by Carol Norton
CHAPTER VIII. THREE LETTERS
The following morning Colonel Wainright called the girl into his study,and, laying his hand on her shoulder, he said: "Little lassie, why don'tyou try to please your daddy and go to school in the village here atleast until the spring vacation. Then, as you know, you will be able toreturn to Mrs. Potter's seminary, if you wish."
"If I wish, Colonel Wainright?" the maiden exclaimed. "Why, of course Iwish to go back there this very minute, where I can associate with girlswho are my equals. I am sorry to seem ungrateful to you, Colonel, but Isimply must leave this horrid village. I wish you could have seen theoutlandish girls who called on me yesterday. What would Adelaine Drexelor Muriel Ellingworth think if they knew I was associating with milkmaidsand--and butter churners!"
Alfred had told the older man about the joke which had been played onpoor Geraldine and he had been much amused. Before he could reply,however, the door bell rang. "The postman, I expect!" the Colonel said ashe went into the hall.
"Good!" Geraldine exclaimed. "I do hope he has a letter for me from Papa.It is long past time for my allowance, and I simply must have it."
There were two letters for the girl, but neither bore the desiredpostmark. "Oh, dear, it is so provoking!" she declared, and then sheclimbed the stairs to her room. Colonel Wainright did not tell her thatone of his envelopes bore her father's handwriting. Again in his study,he opened and read the letter.
"Dear old Pal:--Your report of my little girl is discouraging, but wemust remember that she was brought up without a mother and hasundoubtedly received false ideas of life from her associates, a few ofwhom I do not approve. Geraldine had, while in Dorchester, two intimatefriends who were very unlike. Adelaine Drexel is a very nice, wholesomegirl, whose ancestors have been gentry for generations, but my chiefreason for sending my daughter to Sunnyside was to separate her from herchosen companion, Muriel Ellingworth. Alfred has been much concernedabout this friendship. He has often told me that Muriel, who is pretty indoll fashion, makes secret engagements with boys of whom her mother wouldnot approve, and she invites my little girl to join them. Now I wantGeraldine to have boy friends in a frank, open way, but of this sub-rosabusiness, my son and I heartily disapprove, and since my daughter hasn'ta mother to guide her, I decided that nothing would do her as much goodas a winter spent in the wholesome atmosphere of Sunnyside, where therich and poor play together in a happy, healthy way.
"Geraldine will feel terribly about it at first, but I am hoping that sheis intrinsically too much like her splendid mother to remain a snob whenshe is convinced that among that class she will not find the worth-whilepeople.
"It was mighty good of you, old pal, to help me out in this matter, butif you find the task a troublesome one, pack her up and send her to agood boarding school until I return. I am enclosing a check. Do not givemy little girl much at a time, just sufficient for her needs. Some day Iwill do something for you.
"Yours,
"Al."
The Colonel re-read the letter and then, leaning over the fireplace, hecarefully burned it. The check he placed in his long pocketbook.
"Poor girl," he mused, as he watched the last bit of white paper charringamong the coals. "How disappointed she will be just at first. She hasmany hard lessons to learn, but her father was wise to send her here,where the girls are all so wholesome and still children at heart."
Then his pleasant face wrinkled into a smile as he thought of the prankwhich those same wholesome girls had played only the day before upon thepoor, unsuspecting city maiden.
"I wonder if she will ever forgive them when she finds out that it wasall a joke. She'll probably be very indignant at first. Well," he added,as he turned away and put on his great coat preparing to take his dailyconstitutional into town, "this winter's experience will prove of whatfiber the girl is really made, and, somehow, in spite of her presentsnobbishness and vanity, I have faith in her."
Meanwhile Geraldine, up in her pleasant room, was seated in an easy chairclose to the fire on the hearth. She was reading the letters, which werefrom her two best girl friends.
Out of the first letter that Geraldine opened there fluttered a kodakpicture. A pretty yet weak face smiled out at her. It was MurielEllingworth and it had been taken at the Public Baths. Tom Blakely wasalso in the picture and, as Geraldine well knew, Muriel's mother hadforbidden her daughter to go either with that boy or to the publicbathing pool.
