A Dixie School Girl Part 4

Naturally, no real work was done on opening day. Miss Woodhull, stately and austere sat in her office directing her staff with the air of an empress. One of the old girls declared that all she lacked was a crown and sceptre, and the new ones who entered that office to be registered, "tagged" the above mentioned girl called it, came out of it feeling at least three inches shorter than when they entered. During her reign in Leslie Manor, Miss Woodhull had grown much stouter and one seeing her upon this opening day would scarcely have recognized in her the slender, hollow-eyed worn-out woman who had opened its doors to the budding girlhood of the land nearly thirty years before. She was now a well-rounded, stately woman who carried herself with an air of owning the state of her adoption, and looked comparatively younger in her fifty-eighth year than she had in her twenty-eighth.

As Beverly sat in her nook watching the little girls of the primary grades run out to their playground at the rear of the building, the old girls of the upper cla.s.ses pair off and stroll away through the extensive grounds, and the new ones drift thither and yonder like rudderless craft, she saw two girls come from Miss Woodhull's office. One was a trifle shorter than Beverly and plump as a woodc.o.c.k. She was not pretty but piquant, with a pair of hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners, a saucy pug nose, a mouth like a Cupid's bow and a mop of the curliest red-brown hair Beverly had ever seen. Her companion was tall, slight, graceful, distinguished. A little aristocrat from the top of her raven black hair to the tips of her daintily shod feet was Aileen Norman and though only sixteen, she was the one girl in the school who could hold Miss Woodhull within the limits of absolute courtesy under _all_ circ.u.mstances.

Although descended from New England's finest stock, Miss Woodhull also possessed her full share of the New Englander's nervous irritability which all the good breeding and discipline ever brought to bear can never wholly eradicate. Her sarcasm and irony had caused more than one girl's cheeks to grow crimson and her blood to boil under their stinging injustice, for Miss Woodhull did not invariably get to the root of things. She was a trifle superior to minor details. But Aileen possessed an armor to combat just such a temperament and her companion, Sally Conant's wits were sharp enough to get out of most of the sc.r.a.pes into which she led her friend. So the pair were a very fair foil to each other and a match for Miss Woodhull. What their ability would prove augmented by Beverly's characteristics we will learn later.

As they came down the steps from Miss Woodhull's office, said office, by-the-by, being in the wing in which the recitation rooms were situated and quite separate from the main building, Sally's eyes were snapping, and her head wagging ominously; Aileen's cheeks were even a deeper tint than they ordinarily were, and her head was held a little higher.

Evidently something of a disturbing nature had taken place. They did not see Beverly in her bosky nook and she did not feel called upon to reveal herself to them.

"It was all very well to stick _three_ of us together when we were freshmen and soph.o.m.ores, but juniors deserve _some_ consideration I think. If Peggy Westfield had come back this year it would have been all well and good, but to put a perfect stranger in that room is a pure and simple outrage. Why we haven't even an idea what she's like, or whether she'll be congenial, or nice, or--or--anything. Why couldn't she have given us one of the girls we know?" stormed Sally.

"Because she likes to prove that she is great and we are small, I dare say," answered Aileen. "Of course the new girl may be perfectly lovely and maybe we'll get to like her a lot, but it's the _principle_ of the thing which enrages me. It seems to me we might have some voice in the choice of a room-mate after being in the school three years. There are a dozen in our cla.s.s from which we could choose the third girl if we've got to have her, though I don't see why just you and I couldn't have a suite to ourselves. Mercy knows there are enough rooms in our wing and next year we'll have to be in the main house anyway, and I just loathe the thought of it too."

"Ugh! So do I! But let's reconnoiter and try to spot our bugbear. I wonder if it wouldn't be appropriate to call her by another name? We've got to share our _rooms_ with her even if we haven't got to share our bed. Why didn't the Empress tell us her name? the stubborn old thing!

