The Little Colonel at Boarding-School

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE SHADOW CLUB

  LLOYD'S return to the old ways came about so naturally next morning,that no one seemed to notice her sudden desertion of Ida. Just after themorning recess began, little Elise Walton came running up to Allison,crying excitedly, "Oh, sister! Give me your handkerchief! Quick!Somebody has upset a bottle of ink on Magnolia Budine's hair, and it'srunning all over everything!"

  Before Allison could fish her handkerchief from her sleeve, where shehad thrust it during recitation, Lloyd seized a basin of water andhurried out to the back hall door. There stood Magnolia, her head cranedforward like a turtle, as far as possible over the steps, to keep theink from dripping on her dress. Half a dozen little girls were makingexcited passes at it with handkerchiefs, slate-rags, and sponges.

  "Heah!" cried Lloyd, putting the basin down on the step. "Bend ovah,Magnolia, and dip yoah head in! Anna Louise, you run and get anothahbasin in the hall, and Marguerite, ask some of the big girls to bring abucket of watah. It'll take a tubful to soak this out."

  Whatever the Little Colonel undertook was thoroughly done, and whenMagnolia emerged from the last vigorous rinsing, only a faint greentinge remained on the flaxen hair. But that would not wash off, Lloyddeclared. She had had a similar experience herself when she was in theprimary grade. It would simply have to wear off, and that process mighttake days.

  Kitty and Allison with all the girls of their set had crowded around tosee the amusing sight, offering advice and laughing all the time theperformance lasted. As she worked Lloyd related her own experience. RobMoore had tipped the bottle of ink on her head one day, when they werewriting letters to Santa Claus, and Mom Beck had washed her hair everyday for a week to get it out.

  Finally, turning her charge over to the primary girls with a couple oftowels and directions to rub her dry and leave her in the sun to bleach,Lloyd led the way to the swing, where they sat laughing and joking overMagnolia's accident until the bell rang again.

  The school had laughed at Magnolia from the first day, when an oldcarryall stopped in front of the seminary and she climbed out with ahuge carpet-bag in her hand. It was the most old-fashioned ofcarpet-bags, an elaborate pattern of red roses on each side. And she wasthe most old-fashioned of little girls, buttoned up in a plain-waistedbright blue merino dress, with many gathers in the full skirt. It wassuch a dress as her grandmother might have worn when she was a child.Her light hair was drawn back tightly behind her ears, and braided intwo little tails. She was fat and awkward and shy, and so awed by thestrange surroundings that a sort of terror took possession of her whenshe found herself alone among so many unfamiliar faces.

  It was Lloyd Sherman who came to the rescue when she saw tears of frightin the round, blue eyes. Lloyd had begun the school term with aresolution to keep true to the talisman she wore, the little ring thatwas to remind her constantly of the "Road of the Loving Heart" which shewanted to build in every one's memory. This was her first opportunity.She led the little stranger to the principal's room, and stayed besideher until she was delivered safely into the matron's hands. Later it wasLloyd who saw her in chapel looking around in bewilderment, uncertainwhere to go, and beckoned her to a seat near her own. And again atroll-call, when somebody tittered at the unusual name, and the child'sface was all afire with embarrassment, Lloyd's friendly smile flashedacross to her was like a rope thrown to a drowning man, and she couldnever forget to be grateful for it.

  As she was in the primary department, she could only worship Lloyd fromafar during the day, but as rooms were assigned irrespective of classes,and hers was in the same wing and on the same floor with Lloyd's, sheoften left her door ajar in the evening, in the hope of seeing her pass,or hearing her voice in the hall. Once she heard Ida call her Princess.The name struck her fancy, and as "_The Princess_" Lloyd was henceforthenshrined in her adoring little heart. Lloyd often caught her admiringglances in chapel, and several times found little offerings in her deskon Monday mornings, when the old carryall came back from the Budine farmwith the little girl and the huge carpet-bag.

