The Little Colonel at Boarding School Part 11

"No, it didn't come out of the cellar. It just _appeared_!"

"The most awful wail as it vanished!"

"The cook saw it earlier in the evening, floating away toward the graveyard, not walking, you know, but _floating_! About a foot above the ground!"

"Allison has evidently had as much fun as anybody," whispered Kitty.

"Oh, will you listen! There goes Lloyd vowing it's the spirit of the veiled lady, and that she saw it twice this evening."

"And Betty, too! That will convince them if anything could. Betty is always so serious in the way she tells things."

"Now is the time to go, while they're all so excited and in the other end of the room," whispered Kitty. "Let's make a wild dash for the door nearest us, bang it behind us, and blow out the hall light. Then we can slide down the banister, put out the light in the lower hall, and be safe in the west wing before they come to their senses. Now, ready!"

It was a daring move, but it proved successful. Every one heard a scramble, and turned in time to see two crouching figures dash into the hall. They were too startled to know whether they were human or not.

Somebody screamed when the door banged violently, and Mary Phillips, who had been in a tremble ever since her flight from the cellar, was nearly paralyzed with fright. She clutched her nearest neighbour, wailing, "Oh, what is it?"

By the time matches were brought and the lamps were relit, Katie and Kitty were safely locked in Lloyd's room, tearing off their disguises and wiping the perspiration from their flushed faces. For a few minutes they waited, half-expecting that a search would be made, but as time went on and no one ventured into that part of the house, they began to try the Hallowe'en charms that they could not take part in up-stairs.

When Allison came in half an hour later, she found them whirling apple parings around their heads and flinging them over their shoulders, to see what initials they would form in falling.

By the time Allison had washed the powder from her face and picked the cotton from her hair, Lloyd and Betty came in. It seemed as if they could never settle down enough to think of sleep. There was so much to talk over. Allison curled up on the divan, announcing that it was not worth while to undress, as it would soon be time for them to start home.

Kitty and Katie followed her example, appropriating Lloyd's single bed.

Lloyd and Betty took the other one, and they lay whispering until midnight.

Just as the clock struck twelve Lloyd got up and lighted a candle. Five eggs, which she had boiled in the chafing-dish earlier in the evening, lay on a plate on the table. The yolks had been removed and the s.p.a.ce filled with salt. According to a previous agreement, each girl got up and took one of the eggs. Standing in the middle of the floor in solemn silence they ate them stoically, although the salt burned and choked them. Then without a drop of water afterward, they walked backward to bed. According to the charm, whatever they dreamed after that performance would come true, and unless they were to be old maids, some one would appear in their dreams bearing a cup of water. That one would be their "fate."

None of the five slept soundly that night. The salt made them thirsty, the crowded quarters restless. Allison wakened every time a rooster crowed or a dog barked, because she felt that the responsibility of getting home before Barbry wakened rested upon her. Once when she was about to sink into a delicious doze, the shrill whistle of a locomotive aroused her to the consciousness that the early freight-train was rumbling past the depot. Opening her eyes she saw that the gray dawn was beginning to steal over the Valley. With a groan she sat up and stumbled across the room to arouse the others.

She had to shake Kitty several times, and when she at last staggered to her feet she yawningly quoted old Aunt Cindy's expression, that she was "as tired as a thousand of dawgs," and vowed she could never get home unless she was dragged there. Katie complained of a headache and a miserable "after the ball" feeling. It was a sorry-looking little trio which finally stumbled down the back stairs and out into the frosty dawn. Not a word was spoken on the way home. In silence they slipped up the stairs at The Beeches; in silence they undressed and crept into bed, and three hours later, when Barbry came as usual to call them, she knocked half a dozen times before she succeeded in arousing them.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PRINCESS OF THE PENDULUM

THERE were literary exercises in the chapel the following Friday afternoon. It was the day for the reading of the _Seminary Star_, a monthly paper to which all the grades contributed. As a humourous account of the Hallowe'en celebrated was to be one of the chief features, spiced by many personal allusions, its appearance was looked for eagerly.

