Girls of Highland Hall: Further Adventures of the Dandelion Cottagers by Carroll Watson Rankin
CHAPTER XXVI
HENRIETTA IS MYSTERIOUS
The girls began to miss Henrietta almost as soon as she was gone. For asmall person, she left a tremendous vacancy. She was so lovely, sobright, so friendly with everybody and so very good to look at that itseemed, as Sallie put it, as if the sun had suddenly deserted the wholestate of Illinois. Henrietta wrote to her friends, of course, but thatwasn't quite like having her actually on the premises.
One day, however, when Sallie was distributing the mail, the post girlexperienced a joyful moment. She pulled a letter from the bag and readaloud the name on the envelope: "Miss Sallie Dickinson."
"Why," gasped Sallie, pink with surprise and delight. "That's forme--from Henrietta."
Henrietta had expected to return within three weeks. But did she? Not abit of it. She and her delightful grandmother, Mrs. Slater, were havingtoo good a time visiting their relatives in England to be willing toreturn at once to America. They were shopping in London.
"And oh, such shops as there are in London!" wrote Henrietta. "And oh,such funny English as I hear! My cousins took me to something theycalled a 'Cinema'--and what do you think it was? Just a movie. When Icome back I'll talk some _real_ English for you so you can see what it'slike."
"I guess," laughed Jean, "Henrietta is more American now than she isEnglish."
"I wish she'd come back," said Bettie. "The days seem twice as long withher so far away."
It was undeniably dull without Henrietta; but Maude managed on oneoccasion at least to cheer the other girls considerably. She had beenunnaturally good for several weeks; but now the spirit of impishnessthat sometimes controlled her had been bottled up too long for safetyand was just about ready to break loose.
A full length mirror stood at the end of the West Corridor, across oneof the corners. It swung on pivots, from an upright frame. It waspossible to unscrew those pivots and remove the framed mirror from thisouter frame. Indeed, Sallie had once mentioned casually that this featmight easily be accomplished by two girls, whereupon curious Maude hadexamined the screws with much interest and had satisfied herself thatSallie's statement was true.
At certain times of the day, Miss Woodruff, who was as regular as aclock in all her habits, strolled to that mirror to make certain thather skirts hung properly; for no one was more particular as to herappearance than was stout Miss Woodruff. She invariably wore gray, forschool use. She possessed three serge gowns, made precisely alike, fromthe same piece of goods. She spoke of these garments as her "uniform."When not in use, these gowns hung in her bedroom closet.
But one dreadful day, when excellent Miss Woodruff looked in the glassat the usual time, she started back in horror. There was her reflection,dark gray frock, unmistakable hair-do and all, yet what in the world wasthe matter with it? The face was different, the figure was shorter andfatter and its outline was curiously lumpy in places.
There were stifled giggles from the nearby doorways as the puzzled ladyleaned forward to look closer--at Maude. For of course it _was_ Maude,attired in one of Miss Woodruff's gray gowns, with pillows stuffedinside; and her hair, skilfully arranged by Cora, closely resembled MissWoodruff's. The naughty but ingenious girl standing just back of thevacant frame, was faithfully imitating every movement made by MissWoodruff, every expression that flitted across her astonished face.
"_Nous avons_," began Maude, stepping through the frame, with her handscrossed meekly on her dark gray breast, "_les raisins blancs et noirs_--"
But at this point, to the uproarious delight of the entire WestCorridor, Miss Woodruff seized her reflection by the shoulders and shookit until pillows began to drop from beneath the gray gown.
"Maude Wilder," gasped the breathless lady, finally, "you may keep righton learning American History--two pages a day until Commencement."
Ten minutes later, when Miss Woodruff took her daily walk on the longveranda she was surprised to meet herself halfway, as it were.
"Don't be cross," laughed Maude, slipping her hand under Miss Woodruff'ssubstantial elbow. "I just came down to apologize. I know I'm bad but ifI didn't keep this place cheered up, think how dull we'd be. We'd allget in a rut. And you know I _do_ respect you, tremendously, even if Ido seem a little disrespectful towards your clothes at times. And I dolike you a lot, even if I can't help teasing you. Come on and be asport. Let's show the girls what lovely twins we make."
"But--"
"Come along, do," pleaded Maude's sweetly persuasive voice. "You _know_you aren't really cross about this. Let's be friends."