  There was an enormous red apple one time, polished to the highest degreeof shininess; several ears of pop-corn at another, and once a stifflittle bunch of magenta zinnias and yellow chrysanthemums. There wasnever any name left with them. Lloyd guessed the giver, but she did notrealize what a large place she occupied in Magnolia's affections, or howthe child choked with embarrassment till she almost swallowed herchewing-gum, whenever Lloyd chanced to meet her in the hall with afriendly good morning.

  "Let's go down to the playhouses and see if the green is bleaching outof Magnolia's hair," proposed Lloyd at the afternoon recess, with allher old-time heartiness; and again the girls forgot to wonder why shestayed with them instead of wandering off with Ida to the orchard.

  Just as they reached the spring a shout went up from the circle oflittle girls gathered around Magnolia. She was facing them defiantly,her fat little face red with mortification.

  "What's the matter, Elise?" asked Allison, in a big-sister tone. "Whyare you all teasing Magnolia?"

  "I'm not teasing her," cried Elise, indignantly. "I told her just nownot to mind anything they said, and I'd lend her my paper-doll bride toplay with till next Friday afternoon."

  "She said that she learned to read in a graveyard, off of thetombstones," giggled Anna Louise, "and it seemed so funny that wecouldn't help laughing."

  Magnolia hung her head, twisting a corner of her apron in her fat littlefingers, and wishing that the earth would open and swallow her. She hadseen the amusement in the Little Colonel's face, and it hurt worse thanthe ridicule of all the others combined. She felt that she must die ofshame.

  "That's nothing to laugh at," said Betty, seeing the distress in herface, and divining what the child was suffering. "I used to have lovelytimes in the old graveyard at the Cuckoo's Nest. Don't you remember howpeaceful and sweet it was, Lloyd?" she asked, turning to the LittleColonel, who nodded assent. "Davy and I used to walk up there everyafternoon in summer to smell the pinks and the lilies, and read what wascarved on the old stones. And we'd sit there in the grass and listen tothe redbirds in the cedars, and make up stories about all the peoplelying there asleep. And Davy learned most of his letters there."

  "That's the way it was at Loretta, wasn't it, Maggie!" exclaimed Elise,encouragingly. "Tell them about it."

  But Maggie hung her head and twisted the toes of her stubby shoesaround in the dust, unable to say a word.

  "I'll tell them, then," said Elise, turning to the larger girls. "Theyused to live near the convent at Loretta, and one of their neighbours, agirl lots older than Maggie, used to take her up to the graveyard nearlyevery day. There wasn't any place else to go, you know, and it waslonesome out there in the country. This girl was named Corono, after oneof the Sisters who was dead. She had been awfully good to both theirfamilies, when they were sick, and Corono and Maggie used to makedaisy-chains and crowns out of the honeysuckles and roses, 'cause Coronomeans crown, and put them on her grave. And every time they would go,Maggie would learn a new letter off one of the tombstones, and afterawhile she got so she could read."

  "How interesting!" exclaimed Lloyd, all unconscious of the way her wordsset Maggie's heart to beating with pleasure. Elise turned toward herwith a motherly air that seemed very funny considering that she wassmaller than the child whom she was championing so valiantly. "I'm goingto ask them about that album right now, Maggie. You run back to schooland get it."

  Glad of any excuse to make her escape, Maggie started off to the houseas fast as her fat little legs would carry her. Deprived of their sport,the smaller girls returned to their playhouses and the older onesstrolled leisurely back toward the seminary. Elise tagged along besideLloyd and Allison.

  "Maggie has gone to get her autograph-album," she explained. "It used tobe her mother's when she went to school at the convent, but now it'sMaggie's. Not more than half the leaves are written on, and her mothersaid she could use it if she'd be very careful. She
wants you girls towrite in it. She has had it in her desk for two weeks, trying to get upher courage to ask you, Lloyd, but she was afraid you would laugh. Itold her I wasn't afraid. _I'd_ ask you. She wants all the big girls towrite in it, but she said 'specially '_The Princess_.'"

  "The Princess!" echoed Lloyd, in surprise.

  "Yes, that's what she calls you all the time. 'Cause you were that inthe play, I suppose. She thinks you are the loveliest person she eversaw, and says if she could just look like you and be like you for oneday, she'd die happy. And once"--Elise lowered her voiceconfidentially--"she told me that when she says her prayers every night,she always prays that some day she'll grow nice enough for you to likeher."

