III BETTY AT BOARDING-SCHOOL
It was New Year's eve, and Betty, with her mother and Jack, was spendinga few days at the Irvings' in Boston. Betty was a great favorite with hergrandfather, and the two spent delightful hours together as the oldgentleman showed Betty the many places of interest in the city.
Mr. Irving was of somewhat eccentric nature, and he declared that he muchpreferred Betty's frank and sometimes blunt straightforwardness to whathe called the "airs and graces" of more fashionably trained young girls.
But Mrs. Irving did not share her husband's views. She thought Bettydecidedly lacking in many details of correct deportment, and she urgedMrs. McGuire to send Betty to a boarding-school for a year or two, thatshe might be properly trained to take her place in society later, withthe demeanor becoming a well-bred young lady and an heiress.
"But Betty isn't a young lady yet," said Mrs. McGuire, looking troubledwhen these arguments were laid before her.
"Not exactly, perhaps," returned her mother. "But she will live in a cityere long, and, as our descendant, should be made familiar with the finerpoints of correct behavior. Jack seems to pick up such thingsimmediately, but Betty, though a dear child, is crude in her manner."
"Small wonder," said Mrs. McGuire, thinking of the lack of advantages inBetty's early life.
"True enough; and that's all the more reason why she should be placed inan atmosphere of correct deportment at once. She will learn much more byassociation with cultured young girls of her own age than by yourindividual tuition. You spoil her by letting her have her own wayentirely too much, and you are blind to her faults. You know perfectlywell, my dear, I have only Betty's good at heart in the matter."
Mrs. McGuire did know this, and yet she could not bear the idea ofseparation from her daughter, with whom she had been so lately reunited.
On New Year's eve the Irvings had made a party for Betty. They hadinvited young people from some of the best families they knew, and bothBetty and Jack were greatly pleased when they learned of it.
It was a very citified party, and quite unlike the merry gatherings ofGreenborough children. The hours were from seven to ten, and the firstpart of the evening the guests sat round the rooms, in small gilt chairsthat had been brought in for the occasion, and listened to the songs andstories of a professional entertainer.
It was a charming young woman who told the stories and sang the songs,and after each number the children clapped their hands sedately andwaited for the next.
Secretly Betty thought it rather tame, and would have preferred arollicking game or a merry dance. But she applauded with the others andtried to appear politely pleased.
After the program all marched decorously to the dining-room, where apleasant little supper was served. Then the guests took leave, eachmaking a correct courtesy to the hostess, and expressing their pleasureas if by rote.
"Well, if that wasn't the _stiffest_ party!" said Betty to her mother,when they were alone later. "Those children were just like woodenimages."
Mrs. McGuire looked troubled.
"Betty dear," she said, "you don't see these things quite rightly. Yourgrandmother thinks those children act correctly, and that you don't. But,you see, city life is quite different from that of a small village. Howwould you like to move to live in a big city, Betty?"
"And give up Denniston? My beautiful home! Oh, Mother, I don't want to dothat!"
"No, and I don't want you to. Well, we'll see what can be done."
The "seeing" resulted in long talks by the elders of the family, andthese talks resulted in a decision to send Betty at once to aboarding-school at Hillside Manor, a fine country place about a hundredmiles away.
As the winter term was just beginning, she was to go directly, withoutreturning to Greenborough.
The school was most highly recommended, and Mrs. McGuire was persuadedthat it would give Betty the "finish" she needed.
But the plan did not please Betty at all. She did not rebel,--that wasnot her way,--but she expressed her feelings in the matter so clearlythat there was no doubt as to her state of mind.
"I don't want to go, Mother," she said; "I hate to be with a lot ofgirls--I want my own family and my _home_. Oh, Mother, must I leave myhome when I love it so?"
"Yes, Betty darling," said her mother, though strongly tempted to say"No"; "I see it is for your good to send you away, and I'm sure you oughtto go. But I shall miss you dreadfully, and just count the days till yourreturn."
"It's hard lines, Betty," said Jack; "but as long as they all think youought to go, I should think you'd be glad to go and learn the right sortof thing, whatever it is. Old Tutor Nixon is wise and all that, but hecan't fill the bill in other ways. At least that's what Grandma Irvingthinks, and so do I, too."
In fact, there was no one who agreed with Betty's ideas except hergrandfather.
"All bosh," he said. "My granddaughter is a natural, unaffected,unspoiled girl. You send her off to Madam Tippetywitch, or whoever sheis, and she'll come back an artificial young miss, with no thought butfor fashions and foolishness."
