CHAPTER VII
"PERTAINING ESPECIALLY TO DECORUM"
The first two weeks of Virginia's life at St. Helen's passed without acloud. The hours were as golden as the October days themselves. Sheand Priscilla liked each other better every day. She had alreadybecome acquainted with many of the girls at the other cottages, andshe found them as jolly and merry as those at The Hermitage. She likedthem--almost every one--and although at first her frank way of speaking,and the strangeness of her accent had puzzled and surprised them, theyliked Virginia. Of course, all things accepted, they might havepreferred being born in Massachusetts to Wyoming, for to many of them,as to Grandmother Webster, Wyoming seemed more or less of awilderness, and a ranch rather a queer kind of home, but they had thegood sense, and better manners, not to announce their preferences toVirginia; and as the days went by they liked her more and more.Wyoming might be a wilderness, they said to themselves; but thisranch-bred girl certainly was as cultured as any girl at St. Helen's.So the letters which Virginia wrote almost daily to her father werevery happy ones, and she almost began to doubt the possibility ofbeing homesick in this beautiful place. Still, there were many weeksyet to come!
Her studies, with Miss King's help, had been pleasantly arranged; and,thanks to her book of compositions she had brought, her wide reading,and her year of Algebra in the country school, she found herself, toher great joy, ranked as a Sophomore, and in classes with Lucile andVivian. She liked Vivian very much, and tried hard to like Imogene forVivian's sake. As for Lucile, she found her interesting in a queerforeign kind of way, for Lucile's French father, and her years inParis and Lausanne, had given her ways hardly American. Besides,Virginia agreed with Dorothy, she would like Lucile for Miss Wallace'ssake alone; for Virginia, as the prophets had foretold, already lovedMiss Wallace with unswerving loyalty.
Two more different persons than Miss Margaret Wallace and Miss HarrietGreen would have been hard to find, especially housed beneath oneroof, and presumably dedicated to the same ideals. Miss Wallace wasyoung, enthusiastic, and attractive in appearance and personality;Miss Green was middle-aged, languid, and unattractive, certainly inappearance, and, as far as one could judge, in personality. Both werescrupulously conscientious, but Miss Wallace enforced the rulesbecause she loved the girls, and Miss Green because it was her duty.Moreover, Margaret Wallace, remembering her own recent college days,trusted the girls before she suspected them; whereas Miss Greenreversed the proceedings, and watched them closely before she decidedto trust. The result of these different methods may be imagined. Thegirls obeyed Miss Wallace, because she never expected them to dootherwise. If they obeyed Miss Green, it was done unwillingly to savetrouble.
Be it said to Miss Green's credit that she was an excellent teacher.The colleges which the St. Helen's girls entered, expected andreceived girls whose training in Latin and Greek was unexcelled. Shehad been ten years at St. Helen's. Perhaps her superior teaching andher unshaken faithfulness to duty, more than offset her failure, whichshe herself did not perceive, as a disciplinarian. However that mightbe, the girls at St. Helen's did not love Miss Green.
Virginia, being a new-comer, resolved to like her; and to that end shereally strove, being the one girl in The Hermitage and often the onlyone in school, who defended the teacher, whose strict adherence to herown interpretation of duty brought with it sad mishaps, often for thegirls and sometimes for herself. Even Mary, who was Miss Green'shelper, though she did not say much at the indignation meetings of theother girls, quite clearly did not like Miss Green.
"I think it's sweet of you, Virginia, to stand up for her," Priscillaannounced one evening, as they wrestled with extra hard Latin lessons,"but your time hasn't come yet. I hope you'll always be able to likeGreenie, but I have my doubts."
"Well, I'm going to try hard, anyway. Of course, I shan't love her--Idon't hope for that--but she seems so left out with us all loving MissWallace so much, that I'm going to try."
"That's just what I thought when I came last year," observed theexperienced Priscilla. "But after she just the same as accused me ofborrowing the down-stairs ink-bottle and never returning it, Icouldn't like her any longer."
Whether Miss Green liked the gray-eyed Western girl, who was trying sohard in the face of so many odds to like her was not as yet known.Perhaps she was slowly deciding whether or not Virginia might betrusted; and very soon events were to come to pass requiring thatdecision to be made.
The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days beganto grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; andthe girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supperaround the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the thirdweek of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight tonine o'clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of varioussubjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among otherthings they spoke of their "vocations" in life--each painting inglowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach,and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to looktoward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who satopposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as "doctoring" the girlswhen they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer andconsolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning's "Court Lady,"though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go onthe stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, andnever take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have avilla outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had cometo Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. Shehad seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would givethem encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a littleembarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she mustadmit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books thatshould inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at oncesqueezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also.Imogene "hadn't decided," and Vivian made them all laugh by saying shewanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies andtake care of them every one herself.
Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, theother with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls hadfinished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty todeclare that dreams were fleeting, said,
"You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen's 'Master Builder,'you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I havelived long enough to discover that one's vocation in life is usuallythrust upon her."
"Horrors!" cried Dorothy. "Then I won't have any!"
The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm.Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, beinghonestly interested in Miss Green's observation, and feelingintuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence.
"Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?" she asked politely.
"It was," returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, butVirginia mistook the tone for one of regret.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "You can't be half so interested in it asyou would be if you could have chosen it. If I were you, I wouldchange, and choose another."
An inadvertent giggle from Imogene broke the embarrassed silence whichfollowed Virginia's remark; and led Miss Green to mistake Virginia'shonest interest for ill-bred sarcasm. She gathered the gray knitshawl, which she often wore, more closely about her shoulders, rosefrom her chair and left the room, saying in a frigid tone as she went:
"Will you come to my room, Virginia, immediately upon the ringing ofthe study-bell?"
"Why--certainly--Miss Green," stammered poor surprised Virginia.
"Mean old thing!" muttered Dorothy, as a slam of Miss Green's doorannounced her complete departure. "Virginia didn't--"
"Dorothy," warned Miss Wallace quietly.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Wallace. I forgot."
Then Miss Wallace tactfully turned the conversation into oth
erchannels, but Virginia could not enter into it with any interest. Shecould not think how she had been impolite. Such a thought had neverentered her mind. Why had Imogene laughed? She caught Priscilla andMary looking reproachfully at Imogene. Even Dorothy seemed annoyed.The study-bell put an end to the forced conversation, and as Virginiawent slowly toward Miss Green's room, after encouraging pats andsqueezes from the girls, who left her to go up-stairs, Miss Wallaceasked Imogene to remain a few moments with her.
Virginia found Miss Green still in the gray shawl, and more icy andforbidding than when she had hurried from the room.
"Sit down, Virginia." Virginia obeyed, sitting on the couch.
"I must ask you to come nearer where I can see you more closely."
Virginia came nearer. Miss Green cleared her throat.
"I feel it my duty, Virginia, to talk with you. I am, indeed, sorry tobe obliged to reprimand you so soon after your entrance in the school.I cannot understand your rudeness of--"
"But, Miss Green," Virginia interrupted, because she could not helpit, "really I--"
"Do not add to your impoliteness by interrupting. Allow me to finish."
Virginia stammered an apology, her cheeks flushing painfully, her eyesbright, her heart rebellious.
"Will you explain your rude suggestion as to my change of occupation?Will you attempt to justify Imogene's giggle? It all looks to me likea contemptible conspiracy! Now, you may speak."
But for a long moment Virginia could not speak. Had she been at all toblame, she would have burst out crying; but the injustice of it allmade her angry and too proud to cry. She choked back the tears whichwere blinding her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.Miss Green waited, the epitome of wounded patience. At last Virginiaspoke, and she spoke frankly, for she had not been in school longenough to know the meaning of diplomacy.
"Miss Green," she said, "I think you are very unjust. I felt sorry foryou when you said your vocation had been thrust upon you. That is whyI said I thought you would be happier if you changed. I don't know whyImogene laughed; but I think you are suspicious to think of aconspiracy. I don't know what you mean."
"Do not add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanors, Virginia."Miss Green was becoming angry--calmly so, perhaps, but angry.
"I do not mean to be impertinent, Miss Green. I--I--have been tryinghard to like you"--her voice quavered and broke--"but I think you areunfair to me."
Miss Green's eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. She had neverdreamed of such frankness in a pupil brought before her for areprimand! She fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. Perhaps, thisinterview had been long enough. It did not seem fruitful.
"Do not try to like me, I beg of you, Virginia. You seem to find ithard work. But I tell you, as I tell all my pupils, the day will comewhen you will be deeply grateful to me for my correction."
In her tumultuous heart Virginia doubted the arrival of that day ofgratitude. She waited for Miss Green to finish.
"We will grant, perhaps, that you may not have meant rudeness. I willgive you the benefit of the doubt. But we must admit that you werehardly decorous in your remarks. Have you anything to say?"
Suddenly into Virginia's' mind there came an idea--so quickly that shesmiled a little, greatly to Miss Green's discomfiture.
"Yes, please," she answered in reply to the question asked her. "Ican't seem to think. What is the noun for 'decorous'?"
