Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman
Page 25
CHAPTER XXV
MARJORIE DEAN TO THE RESCUE
By one o'clock that afternoon 19-- had assembled at the big elm tree onthe river road which had been chosen as a meeting place. The flowerhunters had planned to follow the road for a mile to a point where aboat house, which had a small teashop connected with it, was situated.Owing to the continued spring weather the proprietor had opened theplace earlier than usual and it was decided that the picnickers shouldmake this their headquarters, returning there for tea when they grewtired of roaming the neighboring woods.
Marjorie Dean had not hailed the prospect of 19--'s picnic withenthusiasm. She did not welcome the idea of coming into close contactwith the little knot of freshmen that were loyal to Mignon La Salle'sinterests. However, it would be a pleasure to walk in the fresh springwoods and gather flowers, so she started for the rendezvous thatafternoon determined to have the best kind of a time possible under thecircumstances.
She had promised to call for Jerry, but the latter, accompanied byIrma, met her halfway between the two houses.
"I thought you were never coming," grumbled the stout girl, in hercharacteristic fashion.
"I've heard those words before," giggled Marjorie. "Haven't you, Irma?"
"Something very similar," laughed Irma.
Jerry grinned broadly.
"Shouldn't be surprised if you had," she admitted. "It's the first May Iever remember that it hasn't rained. I hope the weather doesn't changeits mind and pour before we get home."
"Don't speak of it," cautioned Irma, superstitiously. "You'll bring raindown upon us if you do. May is a weepy month, you know."
"Weeps or no weeps, I suppose we'll have the pleasure of seeing our dearfriends, Mignon and Muriel, to-day. I could weep for that," growledJerry, resentfully.
Arrived at the elm tree, the girls found the majority of theirclassmates already there. To Marjorie's secret disgust, Marcia Arnoldwas among the number of upper-class girls chosen to chaperon thepicnickers.
"Mignon's work," confided Jerry, as she caught sight of Marcia. "I hopeshe falls into the river and gets a good wetting," she added, withcheerful malice.
"Jerry!" expostulated Irma in horror. "You mustn't say such awfulthings."
"I didn't say I hoped she'd get drowned," flung back Jerry. "I'd justlike to see her get a good ducking."
It was impossible not to laugh at Jerry, who, encouraged by theirlaughter, made various other uncomplimentary remarks about the offendingjunior.
The picnic party set out for the boathouse with merry shouts and echoinglaughter. The quiet air rang with the melody of school songs wellingfrom care-free young throats as the crowd of rollicking girls trampedalong the river road.
Spring had not been niggardly with her flower wealth, and gracious,smiling May trailed her pink-and-white skirts over carpets of livinggreen, starred with hepaticas and spring beauties, while, from underclusters of green-brown leaves, the trailing arbutus lifted its shy,delicate face to peep out, the loveliest messenger of spring.
The girls pounced upon the fragrant clumps of blossoms and began anenthusiastic filling of baskets. Held captive by the lure of the wakingwoods, the time slipped by unnoticed, and it was after four o'clockbefore the majority of the flower-hunters turned their steps toward theboathouse.
Mignon La Salle, Muriel Harding, Marcia Arnold and half a dozen girlswho were worshipful admirers of the French girl, soon found flowergathering decidedly monotonous.
"Let's hurry out of these stupid woods," proposed Mignon. "My feet aredamp and I'm sure I saw a snake a minute ago."
"Let's go canoeing," proposed Muriel Harding, as they came in sight ofthe boathouse.
"The very thing," exulted Mignon. "Let me see; there are nine of us.That will be three in a canoe. I'll hire the canoes and tell the man tosend the bill to my father."
With quick, catlike springs, she ran lightly down the bank, across theroad and disappeared into the boathouse. Ten minutes later three canoesfloated on the surface of the river, swollen almost to the banks byApril's frequent tearful outbursts. Mignon stood on the shore and gavevoluble orders as the girls cautiously took seats in the bobbing craft.
"Get in, Marcia," she commanded, pointing to the third canoe.
Marcia obeyed with nervous expressions of fear.
An hour later, from a little slope just inside the woods, Marjorie andher friends, who had reluctantly directed their steps toward theboathouse, glimpsed the returning canoeing party through the trees. Thecanoers had lifted their voices in song, and Marcia Arnold, forgetful ofher fears, was singing as gaily as the rest.
"It's dangerous to go canoeing now," commented Jerry, judicially. "Theriver's too high."