  "The poor little thing!" cried Lloyd, much touched. "To think of hercaring like that! You tell her, Elise, that of co'se we'll all write init. I shall be glad to."

  Elise ran on after Maggie, happy in the accomplishment of her kindlyassumed mission, and presently came back with the book which she left inLloyd's hands.

  "Look, girls, what a funny old-fashioned thing it is!" cried Lloyd,turning to Katie Mallard, who with Betty and Kitty were just behindthem. All the others came crowding around also.

  "Heah is 'Album of the Heart' in gilt lettahs on the back, with suchfunny plump little cupids sitting in the rose-wreath around it."

  "And, oh, see!" cried Betty, glancing over her shoulder at thedelicately traced names of the gentle nuns, and the girls who had beenplaymates of Maggie's mother in a far-away past. "They are all datedover forty years ago."

  "Of course," answered Katie. "Nobody is old-fashioned enough nowadays tohave an autograph-album. They are _so_ old-timey and out of date."

  "Wait a minute, please," said Betty, as Lloyd slowly turned the leaves."What is that verse signed Sister Corono? Oh, it is an acrostic. See?The initial letters of each line, read downward, spell Martha. That mustbe Mrs. Budine's name."

  Several voices read the verse in unison:

  "_M_ay thy life be ever led _A_long the path of duty, _R_ich in deeds of helpfulness, _T_hat fill sad hearts with beauty. _H_appiness shall then attend thee, _A_nd all the blessed saints befriend thee."

  "Isn't that sweet?" cried Betty. "I'm going to write one for Magnolia.There's something pathetic about that child to me. She looks so wistfulsometimes. She's dreadfully odd, but it's mean of the girls to laugh ather."

  "I'll do something extra nice, too," said Lloyd. "I can't write poetry,but I'll copy a bar of music from one of the Princess Winsome songs. Ithink notes look so pretty copied in pen and ink."

  "I'll paint a magnolia blossom in water-colours," said Allison, not tobe outdone by the others.

  "And I--oh, I'll draw a kitten for her to remember my name by," saidKitty, laughing.

  As both Allison and Kitty had real talent for drawing, the girls who sawthe pages they decorated were moved to envy; and when Betty added anacrostic on the name Magnolia, nobody had a word of ridicule for thelittle Album of the Heart, that was serving two generations as astorehouse of sentiment. Betty's verse was passed around the school:

  "_M_ay our friendship be as sweet _A_s the flower whose name you bear. _G_irlhood days are fleet. _N_o others are half so fair. _O_ like a violet pressed, _L_et my name on this page long dwell, _I_n after years to recall _A_ schoolmate who wished you well."

  When the girls read that, an autograph-album fever broke out in theschool. Every one came to Betty for an acrostic. She spent all herplaytime writing them. She ate all her meals struggling inwardly withthe hard initials in such names as Pinkie, Ursula, and Vashti. She evendreamed rhymes in her sleep.

  Lloyd copied music until her fingers ached, for everybody requested averse of a Princess Winsome song. Kitty drew whole colonies of kittens,and Allison, finding it impossible to paint a flower typical of eachname presented, took to painting a single forget-me-not above her name.

  The teachers, too, suffered from the epidemic, and even people outsidethe school, until the principal found twenty-three letters in themail-bag one morning, all addressed to a well-known writer of juvenilestories, whose books were the most popular in the school. Aninvestigation proved that because one girl had received his autograph,twenty-three had followed her example in requesting it, and not one ofthem had enclosed a stamp; nor had it occurred to them that an author'stime is too valuable to spend in answering questions, merely to satisfythe idle curiosity of his readers.

  "One stamp is of little value," said the principal, "but multiply it bythe hundreds he would have to use in a year in answering the letters ofthoughtless strangers, who have no claim on him in any way."Twenty-three girls filed out into the hall after the principal's littletalk that followed, and slipped their letters from the mail-bag. Ten ofthem threw theirs into the waste-basket. The others, who had asked noquestions and were more desirous of obtaining their favourite author'sautograph, opened theirs to enclose an envelope, stamped and addressed;but few more letters of the kind went out from Lloydsboro Seminary afterthat.

