Dorothy at Oak Knowe Part 3

"But I don't want her. I want to go with Dolly."

"You're too big a girl for dolls, Miss Grace, and quite big enough to obey orders."

Grace's sharp little face darkened and she made a mocking grimace to the maid, retorting:

"You don't know anything, Dora Bond! You don't know that the Dolly I play with is this new girl. I shall go with her. I hate them exercises. They make my back ache. I'm excused to-day, anyhow. I heard Auntie Princie tell a lady how I wasn't a bit strong and that she had to indulge me a lot. I shall do as I please. I shall go where I like.

I shall, so, old Bondy! So there!"

Dorothy was surprised by the unpleasant expression which had settled on the little girl's face, but said nothing. Following Bond's direction, she hurried through a long hall to a suns.h.i.+ny breakfast-room and the simple meal prepared for her. She hastily drank the milk, but had no appet.i.te for the cereal. Her heart was in a flutter of anxiety about the coming interview with Miss Tross-Kingdon.

She had at once disliked and feared that lady, on the night before, and felt that her present appearance, in a rain-spotted frock and with her hair so hastily brushed, must only add to the sternness of this unknown Lady Princ.i.p.al.

However, the clinging hand of Millikins-Pillikins gave a little comfort. She didn't feel quite so lonely and timid with the child beside her and, as she made her graceful curtsey at the open door, all her fear vanished and she became once more the self-possessed Dorothy of old. For, rising and crossing the room to meet her was her acquaintance of the night, who had brought her to Oak Knowe in his own car from John Gilpin's cottage.

With extended hands he grasped hers and, turning to Miss Muriel, remarked:

"Any time you need a nurse, madam, just call upon this little lady.

She was the best helper I had last night. Quick and quiet and intelligent. She must train herself for that vocation when she is older."

The color flew to Dorothy's cheeks and she flashed him a grateful smile, for the kind words that so soothed her homesick heart.

The other gentleman in the room did not rise, but held out a beckoning hand and, with another curtsey to Doctor Winston, Dorothy excused herself to him and obeyed the summons. This other was a venerable man with a queer-shaped cap upon his white head and wearing knee breeches and gaiters, which made the young American remember some pictures of old Continental statesmen.

"So this is my old friend Betty Calvert's child, is it? Well, well!

You're as like her as possible--yet only her great-niece. Ha, hum!

Little lady, you carry me straight back to the days of my boyhood, when my parents came from England--strangers to your Baltimore. But we were not strangers for long. There's a distant blood relation between our house and yours and we youngsters found in beautiful Bellevieu a second home. So you must remember that, since your aunt has done me the honor to send you away up here to this school of mine--of ours, I should say--you have come to another home just as I did then. Dear little Betty! What a mischief she was! Are you mischievous, too, I wonder?"

Then he turned to the Lady Princ.i.p.al, warning her:

"Look out for this little miss, Miss Tross-Kingdon! She looks as meek as a lamb, just now, but blood will tell and she'll bear watching, I believe."

The dear old man had drawn Dorothy close to his side and was smiling upon her in a manner to win the heart of any girl and to cure her of her homesickness--at least for the time being. When he released her, he rose to depart, resuming for a moment the business talk with the Lady Princ.i.p.al, which Dorothy's entrance had interrupted. Both she and the doctor also arose and stood respectfully waiting till the Bishop disappeared. Then said Dr. Winston:

"You'll like to hear about your boy patient, I suppose, Miss Calvert.

Well, I think he's all right, or will be as soon as his bones and bruises mend. What I suspect is that the brave lad is about half-starved--or was. He's in danger of being overfed now, since he has fallen into Dame Gilpin's hands."

"Half-starved, sir? How dreadful!" cried Dorothy, while Miss Tross-Kingdon exclaimed: "Can that be possible!"

"Quite possible, indeed. His mother is a widow and very frail, old John tells me. Her husband was a carpenter who worked in town and was trying to pay for the little place he'd bought out here in the suburbs, hoping the open-air life might cure her. She'd gone into chicken and flower culture, thinking she could help in the payment.