"Can you swim?" asked Irma, irrelevantly of Marjorie.
"Yes," nodded Marjorie. "I won a prize at the seashore last yearfor----"
A sharp, terror-freighted scream rang out. The eyes of the trio wereinstantly fastened upon the river, where floated an overturned canoewith two girls struggling near it in the water. They saw the one girlstrike out for shore, and, unheeding her companions' wild cries, swimsteadily toward the river bank.
"Oh!" gasped Marjorie. Then she darted down the slope, scattering theflowers from her basket as she ran. At the river's edge she threw asideher sweater and, sitting down on the ground, tore off her shoes. Poisingherself on the bank, she cut the water in a clean, sharp dive and, aninstant later, came up not far from Marcia Arnold, who was makingdesperate efforts to keep afloat.
A few skilful strokes and she had reached the now sinking secretary'sside. Slipping her left hand under Marcia's chin, she managed to keepher head above water and support her with her left arm while she struckout strongly for shore with her right. The water was very cold, but thedistance was short, and Marjorie felt herself equal to her task.
To the panic-stricken girls on shore it seemed hours, instead of notmore than ten minutes, before Marjorie reached the bank with her burden.Willing hands grasped Marcia, who, with unusual presence of mind for onethreatened by drowning, had tried to lighten Marjorie's brave effort torescue her. Once on dry land she dropped back unconscious, whileMarjorie clambered ashore, little disturbed by her wetting.
It was Jerry, however, who now rose to the occasion.
"Marjorie Dean," she ordered, "go into that tea shop this minute. I'mgoing to my house to get you some dry clothes. I'll be back in a littlewhile."
Marjorie allowed herself to be led into the back room of the littleshop, where Marcia was already being divested of her wet clothing.Fifteen minutes afterward the two girls sat garbed in voluminouswrappers, belonging to the boat tender's wife, sipping hot tea. Marjoriesmiled and talked gaily with her admiring classmates, but Marcia satwhite and silent.
Suddenly a girl entered the room and pushed her way through the crowd ofgirls to Marcia's side. It was Muriel Harding.
"How do you feel, Marcia?" she asked tremulously.
"I'm all right now," quavered Marcia.
Muriel turned impulsively to Marjorie, and bending down, kissed hercheek. "You are a brave, brave girl, Marjorie Dean, and I hope some dayI'll be worthy of your friendship." Then she turned and fairly ran fromthe room.
Before Marjorie could recover from her surprise, Jerry's loud, cheerfultones were heard outside.
"Here's a whole wardrobe," she proclaimed, setting down two suitcaseswith a flourish. "I came back in our car, and as soon as you girls aredressed, I'll take you home, and as many more as the car will hold," sheadded genially.
It was a triumphant little procession that marched to the spot where theMacy's huge car stood ready. As Marjorie put her foot on the step agirl's voice called out, "Three cheers for Marjorie Dean!" and the carglided off in the midst of a noisy but heartfelt ovation.
They were well down the road when Marjorie felt a timid hand upon hers.Marcia Arnold's eyes looked penitently into her own. "Will you forgiveme, Marjorie?" she said, almost in a whisper. "I've been so hateful."
"Don't ever think of it
again," comforted Marjorie, patting the othergirl's hand.
"I must think of it," returned Marcia, earnestly. "I--I can't talk aboutit now, but may I come to see you to-morrow afternoon? I have somethingto tell you."
"Come by all means," invited Marjorie. "I must say good-bye now. Here weare at my house. I hope mother won't be too much alarmed when I tellher. I'll have to explain Jerry's clothes. They are not quite a perfectfit, as you can see."
Marcia held the young girl's hand between her own. "I'll come to see youat three o'clock to-morrow afternoon. Maybe I can show you then howdeeply I feel what you did for me to-day."
"I wonder what she is so mysterious over," thought Marjorie, as she ranup the steps. "I never dreamed that she and I would be friends. AndMuriel, too. How perfectly dear she was. But"--Marjorie stopped short inthe middle of the veranda--"what do you suppose became of Mignon?"
CHAPTER XXVI
LETTING BYGONES BE BYGONES
Marjorie touched the button of the electric bell for admittance, but herfinger had scarcely left it when the door was opened by her mother, whoregarded her daughter with mingled amazement and alarm.
"Why, Marjorie!" she cried. "What has happened to you?"
