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Polly's First Year at Boarding School Part 8

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Agnes was one of the Seniors, with little or no popularity; a girl, lacking the essentials of a leader, and yet always refusing to conform or follow. Seddon Hall called her a grouch, and pa.s.sed her by.

"Ugh! I hate her," exclaimed Betty; "leave her out."

The two older girls exchanged glances. They agreed heartily, but loyalty to their cla.s.s-mate kept them silent.

"We can't, she's a Senior," Louise said quietly.

"Well then, condemn her to a horrible end with my love," Betty replied.



Florence ruffled her hair and looked thoughtful.

"She's rather fond of the boys," she said. "We might say that she will be the first in the cla.s.s to marry."

"Weak," Louise criticized, "but it will do. Now who?"

"Luncheon, by the sound of that," laughed Florence as the big gong sounded in the lower hall.

"We'll have to finish these later-come on." And after a hasty dab at their hair, they hurried out to join the line.

Thanksgiving dinner was a very jolly affair. Each table was decorated with flowers and fruit, and each had a turkey to itself.

Mrs. Baird had her soup with the Seniors; her turkey with the Juniors; her salad with the Soph.o.m.ores; her dessert with the Freshmen; and her coffee and nuts with the faculty.

It was noticeable that each table enjoyed itself the most and laughed the heartiest during the course that she ate with them.

The afternoon pa.s.sed quickly, and by six o'clock the girls and faculty were all tramping into the a.s.sembly Hall, that in the dim shaded light resembled a wooded dell, fit background for the gypsy camp that occupied one end of it.

Supper consisted of chicken salad, all kinds of sandwiches, cake, lemonade and ice cream. Just the sorts of things it's fun to eat, sitting on the floor, picnic fashion.

In spite of the big dinner, every one ate heartily.

By eight o'clock the musical program was over. Edith Thornton's little Irish Songs received their well merited applause. Two or three amusing recitations were given and then the fortune telling began.

The younger children were sent into the History room to entangle the spider web of every color twine that wound in and out all over the room.

Every child was given her end of her color string, and they at once set out to discover the prize hidden somewhere, and tied firmly to the other end.

In the big room, some of the lights were put out and the girls sat in hushed groups talking in whispers.

Every once in a while, a Senior dressed as a gypsy would single out a group and lead it to the camp, where Louise and Florence as fortune tellers would select their fortunes from a big black pot (Polly's discovery) and read it out in a sing-song voice. If it was one of the special ones, it would be received with peals of laughter from the listening girls.

Angela, Connie, Lois, Betty and Polly sat in a circle in one corner of the room. They completely surrounded and hid from view what had been the choicest plate of cakes.

Polly looked with admiration at Betty as she finished her seventh piece.

"Bet, dear," she asked, "how do you manage to eat so much. The rest of us are birdlike beside you."

"I concentrate," was the reply, "it's really very simple."

"Will some one kindly divert her attention elsewhere for a while then,"

Angela requested, "for there's only one piece left and I mean to have it."

The others, as soon as they too perceived this lamentable fact, made a frantic dive for the dish, but just who would have carried off the prize will never be known, for at that moment, one of the gypsies, catching sight of the group, called to them:

"You're wanted on the platform. They are waiting to tell your fortunes, hurry up."

Scrambling to their feet, the girls followed their guide to the tent and waited.

Very slowly Louise stirred the contents of the black pot, and silence fell upon the room as she held up an apparently plain sheet of white paper.

"Betty Thompson," she chanted, and after holding the slip over a candle until the words written in milk appeared brown and mysterious, she read:

"You will become a famous Latin scholar, but you will die an early death from indigestion."

Roars of laughter greeted this prophecy, for all knew how Betty hated Latin.

Florence Guile read the next.

"Connie Wentworth," she droned, "you will make a world wide reputation as an actress, starring first as Lady Macbeth."

The old girls understanding the allusion to Connie's escapade of the year before were delighted. Then came Angela's fortune and Louise read it with a smile.

"Upon reaching your second childhood, at the age of eighty-two, you will begin a strenuous and athletic life. Basket-ball and paper chases will be your chief joy."

"What a doom," groaned Angela, as she staggered from the platform amid hearty cheers.

Florence nearly burned up Lois' fortune which came next, and had some difficulty in reading it.

"You will achieve success as a great artist and excel in stage settings.

You will have one friend of whom you will never tire," she finally announced.

"I engage you at once," cried Connie, when the laughter subsided. "You can design all the scenes for my plays."

"That's easy," Lois retorted. "All you need is a staircase, a nightgown and a daub of red paint."

"Polly Pendleton," announced Louise, and the girls stopped talking at once, "you will become a Joan d'Arc and plan successful marches for many armies, after having been selected captain of basket-ball in your Senior year and leading the team to brilliant victories."

"Mercy! all of that?" gasped Polly, half laughing, half serious.

The girls clapped and cheered her until Mrs. Baird mounted the platform.

"I think," she said, "this has been a splendid Thanksgiving. I'm sure we're all very grateful to the Seniors. I can't say I wish all the fortunes to come true, for that would be a calamity, but I hope the nice ones will, and now, good-night."

The party was over, and the girls swarmed through the door laughing and talking.

Polly and Lois found themselves alone in the a.s.sembly Hall. It looked strangely bedraggled and lonely, like a starched party dress after the party.

They started for their rooms together-Lois said:

"Well, it's all over, but wasn't it fun?"

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Polly's First Year at Boarding School Part 8 summary

You're reading Polly's First Year at Boarding School. This manga has been translated by Updating. Author(s): Dorothy Whitehill. Already has 512 views.

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