Little Magnolia Budine was the only one in the room impatient for the exercises to close. She sat near a front window looking out at every sound of approaching wheels, to see if the old carryall had stopped at the high green gate in front of the seminary. She had been hoping all afternoon that her father would come for her earlier than usual, and she half-expected that he would. The chill November days were short, and she knew that he would want to reach home before dark.

It was not that she failed to appreciate the interesting articles in the _Star_, but she was in a hurry for the ten-mile drive to be over. The reason for her impatience was packed away in the old carpet-bag, waiting outside in the hall. Unless she reached home before dark, a certain pleasure she had in store would have to be delayed till morning. So intent was she on listening for the sound of wheels, that she failed to hear the t.i.tle of a short poem, which one of the editors announced as written by E. L. L. When Elise nudged her, whispering, "That's about you, Maggie," she turned with a start and blush to find every one looking at her. She was so confused she heard only the last verse:

"Not only did he steal the tarts Made by the gracious queen, He captured all the schoolgirls' hearts-- That little knave--on Hallowe'en."

The applause which followed was loud and long. Her heart gave a proud, glad throb at this public compliment, but her face felt as if it were on fire, and she longed to drop under her desk out of sight. It was just at this moment that Mrs. Clelling told her in a low tone that her father had come and she might be excused. How she ever got to the door with all those eyes fastened on her was more than she could tell. She felt as if each foot weighed a ton, and that she was an hour travelling the short s.p.a.ce.

s.n.a.t.c.hing her hat from the cloak-room and pinning a big gray shawl around her, she caught up the carpet-bag and ran down to the gate. An occasional snowflake, like a downy white feather, floated through the air. The wind was raw and damp, and she was glad to climb in behind the sheltering curtains of the old carryall and lean up against her father's rough, warm overcoat.

"Well, Puss, how goes it?" he asked, pulling an old bedquilt up over his knees and tucking it well around her.

"_Fine_, daddy!" she answered, squeezing his arm in both her mittened hands and snuggling up to him like a contented kitten. "I think now it's the nicest school in the world, and I like it better and better every day."

"Got a good report this week?"

"Yes, I haven't missed a single word in spelling. Mrs. Clelling had to show me nearly two hours about borrowing in subtraction, but I don't have any more trouble with it now, and I had a longer list of adjectives on my language-paper than anybody else in the cla.s.s."

There was a look of pride in the old farmer's weather-beaten face. He had had little education himself. He had barely learned to read and write in the few short terms he had been able to attend school when he was a boy. He couldn't have told an adjective from any other part of speech, and his wonder at her amount of learning was all the greater on that account. He patted her hand affectionately. "That's right! That's right!" he exclaimed. "The family's dependin' on you, Puss, to do us all credit." Then he began repeating what she had heard a hundred times before. He never failed to tell her the same story as they jogged homeward every Friday night and back again the following Monday morning.

She had heard it so often that it sounded in her ears like the familiar refrain of an old song to which she need pay no heed. She only waited patiently until he had finished.

"The older children didn't have no chance when they was young like you.

We were too far away from the public schools to send 'm except just a spell spring and fall, and we couldn't afford the pay schools, but after we moved up here and Marthy got married and Tom and Hilliard was big enough to do for 'emselves and getting good wages, times was easier. Ma says to me, 'We'll give the baby a fair start in the world, anyhow,'

and I says, 'She'll have the best diplomy that Lloydsboro Seminary can give if I have to carry her there and home again on my back every day till she gets it.'"

There was much more in the same strain to which Magnolia listened, waiting for her turn to speak, as one would wait for an alarm clock to run down when it was striking. The moment he paused she began, eagerly, "I've got something right now that mammy will be proud to see."

Diving under the quilt for the carpet-bag, she opened it and took out a book which lay on top of her clothes.

"Now put on your spectacles, daddy," she ordered, gaily, "or maybe you won't be able to tell who it is." She slipped a photograph from the book and held it up before him. Holding the reins between his knees, he pulled off one glove, felt in various pockets, and finally fished up a pair of steel-bowed spectacles, which he slowly adjusted.

"Miss Katherine Marks took it," she explained, "and she painted it afterward, so you can tell exactly how I looked at the masquerade-party."