"Don't be frightened, Mother. I know I look awfully funny!" Marjoriestepped into the hall, with a superb disregard for her strangeappearance, assumed with a view to calming Mrs. Dean's fears.
"I--a canoe tipped over and I helped one of the girls out of the riverand got wet. My clothes are down at the boathouse drying. Jerry wenthome and brought back some of hers for me. That's why I look sodifferent. She didn't come here for fear of scaring you."
"You have been in the river!" gasped her mother in horror, "and it'sunusually high just now."
"But it didn't hurt me a bit," averred Marjorie, cheerfully. "I canswim, and someone had to help Marcia. Come upstairs with me while I getinto my own clothes and I'll tell you all about it."
They had reached her room and Mrs. Dean was eyeing her lively littlelieutenant doubtfully. "Are you sure you feel well, Marjorie?" she askedanxiously.
"Perfectly splendid, Captain," was the extravagant assurance, asMarjorie gently backed her mother into a chair. "I'm going to get out ofJerry's clothes and into my own and then we'll have a nice comfy oldtalk."
Slipping into a one-piece frock of blue linen, Marjorie brushed herdampened brown curls thoroughly dry and let them fall over hershoulders. Placing a sofa pillow on the floor close to her mother, shesettled herself cozily at her mother's side and leaned against her knee,looking far more like a little girl than a young woman of seventeen.
It was a very long talk, for there was much to be said, and it lasteduntil the sun dropped low in the west and the early twilight shadowsfell.
A sudden loud ring of the doorbell sent Marjorie scurrying to the door.She opened it to find a messenger boy, bearing a long, white box withthe name of Sanford's principal florist upon it.
"For Miss Marjorie Dean," said the boy, handing her the box.
"Oh!" ejaculated the surprised lieutenant, almost dropping the box inher astonishment. Carrying it to the living-room table, she lifted thelid and exclaimed again over its fragrant contents. Exquisite,long-stemmed pink roses had been someone's tribute to Marjorie, and acard tucked in among their perfumed petals proclaimed that someone to beHarold Macy. At the bottom of the card was inscribed in Hal's boyishhand, "To my friend, Marjorie Dean, a real heroine."
Marjorie had scarcely recovered from this pleasant shock when her fatherappeared upon the scene and gathered her into his arms with an anxious,"How's my brave little lieutenant?"
"Why, General, who told you?" cried Marjorie. "I never dreamed you'dhear of it."
"It came to me through Mr. Arnold, who has the next office to mine,"said Mr. Dean. "Mrs. Arnold telephoned him as soon as her daughterreached home. She was afraid he might hear an incorrect report of itfrom some other source."
"We never thought of that. We should have telephoned you. But it's myfault. I kept mother up in my room and talked so long to her that sheforgot it," avowed Marjorie, apologetically.
"It's too late for apologies," Mr. Dean assumed an air of deep injury.Then he laughed and drew from his coat pocket a small package. "Here'san appreciation of bravery," he declared. "To the brave belongs thegolden circlet of courage. We might also call it your commission tofirst lieutenancy. I think you've won your promotion."
Marjorie's second surprise was a gold bracelet, delicately chased, forwhich she had sighed more than once.
Sunday dawned as radiantly as had the preceding day. Marjorie went tochurch in a peculiarly exalted mood, and came home feeling at peace withthe world. After dinner she took a book and went out into a littlevine-covered pagoda built at one end of the lawn, which was fitted withrustic seats and a small table. Here it was that she and her captain hadplanned to spend many of the long summer afternoons reading and sewing,and it was here that Marcia found her.
"I have something for you, Marjorie," she said in a low voice. Then sheopened a little silver mesh bag and drawing forth a small, glitteringobject handed it to the other girl.
Marjorie's eyes opened wide. With a gurgle of joy she caught the littleobject and fingered it lovingly. "My very own butterfly! Where in theworld did you find it, Marcia?"
"I didn't find it," returned Marcia, huskily.
"Then who did?"
"Mignon. She found it the day after you lost it. I don't like to tellyou these things, but I believe it is right that you should know. Shekept it merely to hurt you. She knew you were fond of it. Muriel toldher all about your receiving it as a farewell gift from your friends.I--I--am to blame, too. I knew she had it. She intended to give it backafter a while. Then she saw Miss Stevens with one like it and noticedthe queer way you looked at her pin in French class that day. She isvery shrewd and observing. She suspected that you girls had quarreled,and so she put two and two together. She actually hates Miss Stevens,and told me she would never give the pin back if she could make MissStevens any trouble by keeping it.
