Polly's First Year at Boarding School Part 9

"Rather, the fortunes were great."

"Yours was the best of all."

"Yours is more likely to come true."

"They both might."

They separated at Polly's door and entered their own rooms.

Among the many things that filled their thoughts, the fortunes were soon forgotten. They did not know that at a future date, Polly, after three splendid years at Seddon Hall, and Lois, after a longer time, would look back with amus.e.m.e.nt tinged with wonder, at the truth of those same fortunes.

CHAPTER VI

A RAINY DAY

"Finished your outline, Betty?" Lois called out as the girls were leaving the schoolroom after the last bell one afternoon.

"Certainly not," answered Betty excitedly. "I started to read just the first scene, but when I got to 'By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this great world,' at the beginning of the second scene, why I just read on all the last period."

It was the first lesson of the Freshman cla.s.s on "The Merchant of Venice." They had finished Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," and this was their first taste of Shakespeare.

"Hadn't you read it before?" questioned Polly. "I have, and I adore it."

"Adore what?"

It was Lois speaking, of course. She had a habit of coming up unexpectedly and hearing the last couple of words of a sentence.

"The Merchant of Venice," explained Polly. "Have you started it?"

"Yes. I read it, the last two periods. I'm as far as 'My Daughter! O my ducats!' I nearly died laughing over Launcelot Gobbo."

It was a miserable day; the sun seemed to have abdicated in favor of his brother, the storm cloud, and the rain was falling in torrents. Betty turned disconsolately towards the window. They were standing in the schoolroom corridor.

"Looks as if we were in for another deluge," she groaned. "Not even a chance of a let-up. Now, if it would only freeze!"

"What can we do?" sighed Lois. "a.s.sembly Hall will be mobbed by the lower school girls, and you know the noise they make."

"I have it!" exclaimed Polly. "Let's get permission from Miss Porter to use the English room, and then each take parts and read 'The Merchant of Venice' aloud."

"Polly, you're a genius; it's the very thing," chorused Lois and Betty.

They started off in the direction of the cla.s.sroom, but as they pa.s.sed the Bridge of Sighs, they were stopped by the two Dorothys.

"Where are you going? Come on up to the corridor. Miss King has lent us the electric stove from the infirmary, and we're going to make candy,"

they invited.

"It's quite regular," added Dot Mead, by way of explanation. "We have permission."

Dot had often tried to inveigle the three girls into joining various midnight feasts and forbidden larks of which she was the originator, but had always found them singularly unresponsive.

Don't think they were prudes, far from it, but they had learned through close observation that not enough pleasure could be derived from breaking rules to compensate them for the loss of the faculty's respect and trust. And, above all, their loyalty and love for Seddon Hall prompted them to keep the few simple rules required of them.

Betty regarded the two girls with lofty disdain and a.s.suming an att.i.tude peculiar to the long-suffering chaplain, began in imitation of his manner:

"There would seem a certain amount of er-er-one might say-attractiveness in your suggestion to an outsider, Dorothy, my child, one, let us say, not familiar with your ability as a cook. For me, however, the invitation holds no charms. Last time, if you'll remember, you put hair oil in the taffy in place of the vanilla. I need hardly refer to the disastrous results." And clasping her hands behind her back, the wicked little mimic walked off down the corridor, adding over her shoulder: "Good afternoon, my dear young ladies, good afternoon."

By this time the girls were holding their sides with laughter. Finally Dorothy managed to ask very weakly:

"Then what are you going to do?"

"There's not the slightest use in telling you, for you'd never believe it," Polly answered. "Still, as you've asked, I'll tell you. We are going to study."

This startling announcement was too much for the Dorothys, and when Lois and Polly left them, to follow Betty, they were lying in mock faints on the corridor floor.

The three girls proceeded to English room and knocked gently on the door.

"Come in," called Miss Porter's voice from the other side.

She was a short, dark, little lady, with glowing black eyes and unlimited enthusiasm. She was very bashful out of the cla.s.sroom and the girls, as a whole, knew very little of her. Just now she was correcting Senior papers and was a little surprised at being interrupted.

As the three girls entered the room Lois, ever the spokesman in serious matters, began:

"Oh, are we disturbing you, Miss Porter? We didn't think you'd be busy and we wanted permission to sit in here and read 'The Merchant of Venice' aloud."

"You see," added Polly, "we thought it would be fun for each to take parts and-and-" she was floundering for words.

"And act it," finished Miss Porter. "Do you really like it, girls? I am so glad. Sit down, of course." Then regretfully: "I'll be finished in a minute."

Betty caught the regret in her voice and exclaimed impulsively:

"Won't you stay? It would be so much nicer; you can't have anything to do on this miserable day."

Lois and Polly added their pleas to hers and in the end Miss Porter remained.

They decided that Lois take the part of _Portia_ and _Jessica_; Polly, _Nerissa_ and _Ba.s.sanio_; Betty, _Antonio_, _Gratiano_, and _Lorenzo_, and they all insisted on Miss Porter being _Shylock_. They took turns with the smaller parts.

They had rather improvised stage property, but they managed to get on somehow until they reached the casket scene.

"Now what under the sun are we going to use for the caskets?" demanded Betty.

"We might use the 'Standard Dictionary' for the lead one," suggested Miss Porter; "and here's the 'Cyclopedia of Names'-that might do for the silver one."

"I've found the very thing for the gold casket," announced Lois, who was standing in front of the bookcase: "A complete set of Shakespeare in one volume."