Peggy Parsons at Prep School Part 17

But tea was served, and three of the girls asked for just cups and saucers because they liked to fix theirs up themselves, they would put in the sugar and cream and would then pa.s.s them for the tea to be poured in. But the empty cups safe in their possession, they each asked earnestly for the sugar, and slowly and painstakingly, talking all the time so as to divert attention, they shoveled in spoonful after spoonful until the cup was full. Then with a sigh of relief at a difficult duty well done, they sank limply back in their chairs, only being sure to remember to be pa.s.sing something when any of the waitresses approached, so that their hands would cover the too-sweet tea-cups with nothing in but sugar.

"Won't you have some wafers?" Florence Thomas would ask Helen Remington in a worried voice every now and then, lifting the plate and offering it to her solicitously. Of course, the girls weren't sitting at Mrs.

Forest's table this week, or it never could have been managed and they would not have thought of trying. But just by themselves it wasn't impossible. When dinner was over and their princ.i.p.al and the teachers had moved toward the drawing room, they, with wild sidelong looks and terrified glances this way and that, sn.i.g.g.e.ring conversation that didn't mean anything, gathered up their trophies, hugging them as close as might be, and covering them with folds of satin gown and little nervous hands. Then, following, wherever possible, some girl who was going uprightly forth with nothing that she shouldn't have, the little guilty procession filed out and rushed for the stairs, stumbling and laughing in their haste and leaving, all unnoticed by them, a tiny tell-tale trail of sugar up the broad varnished stairs.

All these savings were taken to the room where Peggy and Katherine lived, and then the girls went their separate ways serenely, some to study and some to bed, each knowing that she would be summoned at the proper time to partake of the fruit of her spoils.

"What shall we do, are we sleepy or do we want to sit up a while and talk?" Peggy and Katherine, the hostesses-to-be, consulted each other.

It was characteristic that they used the plural, for it always happened that they were either both sleepy or both wide awake.

"Well," Katherine suggested, after a few moments of deliberation, "I say that we tuck all up with nice soft quilts and talk. We can talk about the Huntingtons and how mean Mrs. Forest is sometimes, and-and everything, until it's time to start the chafing-dish and call the girls." "Midnight" didn't mean the stroke of twelve to them at all. It was any time in the late, late hours, along about half-past ten or eleven, say.

In their pink and blue quilts they talked and talked in the darkness, for, of course, Mrs. Forest and the teachers mustn't see any light gleaming under their doors after ten o'clock. Soon their eyes grew heavy and the thoughts of fudge began to mix themselves up curiously with dreams.

They were two little tumbled over figures, fast asleep, Peggy on her couch and Katherine on hers, when the indignant guests, wondering why they had not been summoned to the party and deciding to come without waiting for the formal bidding, strode in upon them, with much flutter of silk and crepe kimono, and patter, patter of slippered feet.

"Well, did you ever!" cried Florence Thomas. "Light the candles somebody; Doris start the chafing-dish, and Helen measure out that b.u.t.ter,-"

"Is-it-time-to-get-up?" came in m.u.f.fled accents from Katherine's couch, and a moment later a candle gleam flickered into her drowsy eyes. "Oh, my stars, girls!" she cried, sitting up at once and staring around wildly, "do you think this is a nice way to come to a party?"

Peggy was breathing evenly, and she turned fretfully to the wall when Florence shook her. "Oh, very well, Miss Fudge Party," Florence murmured, "we'll see if you won't wake up,-" and she went over to the wash pitcher behind the screen and dipped a wash-cloth in its cold contents.

"Ha ha," she laughed, in imitation of a stage villain. Wringing out her weapon she approached the couch of the unconscious sleeper, full of delighted antic.i.p.ation.

Just as the terrible and efficient awakener was about to slap down on its victim's placid face the victim opened her eyes and looked up at the plotter reproachfully.

"Oh, I heard your fiendish plot-I heard the water sousing around," she said, "but I thought there was no use waking up till the last minute,-I was in the middle of such a delicious dream."

"Well," sighed Florence, much wounded, because, of course, you can't put a wet wash-cloth on a waking person's face. "All that energy wasted.

Girls, do hurry up the fudge, so that I can comfort myself for having been 'foiled again.'"

The room, with the little whispering group of girls in it, some on the couches and some on the floor, garbed in all the delicate shades of boudoir attire, pale blue, pink, and rose, saffron yellow, lavender and dainty green; with the tiny spurts of golden candle flame dotted here and there on table and mantlepiece; with the hot, chocolate-smelling fudge bubbling away in the chafing-dish, looked like some fairy meeting place, with all the adorable fairies a.s.sembled.