But the old gentleman was entirely overruled by the determination of hiswife, and Betty was sent away.
None of the family accompanied Betty to the school, as Mrs. Irving feltsure the child would be less homesick if she started off with a gay partyof girls who were going back to their classes.
And so good-bys were said at the station in Boston, and Betty made thetrip to Hillside in company with half a dozen school-girls, in charge ofone of the teachers. It was a strange position in which Betty foundherself. An heiress in her own right, she yet felt a sense of inferioritywhich she herself could not explain.
Her Irish ancestry revealed itself in her warm-hearted willingness to befriends with the girls, and her inherited New England nature made herreserved and sensitive to either real or apparent slights from them. Thegirls, notwithstanding their inborn good breeding and their past seasonsat Hillside Manor, looked at Betty with ill-concealed curiosity. Theyknew she was an heiress, and that very fact made them hold aloof fromher, lest they be suspected of a spirit of toadying to wealth.
But Betty did not appreciate this point, and assumed that the girls werenot very cordial because they considered themselves her superiors. Eachone spoke to her, politely enough, but in constrained, perfunctoryfashion, and then, feeling their duty done, they resumed their ownchatter about matters unknown to Betty. Miss Price, the teacher, was apleasant-faced lady, but, after a few courteous words, she becameabsorbed in a book, looking up only now and then to glance at her youngcharges. After a time Betty's spirit of independence became aroused. Shewondered if she were excluded from the girls' sociability because sheherself was lacking in cordiality. Smiling pleasantly, she said to AdaPorter, who sat next to her: "Are you in my classes?"
"I don't know, really," said Ada, not unkindly, but entirelyuninterested. "What classes are you in?"
"I don't know," said Betty, smiling at the absurdity of the conversation.
But Ada didn't seem to think it humorous, and merely stared at Betty, asshe said, "How queer!"
Betty colored. She felt awkward and tongue-tied, and yet, the more sherealized her inability to impress these girls pleasantly, the more shedetermined to do so.
Then Betty bethought herself of a box of fine candies in her satchel, andtaking it out, she passed it around to the other girls.
Murmuring conventional thanks, each accepted one bonbon, but declined asecond one, and then Betty found herself with her box in her lap, gazingout of the window, as much alone as if there had been no one in the car.
But at last the three hours' ride was over, and Betty's hopeful naturelooked forward to finding some among the pupils who would be morefriendly than her traveling associates.
Omnibuses from the school met them at the station, and by chance Bettywas put in with a dozen girls none of whom had been with her in the car.
But conditions were no bette
r than before. They nodded diffidently toBetty, and then began to chatter to each other with the gay freedom ofold acquaintances.
One girl, however, who sat opposite Betty, was also a new pupil. She hadcoal-black hair and bright black eyes, that darted quickly about, seemingto take in everything.
"You're new, too, aren't you?" she said at last, leaning over to seizeBetty's hand.
"Yes," replied Betty, grateful for the word spoken voluntarily to her.
"So am I. I think the other girls are hateful to ignore us so. But don'tyou mind; we'll show them!"
Though this was independence of spirit, Betty couldn't quite approve ofthe way it was expressed, nor of the belligerent wag of the head withwhich it was emphasized.
But the girl's attitude was friendly toward her, if rather hostile towardthe others, and lonely little Betty yearned for friendliness.
"Well, you see, they all know each other," she said, smiling at theblack-eyed one; "that makes such a difference, and they've so much totell."
"All right; let us know each other, then. My name's Madeleine Gorman;what's yours?"
"Betty McGuire," said Betty, smiling into the friendly eyes.
"Betty! My, you are new! You must call yourself Elizabeth up here.Nicknames don't go."
"Well, I'd just as lief be called Elizabeth; I don't mind. But I'm Bettyat home."
"Yes; I'm Maddy at home, and Mad, and Mother calls me Lina. But I'm sureMadeleine's the ticket in a fashionable boarding-school."
"Then you've been here before?"
"No, not here. But to three other grand schools. Mother's always changingabout when she hears of a more 'select' one."
Betty was a bit bewildered. Surely the ambitions of Madeleine's motherwere in line with those of Mrs. Irving, and yet Betty couldn't imagineher grandmother talking like that! She felt sure the Irvings _were_"select," but she felt equally sure they would never proclaim it inwords.
