Jewel's Story Book Part 49

"Well, upon my word, if that isn't cool!" exclaimed Ada, staring at the brown gingham figure.

Alma looked up mildly. She had come to the dressing-room on purpose to eat her lunch where she could look at Lucy Berry, who seemed beautiful to Alma, with her brown eyes, red cheeks, and soft cashmere dress, and it never occurred to her that she could be in the way.

Ada turned to Lucy with a curling lip. "I should hate to be a third party, shouldn't you?" she asked, so significantly that even Alma couldn't help understanding her. Tears started to the big eyes as the little girl dropped her bread back into the hollow depths of the pail, replaced the cover, and went away to find a solitary corner, with a sorer spot in her heart than she had ever known.

"Oh, why did you say that, Ada?" exclaimed Lucy, making a movement as if to slip down from the window-seat and follow.

"Don't you go one step after her, Lucy Berry," commanded Ada. "My mother doesn't want me to a.s.sociate with the children of the factory people.

She'll find plenty of friends of her own kind."

"But you hurt her feelings," protested Lucy.

"Oh, no, I didn't," carelessly; "besides, if I did, she'll forget all about it. I had to let her know that she couldn't stay with us. Do you want a stranger like that to hear everything we're saying?"

"I feel as if I ought to go and find her and see if she has somebody to eat with."

"Very well, Lucy. If you go with her, I can't go with you, that's all. You can take your choice."

The final tone in Ada's voice destroyed Lucy's courage. The little girls were very fond of one another, and Lucy was entirely under strong-willed Ada's influence.

Ada was a most attractive little person. Her father, the owner of the factory, was the richest man in town; and to play on Ada's wonderful piano, where you had only to push with your feet to play the gayest music, or to ride with her in her automobile, were exciting joys to her friends. She always had money in her pocket, and boxes of candy for the entertainment of other children, and Lucy was proud of her own position as Ada's intimate friend. So when it came to making a choice between this brilliant companion and the gingham-clad daughter of a factory hand, Lucy Berry's courage and sympathy oozed away, and she sat back on the window-seat, while Ada began talking about something else.

This first school-day was Alma Driscoll's introduction into the world outside of her mother's love. She had never felt so lonely as when surrounded by all these girls, each of whom had her intimate friend, and among whom she was not wanted. She could not help feeling that she was different from the others, and day by day the wondering eyes grew shy and lonely; and she avoided the children out of school hours, bravely hiding from her mother that the gingham ap.r.o.n, which always hid her faded dress, seemed to her a badge of disgrace that separated her from her daintily dressed schoolmates.

Such was the state of affairs when St. Valentine's day dawned. Alma's two weeks of school had seemed a little eternity to her; but this day she could feel that there was something unusual in the air, and she could not help being affected by the pleasurable excitement afloat in the room. She knew what the big white box by the door was for, and when, after school, Miss Joslyn was appointed to uncover and distribute the valentines, Alma found herself following the crowd, until, pressed close to Lucy Berry's side, she stood in the centre of the merry group about the teacher.

While the dainty envelopes were being pa.s.sed around her, a shade of wistfulness crept over the child's face, and her eager fingers crumpled the checked ap.r.o.n as though Alma feared they might otherwise touch the beautiful valentines that shone so enticingly with red and blue, gold and silver. Suddenly Miss Joslyn spoke her name,--Alma Driscoll; only she said "Miss Alma Driscoll," and, yes, there was no mistake about it, she had read it off one of those vine-wreathed envelopes.

"Did you ever see such a goose!" exclaimed Ada Singer, as she watched the mixture of shyness and eagerness with which Alma took her valentine and opened the envelope.

Poor little Alma! How her heart beat as she unfolded her prize--and how it sank when she beheld the coa.r.s.e, flaring picture of a sewing girl, with a disgusting rhyme printed beneath it. She dropped the valentine, a great sob of disappointment choked her, and bursting into tears, she pushed her way through the crowd and rushed from the schoolroom.

"What is the meaning of that?" asked Miss Joslyn.

For answer some one handed her the picture. The young lady glanced at it, then tore it in pieces as she looked sadly around on her scholars.