When the fudge was done they put the pan out of the window and hoped that it wouldn't fall down and all be lost. It didn't, and, before it had fairly cooled, they cut it and lifted the squares in their eager fingers,-great, rich, soft, wonderful squares of delight,-and ate them with greedy pleasure, down to the last, last crumb.

CHAPTER XIII-SPRING AND ANNAPOLIS

In the days that followed after the winter snow's melting it seemed to Peggy that she was seeing the world by sunlight for the first time. The wonderful new lights that fell on everything, making even a roof or a clay bank a beautiful thing to behold, the subtle perfume that came drifting out on the breeze over orchard and woodland, the pink blossoms on the apple trees, all these things sent her about with her head in the clouds and a happiness at her heart that was just the joy of living.

The girls sauntered now on their way to cla.s.ses, instead of hurrying and scurrying to escape the cold. They sang on their way to chapel, they lingered on the porch steps after luncheon, every Sat.u.r.day they planned some kind of tramp or picnic that was different, very, from the gay, romping affairs of the fall. These parties, or "bats," as they always called them, not knowing at all that that word was considered of rather vulgar significance out in the world, were long, lazy, enjoyable affairs, where groups went together with arms twined about each other's shoulders, always singing, singing. They sang Yale songs and Harvard songs and Princeton songs, then each group of girls sang the songs of the college they themselves hoped to attend, and wound up with the Andrews favorites.

"People along here would think us German soldiers, the way we sing as we go," said Peggy. "Oh, isn't it all heavenly, heavenly. Music with us that we make ourselves, and apple blossom petals as sweet as roses dropping down on us from the trees wherever we go, and all the world-ours-"

To her own surprise a sob choked her, and the other girls did not laugh, but looked away with the tolerant dreaminess the spring had given them.

The great topic of every spring at Andrews was Annapolis, and, as soon as they had thoroughly exhausted the subject, Annapolis all over again.

Which girls were to go and which must stay at home?

"Oh, girls, the marine band!" one group would remind another as they met going to and from cla.s.ses.

"And, oh, that gymnasium floor-" the other group would sing out.

Peggy dreamed of nothing but picturesque white buildings and uniformed young middies drilling, and wonderful girls in wonderful gowns dancing, dancing with wonderful representatives of the navy.

Not for her-oh, not for her, this one desirable thing of all the world that the others were to have! Of course, she had wickedly been saved from a storm-but it seemed to her now very unjust that this should stand in her way, now especially when the snow was all gone and there was nothing left to remind her of how grateful she ought to be for that past favor of fortune. Was getting saved and being served to hot chocolate such a crime, then? Hadn't any other girl ever had the same experience?

Well, if she hadn't, Peggy pitied her rather than envied her, she knew that. Oh, Mrs. Forest, what a narrow-minded woman she was. Just as if she had been born a hundred years old as she was now and had never known any girlhood, Peggy mused. Oh, Annapolis, Annapolis! Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear!

Nothing would ever make up-nothing ever or _ever_! If she could only go and look on, even, she would be satisfied. Must she see the others fluffing up their ruffles and pinning on their sashes and starting off with bobbing rose-buds at their waists while she remained behind, her nose pressed flat to the window, to see them off and the tears coursing sadly down her face? It was a heartbreaking picture and Peggy threw herself on the bed and cried over it until the thought came to her that if she kept this up she would go through the grief of it all many times before it actually came to her to bear it, and perhaps for the occasion itself there would be no tears left.

She wiped her eyes and saw that they were not, after all, so very red, and no permanent wrinkles had been made in her face from s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it up so hard. She decided that she'd just pretend she was going instead of continually dwelling on the fact that she wasn't. She got out her lovely little frock her aunt had recently sent her to be her best through the spring term. It was a deep, sweet pink-Peggy called it her candy dress-and tenderly she smoothed the dainty chiffon tunic over the crisp taffeta slip. There is a balm just in the touch of pretty clothes to dry the tears of any girl or woman unless her grief is very deep. Peggy felt the color stealing back into her cheeks, and her eyes were a-s.h.i.+ne with admiration. The very way the dress fell, all fairy-like and light, from her fingers when she lifted away her hand, the glow that the silk gave back, the cool feeling of the silver bead fringe that went around the sleeves,-Peggy would have had to be far less susceptible to the lure of feminine finery than she was if she had not caught her breath with pure joy in the possession of such a gown.