She gave up the problem as too difficult, but, greatly cheered byMadeleine's cordiality, she met her friendly advances half-way, and whenthey reached the school they felt really well acquainted. Together theywent to the principal.
Miss Frelinghuysen was an imposing-looking lady with sharp features andsharp eyes. She welcomed them with effusion, called each "my dear child,"and expressed hope that each would be happy and contented at the school.
"May we room together, Elizabeth and I?" Madeleine asked.
Miss Frelinghuysen appeared to hesitate.
"Do you wish it, my dear?" she asked of Betty.
"Yes," replied Betty, hastily, concluding that a girl she knew to befriendly was preferable to any utter stranger; "yes, I should like it."
"Very well, then you may, my dear."
"You're a trump," said Madeleine, squeezing Betty's arm as they wentaway; "I was so afraid you wouldn't room with me."
"Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know. You might feel too grand. You've just come into a lotof money, they tell me."
"But that doesn't make any difference to young girls," said Betty,simply.
"Ho! doesn't it?" said Madeleine, at which Betty laughed outright. Shefelt sure it couldn't be true.
Hillside Manor was a large and rather magnificent house, yet when Bettyand Madeleine reached their room, they found it small and cramped. Therewas only one window, and though the two beds were narrow, they left butlittle space to move about. There was only one wash-stand, and,accustomed of late to having nice things about her, Betty looked aroundin dismay.
It was not that she so much minded not having elaborate furnishings, butsuch close quarters to be shared with another made her feel hampered, andshe thought longingly of her lovely big room at Denniston, with thedainty fittings all her own.
And yet she knew she would not like to room alone at the school. That wasan awful loneliness to look forward to.
So she began unpacking her things to dress for dinner. Madeleinechattered all the time, seeming not to care whether Betty answered ornot.
"You may have the top drawer of the dresser, and I'll take the next,"said Madeleine, good-naturedly; "and we'll divide the hooks in thewardrobe evenly. Which bed do you want?"
"I don't care," said Betty; "take your choice first."
"All right; I'll take this one," and Madeleine flung two large hats onthe bed she selected.
But as she immediately afterward piled a lot of her things on the otherbed, it seemed to make little difference.
"Don't mind those clothes," she said apologetically. "Pile your own righton top of 'em. We'll get 'em put away somehow."
But there was no time then, as they must dress for dinner, and the gongwould sound shortly.
Madeleine greatly admired Betty's pretty rose-colored voile trimmed withdelicate lace, and she was loud in her praise of Betty's simple bits ofjewelry.
"Oh, what a lovely locket!" she cried. "Let me wear it to-night, won'tyou? I'd love to!"
Betty hesitated; she disliked to refuse her friend's first request, butshe couldn't let any one else wear her locket, with her mother's picturein it, too.
"I want to wear that myself," she said frankly; "I always wear itafternoons. But you may wear my bangle instead, if you like."
"Oh, yes, I'd love to," and Madeleine slipped the pretty gold bangle onher wrist. "Won't you lend me a hair-ribbon, Elizabeth, too? I see you'veplenty of them, and mine are so old."
"Certainly," said Betty, willingly offering her box of new ribbons.Madeleine selected a pair of wide red ones, and gaily tied them on herblack curls. As it happened, these were Betty's favorite ribbons, and shehad no other red ones, but she was wearing white ones herself, and shesaid nothing.
Madeleine helped herself to Betty's cologne-water, and made free withseveral of her toilet appurtenances, and at last, after saying, "Oh, mydear, please lend me a handkerchief; mine are full of holes!" they wentdown-stairs.
Dinner was an awful ordeal. The girls sat at long tables, each headed bya teacher, and were expected to converse on light topics. Betty ratherenvied the ease with which most of them uttered trivial commonplaces, butshe couldn't help feeling that their accents and shrill little notes oflaughter were artificial. Without even formulating her own thoughts, shefelt that the girls were all self-conscious and critical of one another,and she conceived a sudden and violent antipathy to the whole atmosphereof the school that she knew she could never conquer.
Entirely unconscious of herself, Betty did not realize that she was nottaking any part in the "light" conversation, and it was a shock when MissPrice said, in a somewhat mincing tone: "We want you to join in our chat,Miss McGuire. Suppose you tell us how you spent your Christmas day."Straightforwardly Betty said:
"We spent our Christmas day in New York, at the Plaza Hotel."
No sooner had she said this than she saw, by the expressions on thegirls' faces, she had made a mistake.
"How interesting!" said Miss Price; but it suddenly flashed on Betty thatthey all thought her remark ostentatious, and that it was, in some way,inexcusable to spend Christmas day away from one's home.
