‘The girls wanted me to give you this, with a great deal of love from us all,’ said Katy, feeling strangely embarrassed, and hardly venturing to raise her eyes. She set the basket on the table. ‘We hope so much that you will be happy,’ she added in a low voice, and moved towards the door.
Mrs Florence had been too much surprised to speak, but now she called, ‘Wait! Come back a moment.’
Katy came back. Mrs Florence's cheeks were flushed. She looked very handsome. Katy almost thought there were tears in her eyes.
‘Tell the girls that I thank them very much. Their present is beautiful. I shall always value it!’
She blushed as she spoke, and Katy blushed too. It made her shy to see the usually composed Mrs Florence so confused.
‘What did she say? what did she say?’ demanded the others, who were collected in groups round the school-room door to hear a report of the interview.
Katy repeated the message. Some of the girls were disappointed.
‘Is that all?’ they said. ‘We thought she would stand up and make a speech.’
‘Or a short poem,’ put in Rose Red – ‘a few stanzas thrown off on the spur of the moment; like this, for instance -
‘ “Thank you, kindly, for your basket,
Which I didn't mean to ask it;
But I'll very gladly take it,
And when 'tis full of cake, it
Will frequently remind me
Of the girls I left behind me!”’
There was a universal giggle, which brought Miss Jane out of the school-room.
‘Order!’ she said, ringing the bell. ‘Young ladies, what are you about? Study hour has begun.’
‘We're so sorry Mrs Florence is going away,’ said some of the girls.
‘How did you know that she is going?’ demanded Miss Jane sharply.
Nobody answered.
Next day Mrs Florence left. Katy saw her go with a secret regret.
‘If only she would have said that she didn't believe I wrote that note!’ she told Clover.
‘I don't care what she believes! She's a stupid, unjust woman!’ replied independent little Clover.
Mrs Nipson was now in sole charge of the establishment. She had never tried schoolkeeping before, and had various pet plans and theories of her own, which she had only been waiting Mrs Florence's departure to put into practice.
One of these was that the school was to dine three times a week on pudding and bread and butter. Mrs Nipson had a theory – very convenient and economical for herself, but highly distasteful to her scholars – that it was injurious for young people to eat meat every day in hot weather.
The puddings were made of batter, with a sprinkling of blackberries or raisins. Now, rising at six, and studying four hours and a half on a light breakfast, has a wonderful effect on the appetite, as all who have tried it will testify. The poor girls would go down to dinner as hungry as wolves, and eye the large, pale slices on their plates with a wrath and dismay which I cannot pretend to describe. Very thick the slices were, and there was plenty of thin, sugared sauce to eat with them, and plenty of bread and butter; but somehow, the whole was unsatisfying, and the hungry girls would go upstairs almost as ravenous as when they came down. The second-table-ites were always hanging over the balusters to receive them, and when to the demand, ‘What did you have for dinner?’ ‘Pudding!’ was answered, a low groan would run from one to another, and a general gloom seemed to drop down and envelop the party.
It may have been in consequence of this experience of starvation that the orders for Fourth of July were that year so unusually large. It was an old custom in the school that the girls should celebrate the National Independence by buying as many goodies as they liked. There was no candy shop in Hillsover, so Mrs Nipson took the orders, and sent to Boston for the things, which were charged on the bills with other extras. Under these blissful circumstances, the girls felt that they could afford to be extravagant, and made out their list regardless of expense. Rose Red's, for this Fourth, ran thus:
Two pounds of Chocolate Caramels.
Two pounds of Sugar Almonds.
Two pounds of Lemon Drops.
Two pounds of Mixed Candy.
Two pounds of Macaroons.
A dozen Oranges.
A dozen Lemons.
A drum of Figs.
A box of French Plums.
A loaf of Almond Cake.
The result of this liberal order was that, after the great wash-baskets of parcels had been distributed, and the school had rioted for twenty-four hours upon these unaccustomed luxuries, Rose was found lying on her bed, ghastly and pallid.