Miss Green's eyes and mouth again widened, this time in greaterastonishment. Evidently, this interview was not producing the desiredchange of heart. It would far better be ended. She cleared her throatagain.
"The noun for 'decorous' is 'decorum.' I am sorry my words have had nogreater effect. Goodnight."
"Of course, it's decorum" said Virginia, as she went toward the door."How foolish of me to forget! You've really given me a brand new idea,Miss Green. Good-night." And she went upstairs, leaving behind her apuzzled and almost angry woman, whose knowledge of having done herduty was in some way quite eclipsed by a strange, yet indisputable,sense of having been badly beaten.
Study hour was in session when Virginia hurried through the halltoward her room; but two doors noiselessly opened as she passed, andfour hands extended notes, which she took wonderingly. The dooropposite her own did not open. In her room, Priscilla, instead ofstudying, was writing furiously in her "Thought Book," which,apparently unread, had been sent two weeks before. As Virginia camein, she jumped up from the desk, and threw her arms around her.
"You poor, dear thing!" she cried. "We're all furious! You didn't doone thing but be polite. We're more furious at Imogene for giggling!That only aroused Greenie's suspicions. What did she say? Was sheawful? I'm so glad you're not crying. You got the notes, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Virginia, returning the embrace. She read the notes. Allexpressed a mixture of fury, loyalty, and sympathy. Then she took downher own "Thought Book," for she had also begun to keep one, and placedthe notes carefully between its pages. Priscilla watched her, puzzled.Most of the girls were crying with rage when they came from MissGreen's room. Virginia opened the back part of her "Thought Book," andseparated some thirty pages from those before. Then she dipped her penin the ink, but before writing, turned to Priscilla.
"Priscilla," she said slowly, "she is a very unjust woman. I think sheis very nearly a cruel one. I shall _never_ try to like her again!"
While Priscilla watched her, more puzzled than ever, she began towrite in large letters on the first of the pages thus separated.
"'ALL TRUE WISDOM IS GAINED ONLY THROUGH EXPERIENCE.'"
"These pages will contain accounts of wisdom-giving experiences, and will pertain especially to matters of Decorum."
"Experience I. Oct. 18. I have learned that the most carefulpoliteness may be called rudeness. Also that Pity is _not_ akin toLove, even though the Bible says it is. Also, that remarks, intendedto be polite, about one's vocation, had best be avoided, especiallywhen it is previously known that one's vocation has been thrust uponher.
"Why these things are so, I don't pretend to know."
She closed the book, and replaced it in her desk. Afterward she satfor a long moment watching a crescent moon sink below the horizon.
"Are you going to study to-night, Priscilla?" she asked at last.
Priscilla turned almost fiercely upon her. "I shall fail in Latin onMonday and Tuesday, _anyway_," she said, with unreasoning loyalty,"and maybe on Wednesday, and I'm not exactly sure about Thursday. Iknow it will hurt _me_ and not _her_, but it doesn't seem as though Icould ever get a good lesson for her again."
At nine there was an indignation meeting in their room, which everyone attended, except Imogene and Vivian, and at which Virginia, thoughthe center of attraction, said little. She appreciated their loyalty,but somehow she could not talk. It had all surprised her too much. Butthe others could talk. The room hummed with their vehementwhisperings.
"It just shows how suspicious she is!"
"Never mind, Virginia. It's no disgrace to you."
"It's really Imogene's fault. Why did she giggle like that?"
"Do you suppose it could have been on purpose?" Courageous Anneventured to give voice to a suspicion which, except for Dorothy,seemed general enough.
But Dorothy, though annoyed at Imogene's thoughtlessness, which hadcaused trouble for Virginia, was loath to believe that it had arisenfrom anything but thoughtlessness. To speak truly, Dorothy wasfascinated by Imogene--her wit, money, clothes, and, above all, by herair of wisdom, and her "don't care" ways. Therefore she defended herhotly.
"Of course it wasn't on purpose, Anne!" she said indignantly. "Imogenewouldn't do such a thing!" But the silence which followed seemed toshow that all did not share Dorothy's confidence; and Anne, growingmore courageous, said:
"I'm not so sure about that."
"I'd like to know what Miss Wallace said to her."
"So should I."
"She was plain mad when she
came up-stairs, for she slammed the doorlike anything."
"Yes, and I heard her give Vivian fits for having the window open."
But Imogene kept her own counsel, and no one knew what Miss Wallacehad said. Neither did they learn that night from Virginia of herinterview with Miss Green. Her strange silence during the conferencequelled the curiosity which prompted them to ask; and, when thenine-thirty bell rang, they went home, feeling that she was queer someway but that they liked her more than ever.