"You're incorrigible," sighed Miss Woodruff, falling into step with herwheedling tormentor. "I don't know what ever will become of you, but, inspite of my better judgment, I can't _help_ liking you. And just to showyou that I can do it, I _will_ be a sport just for once."
"Hurrah for the Woodruff twins!" cried Maude, enthusiastically. ButMaude's enthusiasm was doomed to wane. Sturdy Miss Woodruff, with awicked gleam in her eye, kept her absurd twin walking back and forth onthe veranda for a good two hours. The day was warm and the pillows tiedfirmly about Maude's waist added nothing to her comfort; the girls onthe railing were obviously enjoying her predicament; but unmerciful MissWoodruff proved tireless. Maude was tired of being a twin long beforeher teacher was; but revived somewhat when that surprising lady said, atlast:
"Now, I _will_ be a sport. I'm going to excuse you from learning thathistory. I think we're just about even without it."
"I didn't think she had it in her," commented Maude, reclining at lengthon the pillows she had gladly removed from her person. "There's more tothat lady than I supposed there was."
There was much talk these days of Commencement. The three Seniors wereto be graduated and, by some mysterious process, the five Juniors wereto become Seniors. No wonder the Miller girls, quiet Virginia Mason,Sarah Porter and studious Mary Sherwood of the North Corridor had led alife apart from the younger girls. Of course, with a solemn thing likethat hanging over them, and only a year away, they _couldn't_ associatewith a flock of careless infants in the lower grades.
There were to be Commencement clothes--white dresses, white shoes, whitestockings for everybody, young or old. There was to be a classphotograph of the Seniors, framed like all the rest, and hung in the bigdrawing room for future classes to admire. There were to be Exercises.Miss Julia's pupils were to play solos and duets; and everybody was tosing the songs that they were now practising daily and there were to beEssays. One of the Seniors, Miss Pratt, was known to be laboring over astrange thing called a Valedictory, Miss Wilson was struggling with theClass Prophecy and Miss Holmes was having a harrowing time with theClass Poem. Mabel hoped that none of these mysterious things would everfall to _her_ lot. Cream puffs and unlimited chocolate creams, itappeared, were not the only things that happened to a Senior.
And now, everybody was discussing clothes. Should they wear silkstockings or cotton ones? White pumps or Oxfords? Should their dressesbe tucked or ruffled, full or scant? Should their sleeves be long orshort or half way between? The Seniors were keeping _their_ clothes adark mystery; but all the other girls were willing to tell all theyknew.
Jean, Bettie, Mabel and Marjory were to buy their dresses, shoes andstockings in Chicago. Mrs. Henry Rhodes and Miss Blossom were to takethem to town for a whole joyous Monday.
They loved every inch of the way to the city, where Mrs. Henry piledthem all into a 'bus at the station, took them to a big store on StateStreet, and whisked them aloft in an elevator. She and Miss Blossomspent a long morning trying fluffy white frocks on their lively charges.
There were large numbers of just-exactly-right frocks for Marjory andBettie. They were easy to fit. Jean was tall and rather slender and itwas some time before the interested clerk could find just the rightpretty gown for Jean. As for plump Mabel---- Well, the sleeves were tight,the waists wouldn't button and the skirts were too scant.
"You see," explained the patient clerk, "she isn't a ready-made child.She hasn't got her shape yet. But you'll
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Henry and Miss Blossom, "that's the thing to do."
Then they all got into the elevator and went up still higher and theLakeville girls tried not to look surprised at finding a dining room sonear the sky. After they had had lunch and purchased shoes and stockingsit was time for their returning train.
Sallie listened to the thrilling news of the new dresses and the lovelynew shoes rather soberly and with a lengthening countenance; but none ofthe girls noticed that she was not rejoicing with them until thoughtlessMarjory suddenly asked:
"What are _you_ going to wear, Sallie?"
"I have an old white dress," returned Sallie, flushing painfully. "Itwas new three years ago but I've worn it hard every summer, so it isn'tnew any more. All the tucks have been let out and the hem has been facedand it's still too short. Besides there's a bad rust stain on it andit's too tight across the chest I don't know _what_ to do. I've beenthinking I'd better put on a cap and apron and just pretend to be one ofthe regular maids. You see, ever so many parents and other guests willbe coming so I'll have to answer the doorbell and run upstairs toannounce guests and help in the dining room, anyway."