‘Never speak to me of anything sweet again so long as I live!’ she gasped. ‘Talk of vinegar, or pickles, or sour apples; but don't allude to sugar in any form, if you love me! Oh, why, why did I send for those fatal things?’
In time all the candy was eaten up, and the school went back to its normal condition. Three weeks later came College Commencement.
‘Are you and Clover Craters or Symposiums?’ demanded Lilly Page, meeting Katy in the hall, a few days before this important event.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why, has nobody told you about them? They are the two great College Societies. All the girls belong to one or the other, and make the wreaths to dress their halls. We work up in the Gymnasium; the Crater girls take the east side, and the Symposium girls the west, and when the wreaths grow too long we hang them out of the windows. It's the greatest fun in the world! Be a Symposium, do! I'm one!’
‘I shall have to think about it before deciding,’ said Katy, privately resolving to join Rose Red's Society, whichever it was. The Crater it proved to be, so Katy and Clover enrolled themselves with the Craters. Three days before Commencement wreath-making began. The afternoons were wholly given up to the work, and, instead of walking, or piano practice, the girls sat plaiting oak-leaves into garlands many yards long. Baskets of fresh leaves were constantly brought in, and there was a strife between the rival Societies as to which should accomplish most.
It was great fun, as Lilly had said, to sit there amid the green boughs, and pleasant leafy smells, a buzz of gay voices in the air, and a general sense of holiday. The Gymnasium would have furnished many a pretty picture for an artist during those three afternoons, only, unfortunately, no artist was let in to see it.
One day, Rose Red, emptying a basket, lighted upon a white parcel, hidden beneath the leaves.
‘Lemon drops!’ she exclaimed, applying a finger and thumb with all the dexterity of Jack Horner. ‘Here, Crater girls, here's something for you! Don't you pity the Symposiums?’
But next day a big package of peppermints appeared in the Symposium basket, so neither Society could boast advantage over the other. They were pretty nearly equal, too, in the quantity of wreath made – the Craters' measuring nine hundred yards, and the Symposiums' nine hundred and two. As for the Halls, which they were taken over to see the evening before Commencement, it was impossible to say which was most beautifully trimmed. Each faction preferred its own, and President Searles said that both did the young ladies credit.
They all sat in the gallery of the church on Commencement Day, and heard the speeches. It was very hot, and the speeches were not exactly interesting, being on such subjects as ‘The Influence of a Republic on Men of Letters’, and ‘The Abstract Law of Justice, as applied to Human Affairs’; but the music, and the crowd, and the spectacle of six hundred ladies all fanning themselves at once, were entertaining, and the girls would not have missed them for the world. Later in the day another diversion was afforded them by the throngs of pink and blue ladies and white-gloved gentlemen who passed the house on their way to the President's Levée; but they were not allowed to enjoy this amusement long, for Miss Jane, suspecting what was going on, went from room to room, and ordered everybody summarily off to bed.
With the close of Commencement Day, a deep sleep seemed to settle over Hillsover. Most of the Professors'
families went off to enjoy themselves at the mountains or at the sea-side, leaving their houses shut up. This gave the village a drowsy and deserted air. There were no boys playing ball on the Common, or swinging on the College fence; no look of life in the streets. The weather continued warm, the routine of study and exercise grew dull, and teachers and scholars alike were glad when the middle of September arrived, and with it the opening of the autumn vacation.
9
THE AUTUMN VACATION
The last day of term was one of confusion. Every part of the house was given over to trunks and packing. Mrs Nipson sat at her desk, making out bills, and listening to requests about rooms and room-mates. Miss Jane counted books and atlases, taking note of each ink-spot and dog-eared page. The girls ran about, searching for missing articles, deciding what to take home and what to leave, engaging each other for the winter walks. All rules were laid aside. The sober Nunnery seemed turned into a hive of buzzing bees. Bella slid twice down the baluster of the front stairs without being reproved; and Rose Red threw her arm round Katy's waist, and waltzed the whole length of Quaker Row.