They were proud of Robin, the 'brightest, merriest, best boy in the Glen,' John claims, and had somehow got a second-hand bicycle for him to ride into school for the 'grand eddication' they wanted he should have. Then the father died and Robin got a position as messenger boy.

Every cent he earned he gave his mother and she took in sewing. They ate just as little as they could and the result has been disastrous. A growing boy can't work all day and half the night, sometimes, on a diet of bread and water. So last night he fainted on his trip and fell off his wheel in the middle of the road. Then I came speeding along toward home and smashed them both up. But it's an ill wind that blows n.o.body good and the lad's accident may turn out his blessing. Dorothy and I and the Dame have mended a collar bone and a couple of ribs and my ambitious young 'Mercury' is laid up for repairs. John 'step-and-fetched' the mother, Mrs. Locke, and she, too, will get some rest and nourishment. She's worrying a good deal, but has no need.

Plucky little Robin will soon be chirping again, 'fine as silk.'

Maybe, after school hours, Miss Tross-Kingdon will permit me to take Dorothy with me in the car to visit her patient. May I, Madam?"

The Lady Princ.i.p.al did not look pleased. The Bishop's and the doctor's treatment of the new pupil had really softened her heart toward the girl, but she was a stickler for "rules" and "discipline," and remembered that this was not the day on which her "young ladies" were allowed to pay visits.

"Thank you, Doctor Winston, but I am obliged to decline the invitation for to-day. She has entered Oak Knowe some time after the opening of term and must pa.s.s examination, that I may understand for which Form she is best fitted. Nor have I yet been advised of such houses as her guardians desire her to visit. Commonly, the young ladies of Oak Knowe do not consort with laborers and messenger boys. But I thank you for your courtesy toward her; and, as that is the bell for my cla.s.s in Greek, I must beg you to excuse me and I wish you good morning, Dr.

Winston. Come, Miss Calvert, I will have your examination begin at once. Make your obeisance to the doctor."

Dolly's heart sank. Why should she be made to feel so guilty and insignificant? Still, as she turned to follow the teacher, she obediently saluted the physician and, glancing up into his face, saw--was it possible that he winked?

Though she felt as she were going to be tried for her life, this sight so surprised her, that she giggled hysterically and thus irreverently followed the haughty instructress out of the room. So doing, she added one more to the list of misdemeanors that lady had already placed against her account.

CHAPTER III

PEERS AND COMMONS

Along the hall down which Dorothy followed the Lady Princ.i.p.al were many doors opening into small cla.s.s rooms. Each cla.s.s was under its especial teacher, its number being limited to ten students. It was the policy of the school that by this division better instruction could be given each pupil, and Dorothy wondered to which of these groups--if any--she would be a.s.signed. Another hall and other cla.s.s rooms joined the first and longer one, at a right angle, and here Miss Muriel paused, directing:

"Proceed down this corridor till you reach the parlor at its end.

There you will find Miss Hexam awaiting you. She will test your scholars.h.i.+p and report to me. Do not fail to answer her questions promptly and distinctly. I observe that you do not enunciate well. You slur some of your words and clip the endings from your participles. To say 'hopin'' or 'runnin'' is execrable. Also, there is no such word as 'daown' or 'araoun'.'"

Dorothy's temper rose. She had done nothing right, it seemed, since she had arrived at this "school for criticism," as she termed it, and now said pertly:

"I reckon that's the Southern way of talking. I noticed that the Bishop didn't bother about his 'gs' and he had the same tw.a.n.g that all do down home. He must have lived there a right smart time when he was little."

"Many things are permissible in a cultured old gentleman which are not in an ignorant and forward girl. You came here for your own improvement. I shall see that you attain it; or, if you fail in this after a reasonable trial, you cannot be retained. That rule is plainly stated in our circular. I will bid you good morning until I send for you."