"Then she went to Miss Archer and told her about her bracelet and thepin, too." Marcia paused, looking miserable.
"Miss Archer sent for me and questioned me about my pin," said Marjorie,gravely. "She is vexed with me still because I wouldn't say anything.You see I had misjudged Constance. I thought she had found it and keptit. It is only lately that I learned what a dreadful mistake I made. Ithink I ought to let you know, Marcia, that Constance is in Sanford. Sheis coming back to school on Monday and going straight to Miss Archer'soffice to prove her innocence. Constance was Cinderella at the danceFriday night. Jerry made her come to the party on purpose to bring ustogether. Constance's butterfly pin was a present from her aunt. We knowthe truth about Mignon's bracelet, too. Did you know that Mignon neverlost it, Marcia? She only pretended that she had."
The secretary shook her head in emphatic denial. "I'm not guilty ofthat, at least. I hope I'll never do anything underhanded ordishonorable again. It's dreadful to think that Miss Archer will have toknow what a despicable girl I've been, but that's part of my punishment.I suppose she won't have me for her secretary any more."
Marcia's face wore an expression of complete resignation. She had been aparty to a dishonorable act, and her reaping promised to be bitterindeed.
"It means a whole lot to you to be secretary, doesn't it, Marcia?" askedMarjorie, slowly.
"Yes. This is my third year. I've been saving the money to go tocollege. Father couldn't afford to pay all my expenses. I----" Marciabroke down and covered her face with her hands.
Marjorie regarded the secretary with a puzzled frown. She was apparentlyturning over some problem in her mind.
"Marcia, how did you obtain my butterfly from Mignon?"
Marcia's hands dropped slowly from her face. "I went to her house thismorning and made her give it to me. She tried to make me promise that Iwould say she found it only a day or two ago. I didn't promise. I'm gladI can say that."
"Would you go w
ith me to her home?" asked Marjorie, abruptly. "I havethought of a way to settle the whole affair without Miss Archer knowingabout either of you."
"Oh, if it could only be settled among ourselves!" cried Marcia,clasping her hands. "I'll go with you. She is at home this afternoon,too. I came from her house here."
"Wait just a moment, then, until I run indoors for my hat."
Marjorie walked briskly across the lawn to the house. She was back in atwinkling, a pretty white flower-trimmed hat on her head, carrying awhite fluffy parasol that matched her dainty lingerie gown.
"How beautiful Mignon's home is!" she exclaimed softly, as they enteredthe beautiful grounds of the La Salle estate and walked up the broaddriveway bordered with maples. "There's Mignon on the veranda. She isalone. I am glad of that."
"What are you going to say to her?" asked Marcia, her curiosity gettingthe better of her dejection, for Mignon had risen with a mutteredexclamation, and was coming toward them with the quick, catlikemovements that so characterized her.
"What do you mean, Marcia Arnold," she began fiercely, "by----"
"Miss Arnold is not responsible for our call this afternoon, Miss LaSalle," broke in Marjorie, coolly. "I asked her to come here with me."
Mignon glared at the other girl in speechless anger. Her roving blackeyes suddenly spied the butterfly pinned in the lace folds of Marjorie'sfrock.
"Oh, I see," she sneered. "You think I'm going to tell you all aboutyour trumpery butterfly pin. You are mistaken, I shall tell younothing."
"I believe I am in possession of all the facts concerning my butterfly,"returned Marjorie, dryly, "and also those relating to your supposedlylost bracelet."
"'Supposedly lost?'" repeated Mignon, arching her eyebrows. "Have youfound it? If you have, give it to me at once."
"There is only one person who can do that," said Marjorie, gravely, "andthat person is you."
The betraying color flew to the French girl's cheeks. "What do youmean?" she asked, but her voice shook.
"Why do you ask me that?" retorted Marjorie, with sudden impatience."You know that on the night of the Weston dance you pretended you hadlost your bracelet in order to throw suspicion on Miss Stevens. Someonesaw you lay your bracelet on the dressing table. The same person saw youleave the room, return a few minutes afterward and pick it up from thetable. How could you be so cruel and dishonorable?"
"It isn't true," stormed Mignon. "Constance Stevens is a thief. Athief, do you hear? And when she comes back to Sanford the school shallknow it."