There are pinks and pinks, some beautiful shades and others not so lovely. But silk stockings will often take the loveliest pink of all, and Peggy's were delicately tinted and gleamy and did justice to the dress with which they were to be worn. Her little slippers had high heels, and how she reveled in them! After the flat heels they were obliged to wear every day at Andrews the dignified height and the curving grace of these were a rest and a delight to the eye. They were all of pink satin, just a shade deeper than the stockings, and were decorated with tiny handwrought gold buckles that glinted and flashed in the light like a cl.u.s.ter of yellow diamonds.

"Oh, tra, la," sang Peggy, handling them, "oh, tra, la."

And her pleasure in living rushed back full force, for, after all, these things were hers and even if there was to be no Annapolis, she would have the satisfaction of knowing how she _might_ have looked if she could have gone.

That night, when the girls discussed every detail of the trip, even to the train they were to take and what they were to wear as traveling suits, Peggy found that she was able to join in without tears and without bitterness and help them make their plans perfect. The girls were overwhelmed by the generosity of her att.i.tude, and marveled at her cheerful spirit.

"There's one thing, Peggy," said Helen Remington across the table, "if you were going there wouldn't be a chance for the rest of us. There'd just be a general stampede in your direction and _we'd_ look on alone and unnoticed."

The other girls nodded. Peggy thought of the dear pink dress and those wondrous slippers, and in the egotism of her youth she thought it might be so, after all.

It was one day off, at last. Even Mrs. Forest was practicing a peaches-and-cream, prunes-and-prisms, b.u.t.ter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth manner for the occasion. She was very kind to all the girls, and was careful not to hurt the feelings of the few culprits who had to stay at home, by references in their presence to the good times the others expected.

"If I _were_ going, I'd wear this brown taffeta suit down there on the train," mused Peggy, "and these bronze shoes. My, I think it would be fine going down there on the train-oh, dear, oh dear, I'm afraid I'm going to cry again over it, and it isn't time yet. Time enough when I hear the taxis whirring off with them inside. How can Katherine be so happy in going when I have to stay behind? I'd never go a step if she were in my place. Never in the whole world! Oh,-de-ar!"

If Katherine had been taking pleasure in the contemplation of a good time that did not include Peggy it would have been very unlike her indeed. But, while Peggy had been sentimentally weeping before the pink gown in their room at Andrews, she had been as busy as might be with plans to make everything come out all right. And it was perfectly true that if she had been unable to bring about the desired result, she would not have gone herself, but would have developed a headache at the last minute that would have compelled her to remain at home with her injured room-mate.

Several times she had run in lonely haste up the walk of Huntington House to hold conference with the owner and his grandson. For, as she put it, n.o.body could hope to do anything with Forest unless they had a "pull," and Mr. Huntington was the only person she knew who had one and might be expected to exercise it in a case like this.

"Threaten her with the gymnasium," begged Katherine. "Tell her Peggy has changed her mind about giving up the money for a gymnasium for such a mean horrid school as she is making of our dear old Andrews. Tell her that you'll write to the boys at Annapolis and tell them that Forest keeps her prettiest girls at home and thinks just the ordinary ones are good enough for them. And then let her see how quickly the yearly invitation to bring down some of the girls will be renewed. Why, they'll never consent to hear Andrews mentioned in their presence again." She was becoming vindictive in the extreme, and Mr. Huntington sat back and laughed at her.

But, laughing or not, he promised to try his hand at appeasing Mrs.

Forest, and this was just what Katherine had wanted, so she forgave him his mirth at her expense.

Mr. Huntington was seen to come up on the porch at Andrews a few hours later, and the girls wondered how many of them he would ask for. Imagine their surprise, therefore, when he did not even send up word to Katherine and Peggy, but remained in solitary consultation with their princ.i.p.al, and finally walked off without a backward and upward glance at the window full of friendly figures waiting to wave at him.

He left Mrs. Forest in a sad state of mind. But there was only one way out of it-and that was to trudge up the broad staircase and fill Peggy's heart with wild delight by the remission of her sentence.

This she did with what grace she could muster, and it must be admitted there was a guilty feeling of not deserving it when Peggy, impelled by the sudden rise in her emotional temperature, flung herself upon her quondam enemy and kissed her on the lips.

"There, there, child," murmured the much-softened princ.i.p.al. "I'm sure you'll be a credit to the school, and now I want you to forget everything but the good time. What dress shall you wear, dear? What, that? Oh, it is beautiful. Your aunt is a very charming woman, my dear, and possesses excellent taste. I hope it will be very becoming to you."

"Hope!" cried Peggy to Katherine as soon as she had gone, "she hopes.

Why, Katherine, any living person with eyes in their head could see that it _will_ be!"