"If it ain't my little magnolia blossom!" exclaimed the old man, proudly, holding the beautifully tinted photograph off at arm's length for a better view. "Wherever did you get all those fine gew-gaws? Why, Puss, you're prettier than a posy. Sort of fanciful and trimmed up, but that's your little face natural as life. I should say your mammy will be proud!"

It took all the time while they were driving the next six miles for Magnolia to tell of that memorable afternoon and night. How Lloyd Sherman had taken her over to Clovercroft, and all the Marks family had helped to make her costume. How beautiful it was, and how the girls had praised it, and even published a poem about her in the _Seminary Star_; and next day Miss Katherine had taken her picture, and the day after that had sent for her to come over to her studio, and had given her a copy of it to take home.

"Seems to me as if we ought to do something nice for those people who have been so kind to you," said her father, musingly, when she had told him the whole story. "You say if it hadn't been for Miss Katherine you'd have had to miss the party. If you'd have missed that you wouldn't have had that poetry about you in the paper. I'm proud of that, Puss. Seems as if my little girl is mighty popular--a sort of celebrity, to get into the paper. I'd like to show that young lady that I appreciate what she's done to make you happy. I wonder how she'd like a crock of your mammy's apple b.u.t.ter. There ain't no better apple b.u.t.ter in all Oldham County, and I should think she'd be glad to get it. I'll speak about it when we get home, and if your mammy's willing, I'll carry a crock of it to the young lady when I take you back to school Monday morning."

Magnolia was not sure of the propriety of such a gift, and he turned the matter over in his slow mind all the rest of the way home. They jogged along in silence, for she also was busy with her thoughts. She was thinking of another picture in the library book which she had not showed her father. It was an unmounted photograph of Lloyd Sherman which Miss Katherine had taken the year before.

She had photographed all the children who took part in the play of the "Rescue of the Princess Winsome," and they were arranged on a panel on her studio wall. There were several of Lloyd; one at the spinning-wheel, one with her arms around Hero's neck, and one with the knight kneeling to take her hand from the old king's. But the most beautiful one of all was the one of the Dove Song. That picture hung by itself. It was just a little medallion, showing the head of the Princess with the white dove nestled against her shoulder. The fair hair with its coronet of pearls made a halo around the sweet little face, and Magnolia stood gazing at it as if it had been the picture of an angel. She had no eyes for anything else in the studio, and Miss Flora, seeing her gaze of rapt admiration, looked across at her sister and smiled significantly.

"Haven't you a copy of that you could give her, Katherine?" she asked, in a low tone. "I never saw a child's face express such wistful longing.

It makes me think of some of the little waifs I have seen at Christmas time, gazing hungrily into the shop windows at the toys and bon-bons they know can never be for them."

Miss Katherine opened a table drawer, and, after searching a few minutes among the unmounted photographs it contained, took out one, regarding it critically.

"This was a trifle too light to suit me," she said, "but too good to destroy." She crossed the room and held it out to Magnolia, who still stood gazing at its duplicate on the wall.

Such a look of rapture came into the child's face when it was finally made clear to her that she was to have the picture to keep that no one noticed the omission of spoken thanks. She was too embarra.s.sed to say anything, but she took it as if it were something sacred.

"I suppose because Lloyd happens to be the G.o.ddess just now to whom she burns incense," said Miss Katherine when she had gone. "These little schoolgirl affairs are very amusing sometimes. They're so intense while they last."

Maggie could not have told why she did not show the picture of the Princess to her father. In an undefined sort of way she felt that he would look at it as he would look at the picture of any little girl, and that he would not understand that she was so much finer and better and more beautiful and different in every way from all the other girls in the world. But Corono would understand. For two days Magnolia had looked forward to the pleasure of showing it to her.

"Can't you get old Dixie out of a walk, daddy?" she exclaimed at last.

"I'm mighty anxious to get home before sundown. I want to stop at Roney's with this library book, and show her the picture, too."

Aroused from his reverie the old farmer clucked to his horse, and they went b.u.mping down the stony pike at a gait which satisfied even Maggie's impatient desire for speed.