The world had suddenly lost its brightness for Virginia. She undressedin silence, and was in bed before Priscilla, who sat on the edge ofher cot a moment before going to her own, and hugged her room-matesympathetically. Virginia returned the hug with a bear-like one of herown, and kissed Priscilla good-night, but still she could not talk.Neither could she go to sleep. Long after Priscilla's breathing showedthat she had forgotten indignation and all else, Virginia lay awake,choking back a great, obstinate lump of homesickness, which would risein her throat. She longed for her father. He would understand as noone else could. She longed for Don, who would call Miss Green "an oldprune." Most of all she longed for her own big country, where, herpoor injured heart told her, people didn't look for impoliteness. Andjust this morning she had been so happy!
Then the tears came, and she sobbed into her pillow. "I'm not pluckyat all," she thought, "because I _am_ homesick, and I don't care if Iam!" She felt better after a good cry, and thought she could go tosleep, but the room seemed warm and close, though the windows wereopen. She got out of bed, put on her kimono, and went to the Frenchwindows which opened upon the porch. The moon had set, but the sky wasclear and star-filled. Unhesitatingly she opened the doors and steppedout. From where she stood no trees obstructed her view of the campus.The buildings stood dark and dim among the trees. It was so still thatshe could hear the brook falling over the stones, half a mile away.She felt better out there under the sky--somewhat as she felt among themountains at home.
All at once she heard steps on the gravel walk. Who could be out solate. A bulky form emerging from the firs and coming along the walkbelow where she stood answered her question. It was Michael, the oldnight watchman. Were it not for fear of disturbing some one she wouldcall to him, for she liked his funny Irish ways, and already they hadbecome good friends. She went nearer the railing to watch him as hewalked slowly toward West Cottage, and as she moved a board in thefloor of the porch creaked.
Michael looked up hastily, and descried her figure. He had been toolong at St. Helen's not to know that young ladies on porches atmidnight usually meant mischief, and he hurriedly retraced his stepstoward The Hermitage, rounded the cottage, and--truly Fate wasunkind!--rapped on Miss Green's instead of Miss Wallace's window.
So perfectly innocent was Virginia that she did not for one momentconnect Michael's return with herself. Miss Green's room was on theother side of the cottage from her own, and she could not hearMichael's quiet warning. Therefore, she was surprised and not a littlestartled when she found herself five minutes later enveloped in astrange light. She turned around quickly to see in the doorway MissGreen, clothed in a gray flannel wrapper, and armed with a miniaturesearch-light, which always accompanied her on her night journeyings.Virginia felt a strange desire to laugh. Miss Green's scant locks werearranged in curl-papers about her forehead; she still wore herspectacles; and the combination gave the sinister effect of a beetle.But the look on Miss Green's countenance checked the unborn laugh.
"What are you doing here on the porch at midnight?" Miss Green's wordswere punctuated with pauses of horror.
"Something inside of me said I'd feel happier out here, Miss Green."
Virginia's honest eyes looked into Miss Green's shrinking ones. MissGreen apparently felt uncomfortable. She wrestled again with thatdisagreeable sense of having been beaten. Slow as she was to perceivehonesty, she could not doubt this girl who faced her with flushedcheeks and tear-swollen eyes. She stood aside, shivering in the nightair, to let Virginia enter her room. Then she followed her. Onceinside, she hesitated a moment, then locked the French windows, andslipped the key into her capacious pocket. Virginia's unwavering eyeswatched her. She cleared her throat nervously.
"I need hardly remind you, Virginia, that it is highly indecorous fora young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in a kimono! Moreover,let us ever avoid all appearance of evil."
Then she went. Virginia heard her padded footsteps stealing down thestairs. Priscilla had, fortunately, not awakened. Virginia was toosurprised to be angry. Had it really happened, or was it just a dream?She tried the French windows to make sure. They were securely locked.Then she laughed as she remembered Miss Green's curlpapers andspectacles and horrified expression.
She felt better after she had laughed. Perhaps now she could go tosleep. But not yet! She suddenly remembered her "Thought Book." Thisevening had been rich in new experiences. She did not venture to turnon the light. That might be indecorous at midnight. But, kneeling bythe window, she traced these words by the dim light:
"Experience II. One need hardly be reminded that it is highlyindecorous for a young lady to stand on a porch at midnight in akimono. Moreover, let us ever avoid all appearance of evil!"
Then she crawled into bed and fell asleep.
The Girl from the Big Horn Country Page 7