Just 'a girl from Sprucy Branch will share your suite this year. She arrived last evening and has already arranged her things in A of Suite 10.' A of course! The very nicest of the three bedrooms opening out of that study and the only one which has sunshine all day long. You or I should have had it. I don't call it fair. She's probably trying to make a good impression upon Miss Sprucy Branch. The name sounds sort of j.a.panesy, doesn't it? Wonder if she looks like a j.a.p too?"

"Well if you are speaking of me I can tell you right now that Miss Woodhull hasn't succeeded in making any _too_ pleasing an impression upon Miss Sprucy Branch and so far as keeping Room A in suite 10, is concerned, either of you is welcome to it, because it would take just mighty little to make me beat it for the stables, mount Apache, habit or no habit, and do those thirty-five miles between this luck-forsaken place and Woodbine in just about four hours, and that is allowing something for the mountains too. Apache's equal to a good deal better time, but I should hate to push him, when we were heading toward _home_. That would pay up for any amount of delay. Thus far I haven't found Leslie Manor as hospitable as our servant's quarters at Woodbine."

Beverly's cheeks were as red as Aileen's, and her eyes snapping as menacingly as Sally's by the time she had come to the end of her very deliberately uttered speech, though she had not moved a hair's breadth upon her bench, nor had she changed her position. Her head was propped upon her hand as her arm rested upon the back of the seat, but she was looking straight at the astonished girls as she spoke.

Never had there been a more complete ambush sprung upon a reconnoitering party, and for a moment both girls were speechless. It was Sally who saved the day by springing away from Aileen and landing upon the seat beside Beverly as she cried:

"Are _you_ to be our room-mate?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. I've got to be _somebody's_ I suppose and I've been a.s.signed A 10. And from your conversation, which I couldn't very well help overhearing, you two seem to have been a.s.signed B and C for study 10. But I've just given vent to my point of view."

There was still a good bit of electricity in the atmosphere, but it must be admitted that for the past eighteen hours Beverly had been pretty steadily brushed the wrong way, and it was an entirely new experience for her. Add to this a good dose of homesickness and a sense of utter loss at her separation from Athol, and her present frame of mind is not difficult to understand.

"Are you Beverly _Ashby_ of Woodbine?" persisted Sally, while Aileen dropped down upon the seat beside Sally to listen.

"Yes," was the laconic if uncompromising reply.

"Well that's the best news I've heard since I left Richmond, and I'm just tickled nearly to death!" exclaimed Sally, spinning about to hug Aileen rapturously. This sudden change of base was so astonishing that Beverly's sense of humor came to her rescue and she laughed.

Sally again pivoted toward her crying:

"Why I know you perfectly well! I've known you all my life! And you know me just as well as I know you. Don't you know you do?"

"Not so that it overwhelms me," laughed Beverly.

"Where did you meet Miss Ashby?" asked Aileen who felt it was about time she came in for this wholesale discovery of "auld acquaintance."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. This is Aileen Norman, the third girl for suite 10. She's from Charlottesville and ought to know your family too. I reckon you know hers. Everybody does. Just like they know yours. Why your mother and mine went to Catonsville to school together. Didn't you know that? She was Sarah Wirt then. Why I think it's too lovely for words! And we were just as mad as fury when we started out to hunt up the new girl we had to room with this year and here you aren't a new girl at all but one we've always known. Why I'm so tickled I'm foolish. Hug me Aileen or it will all seem like a dream and I'll wake up and find we've got to roost with someone like that stupid Electra Sanderson, or Petty Gordon, who can't do a thing but talk about that midshipman at Annapolis to whom she says she's engaged, and she's only just seventeen. She makes me tired."

"I hope you'll forgive us for all we said as we came down the walk. We certainly had no personal feeling as you must understand, but we were pretty well stirred up over the idea of having to begin junior year with someone we didn't know after having had the same room-mate for three years," explained Aileen diplomatically, striving to pour a drop or two of oil upon perturbed waters.

"I couldn't very well feel any resentment toward you or Miss Conant when I didn't know either of you from Eve, and I'm sorry if I seemed to. The truth is I was lonely and homesick and just ready to light into anybody.

Is Miss Woodhull always so high and mighty, and Miss Baylis so like an iceberg?"

"Mercy, did you fall into her clutches the first jump? She's the limit!

Oh, Miss Woodhull's so deadly afraid she won't uphold the dignity of dear Bosting and her Ma.s.sy Alma Mater that she almost dies under the burden, but thank goodness, we don't see much of her, and Miss Baylis is _such_ a fool we laugh behind her back. She's trying to make herself solid with the Empress because she thinks she will succeed to her honors when the high and mighty lady retires. But she's harmless because all her airs and graces are veneer. Give her one good scratch some day and you'll see how thin the veneer really is. But come on up to No. 10, and let's get settled. Neither Aileen nor I had any heart to do a thing until we found out who had been popped into A. Cricky, but I'm glad it's _you_," and slipping her arm through Beverly's right one while Aileen took possession of the left, all three hurried toward the house, Sally announcing:

"We'll introduce you to all the nice girls and we'll call ourselves the "Three Mousquetaires." There may not be any such word, but that doesn't matter in the least: It's Frenchy and I _love_ French. And besides, we mean to band together to fight for our rights and down oppression,"

a.s.serted this young Jacobin, as arm in arm all three made their way to the pretty suite allotted to them on the second floor of the wing, for Beverly had entered Leslie Manor as a junior, her previous work under Norman Lee having well fitted her to do so.

CHAPTER VII

A RUNAWAY

By the end of October, the golden month, and always beautiful in Virginia, things had shaken into routine. During that time suite Number 10 had become one of the most popular in the school, as well as one of the most attractive, for, to the intense satisfaction of the trio their belongings were in as perfect harmony as themselves, Beverly's things being pink, Sally's the softest green and Aileen's all white and gold.

Consequently all went merry as a marriage bell.

But there had been hours of intense longing upon Beverly's part for the freedom of bygone days and Athol. The brother and sister had been entirely too united in every way to find perfect compensation in the companionship of others, however warm the friendships formed, and each missed the other sorely. Of course letters had been exchanged during the month, but letters are a poor subst.i.tute for the voice of those we love best. Only Mrs. Ashby realized how intense was the brother's and sister's longing to see each other. Archie, also, fumed under the enforced separation and vowed that "something was going to break loose mighty sudden if his people and Athol's didn't get busy and _do_ something."

Had Beverly been at liberty to ride Apache as formerly the ten miles separating the two schools would have meant merely a jolly cross country run, but she was only permitted to ride when the other girls rode, and under the supervision of a groom who was held responsible for his charges.

Nor had the boys been allowed to visit Beverly, the male s.e.x being regarded by Miss Woodhull as a sort of natural enemy whose sole aim in life was to circ.u.mvent, deprive and rob hers of its just rights. Miss Woodhull was essentially a militant suffragette and her stanch admirers, Miss Baylis and Miss Stetson were her enthusiastic partisans. Miss Atwell, the teacher of esthetic dancing and posing, who came thrice weekly to instill grace into the graceless and emphasize it in those who were already graceful, sat, so to speak, upon the fence, undecided which way to jump. She inclined strongly to the strictly feminine att.i.tude of dependence upon the stronger s.e.x, but was wise to the advantage of keeping in touch with those occupying the seats of the mighty at Leslie Manor.

At Kilton Hall rules were less stringent. The boys could ride every afternoon if they chose and often did so, ranging the country far and wide. Many a time they had gone tearing past Leslie Manor when the girls were stived up within and been exasperated at being "so near and yet so far," as an old song puts it. Hence Archie's frame of mind, and his determination to change the existing state of affairs before long if possible. Letters sent home by the boys and those Beverly wrote to her mother were the seeds sown which the three hoped would later start the "something doing." Meanwhile Beverly chafed under the restraint, and such chafing generally leads to some sort of an outbreak.