In a languid scrawl, the letter assured her "dearest" friend that she wasjust terribly missed and suggested that Geraldine run away.
"I do wish I had some money to send to you, poor dear, but I haven't. Ispent the last penny of my allowance buying a pair of silk stockings.They are simply adorable! They have open work edged with gold thread, andof course I had to buy the slippers to match and they have gold buckles.You remember Mother said positively that I must not have them, and so Ikeep them over at Kittie Beverly's, and when I go out with Tom, I stopthere and put them on. As usual, I was asked what I had done with myallowance, but I was expecting it and had an answer ready. I said that Ihad given it to the poor babies' milk fund."
Geraldine dropped the letter in her lap and gazed at the fire. Lying wasrepugnant to her. She had always told the truth fearlessly and had takenthe consequences. Then she continued reading the indolent scrawl: "Oh,Gerry dear, I have another piece of news to tell you. Adelaine Drexeltook it upon herself to preach to me the other day after school. She toldme that if I continued to meet boys and go to public baths and placeslike that, she feared that I would be asked to leave the seminary. Andthen, if you please, the minx told me that she hoped the advice would betaken as kindly as it was given. I told her in my best French to mind herown business, and I haven't spoken to her since, and if you are _my_friend, you will snub her too. She is expecting a letter from you, but ifI hear that you have written her I shall know that you have taken herside against your devoted Duckie Muriel."
Again Geraldine gazed in the fire. All these dishonorable things lookedso different in cold black and white. When Muriel herself was tellingthem in her vivacious, chattery manner, they didn't seem half so, well,yes, dishonest was the word, and Geraldine had inherited her father'sscorn for dishonesty.
With a sigh she opened the other letter and read the pretty, evenlywritten words:
"Dear little neighbor who is so far away. You can't think how lonely itseems to have the big house next door closed up so tight. Every morning Igo to the window hoping to wave you a greeting in the old way, but all Isee is a drawn curtain and a snow-piled ledge. How suddenly everythinghappened! Truly, Geraldine, I do envy you. One can have such a nice timein a village and I have the dearest cousin living in Sunnyside. You haveoften heard me speak of Doris Drexel, but you were away last year whenshe visited me. I'll write a little note of introduction, and I do wishthat you would take it today and call upon my dear Cousin Doris. Tell herthat you are the friend I love most and that we have been chums eversince our doll days, though truly my doll days aren't over yet. I havethe tenderest feeling for Peggoty Anne and I tell her all my secrets.
"You will be sorry to hear that Muriel and I are not on speaking terms. Idid not mean to hurt her, but she thinks I did. Now, dear littleneighbor, do write real soon to your loving, lonesome friend.
"Adelaine."
And so she had to choose between them. How different the two girls were,she mused. Both sixteen, but one was vain and pretty, thinking only ofclothes and boys, while the other, still a little girl at heart, toldsecrets to her doll.
Geraldine smiled as she remembered the Christmas when that doll had firstarrived. What happy times she and Adelaine had had together. They hadbeen playmates for years, and what a loyal friend her little neighbor hadalways been. Springing up from her chair, she opened her desk as shethought, "I'll
write to Adelaine this very moment and tell her that I amjust as lonely for her as she is for me."
For the next half hour, the only sound in the room was the crackling ofthe fire and the scratching of the pen. Geraldine had made her choice.
When the letter was finished, the girl arose and slipped on her beautifulblue velvet coat with its deep squirrel fur collar and cuffs and a jauntyblue velvet cap. Then, going down the hall, she tapped on a closed door.
"Who's there?" the voice sounded as though it came from the depths ofmany cushions, as indeed it did, for Alfred, buried among them on hislounge, was reading an absorbing story.
"Brother, I wish you would drive me into the village. I have a letterthat I would like to mail today."
The door was flung open and the lad exclaimed: "I'll tell you what, Sis!Let's walk to town! It's glorious weather and Dad told me especially thathe wanted us to tramp about the way he did when he was a boy."