"No, Constance Stevens is not a thief. You are the real thief," saidMarjorie with quiet condemnation. "Knowing the butterfly pin to be mine,you kept it for many weeks. However, I did not come here to quarrel withyou. I came to help Marcia and to save you from the effects of your ownwrongdoing. Constance Stevens is in Sanford. She is going to Miss Archerto-morrow to prove her innocence. I am going with her. The girl whoknows the truth about your bracelet will be there, too. You knew longago that Constance's butterfly pin was her very own."
"Of course I knew it," sneered Mignon. There was a look of consternationin her eyes, however.
"Then that is another point against you. You do not deserve to be letoff so easily, but for Marcia's sake, I am going to say that if you willgo with Constance and me to Miss Archer to-morrow morning and withdrawyour charges against Constance, stating that you have your bracelet, wewill never mention the subject again. Meet me in Miss Archer's outeroffice at twenty minutes past eight." She did not even turn to look atthe discomfited Mignon as she issued her command.
"Marjorie," said Marcia, hesitatingly, as they walked in silence downthe poplar-shaded street. "Shall I--had I--do you wish me to go withyou to Miss Archer?"
Marjorie cast a quick, searching glance at the thoroughly repentantjunior. "What for?" she smiled, ignoring all that had been. They had nowcome to where their ways parted. Marjorie held out her hand. "We aregoing to be friends forever and always, aren't we, Marcia?"
Marcia clasped the extended hand with fervor. "'Forever and always,'"she repeated. And through all their high school days that followed shekept her word.
Three unusually silent young women met in Miss Archer's living-roomoffice the next morning and awaited their opportunity to see theprincipal.
"Miss Archer will see you," Marcia Arnold informed them after a wait ofperhaps five minutes, and the trio filed into the inner office.
"Good morning, girls," greeted Miss Archer, viewing them searchingly."Miss Stevens, I am glad that you have returned, but I am sorry to saythat during your absence I have heard a number of unpleasant rumorsconcerning you."
Constance flushed, then her color receded, leaving her very white.
Before the principal could continue, Marjorie's earnest tones rang out.
"Miss Archer, Miss Stevens and I had a misunderstanding. When you askedme about it I could not tell you. It has since been cleared away. Mybutterfly pin has been found, but it was not the one Miss Stevens wore.See, here are the two pins. Mine has no pearls at the tips of the wings."She extended her open palm to the principal. In it lay two butterflypins, precisely alike save for the pearl-tipped wings of the one.
Miss Archer looked long at the pins. Then she lifted them to meet theblue and the brown eyes whose gaze was fastened earnestly upon her. Whatshe saw seemed to satisfy her. She held out her hand to Marjorie andConstance in turn.
"They are very alike," was her sole comment, as Marjorie returnedConstance's pin. Then Miss Archer turned to Mignon.
"I am sorry I accused Miss Stevens of taking my bracelet," murmuredMignon, sulkily. "I have it in my possession. Here it is." She thrustout an unwilling wrist, on which was the bracelet.
"I am glad that you have exonerated Miss Stevens from all suspicion."Miss Archer's quiet face expressed little of what was going on in hermind. "I am also thankful that an apparently serious matter has been soeasily settled." She did not offer her hand to Mignon, who left theoffice without answering.
A moment later, Marjorie and Constance were in the outer office standingat Marcia Arnold's desk. "It's all settled, Marcia, with no namesmentioned," she said reassuringly. "Good-bye, we'll see you later.We'll have to hurry or we'll be late for the opening exercises."
In the corridor outside the study hall, Marcia and Constance paused bycommon consent and faced each other.
"Connie, dear," Marjorie said softly. "There's only a little more than amonth of our freshman year left. It isn't very much time, but I believewe won't have to try very hard to make up in happiness for what we'velost."
"I am so happy this morning, and so grateful to you, Marjorie, for allyou've done for me, and most of all for your friendship," wasConstance's earnest answer. "I hope you will never have cause toquestion my loyalty and that next year we'll be sophomore chums, triedand true."
"We'll simply have to be," laughed Marjorie, with joyous certainty, "forI don't see how we can very well get along without each other."
THE END
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Transcriber's Notes
1. Punctuation and hyphenation have been brought into conformity with current standards.2. Obvious typographical errors corrected.3. Modifications to text: p. 62 came to she ears -> came to her ears p. 132 "Yes," answered the Marjorie -> Yes, answered Marjorie p. 144 voicing the pent-up long -> voicing the pent-up longing p. 197 lace took on an expression -> face took on an expression