"But you have to help with the singing," said Bettie. "You have the bestvoice of all the girls. What are you going to do about that?"
"Perhaps I can stand behind a tree," offered Sallie. "Or I might burrowdown in the tall grass and not be noticed. Of course I'd sing better ifmy clothes were all right; but I'll just try not to think about them."
The next day, some of the girls sat on a bench in the shady grove andtalked this weighty matter over.
"It's a shame," said Jean. "Sallie's such a _dear_ girl--one of the verysweetest girls in this school, _I_ think, and she has a lovely voice.She ought to be able to stand right in the front row and be seen as wellas heard."
"It isn't right," said Bettie, "for all the rest of us to be all dressedup and having a good time when Sallie can't--just because she's aboarding school orphan."
"Sometimes I've offered to lend her things," said Jean, "but she doesn'tlike it. I think it hurts her pride or something."
"I thought we might write home for money," said Marjory, "and get her adress _that_ way; but I'm sure Aunty Jane wouldn't give me a cent forit. She might, after a long, long time--if I'd begun to tease for it lastSeptember, for instance, she'd begin about now to loosen up a little."
"And my folks are too far away," mourned Mabel, "so _they're_ no good."
"And mine," said Jean, "have to spend more on me now than they canafford."
"And of course," added Bettie, "the best _my_ folks could do would besomething out of a missionary box--something made of outing flannel mostlikely. Those boxes do run just awfully to outing flannel. Of coursethere's Mr. Black--but I wouldn't like to ask him."
"No," agreed Jean, "it wouldn't be right. Of course, if we'd startedsoon enough and saved all our weekly spending money--"
"Oh, why didn't we?" cried Bettie. "I do wish we had."
"If we four had saved _half_ our money," said Marjory, who had beenmaking figures with a stick in the sand, "we could have bought her amore expensive dress than any _we_ are going to have. And shoes, too."
"Just think of that!" said Jean. "Next year I'm going to save a fewcents every week--it's mighty useful to have money when something likethis comes up."
"Of course," said Marjory, who had been making more sums in the sand,"thirty cents isn't much when you put a nickel in the plate every Sundayand chip in every now and then for spreads. Anyway, it's all gone andpoor Sallie hasn't a dress."
At mail time the next day, the schoolroom resounded with excited anddelighted squeals. Sallie had had another letter from Henrietta. It wasmailed in New York; and Henrietta was coming back.
"Grandmother is going to visit an old friend in Chicago," wroteHenrietta, "and I'm coming back to study like mad to catch up with myclasses. Tell the girls to have all their note books ready for me and Ican _do_ it. And Sallie, dear, I'm bringing you a present. I havesomething for all my best friends but if anybody can guess what I'mbringing you I'll give her _two_ presents."
Jean looked at Bettie. Bettie nudged Marjory and Mabel managed--but notwithout difficulty--to wink at Jean.
"It's a dress," whispered Marjory. "I'm _sure_ it's a dress."
"That's just what I think," agreed Jean.
Just two weeks before the close of school, Henrietta returned. Shearrived during school hours and slipped quietly into her seat in theAssembly room; but she was so fidgety and there was such a flutteringamong the other girls, who declared afterwards that she looked goodenough to eat, that Miss Woodruff said: "Henrietta, I'll excuse you fortoday. There's only an hour left anyway."
"Thank you," said Henrietta. "I'm dying to unpack my new steamertrunk--Charles brought it right up along with me."
The girls found Henrietta's gifts in their rooms when they went upstairsat two o'clock. She had tried to find lovely, unusual things for themand had succeeded. A little gem of a picture in a silver frame for Jean,some lovely blue beads almost like Hazel's for Marjory, an adorableturquois ring for Bettie and an exquisite enameled locket for Mabel.There was something for every girl in the West Corridor and a nicelittle graduating present for each of the three Seniors. There were somelovely white silk stockings "right straight from Paris" for Sallie.
"The rest of Sallie's present is coming later," said Henrietta, "Ididn't have room in my trunk for it. And on second thought, I'm notgoing to encourage any guessing. I _might_ give the secret away and thatwouldn't do. I'm not going to tell what it is, but I'll say this much._Don't worry about your clothes, Sallie._"
"Did you get it in London?" demanded Mabel.
"Yes," laughed Henrietta, "and that's the last word I'm going to tellyou about it."
