Nancy Of Paradise Cottage Part 16

Milly--oh, Nancy,"--she stopped and looked at her sister beseechingly,--"Milly wanted me to get it. And she offered to lend me the money--she begged me to let her lend it to me, and I can pay her back whenever I please; she said she didn't care whether I paid her back at all. And I felt so shabby in that old suit of mine, and I hated to look badly when Frank was going to be there--he knows ever so much about girls' clothes, and I _did_ look positively poor beside Mildred. I knew Mother wouldn't mind--in fact, I knew that it would hurt her pride dreadfully if I didn't look respectable with those sort of people--and the fur made everything else look just right. Oh, Nancy, if you only knew how it _hurts_ me to be with girls who have everything, who look so much nicer than I do just because they have prettier clothes. I know it was wrong of me, but _I couldn't resist it_! I just simply couldn't."

Nancy bit her lip. It seemed as if she were always being thrust into a position where she must needs be forever preaching to Alma. It made her feel old, and uncomfortably burdened. With Alma she always felt somewhat as a staid and wise old duenna must feel with a pretty and charmingly unpractical and mischievous charge. For a moment she was on the point of shrugging her shoulders and determining to let Alma go ahead as she pleased. She had no desire to blame Alma; she understood too well the force of the temptations that surrounded a girl like Alma in such an environment as Miss Leland's school; and she was touched by Alma's, "If you knew how it _hurts_ me!" She had foreseen just that when she had urged her mother not to send them to Miss Leland's. She herself had felt that very same sharp flick of wounded feminine pride when she compared her own small possessions with those of the other girls and realized that in spite of the neatness of her clothes they must often appear plain to the point of poorness in comparison with Mildred's or Kay's. Somehow with Charlotte, in spite of Charlotte's pretty things, she had not been so conscious of the contrast.

"I--I wish you hadn't tried to hide it from me, Alma," she said gently.

"Are you _afraid_ of me? Am I always scolding you?"

"Nancy! Of course not," cried Alma, in distress. "I didn't mean to hide it--that was horribly cowardly--I _knew_ that it was weak of me to get it, and that I had no right to borrow the money from Mildred; and you have a perfect right to blame me awfully."

"But, dear, however are we going to manage to pay her back? How much was it?"

Alma looked uncomfortable.

"It really was a bargain, Nancy. A--a hundred and ten, marked down from a hundred and forty. It'll last me forever."

"A hundred and ten!" Nancy gasped, and then tried to compose her features so as not to scare Alma with her own breathless dismay.

"I--I don't have to pay her until I get ready," murmured Alma. "I know Milly won't even think of it again."

"You can't possibly accept it as a present, Alma," said Nancy sternly.

"We must manage to pay Mildred back somehow--soon. She is the last person in the world whom I'd want to owe anything to. I mean to say, that people in our position _can't_ put themselves under obligations to a girl like Mildred Lloyd. It's different if you can return it in some other way. For instance, it would be all right for Kay Leonard to accept an expensive present from Mildred, because she could so easily return it, but for one of us to is like accepting a charity."

Alma looked at her repentantly out of two large, grave blue eyes.

"I--I'm afraid I rather made a mess of everything yesterday, Nancy,"

she said, hanging her head and picking at the soft fur, which somehow had lost a good deal of its charm for her; then, all at once, evidently touched by the droll navete of the sad remark, Nancy burst out laughing.

"You poor, funny lamb! I'm always worrying you to death," she said.

"Don't bother any more, Alma. I'm sick of bothering, myself. We'll manage to solve the problem somehow. Only, dearest," she grew sober again, "please--please don't--I don't want to say it again,--but think over what I said to you. I'm sure that you will see that I'm very nearly right. Come, now--you'd better tidy yourself. I'm going to dress." She bent over Alma and kissed her lightly. As she went toward the door Mildred met her. They looked at each other coolly, Mildred barely giving her a nonchalant nod, and then ignoring her altogether.

"h.e.l.lo, honey-pie. Don't tell me you've been weeping briny tears all afternoon over what Leland said to you," she cried gaily to Alma.

"Goodness, what a penitent! What's the point in having a good time if you're going to regret it like that? I have the right idea--I make it a point never to regret anything."

Nancy walked slowly back to her own room, and dressed for dinner in silence. It seemed to her that she might indeed be "sick of bothering," but that did not prevent there being a good deal for her to bother about.

CHAPTER XII

ALMA IN A Sc.r.a.pE

It was the custom of Miss Leland's school to hold the mid-year examinations before the Christmas holidays, early in December, so that the teachers and the girls might enjoy their holidays without the shadow of that depressing necessity hanging over them, and so that they might apply themselves to the preparation for them while they were still in the habit of studying. Miss Leland held the opinion that after the gay indolence of the holiday season, and when the girls were still in the state of homesickness and la.s.situde following their return to school, they were much less interested in making good marks, and much less capable of applying themselves.

Thus, the first week of a snowy December found the entire school in that state of tension which seizes any body of young people when a hostile body of older people is bent upon finding out how much they know.

"History from nine to twelve to-morrow," groaned Charlotte. "I've reread the whole volume. I've crammed dates until I don't know whether Columbus discovered America in 1492 or 1776. I've 'rastled' with Free Silver, and I haven't the faintest notion what the trouble was about.

