Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School Part 2

"I am glad Mrs. Harlowe gave me the flowers," she thought. "They hide it a little, I think."

Meantime there was the bustle of a new and important arrival. Grace and her mother ushered in a charming little old lady and seated her in the place of honor, a big leather chair between the windows. She wore a gray silk dress and a lavender bonnet daintily trimmed in lace and white ostrich tips.

"Girls," said Grace, as a hush fell over the room, "there is no need for me to introduce any of you to Mrs. Gray, who is the sponsor for the freshman cla.s.s."

There was a buzz of laughter and conversation again, and through the double doors Anne caught sight of the little old lady, talking gayly to her subjects, seated, like a diminutive queen, on a large throne.

"Why is she the sponsor of the cla.s.s?" Anne asked of Jessica, who was hovering near by.

"Oh, have you never heard?" returned Jessica. "Mrs. Gray's daughter died during her freshman year at High School, long ago, and ever since then, Mrs. Gray has offered a prize of twenty-five dollars for the girl who makes the highest average in her examinations at the end of the freshman year. She was made sponsor of the freshman cla.s.s about ten years ago, so each year, soon after school opens, some one of the freshmen gives a tea and invites her to meet the new girls. You must come in and be introduced, too, as soon as you are through here."

"A prize of twenty-five dollars," repeated Anne. "How I wish I might win it!"

"It's even more than that," said Jessica. "For a perfect examination she offers one hundred dollars. But, needless to say, no one has ever won the hundred. It is considered impossible to pa.s.s a perfect examination in every subject."

"One hundred dollars!" exclaimed Anne. "Oh, if I only could!"

"Well, you may win the twenty-five dollars, anyway, Anne," said Jessica.

"I suppose the one hundred dollar prize is beyond the reach of human beings."

"And now, young ladies," Mrs. Gray was saying, smiling at the group of girls who surrounded her, as she examined them through her lorgnette, "most of you I have known since you were little tots, and your fathers and mothers before you; but I don't know which of you excels in her studies. Is it you, Grace, my dear?"

Grace shook her head vigorously.

"No, indeed, Mrs. Gray," she replied. "I could never be accused of overstudy. I suppose I'm too fond of basketball."

"It won't hurt you, my dear," said the old lady, tapping the girl indulgently with her lorgnette; "the open air is much better than that of the schoolroom, and so long as you keep up an average, I daresay you won't disappoint your mother. But none of you have told me yet who leads the freshman cla.s.s in her studies."

"Miriam Nesbit," said several voices in unison.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Gray, looking intently at Miriam. "So you are the gold medal girl, Miriam? Dear me, what a young lady you are growing to be!

But you must not study too hard. Don't overdo it."

Mrs. Gray had gone through this same conversation every year since any of the girls could remember, and never failed to caution the head girl not to overstudy.

"There's no fear of that, Mrs. Gray," replied Miriam boastfully. "My lessons give me very little trouble."

"Mrs. Gray," broke in Nora O'Malley mischievously, "Miriam Nesbit has a close second in the cla.s.s. The first girl who has ever been known to come up to her."

Miriam flushed, half-angry and half-pleased at the adroit compliment.

"And who may that be, my dear?" queried Mrs. Gray, searching about the room with her nearsighted blue eyes.

"It's Anne Pierson" replied Nora.

"Pierson, Pierson?" repeated the little old lady. "Why have I not met her? I do not seem to remember the name in Oakdale. But where is this wonderful young woman who is outstripping our brilliant Miriam? I feel a great curiosity to see her."

"Anne Pierson, Anne Pierson!" called several voices, while Grace began to search through the rooms and hall.

At the first mention of her name Anne had darted from her seat behind the lemonade bowl, and rushed to the nearest shelter, which was the conservatory.

Grace found her, at last, in the conservatory crouched behind a palm.

"Come here, you foolish child!" exclaimed Grace. "You are wanted at once. Why did you run and hide? Mrs. Gray--the great Mrs. Gray--wishes to meet you. Think of that!"

Anne clasped the girl's strong hand with her two small ones.

"Oh, Grace," she whispered, "won't you excuse me? I--I----"

"You what? Silly, come right along!"

Grace fairly dragged the trembling little figure into the drawing room, where a silence had fallen over the group of young girls who watched the scene.

"Tut, tut, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray gently. "You mustn't be afraid of me. I'm the most harmless old woman in the world."

Then she tried to get a glimpse of Anne's downcast, crimson face.

"I wanted particularly to meet you, child," went on Mrs. Gray, "because I hear you are a formidable rival of the best pupil in the freshman cla.s.s. That is a great boast for your friends to make for you, my dear.

Miriam Nesbit is a famously smart girl, I'm told. But I wanted to meet you, too, because you bear the name I love best in the world."

Here the old lady's voice became very soft, and the girls suddenly remembered that the young daughter had been called Anne. Was there not a memorial window, in the chapel of the High School, of an angel carrying a lily and underneath an inscription familiar to them all: "In Memory of Anne Gray, died in her freshman year, aged sixteen"?

The girls moved off quietly, conversing in low voices, leaving Anne alone with her new friend.

"You are a very little girl to be so clever," said Mrs. Gray, patting one of Anne's small wrists as she looked into the dark eyes. "Where do you live, dear?"

"On River Street," replied Anne undergoing the scrutiny calmly, now she found herself alone.

"River Street?" repeated Mrs. Gray, trying to recall whom she had ever known living in that strange quarter of the town. "Have you been long in Oakdale?" she went on.

"A few years, ma'am," replied Anne.

"And what is your father's business, my child?" continued the old lady remorselessly.

Anne blushed and hung her head, and for a moment there was no reply to the question. Presently she drew a sharp breath as if it hurt her to make the confession.

"My father does not live here," was what she said. "My mother is an invalid. My sister supports us with sewing. As soon as I finish in the High School, I shall teach."

Mrs. Gray put an arm around the girl's waist and drew her down beside her.

"I'm a stupid old woman, child. You must forgive me. Old people forget their manners sometimes. Will you come and see me very soon? Perhaps to-morrow after church you will take luncheon with me? I want to know you better."

She drew a card from the beaded reticule that hung at her side.

"Remember, at half-past twelve," she said, giving the girl's hand an extra squeeze as she rose to go.

After Mrs. Gray had taken her departure a free and easy atmosphere was restored and the girls began talking and laughing without the restriction of an older person's presence. Mrs. Harlowe shortly after this also left them to themselves.