Polly's First Year at Boarding School Part 15

The red-headed boy watched the queer procession; he still held his hat in his hand, and his flaming hair was the last thing the girls saw.

Hours later, safe in the infirmary, surrounded by hot water bottles and woolly blankets, Betty opened her eyes-she had been asleep-and encountered those of Mrs. Baird.

"What was his name?" she asked drowsily.

"My darling child, I forgot to ask him!" exclaimed Mrs. Baird; "how very remiss of me."

Betty's gaze wandered around the room, then her eyes closed again.

"Doesn't matter," she said slowly. "He'd always have been just the red-headed boy to me."

CHAPTER VIII

CUTTING THE LECTURE

Polly awoke with a start and bounded out of bed as the rising bell clanged down the corridor.

"I knew it, I knew it; my Latin won't be finished and the Spartan will be furious," she exclaimed to the four walls, "but I did intend to get up early. Well, it can't be helped now; hateful stuff, anyhow."

For two days the snow had been falling, and the coasting had been perfect. As might be expected, lessons had suffered. The girls would come into study hours flushed with excitement, their blood tingling and their eyes sparkling, and it was only the most studious that could get down to real concentrated work.

It was Friday morning, and a particularly glorious day. The grounds were covered with snow three feet deep, the main hill where the girls coasted had been shoveled out, stamped down, and refrozen until it resembled a broad ribbon of ice with high banks of drifted snow on either side.

The fir trees were weighed down to the ground, icicles hung from the porches of the school building, and the gym looked like an ice palace.

This enticing scene, with suns.h.i.+ne over all, made Polly look longingly from the corridor window on her way to Latin cla.s.s, a couple of hours after we left her thinking of her unprepared lesson.

"I wish it were the last period instead of the first," Lois whispered, catching up with her and linking her arm in hers.

"So do I, for a lot of reasons," groaned Polly. "In the first place, I haven't my Latin finished, and in the second, well, it's a crime to stay indoors on a day like this."

"Really, girls, I must remind you, there is no talking allowed in the corridors."

The Spartan was upon them. One never heard her coming; she wore rubber heels.

"You will admit you were talking, I suppose, Marianna?" she inquired.

"Certainly I will admit it. I was talking. I don't crawl, Miss Hale."

And Polly sucked in her under lip, a danger sign that she was angry.

"I was talking, too, Miss Hale," spoke up Lois.

The Spartan paid no attention to this, however, but marched off down the corridor. Two minutes later she confronted them in Latin cla.s.s. Polly was still sucking in her under lip.

"Papers for the day on my desk, _if_ you please."

"My Latin is unprepared," announced Polly with deadly calm. "And," she added, "I have no excuse."

"Dear me!" And Miss Hale raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into the depths of her large pompadour. "And is there any other girl whose Latin is not prepared, and who had no excuse?" she inquired.

As no one answered she continued:

"And may I ask why your Latin is not prepared? Don't you like Latin, Marianna?"

"No, I do not, Miss Hale," Polly answered, dangerously polite.

"You don't like Latin, so you don't prepare Latin; how very unfortunate!"

"I never said that was the reason I was unprepared. I told you I had no excuse."

Polly was getting very angry, still she might have controlled herself if just at that moment Miss Hale had not lifted a restraining hand and said, "Tut, my dear," in her most irritating manner.

Have you ever noticed the effect "Tut, tut," has on an angry person?

Sometimes it's quite dreadful. Polly was no exception. She stamped her foot, threw her Latin book violently on the floor and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Punishment followed as a matter of course. Polly had expected to be sent to Mrs. Baird. She did not know how thoroughly the Spartan disapproved of her superior's gentle lectures, preferring more drastic measures.

It was not until after school, however, that she learned her fate. It was in the shape of a note that read as follows:

"Kindly keep silence for the afternoon; report in the study hall and make up today's lesson, the advance lesson, and translate the first ten lines of story on page 35. Bring work to my room."

"Hard luck," sympathized Lois, reading over Polly's shoulder. "That means no coasting. I wish I could help you." Then putting her arm around her. "There, dear, never mind, don't cry."

"I'm not," denied Polly, hastily daubing at her eyes, "but if you stay here any longer, I will. Go on, or I'll blub."

Lois left to hunt up Betty, who had completely recovered from her ducking and again grinned joyously on the world. Together they went out to coast. As they pa.s.sed the bulletin board Lois stopped and read:

There will be a lecture on anatomy, by Miss F. Tilden-Brown, in a.s.sembly Hall, at 8 P. M. tonight.

"The d.i.c.kens there will," exclaimed Betty. "Anatomy forsooth, and by Miss Tilden-Brown. Nothing a woman with a name like that could say would interest me."

"That's right, think of yourself instead of poor Polly. Latin all afternoon and anatomy all evening."

Betty looked thoughtful.

"Hum; she's already in a sweet temper," she mused. "I see trouble ahead."

At 4:30 Polly, with her finished papers in her hand, crossed the Bridge of Sighs and knocked at Miss Hale's door.

"Come in," called that lady.

She was attired in a flowered kimono and was in the act of brus.h.i.+ng her mouse-colored hair.

"My papers, Miss Hale," announced Polly in her most frigid tones.