting shake of her head tried to prevent her saying more.
But Gwendolyn as silently put aside the appealing arm and folding her own arms stood rigidly erect. It wouldn’t have been the real Gwen if she hadn’t assumed this rather dramatic pose, which she had mentally rehearsed many times that day. Also, she had chosen this quiet hour and place as the most effective for her purpose, and she had almost coerced Lady Jane into letting her come.
“Schoolmates and friends, I want to confess to you the meanest things that ever were done at dear Oak Knowe. From the moment she came here I disliked Dorothy Calvert and was jealous of her. In less than a week she had won Miss Muriel’s heart as well as that of almost everybody else. I thought I could drive her out of the school, if I made the rest of you hate her, too. I’d begun to teach the boot-boy to draw, having once seen him attempting it. I painted him a death’s head for a copy, and gave him my pocket-money to buy a mask of the Evil One.”
“Oh! Gwendolyn how dared you? You horrid, wicked girl!” cried gentle Marjorie, moved from her gentleness for once.
“Well, I’ll say this much in justice to myself. That thing went further than I meant, which was only to have him put pictures of it around in different places. He’d told me about keeping a goat in the old drying-room, and of course he couldn’t always keep it still. The kitchen folks put the pictures and the goat’s noises together and declared the house was haunted. I told the maids that they might lay that all to the new scholar from the States, and a lot of them believed me.”
Even loyal Laura now shrank aside from her paragon, simply horrified. She had helped to spread the rumor that Dorothy was a niece of Dawkins, but she had done no worse than that. It had been left to Jack-boot-boy to finish the contemptible acts. He got phosphorus from the laboratory, paint from any convenient color box, and his first success as a terrifier had been in the case of Millikins-Pillikins, at whose bed he had appeared – with the results that have been told. He it had been who had frightened the maid into leaving, and had spread consternation in the kitchen.
“And in all these things he did, I helped him. I planned some of them but he always went ahead and thought worse ones out. Yet nobody, except the simpletons below stairs, believed it was Dorothy who had ‘bewitched’ the house,” concluded that part of Gwendolyn’s confession.
Yet still she stood there, firmly facing the contempt on the faces of her schoolmates, knowing that that was less hard to bear than her own self-reproach had been. And presently she went on:
“Then came that affair at the Maiden’s Bath. Dorothy Calvert, whom I still hated, saved my life – while she might have lost her own. What I have suffered since, knowing this and how bravely she had borne all my hatefulness and had sacrificed herself for me – You must guess that. I can’t tell it. But last night I made myself beg her pardon in private as I now beg it before you all. May I yet have the chance to do to her as she has done to me! Dorothy Calvert – will you forgive me?”
CHAPTER XI
WHAT CAME WITH THE SNOW AND ICE
After that memorable week of Hallowe’en, affairs at Oak Knowe settled into their ordinary smooth running. That week had brought to all the school a surfeit of excitement so that all were glad of quiet and peace.
“The classes have never made such even, rapid progress before, in all the years I’ve been here;” said the Lady Principal to the good Bishop. “Things are almost ominously quiet and I almost dread to have Christmas time approach. All the young ladies get more interested then in gift-preparing and anticipations of vacations at home than in school routine. I hate to have that interrupted so soon again.”
The Bishop laughed.
“My dear Miss Muriel, you take life too seriously. Upheavals are good for us. Our lives would grow stagnant without them.”
“Beg pardon, but I can’t fancy affairs at Oak Knowe ever being stagnant! Nor do I see, as you seem to, any fine results from the happenings of Hallow week. One of the ill results is – I cannot find a competent boot-boy. That makes you smile again, but I assure you it is no trifle in a large establishment like this, with it the rule that every pupil must walk the muddy road each day. The maids will do the work, of course, but they grumble. I do wish the ground would freeze or some good boy offer his services.”
A rattling of the window panes and a sound of rising wind sent the Bishop to the window:
“Well, Miss Tross-Kingdon, one of your wishes is already coming true. There’s a blizzard coming – surely. Flakes are already falling and I’m glad the double sashes are in place on this north side the building, and that Michael has seen to having the toboggan slide put in order. I prophesy that within a few days all the young folks will be tobogganing at a glorious rate. That’s one of the things I’m thankful for – having been born in Canada where I could slide with the best!”
He turned about and the lady smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He was a man who never felt old, despite his venerable white head, but as he moved again toward the fire and Dorothy entered the room a shadow crossed his face. He had sent for her because within his pocket lay a letter he knew she ought to have, yet greatly disliked to give her. All the mail matter coming to the Oak Knowe girls passed first through their instructors’ hands, though it was a rare occasion when such was not promptly delivered.
This letter the Bishop had read as usual, but it had not pleased him. It was signed by one James Barlow, evidently a very old friend of Dorothy’s, and was written with a boyish assumption of authority that was most objectionable, the Bishop thought. It stated that Mr. Seth Winters was very ill and that Mrs. Calvert was breaking down from grief and anxiety concerning him; and that, in the writer’s opinion, Dorothy’s duty lay at home and not in getting an education away up there in Canada. “Anybody who really wishes to learn can do that anywhere,” was the conclusion of this rather stilted epistle.
Now when his favorite came in, happy and eager to greet him, he suddenly decided that he would keep that letter to himself for a time, until he had written to some other of the girl’s friends and found out more about the matter.
“Did you send for me, dear Bishop?”
“Well, yes, little girl, I did. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but I’ve changed my mind and decided to put it off for the present;” he answered with a kindly smile that was less bright than usual. So that the sensitive girl was alarmed and asked:
“Is it something that I’ve done but ought not?”
“Bless your bonny face, no, indeed. No, Miss Betty the second, I have no fault to find with you. Rather I am greatly delighted by all your reports. Just look out of window a minute – what do you see?”