‘I'm so happy, that I should like to scream!’ she announced, as their last whirl brought them up against the wall. ‘Isn't vacation just lovely? Katy, you don't look half glad.’
‘We're not going home, you know,’ replied Katy, in a rather doleful tone. She and Clover were not so enraptured at the coming of vacation as the rest of the girls. Spending a month with Mrs Page and Lilly was by no means the same thing as spending it with papa and the children.
Next morning, however, when the big stage drove up, and the girls crowded in; when Mrs Nipson stood in the doorway, blandly waving farewell, and the maids flourished their dusters out of the upper windows, they found themselves sharing the general excitement, and joining heartily in the cheer which arose as the stage moved away. The girls felt so happy and good-natured, that some of them even kissed their hands to Miss Jane.
Such a wild company is not often met with on a railroad train. They all went together as far as the Junction; and Mr Gray, Ellen's father, who had been put in charge of the party by Mrs Nipson, had his hands full to keep them in any sort of order. He was a timid old gentleman, and, as Rose suggested, his expression resembled that of a sedate hen who suddenly finds herself responsible for the conduct of a brood of ducklings.
‘My dear, my dear!’ he feebly remonstrated, ‘would you buy any more candy? Do you not think so many pea-nuts may be bad for you?’
‘Oh, no, sir!’ replied Rose; ‘they never hurt me a bit; I can eat thousands!’ Then, as a stout lady entered the car, and made a motion toward the vacant seat beside her, she rolled her eyes wildly, and said, ‘Excuse me, but perhaps I had better take the end seat, so as to get out easily in case I have a fit.’
‘Fit!’ cried the stout lady, and walked away with the utmost despatch. Rose gave a wicked chuckle, the girls tittered, and Mr Gray visibly trembled.
‘Is she really afflicted in this way?’ he whispered.
‘Oh, no, papa! it's only Rose's nonsense!’ apologized Ellen, who was laughing as hard as the rest. But Mr Gray did not feel comfortable, and he was very glad when they reached the Junction, and half of his troublesome charge departed on the branch road.
At six o'clock they arrived in Springfield. Half-a-dozen papas were waiting for their daughters; trains stood ready; there was a clamour of goodbyes. Mr Page was absorbed by Lilly, who kissed him incessantly, and chattered so fast that he had no eyes for anyone else. Louisa was borne away by an uncle, with whom she was to pass the night; and Katy and Clover found themselves left alone. They did not like to interrupt Lilly, so they retreated to a bench, and sat down feeling rather left out and homesick; and, though they did not say so, I am sure that each was thinking about papa.
It was only for a moment. Mr Page spied them, and came forward with such a kind greeting, that the forlorn feeling fled at once. They were to pass the night at the Massasoit, it seemed; and he collected their bags, and led the way across the street to the hotel, where rooms were already engaged for them.
‘Now for waffles,’ whispered Lilly, as they went upstairs; and when, after a few minutes of washing and brushing, they came down again into the dining-room, she called for so many things, and announced herself ‘starved' in such a tragical tone, that two amused waiters at once flew to the rescue, and devoted themselves to supplying her wants. Waffle after waffle – each hotter and crisper than the last – did those long-suffering men produce, till even Lilly's appetite gave out, and she was forced to own that she could not swallow another morsel. This climax reached, they went into the parlour; and the girls sat down in the window to watch the people in the street – which, after quiet Hillsover, looked as brilliant and crowded as Broadway.
There were not many persons in the parlour. A grave-looking couple sat at a table at some distance, and a pretty little boy in a velvet jacket was playing around the room. He seemed about five years old; and Katy, who was fond of children, put out her hand as he went by, caught him, and lifted him into her lap. He did not seem shy, but looked her in the face composedly, like a grown person.
‘What is your name, dear?’ she asked.
‘Daniel D'Aubigny Sparks,’ answered the little boy. His voice was prim and distinct.
‘Do you live at this hotel?’
‘Yes, ma'am. I reside here with my father and mother.’
‘And what do you do all day? Are there some other little boys for you to play with?’
