That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's Part 11

"It's all right though to save my shoes this way?"

"Yes, if you wish to. I'll leave that to you. You may do as you please.

It will save me buying a new pair for some time."

So Beth continued this. Her shoes lasted through the school term which closed the last of May.

The high school at Farwell was only a district one of the third cla.s.s.

There was a three years' course, and the average age for graduation was sixteen. Beth entered when she was twelve-or, rather when Eliza thought she was that age. She may have been eleven or thirteen for all either of them knew.

The freshman cla.s.s was made up of pupils from three grammar grades from different sections of the town, so that at least two-thirds of her cla.s.s-mates were strangers to Beth. She and Helen had been put in different divisions, and Beth found herself virtually alone as far as any friends were concerned.

Several days pa.s.sed before the girl back of her spoke to her. Beth already knew her name, having seen it on the wall slate. It was Tilly Jones. She was a fat, fair-haired girl-the senior of Beth by several years. She was rather stupid about books, and her movements slow and ponderous. Her father was an ignorant, uneducated man, yet with a certain skill about molding, so that he was able to make the sand pattern by simply having the blue-print before him, and taking no measurements. He was a genius in this one line. He was a valuable man in the foundry and made "big money." Tilly had ribbons and furbelows. Her fat, pudgy fingers were covered with rings; she wore a bracelet and a necklace.

Friday morning, she leaned forward and asked, "What are you going to wear this afternoon?"

"Wear? Why, this-" replied Beth.

"But it's Friday afternoon," was the reply. Beth could see no reason why this day of the week would make any difference. Tilly enlightened her.

"Literary society, you know. Everybody fixed up for that. I'm going to wear a net gown over a blue lining. It looks just like silk. You'd never tell until you touched it. My mother paid Miss Foster six dollars to make it. My dress cost almost twenty dollars."

Beth had nothing to say to this. She could not have said it, had she the words in her mouth, for the teacher had moved down the aisle and had her eyes upon the corner from which the sound of whispering came.

At noon Tilly came up to her in the cloak-room and explained the customs of the school. She had failed in her examinations, consequently this was her second year in the freshman cla.s.s and she knew all about the "ins"

and "outs."

"Everybody who is anything dresses up for Friday afternoon," she said.

"I can't," said Beth. "I don't go home for dinner. I bring my lunch."

"It's too bad. You'll feel so embarra.s.sed. Your hair ribbons are old ones, too. This is the first time I've worn mine. They cost fifty cents a yard."

She talked for some minutes, at the end of which Beth knew how much every article she wore cost. They were interrupted by the appearance of two other cla.s.smates. Beth knew them only by name. Carrie Laire was slight, with dark hair and eyes. Sally Monroe was very fair. She was slender and wiry. Her hair was drawn loosely and hung in a thick braid down her back.

"I'm the chairman of the Program Committee," began Sally. "Do you recite or write poetry? I want you to be on the program for two weeks from to-day. You can select your own work. You see, I cannot tell what each one does best."

"I'll write a story," said Beth. "A fairy-tale; will that do?"

"It would be lovely. You're a perfect dear to help me out." She was writing Beth's name in her note-book.

"Don't you live in town?" asked Carrie Laire. Beth told her where she lived.

"Is Miss Wells your aunt?" was the next question. Beth had never thought of that.

"No, she isn't," she replied and was about to move away, but Carrie followed her. The question had made Beth uneasy. Adee was not her aunt.

Why did she live with her then, and why did she not have a home with brothers and sisters like other girls?

"Is your father dead?" Carrie continued. "I suppose he must be, and your mother too, or you wouldn't be living with some one who isn't even your aunt."

Sally overheard the questions. She had always been in Carrie's cla.s.ses and knew how p.r.o.ne that young lady was to ask impertinent questions about matters which were really none of her business. She came to the rescue now.

"I'm glad you can write fairy-stories, Beth. It is so hard to get anyone to do anything of that sort. The girls will recite and sing, but essays and stories make them nervous." Slipping her arm within Beth's she led her away, ignoring alike Carrie's presence and her impertinent questions.

"I'll bring my lunch with me, too," continued Sally. "I believe you and I could get along very well. Let us eat together. I haven't any particular friend. Mabel Reynolds was, but she is away. I'd dearly love to have you for a friend."