"Whoever sent this knows that Alma's mother works in the factory," she said. "It makes me ashamed of my whole school to think there is one child in it cruel enough to do this thing;" then, amid the silent consternation of the scholars, Miss Joslyn rose, and leaving the half-emptied box, went home without another word.

"What a fuss about nothing," said Ada Singer. "The idea of crying because you get a 'comic!' What else could Alma Driscoll expect?"

Lucy Berry's cheeks had been growing redder all through this scene, and now she turned upon Ada.

"She has a right to expect a great deal else," she returned excitedly, "but we've all been so hateful to her it's a wonder if she did. I wish I'd been kind to her before," she continued, her heart aching with the remembrance of the little lonely figure, and the big, hollow dinner-pail; "but I'm going to be her friend now, always, and you can be friends with us or not, just as you please;" and turning from the astonished Ada, Lucy Berry marched out of the schoolroom, fearing she should cry if she stayed, and sure that if there were any more beauties for her in the white box, her stanch friend, Frank Morse, would take care of them for her. Among the valentines she had already received was one addressed in his handwriting, and she looked at it as she walked along.

"It's the handsomest one I ever saw," she thought, lifting a rose here, and a group of cupids there, and reading the tender messages thus disclosed.

"I know what I'll do!" she exclaimed aloud. "I'll send it to Alma. Frank won't care," and covering the valentine in its box, she started to run, and turned a corner at such speed that she b.u.mped into somebody coming at equal or greater speed, from the opposite direction. A pa.s.ser-by just then would have been amused to see a boy and girl sitting flat on the sidewalk, rubbing their heads and staring at one another.

"Lucy Berry!"

"Frank Morse!"

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Something's down, and it's me."

"Well, excuse me; but I guess you haven't seen any more stars than I have.

I don't care anything for the Fourth now, I've seen enough fireworks to last me a year."

Both children laughed. "You've got grit, Lucy," added Frank, jumping up and coming to help her. "Most girls would have boo-hooed over that."

"Oh, I wouldn't," returned the little girl, springing to her feet. "I'm too excited."

"Well, what _is_ up?" persisted Frank. "I skipped out of the side door to try to meet you."

"Well, you did," laughed Lucy. "Oh, Frank, I don't know how I can laugh,"

she pursued, sobering. "I don't deserve to, ever again."

"What is it? Something about that Driscoll kid? She was crying. I was back there and I didn't hear what Miss Joslyn said; but I saw her leave, and then you, and I thought _I_'d go to the fire, too, if there was one."

"Oh, there is," returned Lucy, "right in here." She grasped the waist of her dress over where her heart was beating hard.

Frank Morse was older than herself and Ada, and she knew that he was one of the few of their friends whose good opinion Ada cared for. To enlist him on Alma's side would mean something.

"Is Ada still there?" she added.

"Yes, she took charge of the valentine box after Miss Joslyn left."

"Oh, Frank, do you suppose she could have sent Alma the 'comic'?" Genuine grief made Lucy's voice unsteady.

"Supposing she did," returned Frank stoutly. "Is that what Big-Eyes was crying about? I hate people to be touchy and blubber over a thing like that."

"You don't know. Her mother works in the factory, and this was a horrid picture making fun of it. Think of your own mother earning your living and being made fun of."

"Ada wouldn't do that," replied Frank shortly. "What made you think of such a thing?"

"It was error for me to say it," returned Lucy, with a meek groan. "I've been doing error things ever since Alma came to school. Oh, Frank, you're a Christian Scientist, too. You must help me to get things straight."

"You don't need to be a Christian Scientist to see that it wasn't a square deal to send the kid that picture."

"No, I know it; but when Alma first came, Ada said her mother didn't allow her to go with girls from the factory, and so I stopped trying to be kind to Alma, because Ada wouldn't like me if I did; and it's been such mesmerism, Frank."

The boy smiled. "Do you remember the stories your mother used to tell us about the work of the error-fairies?"

"Indeed I do. My head's just been full of it the last fifteen minutes. I've done nothing for two weeks but give the error-fairies backbones, and I don't care what happens to me, or how much I'm punished, if I can only do right again."

"Who's going to punish you?" asked Frank, not quite seeing the reason for so much feeling.