Geraldine pouted. "Oh, Alfred," she said, "you know I don't like to walk,and certainly you wouldn't expect me to wade through snow drifts like acountry girl. I do wish I had stayed in the city. When I wanted to goanywhere, all I had to do was ring for Peters and he brought around thecar."
The lad was getting into his great coat, and he said wheelingly:
"I feel like taking a hike today, Sis. Try it once, just to please me,won't you? Be a good pal."
Geraldine hesitated. "Well, just this once," she said. Then Alfred,happening to look down at her daintily shod feet, laughed gaily. "But, mydear girl!" he exclaimed. "You certainly couldn't walk through snowdrifts with those slipper things on. Trot along and put on the hikingshoes that Dad bought for you, and I'll see if I can unearth someleggins."
"But those shoes are so heavy," Geraldine protested, "and I'm sure Idon't know where you could get leggins, whatever they are."
"Never you mind, Sis, you do as little Alfred asks this once; I'll beback in a jiffy."
True to his word, the lad reappeared as soon as the strong hiking shoeswere on, and triumphantly he held aloft a pair of warm knitted leggins."Alfred Morrison," cried the horrified girl, "do you expect me to wearthose ugly things? Why, I'd be the laughing stock of Dorchester if Iappeared in thick woolen stockings like those."
"But, Sister mine, geographically speaking, Dorchester and Sunnyside areso far apart that your exclusive friends are not likely to see youtoday."
At last Geraldine stood arrayed in the first pair of heavy shoes andleggins she had ever worn. As they were walking along the sparklinghighway, the boy asked, "Who have you been writing to? Dad?"
"No, to Adelaine Drexel. I had a letter from her this morning, and oh,Buddy, I forgot to tell you, Adelaine writes that she has a first cousinliving in this town. I am so thankful to find that after all there is atleast one girl of my own set in this dreadful place, but what I wouldlike to know is, why didn't she call upon me instead of those----"
"Butter churners and milkmaids," Alfred finished for her.
Geraldine, who had been carefully picking her way through a snowdrift,trying to step just where her brother did, happened to look up suddenlyand saw the shoulders of the boy ahead shaking with silent laughter.Before she could ask the cause of this, sleigh bells were heard back ofthem and a merry voice called: "Ho there, Alfred Morrison! Through stagefor Sunnyside! Any passengers wish to ride?"
Jack Lee and Bob Angel were beaming down from the high seat of a deliverysleigh belonging to the father of the latter boy.
Bob often assisted his father after school hours, sometimes acting asclerk in the busy little grocery, or again doing the rural delivering.
Geraldine was indignant. "Ride with a grocer boy? Indeed not!" she wasthinking. "Probably a brother to one of the milkmaids." She flushedangrily when she saw Alfred turn back and answer the salutation with ahearty, "Hullo there, boys. Sure thing, I'd like to ride! Would you,Geraldine?"
The girl drew herself up haughtily as she said in a low tone: "A Morrisonride in a delivery cart? Never."
Bob, not having heard a word of the conversation, stopped the horse, andJack, leaping down from the high seat, snatched off his hat andacknowledged the introduction to Geraldine with as much courtesy as acity boy would have done; and what was more, the girl's eyes, even thoughthey were disdainful, quickly perceived that Jack was unusually goodlooking.
So, too, was the beaming face of the driver, who called pleasantly: "MissMorrison, please pardon me for not getting out, but my steed is restlesstoday. Our conveyance is not a fashionable one, I know, but if you willhonor us, we will gladly take you to your destination." Geraldine hardlyknew how to reply. This boy seemed nice, but of course he belonged to thetrades-people, and--Bob was again speaking: "Why don't you let me driveyou over to our house? The girls are having a sewing bee, I think theycall it. Doris Drexel and all the rest of them are there."
Geraldine looked up brightly: "Thank you," she said, "I would like togo."
If the seven girls seated around the fireplace in the pleasant Angellibrary had known that the haughty Geraldine was unconsciously about toreturn their call, they would have been filled with consternation forfear the joke they played upon her would be found out.