"I'd love to be your dearest friend. I never had a real intimate friend, except Helen Reed, and she's in the other division."

In the joy of these friendly overtures, Beth forgot Carrie and her questions.

Just before the afternoon session, Tilly came in breathless. Her fat body was palpitating like jelly. She wore a net dress made over a lining of blue near-silk. Her ribbons were new and crisp; her shoes and stockings white.

"I've heard a piece of news," she began the instant her eyes fell upon the girls. "There's a whole party planning to motor over from Point Breeze to visit school. They'll be here for our program. They're swells everyone of them. Mrs. Laurens is one of them. I've seen her. They've been all the summer at the Point Breeze Hotel. Her room costs twenty dollars a week. I'm glad I'm dressed up. I'm awful sorry for you, Beth.

If I were you I'd sit back so they wouldn't see me. They may never notice that you're in the room. It's a good thing that I sit in front of you and that I could go home and dress. I'm glad I wore this sash. My mother bought it in New York. It's imported. She paid ten dollars for it."

"Perhaps the visitors will be looking at your sash and not see us," said Beth dryly. "Thank you for your suggestion; but I'll not sit back away from your view. If Mrs. Laurens and her friends do not like my looks, they can turn their eyes some other way. It is my school and my seat and my dress. If anything about it doesn't suit them, they know what they can do."

It was rather a fiery speech for Beth. Sally squeezed her arm to give her a sort of moral support. Harvey Lackard, the freckle-faced boy with the crimson topknot, chuckled aloud.

"Give it to her, Beth," he encouraged. "I never knew you had so much s.p.u.n.k. You don't strike often, but when you do, you give it to them under the belt."

Tilly took no offense. She had a good disposition even though the price mark was attached to everything she said. She turned toward Harvey and smiled blandly.

Carrie Laire was quite as excited as Tilly.

"Did you know that Mrs. Laurens is coming and Judge Creswell and Colonel Evans? Why, but I'm all worked up over it. I have a piano solo, and I just know I'll break down. Do you know any of them? You may thank your stars that you're not on the program. Judge Creswell is awful famous.

Have you any judge in your family? What did your father do?"

Just an instant, Beth's face flushed. She did not wish to make an enemy of Carrie, yet she could not put up with these questions. She stiffened her quivering lip and said lightly, "Are you merely curious, Carrie, or do you wish the information?" Her companion turned to look at her. Beth continued, "I'll take a tablet and write out all the information about me that you may ever need-age, height, weight, and everything else."

"Why, Beth Wells, you are just as hateful as you can be. You know that I only ask you because I'm interested in you, and then you turn on me and say such sharp things."

The conversation was interrupted by the gong. The girls moved slowly toward the a.s.sembly room, and were taking their time, when Miss Hanscom rapped sharply with her ruler. She was a rigid disciplinarian, who could not discriminate between the magnitude of offense. She had been in the Farwell schools for five years. Her work had been strenuous. She had fought her own way, against heavy odds. The result was that she was hard in manner, self-sufficient and not a little aggressive.

Pupils always spoke of how well she had taught them, but not one had ever said that she had awakened sympathy. She was nervous now and spoke sharply, for from her window she had seen two touring cars slow up at the curb, and she knew that visitors were "upon them."

CHAPTER XI.

Miss Hanscom was nervous when she called the school to order. Her voice was sharp and her body rigid as steel. Her state of mind was felt all over the room. The silence was ominous. It was not that of a healthy, well-disciplined set of boys and girls. It was a condition impelled by fear.

The girls sat bolt upright, not daring to glance at the door through which the visitors were being ushered by Miss Ward, the vice-princ.i.p.al.

The boys twisted the tops of the ink wells or sat with their hands deep in their pockets, trying their best to appear unconcerned, while their eyes were anywhere but upon the visitors.

Miss Ward was a wholly different type from Miss Hanscom. She never thought of herself or the impression that she might be making. Her desire was to make everyone about her comfortable and happy. It follows, of course, that one loves that person who brings out the best in one.

The instant Miss Ward entered the room there was a relaxation of tense muscles and a sigh went over the room. Unconsciously each boy and girl felt easier. Miss Ward made them feel at ease. They could do their best if she were presiding in the school-room.