  Kitty, Katie, Allison, Betty, and Lloyd all pounced upon Miss Edith onemorning before school, each with an album in her hand. Miss Edithclutched her hair in mock despair. "These make the seventh dozen I havebeen asked to write in this week," she declared. "Life is too short tohunt up a different sentiment for each one. I must use the same versefor everybody."

  The girls perched on the desks around the rostrum, as she spread out thebooks before her and began to write. They always loved the few momentsthey could snatch in Miss Edith's room before school, and felt that herautograph would be one of the most valuable in the collection.

  "This is one of my favourite verses," said Miss Edith, as she passed theblotter over the last page, and read it aloud:

  "This learned I from the shadow of a tree That to and fro did sway upon the wall: Our shadow-selves--our influence--may fall Where we can never be."

  "I want to tell you a little incident that fastened it in my memory. Ihave a friend teaching in one of the mountain schools of Kentucky, whotold me of two girls who came to the door one day, asking to be admittedas students. Each carried a bundle of clothes wrapped in a newspaper.That was all they had--no money to pay their tuition, no way of payingtheir board unless they were allowed to work for it. They had walkedforty miles to get to that school. Their home was twice the distanceaway, but their uncle, who was a tin pedlar, took them half-way in hiswagon. They were a week on the road after they left him, where his routebranched off from theirs. They stopped at night in some village orfarmhouse to which he directed them.

  "Nobody had the heart to tell them that there was no room for studentswho could not pay their way, neither could any one turn away suchambition. But the school was poor. It is kept up by donations frombenevolent people, and it was only by great self-sacrifice that theteachers could take them at all.

  "The following vacation, while I was at the sea-shore, I had a letterfrom this friend, and happened to speak of it and the two girls to awealthy lady whom I met there. She seemed so interested that I read hermy friend's letters. They were so full of the struggles and hardships ofthose mountain people that she was greatly interested and touched, andbegan corresponding with the principal of the school herself. Theoutcome of it was that she sent a check for ten thousand dollars toendow scholarships. Of course these two girls were the first to bebenefited by the gift, and next June they will be graduated from theschool with honour, fitted to become teachers themselves, far in advanceof the time it would have taken had they been obliged to work their waythrough. Instead of plodding along, using the greater part of their timeand strength in laundry work or sewing, they could go on with thecollege course uninterrupted. They are going to start a schoolthemselves in the mountains, nearer their own home.

  "Now that lady never saw those girls, and they were as unconscious thattheir influence was touching a life a thousand miles away as that treeout yonder, throwing its shadow across on the Clovercroft lawn. Theysimply stood in th
eir places and reached out as far as they possiblycould after what was good and high and worthy in life; but for years andyears to come, students who profit by that endowment will be gratefulfor the shadow cast by those two ambitious girls."

  Miss Edith never preached. She did not go on to tell them, as MissMcCannister would have done, that they were responsible not only for theinfluence of their daily living upon others, but for the effect theirshadow-selves might cast on others far beyond their reach. She onlypointed to the flaming red leaves of a gum-tree outside the window, andthe shadow swaying partly on the high picket fence, and partly acrossthe Clovercroft lawn, then passed the albums back with a smile. Then thegirls filed slowly out to chapel.

  It was a warm October day, and as Allison took her seat by an openwindow in the history class an hour later, she found it hard to fix herthoughts on the old French and Indian wars. It was so much pleasanter tolook with dreamy eyes through the haze of the Indian summer, which MomBeck said was the ghost-smoke from the peace-pipes of old dead and gonechieftains.

  She watched the slow fluttering to earth of the pale yellow mapleleaves, and listened to the soft rustling of the gorgeous red leaves onthe gum-tree to which Miss Edith had pointed. Once or twice she started,recalling her thoughts to the history lesson with an effort as sheremembered the girls who were hungry enough for an education to walkforty miles for it and work for their board. She thought vaguely howeagerly they would have improved their opportunities had they been inher place. They would have taken a lively interest in the old wars,instead of sitting in idle day-dreams.