A long, long time ago I knew whether Maryland was a Charter colony or not, but now I never expect to know again. I could write everything I know about this great and glorious country in two minutes, and it would be quite wrong at that, and the thought that we are expected to know enough to require three solid hours for writing it out is driving me rapidly into a state of chronic melancholia."

"What happened in 1812, Charlotte?" demanded Nancy in a dazed voice.

"Something happened then, but I don't know what."

"Why, that was the year that Was.h.i.+ngton said 'Beyond the Alps lies Italy.' Which was quite true. And even if he didn't say it then, it would have been true, so you can't go far wrong there," replied Charlotte. "Nancy, kindly fold up your book. I am going to flunk, and I won't have you pa.s.s. If you try to study any more I'm going to sing the Ma.r.s.eillaise at the top of my voice."

"I think I _will_ stop. I really do know my history, but I'm forgetting it the more I try to study."

After dinner that night, the living-room was empty during the usual hour for recreation, nearly all the girls having gone to their room either to study, or simply as a matter of form, since it was considered highly undiplomatic, to say the least, to appear as if you were so sure of the outcome of your examinations that you felt privileged to take life easily.

What they did, once they were in the privacy of their own rooms, was, of course, strictly their own business. Two or three, who believed that rest was essential, had solemnly gone to bed. A dozen or even more of the seriously inclined had hung "Busy" signs on the panel of their doors, through the transoms of which the greenish illumination of the students' lamps burning within told their own story. The others, philosophically believing that if they were going to pa.s.s they would, and if they were destined to flunk they would do so in spite of the best-intentioned efforts at study, were cheerfully whiling away the two hours of grace in subdued revelry.

Alma, who had every reason to doubt that she would s.h.i.+ne in her examinations unless she made a superhuman effort at cramming, and who, at the same time, was unable to comfort herself with Mildred's philosophical indifference, was curled up on her bed, her fingers in her ears, struggling to make the lines she read convey some sense to her weary brain.

"I say, Milly, will you ask me some questions?" she suggested at length, lifting a weary face from her book. "I don't know _what_ I know."

"Oh, bother! Don't study any more. What does it matter even if you don't pa.s.s?" said Mildred. "For goodness' sake don't you turn into a grind like Nancy. One thing I refuse to do is to room with anyone who's studious."

"But I'll flunk, as sure as fate," objected Alma, "and--and I don't want to, Milly."

"You're a bit late finding that out. It's not going to do you a bit of good to stuff now."

"Don't your father and mother mind if you don't pa.s.s?"

"Oh, Mother doesn't care a bit. She is always worrying herself to death for fear I'm overstudying. Dad sometimes rows at me about my bad marks, but Mother always takes my part. Besides this is my last year of school, and what earthly good will Latin or Algebra do me when I come out?"

"I suppose they really aren't much use," agreed Alma, finding this a very comforting notion. "Of course, it's different with Nancy; she wants to go to college."

"Well, of course if one wants to be a school teacher," said Mildred with a very faint sneer. "But that's a ridiculous idea for anyone who's as pretty as you are."

Alma hesitated; she felt the slight cast on Nancy in Mildred's remark, but she was afraid to resent it, and told herself that she would not be justified in doing so. She was silent for a moment, wondering why she liked Mildred, when Mildred did not like Nancy. Perhaps,--she was unwilling to admit this supposition, but it formed itself hazily in her mind--perhaps she herself did not _really_ like Mildred. Perhaps way down inside of her she shared her sister's distrust of the girl. But why didn't she admit it? Because she was flattered with being the chosen friend of the most important girl in the school? Because she had accepted favors from Mildred? She blushed involuntarily as these thoughts glided through her mind.

She did not want to quarrel with Mildred, even when she knew that she was right and her roommate in the wrong, because she hoped that Mildred would invite her to visit her, and that through Mildred she might have some good times. She wished that Mildred wouldn't make mean little remarks about Nancy, because she felt ashamed of herself for not openly resenting them.

At length, however, she threw aside her book, and lent her rapt attention to Mildred's chatter about the coming holidays. In a little while other girls joined them, and the next hour of gossip drove away her uneasiness for the coming day, and her uncomfortable reflections.

The last examination which was in Latin ended on Friday at noon. On the Wednesday of the following week the reports had been posted on the bulletin-board, and at the eleven o'clock recess some twenty girls were cl.u.s.tered around them struggling to get near enough to read their marks. Those who were closest called out the percentages to the others who pelted them with agitated questions.

"You got seventy-six in French, Denise. Good enough. Good heavens, Nancy Prescott, you made _ninety-two_ in history, and Charlotte Spencer _ninety-four_. Ye G.o.ds and little fishes, I pa.s.sed my Algebra--sixty-eight! Catch me, somebody; I'm going to faint."

"Kay Leonard flunked everything but her French," whispered another.

"Well, it won't disturb her at all. What did I make in Latin?"

"Eighty-eight. Good for you. Drinkwater doesn't make anyone a present of her marks. I just sc.r.a.ped through. I say, Alma! Alma Prescott, what happened to you on your Latin?"

"Why?" asked Alma, peering over Allison's shoulder, and turning a little pale. "Did--did I flunk very badly?"

"Why, it just says 'Cancelled' after your name. Didn't you take your exam?"

"Of course I took it!"

"Well, there--you can see for yourself. It just has 'Cancelled.'"