She couldn't help looking distressed, for there was not a trace ofostentation in her whole nature, and her enjoyment of her wealth wasmerely in the simple pleasures that it brought her, without thought ofvanity or pride in the possession of it.
Never before had she been accused of this, nor was she now, in words, butthere was no doubting the meaning of the looks directed at her.
Miss Price tactfully changed the subject, but Betty made no morecontributions to the "light" conversation of that dinner.
The hour in the drawing-room that followed was worse still. Had Bettyonly known it, her experience was not so very different from that of anynew pupil at a strange school; for of course those who have known eachother in previous terms naturally get together to talk over theirvacation, and new-comers are left to be taken into favor later, if theyqualify for it.
But Betty didn't know this, and she felt it a personal slight that nobodytalked to her and nobody seeme
d responsive if she opened a conversation.
Madeleine stayed by her side, but the more Betty talked with her, themore she was convinced she didn't like her. "And it's most ungrateful ofme," thought poor Betty to herself, "for she's the only one who has shownme decent friendliness, so she is."
At last it was bedtime, and the girls filed out of the room, saying goodnight to Miss Frelinghuysen as they passed.
"Hold your hand a little higher," she said to Betty, "and your head justa trifle to one side,--so."
Betty imitated the model, alas, only too well! So anxious was she to doas she was told, that her attitude was an exaggeration of theprincipal's; indeed, it seemed a mockery, though nothing was farther fromBetty's intention.
The girls behind her giggled outright, which didn't speak very well fortheir innate good breeding.
Miss Frelinghuysen turned scarlet, and said: "Report to me in my studyto-morrow morning at ten, Miss McGuire. Good night."
"Good night," said Betty, all unaware of what she had done wrong.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you were killing!" declared Madeleine, when they reachedtheir room. "But how dared you do it?"
She went off in peals of subdued laughter, only pausing at Betty'samazed, "What _do_ you mean?"
"Why, the way you mimicked the principal! It was great! You looked _so_ridiculous, and that made her seem silly. Oh, it was too good!"
"Why, I didn't mean to do any such thing!" said Betty, ready to cry atthe idea of having added a misdemeanor to her other troubles.
"Well, you did! And she'll never believe you didn't mean to. I couldn'tbelieve it myself if you didn't look so scared to death. Oh, you'll catchit to-morrow!"
Miserable indeed now, Betty began to prepare for bed. She could scarcelyfind room for her things, for Madeleine had appropriated far more thanhalf of the cupboards and pegs; and the table and two chairs were strewnwith her not very orderly wardrobe.
"Say, Elizabeth," she said, suddenly coming toward Betty as they werealmost ready to put out the light, "I want to ask you something. I'm sureyou won't mind, for of course it's nothing to you, but will you lend me alittle money? Just till my allowance comes, you know."
"Why, yes," said Betty, who, never having heard such a request before,supposed it was polite to grant it. "How much do you want?"
Encouraged by such prompt compliance, Madeleine doubled the amount shehad meant to ask for.
"Could you--could you make it twenty dollars?" she said.
"Certainly; but what is there to spend money for here? I didn't bring sovery much with me."
"Oh, I want to join a society to-morrow; I'm 'most sure I can get in, butyou have to pay dues in advance."
Betty gave Madeleine the money without further remark, and the two girlswent to bed.
But Betty could not sleep. She lay there in the dark, wondering how shecould live in this awful school. Madeleine's mention of a society alarmedher. She would be glad to join a society if the girls would be nice toher; but to join one and have the members cool and unpleasant toward herwould be awful.
And already she disliked Madeleine. Not because she had borrowed money,though somehow Betty felt that was not a right thing for a young girl todo, but because she was so careless with her things and so pushing andforward in her intimacy with Betty. Betty laughed to herself at thisthought! Madeleine was _too_ friendly, and the other girls were notfriendly enough. Well, that was true. And Betty had looked at their facescarefully that evening. Not one had given her a glance of simple, kindly,girlish friendship. They had looked at her curiously, inquisitively, andeven enviously, but for some reason she knew they didn't like her.
Poor little Betty knew nothing of class distinction, and little dreamedthat her warm-hearted, generous nature could easily conquer thesedifficulties in a short time. She fell at last into a troubled sleep,only to awaken long before dawn, with a heavy heart and a feeling ofdespair.
