Polly's Senior Year at Boarding School Part 14

"Take Constance upstairs, will you, Angela," she said, smiling. "I'll excuse you from study hour, for I know you wouldn't be able to do any real studying. Constance will room with you. Betty has arranged it.

Isn't it nice to have her back?" she asked with a special smile for Connie.

Tears, the sudden, grateful kind, sprang to Constance's eyes.

"Oh, if you knew how homesick I get for all this," she said falteringly.

"I was afraid to come back for fear I'd feel out of it, but I don't,"

she added happily.

Angela took her bag and hurried her up to their room.

"Now, tell me all about everything," she demanded when Connie had taken off her things. "Don't you like the Conservatory?"

"Of course, it's wonderful," Connie answered, enthusiastically, "and I'm working like mad. I get awfully lonesome when I don't. How's everybody?

I saw Bet for a second; she hasn't changed much."

"Everybody's fine. Lo saw you coming, and nearly jumped out of the window with excitement," Angela told her. "I've written you all the news. We're going on a straw-ride to-night--just the old girls that you know and like."

"Oh, fine! I hoped we could coast anyway." Connie was delighted.

"Honestly, Ange," she said, seriously. "You don't know how good it is to stop being grown up. I have to be so dignified and ancient all the time, especially when I give concerts. Oh, by the way! I've got a surprise for you."

"What?" Angela demanded.

"I'm going abroad next spring to study for a year-- I've won a scholars.h.i.+p."

"Connie! Not honestly?"

"Yes, it's all decided; mother is going to take me over and leave me; it's a secret, so don't tell any one."

Angela studied her friend's familiar face in silence for a minute. It was just like Connie to win a scholars.h.i.+p and then not tell anybody.

"I don't believe it's a secret," she said at last. "You just don't want anybody to know about it. Well, I'm going to announce it to the whole school," she finished grandly.

"Don't you dare, Ange. I'd die of embarra.s.sment," Connie pleaded.

"Promise you won't."

"I'll promise nothing," Angela insisted. "There's the bell. Come on and see Poll and Lo."

It was almost a marvel the way Angela followed out her threat. In the ten minutes before dinner, while Connie was surrounded by her other friends, she managed to convey to every girl in the school that Constance Wentworth was the most wonderful pianist in the world, and that she had, by her superior ability, won a scholars.h.i.+p.

Poor Connie! She was always shy where her music was concerned, and she blushed in misery under the torrent of congratulations, and never touched a bite of dinner.

At seven-fifteen the sleigh was waiting at the door. It was filled with fresh straw, and every available robe and blanket that could be found in the stables had been brought.

Old McDonald, one of the chief characters of Seddon Hall, sat on the front seat, m.u.f.fled up to his eyes. He had grown quite old and feeble in the last two years, and many of his duties had been given to younger men, but no one thought of even offering to drive in his place to-night.

He always drove the young ladies on their straw-rides, and he would never have even considered trusting them to the care of another.

Polly and Lois came out first, to be followed by Betty, and Angela and Connie.

They all got in and began sorting the robes--all but Polly--she went around to the horses' heads.

"Good evening, McDonald," she called. "Why, aren't these new?" She looked surprised at the splendid gray team--she had expected to see the two old bays.

"Yes, Miss Polly; they were bought last summer. The others were getting old and we put them out to pasture. How do you like this pair?"

"Why, they're beauties." Polly stroked their velvety noses, affectionately. "Are they frisky?"

"Well!" McDonald took time to think, "they are a bit, but nothing to be afraid of. I can manage them."

"Oh, of course you can!" Polly said, with so much conviction that the old man beamed with pride.

"All in!" Betty called, "and all aboard! Move your foot, Lo. I want one side of Connie."

"Where are we going?" somebody asked.

"Out towards Eagle's Nest," Polly answered. "The roads are not used out there and it ought to be good for sleighing."

"We're off."

"Cheer once for Seddon Hall," Betty commanded and was promptly obeyed.

"Now for Connie. We've time for one song before we reach the village,"

she said, after Connie had been l.u.s.tily cheered. "Everybody sing."

They reached the foot of the hill, and the horses broke into a quick trot--the bells on their harness jingled merrily in the crisp, cold air.

It was a wonderful night. The moon was almost full, and its brilliant rays, falling on the white snow, made it sparkle like millions of stars.

"Are you quite comfy, Miss Crosby?" Lois asked. "There's a rug around here, somewhere, if you're cold."

"Thanks! I don't need it; I'm as warm as toast. My feet are lost somewhere in the straw. I feel as if I were back in Alaska again," Miss Crosby said, "only the horses should be dogs."

"Were you ever in Alaska?" half a dozen voices asked at once. The song was over and they were just entering the village.

"Tell us about it," Lois said.

"No, no, go on and sing some more!"

"We can't, not for a mile--that's a rule," Betty told her. "Mrs. Baird doesn't think the village people would appreciate our music," she explained. "They're not very nice people, but we can't annoy them.

Please tell us about 'straw-rides in Alaska.'"

Miss Crosby laughed, and began. She was a charming woman and a gifted story-teller. She had traveled all over the world, and because she was interested in all the little things, her adventures had been many. She told them to-night about one ride she had taken for miles inland and held every one of them spellbound by her account of it.

They were far beyond the village before she stopped. "We finally did get to camp, and, of course, after it was over, it didn't seem so terrible,"

she finished. "Now do sing some more; you've made me talk quite long enough."

"And did the dog's foot get well?" Polly inquired, still miles away in fancy.

"No; he died," Miss Crosby whispered. "Plucky little fellow! Do sing."

There was a whispered consultation, and then: