Peggy Stewart at School Part 15

The following Tuesday was Hallow E'en and where is your school-girl who does not revel in its privileges? Mrs. Vincent, contrary to Miss Sturgis' preconceived ideas of what was possible and proper for a girls'

school, though the latter never failed to quote the rigid discipline of the school which had profited by her valuable services prior to her engagement at Columbia Heights, was given to some departures which often came near reducing Miss Sturgis to tears of vexation.

One of these rules, or rather the lack of them, was the arrangement of the tables in the two dining-rooms. In the dining-room for the little girls under twelve a teacher presided at each table as a matter of course, but in the main dining-hall covers were laid for six at each table, one of the girls presiding as hostess, her tenure of office depending wholly upon her standing in the school, her deportment, ability and general average of work. At the further end of the room Mrs.

Vincent's own table was placed, and the staff of eight resident teachers sat with her. It was a far happier arrangement than the usual one of placing a teacher at each table and having her, whether consciously or unconsciously, arrogate the entire conversation, interests and viewpoint to herself. Of course, there are some teachers who can still recall with sufficient vividness their own school-girl life to feel keenly the undercurrent of restraint which an older person almost invariably starts when thrown with a group of younger ones, and who possesses the power and tact to overcome it and enter the girl-world. But these are the exceptions rather than the rule, and none knew this better than Mrs.

Vincent. Consequently, she chose her own way of removing all possible danger of impaired digestion, believing that the best possible aid to healthy appet.i.tes and perfectly a.s.similated food were untrammeled spirits and hearty laughs. So she and her staff sat at their own table where they were free to discuss the entire school if they chose to do so, and the girls--for, surely, "turn-about-is-fairplay"--could discuss them. It worked pretty well, too, in spite of Miss Sturgis' inclination to keep one eye and one ear "batted" toward the other tables, often to Mrs. Vincent's intense, though carefully concealed amus.e.m.e.nt.

And now came Hallow E'en, and with small regard for Miss Sturgis'

prejudices, plump in the middle of the school week! At the end of the last recitation period that afternoon when the whole school of one hundred fifty girls, big and little, had gathered in the chapel, for the working day invariably ended with a few kindly helpful words spoken by Mrs. Vincent and the reading of the thirty-fourth Psalm and singing Sh.e.l.ley's beautiful hymn of praise, Mrs. Vincent paused for a moment before dismissing her pupils. Many of the older girls knew what to expect, but the newer ones began to wonder if their sins had found them out. Nevertheless, Mrs. Vincent's expression was not alarming as she moved a step toward them and asked:

"Which of my girls will be willing to give up her afternoon recreation period and devote that time to the preparation of tomorrow's work!"

The effect was amusing. Some of the girls gave little gasps of surprise, others, ohs! of protest, others distinct negatives, while a good many seemed delighted at the prospect. These had known Mrs. Vincent longest.

"Those of you who are ready to return to the main hall at four o'clock and work until five-thirty may be released from all further obligations for the evening, and the attic, laundry and gymnasium will be placed at your disposal for a Hallow E'en frolic and--"

But she got no further. Rosalie Breeze, sans ceremony, made one wild leap from her chair and rushed toward the platform. Miss Sturgis made a peremptory motion and stepped toward her, but Mrs. Vincent raised her hand. The next second Rosalie had flung herself bodily into Mrs.

Vincent's arms, crying:

"Oh, if every schoolmarm was just exactly like _you_ I'd never, never do one single bad thing to plague 'em and I'll let you use me for your doormat if you want to!"

A less self-contained woman would have been staggered by the sudden onslaught and felt her rule and dignity jeopardized. Mrs. Vincent was of different fibre. She gathered the little madcap into her arms for one second, then taking the witch-like face in both hands kissed each flushed cheek as she said:

"I sometimes think you claim kinship with the pixies,--you are half a witch. So you accept the bargain? Good! Have all the fun you wish but don't burn the house down."

By this time the whole school had gathered around her, asking questions forty to the minute.

Mrs. Vincent looked like a fly-away girl herself in her sympathetic excitement, for her soft, curly chestnut hair had somewhat escaped its combs and pins, and her cheeks were as rosy as the girls. Mrs. Vincent was only forty, and now looked about half her age.

Polly and Peggy crowded close to her, Natalie shared her arms with Rosalie, quiet, undemonstrative Marjorie's face glowed with affection, while even Juno condescended to unbend, and Lily Pearl and Helen gave vent to their emotions by embracing each other. Stella, tall, stately and such a contrast to the others, beamed upon the group.

But Isabel put the finishing stroke by remarking with, a most superior smile:

"O Mrs. Vincent, what a perfect darling you are! Don't you perfectly dote on her girls? _I_ fell in love with her years ago when I first met her and I've simply worshiped at her shrine ever since."

"Rats!" broke out Rosalie, and Mrs. Vincent had just about all she could manage for a moment. Her emotions were sadly at odds. Polly's laugh saved the day and deflected Isabel's scorn.

"I really do not see what is amusing you, Miss Howland; I am sure I am only expressing the sentiments of my better poised schoolmates."

"Oh, we all agree with you--every single one of us--though we are choosing different ways of showing it, you see. If Peggy and I had been down home we'd probably have given the Four-N yell. That's _our_ way of expressing our approbation. The boys taught us, and we think its a pretty good way. It works off a whole lot of pent-up steam."

"What is it, Polly?" asked Mrs. Vincent.

"I'm afraid you would have to hear the boys give it to quite understand it, Mrs. Vincent, but I tell you it makes one tingle right down to one's very toes--that yell!"

"Can't you and Peggy give it to us on a small scale? Just as a sample of what we may hear some day? Perhaps if the girls hear it they can fall in. I'd like to hear it myself."

Polly paused a moment, looking doubtfully at Peggy. That old Naval Academy Yell meant a good deal to these two girls. They had heard it under so many thrilling circ.u.mstances.

"We will give it if you wish it, Mrs. Vincent, though it will sound funny I'm afraid from just Polly and me. Maybe though, the girls will try it too after we have given it."

With more volume and enthusiasm than would have seemed possible from just two throats, Peggy and Polly began:

"N--n--n--n!

A--a--a--a!

V--v--v--v!

Y--y--y--y!

Navy! Navy! Navy! Navy!

Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent!"

the ending being entirely in the nature of a surprise to that lady who blushed and laughed like a girl. But before she could escape, Polly had sprung to the platform and as a cheer leader who would have put Wheedler of old to shame was crying: "Come on!"

The girls caught the spirit and swing with a will and the room rang to their voices.

Clapping her hands and laughing happily Mrs. Vincent ran toward the door only pausing long enough to say:

"Four P. M. sharp! Then from seven to ten 'the goblins will get you if you don't watch out!'"

"Let Polly sound 'a.s.sembly' at four. Please do, Mrs. Vincent. It will make us come double time," begged Peggy, running after her and detaining her by slipping her arm about her waist.

"a.s.sembly? I don't believe I quite understand."

"On her bugle, you know. It's so pretty, and we did that way at home if we wanted to bring the bunch together in a hurry."

"Well, I'm learning something new every minute, I believe. Yes, sound your bugle call, Polly, and be sure I shall be on the _qui vive_ to hear it. Before we know it we shall have a _girls'_ military school."

"Oh, wouldn't it be perfectly splendid if we only could and all wear bra.s.s b.u.t.tons!" cried Rosalie.

"I think some of the discipline would be splendid for all of us, and especially the spirit of the thing," answered Stella. "The trouble with most girls lies in the fact that they don't know how to work together.

There isn't much cla.s.s spirit, or cooperation. Maybe if we tried some of the methods Peggy and Polly seem to know so much about we'd come closer together."

"Team work, I guess you mean," said Polly quickly. "It means a whole lot."

Sharply at four the staccato notes of "a.s.sembly" rang across the terrace as Polly sounded the call upon her bugle. The girls came hurrying from every direction and the ensuing hour and a half, usually free for recreation, was cheerfully given over to study. Dinner was served at six and at seven-thirty the revels began.

At Peggy's suggestion a part of the afternoon had been devoted to devising costumes out of anything at hand, for a fancy dress party had been hastily decided upon. As a result of this some unique and original Hallow E'en sprites, nymphs, dryads or witches foregathered in the big laundry, "cleared for action," Polly said, and two or three aroused little cries of admiration.

Peggy was a dryad. She had rushed away to the woods on Shashai to return with her mount buried from sight in autumn leaves. The dark, rich reds of the oaks, the deep yellow of the beeches, the dogwood's and maple's gorgeous variations and the sweet-gums blood red mingled in a bewildering confusion of color. Stripping the leaves from the twigs she proceeded to sew them upon a plain linen gown, and the result was exquisite, for not a vestige of the fabric remained visible, and Peggy's piquant, rich coloring peeped from a garment of living, burning color.

She herself was the only one who did not fully appreciate the picture she presented.

Polly's costume was a character from one of the children's pages in a Sunday newspaper. The entire costume was made of newspapers, with "The Yellow Kid" much in evidence, Polly's tawny hair lending itself well to the color scheme.

Natalie, who was fair as a lily, had chosen "sunlight," and was a bonny little sun G.o.ddess. Lily Pearl, after a great deal of fuss and fidgeting had elected to go as t.i.tania, and Helen essayed Oberon. Juno, who was very musical, made quite a stately Sappho. Little, sedate Marjorie was an Alaskan-Indian Princess, and Rosalie rigged up a Puck costume which made her irresistible. Isabel chose to be Portia, though that erudite lady seemed somewhat out of place among the mythological characters. But Stella was a startling Sibyl, with book, staff, and a little crystal globe (removed from her paper-weight) in which to read horoscopes. The others went in all sorts of guises or disguises.

In the laundry they found all properties provided. To tell of all which took place would crowd out too much which must follow. Of course apples were bobbed for, a hat pin was run through them to prod the seeds for the true lover's heart, and they were hung upon strings to be caught in one's teeth (the apples, _not_ the hearts) if luckily one did not get one's nose b.u.mped as they swung back. Melted lead was poured through a key into cold water to take the mysterious form which would reveal the occupation, or profession, of the future _He_, and Lily Pearl was thrown into an ecstasy by having _her_ sputtering metal take very distinctly the form of a ship. _And that house party "bid" not even hinted at yet!_

They walked downstairs backward, looking into a mirror to discover the particular masculine face which would fill their live's mirrors, though, unhappily some of the potency of the charm was lost because it could not be done upon the witching stroke of midnight.

Dumb cakes were made, _his_ initials p.r.i.c.ked in the dough, while in perfect silence the cakes were baked on the laundry steam dryer, joy and rapture descending upon the fortunate she if the initials did not vanish in the baking. A ball of twine was thrown out of the kitchen window, but when the thrower hurried out to find the ardent one who had so promptly s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and fled, she discovered Horatio Hannibal Harrison beating a hasty retreat. He had been playing "Peeping Tom" and the ball had caught him squarely upon his woolly crown. A doubtful conscience did the rest.