She lay in her narrow bed, thinking over the experiences of the daybefore, and looking forward to the interview with the principal to whichshe was summoned at ten o'clock.
And as she thought of that, her spirit revolted. She had not mimicked thelady's manner. She had simply tried to do as she was told, and she wouldnot be punished for it!
A great resolve came to her, so great that she could scarcely formulateit to herself.
But, prompted by her indomitable Irish will-power, and urged on by heroutraged sense of justice, she rose slowly from her bed, and, movingsoftly about the room, began to dress herself. The first touches of dawngave her just light enough to distinguish the larger objects in the room,and by the time she was fully dressed she could see almost clearly. Shehad put on the traveling-suit she had worn from Boston, and carried hersmall satchel, leaving her trunk partly unpacked.
She could send for her clothes afterward, or she did not care if shenever saw them again. What was the use of a fortune if it didn't enableone to run away from a terrible place without worrying about one'sclothes?
She glanced at sleeping Madeleine, and then, on an impulse, she wrote ahurried note, which she pinned to her own pillow:
Dear Madeleine: I did not mimic the lady, and I do not wish to be punished for what I didn't do. Also, I do not like the school, and I am going home.
Elizabeth McGuire.
P. S. You may keep my bangle to remember me by.
It was the sight of the bangle still on Madeleine's wrist that promptedthis postscript, and then, taking her satchel, Betty softly opened thedoor and closed it behind her.
The hall was almost dark, and Betty had no notion how she was to get outof the house, but at least she meant to try in every possible way.
The large front door was so firmly fastened with chains and heavy boltsthat she didn't even attempt to open that, but she remembered the greatwindow in the drawing-room. She easily unfastened one of those longFrench windows opening on the veranda, and in a moment was walkingrapidly down the drive. It was a long walk to the railroad station, butthe way was unmistakable, and Betty trudged on, her heart growing lighterat every step.
The sun was shining brightly when she reached the station, and theticket-agent told her a train for Boston would stop there at a quarterbefore eight. It was nearly that then, and Betty bought her ticket, andhoped fervently she could get away before any one from the school shouldfollow her. Not that she intended to return with them if they did. Shehad no thought of running away; she knew only that she could not live atHillside Manor, so she had left it.
The ticket-agent scanned her curiously, but Betty looked perfectlyunconcerned, and he saw no occasion to question her.
About eleven o'clock she reached Boston. On the journey she had beenthinking over the situation, and, though she had no fear of her mother'sdispleasure at her return, she knew her Grandmother Irving would beextremely annoyed.
Not so, though, her grandfather.
And, with true Irish ingenuity, Betty concluded to go straight to him.
She took a cab at the Boston station, and her calm dignity seemed toforbid any surprise on the part of the cabman, and she gave the addressof Mr. Irving's business office.
Paying the cabman and dismissing him, she went straight to hergrandfather's private room and walked in.
"Well, I've come home, Grandfather," she announced cheerfully.
"Bless my soul! Betty, is that you? What are _you_ doing here? Are youill?"
"No, indeed," and Betty's spirits rose at the sight of the dear, familiarface. She threw her arms around his neck, and said:
"Oh, Grandfather, _you'll_ help me out, won't you? I _couldn't_ staythere! Their manners are _awful_! And they thought I mocked at the lady,but I didn't. And I know Grandmother won't like my coming home, but Ijust _had_ to! So you fix it up with her, won't you? And what do youthink? I haven't had a scrap of breakfast, and I just couldn't eat mydinner last night, so I'm fearfully hungry."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Irving again. "Why, you po
or child!Wouldn't they give you any breakfast?"
"Oh, you don't understand! I came away before anybody was up. I took the7.45 from Hillside station, and, you see, coming off suddenly as I did,I--I couldn't stop for breakfast. Why, Grandfather, I--I _ran away_!"
"You little rascal! I haven't the heart to blame you. But, as yoususpect, your grandmother won't be glad! Betty, you're a caution! Did youhave any money with you?"
"Yes, but a girl borrowed twenty dollars last night, so I didn't havemuch to spare!"
Mr. Irving shook with laughter.
"Oh, Betty, to think of a young lady at a finishing-school borrowing froma little unfledged pigeon like you! Well, that ought to trouble yourgrandmother! But come on, you blessed baby; let's go and get somebreakfast at the nearest restaurant, and then go home to break the newsto your relatives! Yes, Betty, your old grandfather'll stand by you for aplucky little martyr."
"I thought you would," said Betty, tucking her little hand in his arm, asthey started out together.
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