It was Wednesday afternoon, October twenty-ninth, and riding-lesson day.

Every Wednesday and Sat.u.r.day Andrew Jackson Jefferson, whose name was as queer a combination as himself, for he seemed to be about half _horse_, so wonderful was his understanding of those animals, and so more than wonderful _theirs_ of him, took his "yo'ng sem'nary ladies a-gallopin'

th'oo de windin's ob de kentry roads," proud as a Drum Major of his charges.

And well he might be, for Andrew Jackson Jefferson had not only entire charge of the horses belonging to Leslie Manor, but he had bought them, and he knew good horseflesh. So the Leslie Manor horses as well as the half dozen boarded there by the students, were always a credit to the school. Their coats shone like satin, their hoofs were spick and span, no shoes ever clicked for want of the proverbial nail, fetlocks were trimmed like a bridegroom's hair, and manes and forelocks brushed to the silkiness of a bride's. Harness and bits were scrupulous. Jefferson knew his business.

When Apache was sent to Leslie Manor he was such a contrast to the other horses that Jefferson at first looked askance at him, but Apache was a wise little beast. As a preliminary move he gently nozzled Jefferson, then by way of showing him that he was not to be taken too seriously, he flew up into the air, executed a wild fling and descended upon the exact spot from which he had risen, which exhibition so tickled Jefferson that he grinned broadly and announced to his underlings:

"Dat's some hawse! Yo' hyar me! Befo' he's done been in dis hyre stable a week he gwine ter be eatin' outer ma hand," and Apache verified the statement by becoming Jefferson's abject slave before four days had pa.s.sed, and Beverly basked in reflected glory, for was she not Apache's "Yo'ng Mist'ess?"

"Kyant tech dat chile nothin' 'bout _ridin'_", was Jefferson's fiat when he saw Beverly astride her little mouse-colored and white mount. "_She_ paht ob dat hawse!"

There had already been several riding lessons since school opened, and each time Jefferson's delight in his newest charges increased. Born and brought up with the race, Beverly knew how to handle the negroes, and Jefferson as promptly became her slave as Apache had become his.

Now the prescribed route for these riding excursions was within a five-mile radius of the school. "No further," said Miss Woodhull. Those bounds seemed safe from encroachment upon the part of the Kilton Hall students, even had their Wednesday and Sat.u.r.day mornings and afternoons not been entirely given over to athletics, thus precluding excursions upon horseback.

As a rule Jefferson took out eight or ten girls, but this particular Wednesday afternoon several had obtained permission to go to town with Mrs. Bonnell to do some shopping, have some photographs taken, see the dentists and what not, so the riders were reduced to Sally, Aileen, Petty g.a.y.l.o.r.d, Hope MacLeod, a senior, and Beverly. All were well mounted and each was looking her best in her trim habit.

It was customary for the party to stop at the porte cochere to be inspected by Miss Woodhull, but on this particular afternoon Miss Woodhull was absent at a social function in the neighborhood and the duty devolved upon Miss Stetson, the teacher of mathematics, a strong-minded lady with very p.r.o.nounced views. She dressed as nearly like a man as was compatible with law and decency, wore her hair short, and affected a masculine stride. She came from Miss Woodhull's state.

Jefferson drew up his cavalcade of five and awaited the appearance of Miss Stetson whom he despised with all your true negro's power to despise "white folks what doesn't know dey is white." Miss Stetson insisted upon calling him Mr. Jefferson, affirming that "the race never _could_ be self-respecting or, indeed, wholly emanc.i.p.ated, until treated as the equals of the white race."

She now strode out upon the piazza, cast a critical eye upon the horses, nodded and said:

"Very fit. Very fit. Quite in order. You are to be commended Mr.

Jefferson, but er--isn't there something a little peculiar in the appearance of your horses' er--er--headgear? Their _eyes_ seem to be exposed more than usual; and look somewhat bare, so to speak. Can it be possible that you have forgotten something?"