  All at once, as Allison watched the swaying of the gum-tree's shadow onthe fence and lawn, a thought came to her that made her seize a penciland a piece of paper. Writing notes was forbidden in Miss McCannister'sclasses, but Allison could not wait until recess to share her brilliantthought with Lloyd. With her big eyes fixed innocently on Miss Bina'sfishy ones, she scribbled slowly on the paper without once looking down:"_Let's form a Shadow Club, with Miss Edith's verse for a motto. A. W._"

  It took much manoeuvring to succeed in passing the slip of paper toLloyd, who sat several seats in front. When it finally reached her shedid not dare turn round to nod a pleased assent, but Allison knew thather suggestion was received favourably, for Lloyd's hand at once went upto readjust the bow at the back of her hair, and two fingers waggedviolently for an instant out of Miss Bina's sight. Had it been herthumb, Allison would have interpreted the signal to mean no; but fromthe rapid wagging of the two fingers she knew that Lloyd was muchpleased with the idea.

  Allison's plan, as she outlined it to Betty, Lloyd, and Kitty at recess,in one of the swings, was to form a club that should be not only fun forthemselves, but of some real benefit to the girls of the mountaindistricts. The Christmas before, the little circle of Busy Bees, towhich Elise belonged, had sent two barrels of clothes and toys to them,under Mrs. Clelling's supervision. She had organized the circle, and wasdeeply interested in the work. Now Allison proposed that the club shouldearn money for the same purpose. She grew quite enthusiastic planningthe fair they could hold in the spring. "Kitty and I could paintcalendars and sachets and paper dolls, you know, Lloyd, and you andBetty could embroider things."

  "Katie Mallard crochets the cunningest little doll-caps you ever saw,"suggested Kitty. "Of course we'll have her in it."

  A warm glow came into the Little Colonel's heart. Here was her chance todo something for Ida. "Let's have just a little bit of a club," sheurged; "not more than half a dozen. If we begin to invite generally,it's impossible to draw the line where we can stop. We can't ask all theschool, for if we have refreshments, for so many, each meeting will belike giving a big pa'hty. But half a dozen of us could get togetherwhenever we felt like it, and have the cosiest kind of a time with ourchafing-dishes, without the rest finding it out. Then nobody would feelhurt."

  "Here's four of us to begin with," said Kitty, "and if we have Katiethere's five. Shall you ask Corinne?"

  "I wish we could," said Betty, "but that would leave Margery out, and itwould never do to ask them and not have Anna Louise and Marguerite. Itmust be all or none in that crowd."

  "I wish you all would be willing to ask Ida," said Lloyd, imploringly."She does such beautiful leather-work, and that brings better pricesthan anything we can make."

  "I am sure I'm willing," said Betty, cordially.

  "I have no objection," said Allison, remembering the pleasant things Idahad said about her, and Kitty, who cared little who was in the club orout of it, so long as she had Katie Mallard, echoed her sister'sconsent.

  "As it is a Shadow Club, we'll keep dark about it," said Kitty. "Thegirls need never know we've formed one. We ought to meet in the dark tocarry out the idea of its name. How would it do to have the hauntedhouse of Hartwell Hollow for our meeting-place?"

  "Mercy, no!" exclaimed Lloyd, with a shiver. "That's too spooky, but ifyou and Allison and Katie can make some excuse to spend the night atthe seminary some time, we'll have a midnight suppah."

  "I think we might tell mother and Mrs. Mallard about the club," saidAllison. "They can keep a secret, and we'll have lots nicer times andbetter refreshments if we let them into it."

  "Well," agreed Lloyd, "but we mustn't let a single girl find it out.They'd be mad as fiah to be slighted this way. Cross yoah heart and bodynow, every one of you, that you'll not breathe it to a soul."

  Three hands instantly imitated her solemn gesture.

  "We'll have the first meeting at The Beeches," said Allison, "because Igot up the club. I'll get mother to telephone to the principal to letyou and Betty and Ida come over to supper Saturday."

  Lloyd danced away to recitation so happy that her face fairly beamed.She managed to spell across to Ida on her fingers that the invitationshe had coveted was hers at last.