Poor Dorothy fairly withered under this sternness that she felt was unjust, but she felt, also, that she had been impertinent, and running after Miss Muriel, as she moved away, she caught the lady's sleeve, imploring:

"Please don't think I'm all bad, Miss Tross-Kingdon! I've been heedless and saucy, but I didn't mean it--not for badness. Please wait and try me and I _will_ 'improve,' as you said. Please, please! It would break Aunt Betty's heart if she thought I wasn't good and--and I'm so unhappy! Please forgive me."

The dark eyes, lifted so appealingly, filled with tears which their owner bravely restrained, and the Lady Princ.i.p.al was touched by this self-control. Also, under all her sternness, she was just.

"Certainly, Dorothy, your apology is sufficient. Now go at once to Miss Hexam and do yourself credit. If you have studied music, another person will examine you in that."

Impulsively Dorothy caught the lady's hand and kissed it; and, fortunately, did not observe that dainty person wipe off the caress with her handkerchief.

Then summoning her courage, the new pupil hurried to the end parlor and entered it as she had been taught. But the "den of inquisition,"

as some of the girls had named it, proved anything but that to Dorothy.

"The Inquisitor" was a lovely, white-haired woman, clothed in soft white wool, and smiling so gently toward the trembling girl that all fear instantly left her.

"So this is Dorothy Calvert, our little maid from Dixie. You'll find a wide difference between your Southland and our Province, but I hope you'll find the change a pleasant one. Take this chair before the fire. You'll find it comfortable. I love these autumn days, when a blazing log can keep us warm. It's so fragrant and cheerful and far more romantic than a coil of steam pipe. Have a biscuit, dear?"

Miss Hexam motioned to a low wicker chair, which some girls had declared a "chair of torture," but which suited Dorothy exactly, for it was own mate to her own little reading chair "at home." Almost she could have kissed it for its likeness, but was allowed no time for foolishness. The homely little treat of the simple crackers banished all shyness and the dreaded "exam" proved really but a social visit, the girl not dreaming that under this friendly talk was a careful probing of her own character and attainments. Nor did she understand just then how greatly her answers pleased the gentle "Inquisitor."

"You want me to 'begin at the beginning'? Why, that's a long way back, when I was a mere midget. A baby only a year and a half old. Papa and mamma died away out west, but, of course, I didn't know that then. I didn't know anything, I reckon, except how to make Mother Martha trouble. My father was Aunt Betty's nephew and she didn't like his marrying mamma. I don't know why; only Ephraim says 'Miss Betty was allays full o' notions same's a aig's full o' meat.' Ephy's Aunt Betty's 'boy,' about as old as she is--something over eighty. n.o.body knows just auntie's real age, except Ephraim and Dinah. They've lived with her always and treat her now just as if she were a child. It's too funny for words, sometimes, to hear the three of them argue over some thing or trifle. She'll let them go a certain length; then all at once she'll put on her dignity and they fairly begin to tremble. She's mistress then and they're her servants, but I do believe either one would die to prolong her life. Dinah says: ''Pears lak death an' dyin'

nebah gwine come nigh my Miss Betty Calvert.' And she's just right.

Everybody thinks my darling aunt is the sweetest, most wonderful woman in the world. But I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to talk so much and hinder your examination."

"Oh! that is all right. I love to hear your story that you've left off at its beginning. You're only a 'baby' so far, you know."

"Well, if you like. When my father died, my mother felt that she would die, too, and she couldn't bear to leave me alone. So she just sent me to Aunt Betty. But she felt, auntie did, that she couldn't be bothered with a 'squalling baby,' nor could she cast me off, really. 'Cause she was my real great-aunt and my nearest relation and was rich enough to do what she liked in a money way. Besides, she wanted me to be raised real sensible. So she picked out a splendid couple she knew and had me left on their doorstep. She had pinned to my clothes that my name was 'Dorothy C.' Their name began with 'C,' too, so they guessed I was meant for them to keep, because they hadn't any other child. What a lot I'm talking! Do you want to hear any more? Won't the Lady Princ.i.p.al be angry if I don't get examined?"