‘I do not wish to play with any little boys,’ replied Daniel D'Aubigny, in a dignified tone. ‘I prefer to be with my parents. Today we have taken a walk. We went to see a beautiful conservatory outside the city. There is a Victoria Regia there. I had often heard of this wonderful lily; and in the last number of the London “Musée” there is a picture of it, represented with a small negro child standing upon one of its leaves. My father said that he did not think this possible; but when we saw the plant, we perceived that the print was not an exaggeration. Such is the size of the leaf, that a small negro child might very easily be supported upon it.’
‘Oh, my!’ cried Katy, feeling as if she had accidentally picked up an elderly gentleman, or a college professor. ‘Pray, how old are you?’
‘Nearly nine, ma’am,’ replied the little fellow, with a bow.
Katy, too much appalled for farther speech, let him slide off her lap. But Mr Page, who was much diverted, continued the conversation; and Daniel, mounting a chair, crossed his short legs, and discoursed with all the gravity of an old man. The talk was principally about himself – his tastes, his adventures, his ideas about art and science. Now and then he alluded to his papa and mamma, and once to his grandfather.
‘My maternal grandfather,’ he said, ‘was a remarkable man. In his youth he spent a great deal of time in France. He was there at the time of the French Revolution, and, as it happened, was present at the execution of the unfortunate Queen Marie Antoinette. This, of course, was not intentional. It chanced thus. My grandfather was in a barber's shop, having his hair cut. He saw a great crowd going by, and went out to ask what was the cause. The crowd was so immense that he could not extricate himself; he was carried along against his will, and not only so, but was forced to the front and compelled to witness every part of the dreadful scene. He has often told my mother that, after the execution, the executioner held up the queen's head to the people: the eyes were open, and there was in them an expression, not of pain, not of fear, but of great astonishment and surprise.’
This anecdote carried ‘great astonishment and surprise' into the company who listened to it. Mr Page gave a sort of chuckle, and saying, ‘By George!’ got up and left the room. The girls put their heads out of the window that they might laugh unseen. Daniel gazed at their shaking shoulders with an air of wonder, while the grave couple at the end of the room, who for some moments had been looking disturbed, drew near and informed the youthful prodigy that it was time for him to go to bed.
‘Good-night, young ladies,’ said the small condescending voice. Katy alone had ‘presence of countenance' enough to return this salutation. It was a relief to find that Daniel went to bed at all.
Next morning at breakfast they saw him seated between his parents, eating bread and milk. He bowed to them over the edge of the bowl.
‘Dreadful little prig! They should bottle him in spirits of wine as a specimen. It's the only thing he'll ever be fit for,’ remarked Mr Page, who rarely said so sharp a thing about anybody.
Louisa joined them at the station. She was to travel under Mr Page's care, and Katy was much annoyed at Lilly's manner to her. It grew colder and less polite with every mile. By the time they reached Ashburn it was absolutely rude.
‘Come and see me very soon, girls,’ said Louisa, as they parted in the station. ‘I long to have you know mother and little Daisy. Oh, there's papa!’ and she rushed up to a tall, pleasant-looking man, who kissed her fondly, shook hands with Mr Page, and touched his hat to Lilly, who scarcely bowed in return.
‘Boarding-school is so horrid,’ she remarked, ‘you get all mixed up with people you don't want to know – people not in society at all.’
‘How can you talk such nonsense?’ said her father; ‘the Agnews are thoroughly respectable, and Mr Agnew is one of the cleverest men I know.’
Katy was pleased when Mr Page said this, but Lilly shrugged her shoulders and looked cross.
‘Papa is so democratic,’ she whispered to Clover, ‘he don't care a bit who people are, so long as they are respectable and clever.’
‘Well, why should he?’ replied Clover. Lilly was more disgusted than ever.
Ashburn was a large and prosperous town. It was built on the slopes of a picturesque hill, and shaded with fine elms. As they drove through the streets, Katy and Clover caught glimpses of conservatories and shrubberies, and beautiful houses with bay windows and piazzas.
What Katy Did at School Page 10