Dorothy still wondered why she had been summoned, but looked out as she had been bidden.
“Why, it’s snowing! My, how fast, and how all of a sudden! When we were out for exercise the sun was shining bright.”
“The sun is always shining, dear child, even though clouds of trouble often obscure it. Always remember that, little Dorothy, no matter what happens.”
Then he dropped what the schoolgirls called his “preachy manner” and asked:
“How do you like tobogganing?”
“Why – why, of course I don’t know. I’ve never even seen a toboggan, except in pictures. They looked lovely.”
“Lovely? I should say, but the real thing far lovelier. Miss Tross-Kingdon, here, knows my opinion of tobogganing. The finest sport there is and one that you unfortunate southerners cannot enjoy in your native land. Up here we have everything delightful, ha, ha! But you’ll have to be equipped for the fun right away. Will you see to it, Miss Muriel, that Dorothy has a toboggan rig provided? For Michael will have the slides ready, you may be sure. He was born a deal further north even than this and snow-and-ice is his native element. Why, the honest old fellow can show several prizes he won, in his younger days, for skating, ice-boating, tobogganing, and the like. I always feel safe when Michael is on hand at the slide to look after his ‘young leddies.’
“Now, I must go. I have a service in town, to-night, and if I don’t hurry I’ll be caught in this blizzard. You run along, ‘Betty’ and spread the news of the grand times coming.”
With a gentle pat of the little hand he held he thus dismissed her, and inspired by his talk of the – to her – novel sport, she ran happily away, forgetful already of anything more serious.
“Oh! girls! the Bishop says we’ll soon have tobogganing!” she cried, joining a group gathered about a great wood fire in the library.
“Oh! goody! I was looking at my new suit this very morning. Mother’s had such a pretty one made for me, a blanket suit of baby blue with everything to match – mittens and cap and all! I’m just wild to wear it!” answered Fanny Dimock, running to the window to peer out.
“To-morrow’s half-holiday. Let’s all go help Michael to get the slides ready!”
“Of course – if the storm will let us out! Oh glorious!” said Ernesta Smith flying to Fanny’s side, and trying to see through the great flakes, fast packing against the pane and hiding the view without.
But this only increased the gayety within. Electric lights flashed out, girl after girl ran to fetch her own coasting suit and to spread it before the eyes of her mates.
“Oh! aren’t they the sweetest things!” exclaimed the delighted Dorothy; “the very prettiest clothes I ever saw!”
Indeed they did make a fine show of color, heaped here and there, their soft, thick texture assuring perfect protection from cold. Reds and greens, pinks and blues, and snowy white; some fresh from the makers’ hands, some showing the hard wear of former winters; yet all made after the Oak Knowe pattern. A roomy pair of pantaloons, to draw over the ordinary clothing from the waist down, ended in stocking-shaped feet, fitted for warm wool overshoes. The tunic fell below the knees and ended above in a pointed hood, and mittens were made fast to the sleeves.
“Lovely, but isn’t it terribly clumsy?” asked Dorothy, more closely examining one costume.
“Let’s show her! Let’s have an Indian dance! Hurry up, everybody, and dress!”
In a jiffy every girl who owned a costume got into it and the place was transformed. For somebody flew to the piano and struck up a lively waltz, and away went the girls, catching one another for partner – no matter who – whirling and circling, twisting bodies about, arms overhead, as in a regular calisthenic figure – till Dorothy was amazed. For what looked so thick and clumsy was too soft and yielding to hinder grace.
In the midst of the mirth, the portieres were lifted and Gwendolyn came in. It was unfortunate that just then the music ended with a crash and that the whirling circles paused. For it looked as if her coming had stopped the fun, though this was far from true.
Ever since that day of her open confession her schoolmates had regarded her with greater respect than ever before. Most of them realized how hard that confession had been for so haughty a girl, and except for her own manner, many would have shown her marked affection.
When she had ceased speaking on that day an awkward silence followed. If she had expected hand-claps or applause she failed to get either. The listeners were too surprised to know what to do, and there was just as much pride in the young “Peer’s” bearing as of old. After a moment of waiting she had stalked away and all chance for applause was gone.
But she had returned to her regular classes the next morning and mixed with the girls at recreation more familiarly than she had formerly done; yet still that stiffness remained.
For half-minute, Gwendolyn hesitated just within the entrance, then forced herself to advance toward the fireplace and stand there warming herself.
“It’s getting very cold,” she remarked by way of breaking the unpleasant silence.
“Yes, isn’t it!” returned Winifred; adding under her breath: “Inside this room, anyway.”
“We’re warm enough, dressed up like this,” said Marjorie, pleasantly. “Dorothy says that the Bishop thinks we’ll have tobogganing in a day or two, if the snow holds. She’s never seen a toboggan nor how we dress for the sport, and we brought in our togs to show her. She thinks they look too clumsy for words, so we’ve just been showing her that we can move as easily in them as without them. But – my! It’s made us so warm!”
Gwendolyn turned toward Dorothy with a smile intended to be cordial, and asked:
“Is that so, indeed? Then I suppose you’ll have to get a rig like ours if you want to try the slide.”
“Yes, I suppose so. The Bishop asked the Lady Principal to get me one, but I don’t suppose she can right away. Nobody could go shopping in such weather, and I suppose they have to be bought in town.”
“The blankets are bought there, but usually the suits are made at home before we come; or else by the matron and some of the maids here. I – ”
A look of keener interest had come into her face, but she said nothing further and a moment later went out again.
As the portieres fell together behind her, Winifred threw up her hands in comic despair.
“Whatever is the matter with that girl? or with me– or you– or you!” pointing to one and another around her. “She wants to be friendly – and so do we! But there’s something wrong and I don’t know what.”