"I sort of hoped," sighed Marjory, "it might have been _Paris_, like thestockings."
But Henrietta only laughed harder than ever.
CHAPTER XXVII
SALLIE'S PRESENT
Three days later, Henrietta, her eyes bright with excitement, rushed tothe dining room and fell upon Mary, one of the neat maids.
"Lend me your cap and apron, quick!" demanded Henrietta, helping herselfto the needed articles. "Don't say a word. There's a hack coming up fromthe station and I want to answer the doorbell--Doctor Rhodes said Icould. Sallie's in her room--I locked her in. I'm just getting even withher for something. I'll bring your things back in just a few minutes andtell you the rest."
Henrietta did answer the doorbell. The visitor was ushered to thelibrary. Then away sped Henrietta up three flights of steps and througha tiresome number of corridors until at last she reached Sallie's roomon the top floor. She unlocked the door noiselessly, rapped on the paneland then announced, in a very good imitation of Sallie's own voice:
"A gentleman in the library to see Miss Sallie Dickinson."
"But there _couldn't_ be," said Sallie. "I don't _know_ any gentleman."
"But you _do_--or if you don't, go down and get acquainted. Come on--youlook all right."
"It--it isn't one of those Theologs--"
"Come on," laughed Henrietta, "I'll race you to the first floor."
"It's against the rules--"
"There's nothing in the by-laws against sliding down the banisters.These nice black walnut ones were just made for that purpose. Down yougo."
"If I must, I must," said resigned Sallie, meekly lying flat on thebroad banister. "I know you're playing some trick on me."
"I _thought_ you knew how to slide," laughed Henrietta, following suit.
"Yes,"
"Go on in," urged Henrietta, at the library door. "Nobody's going to eatyou."
Sallie saw a man standing by the table. A man who smiled pleasantly. Shelooked at him. Suddenly her heart began to thump wildly.
"Is it--Is it--"
"Yes, it _is_," cried Henrietta. "Your father."
Sallie's face was turning from white to pink and momentarily growingbrighter, but still she seemed unable to move. Henrietta gave her agentle shove toward her father's outstretched arms.
"I found him in London," said Henrietta. "He'll tell you all about it.Good-by, I'll see you later."
It happened to be a warm day, so the girls had left their rooms and werewandering in the grove, under the sheltering hickory trees where earlierin the season, Charles had placed a number of benches. At sight ofHenrietta waving her arms wildly, the girls moved toward her.
"Help yourselves to the benches," said Henrietta, seating herself on theground. "I have a tale to tell. How would you like to be just awfullysurprised?"
"I guess we could stand it," drawled Miss Wilson, who, as usual, had alarge box of chocolates under her arm. "Have some candy?"
"You wouldn't try to stop my mouth with candy," reproached Henrietta,"if you knew what you are bottling up thereby. Something'shappened--something wonderful. Something perfectly _grand_."
"Tell us," pleaded Jean, who could see that Henrietta was fairlybubbling over with news, "Come on, girls. Here's a story."
"Well," began Henrietta, "once there was a man who was always movingaround from one town to another looking for work. When he _had_ work hewasn't always satisfied with it. Sometimes he gave up a fairly good joband just went some place else because he happened to feel like it."
"One of those rolling stones," suggested Maude.
"Yes, a regular rolling stone. Well, after awhile he rolled out West. Hetried ranching at first; but he didn't care much about that. But therewas a sort of cowboy chap that he _did_ like--a young Englishman--and theydecided to be partners. They tried mining for awhile but that didn't panout so they went down to Texas. They worked for an old man down therewho was sick. They did something really worth while for _him_--somethingabout saving a lot of cattle for him--and he was so grateful that he diedand left his ranch to them."
"Oh, Henrietta!" teased Hazel, "that _was_ gratitude."
"Well, I mean that _when_ he died, he left his ranch to those two men.But the ranch wasn't very much good--there was something wrong with thesoil and nothing would grow--not even grass. But now pick up your ears,girls. One day, in one of the fields where the soil was _particularly_bad, the older man stepped into something soft and some queer greasystuff oozed up out of the hole. It was _oil_. Experts came and testedit. They really had oil.
"Well, even when they had sold all their cattle they hadn't money enoughto develop their oil mine--"
"Oil _well_," corrected Miss Wilson. "My father has them--but go on."
"Yes, oil well. So the cowboy suggested going home to England where hehad a lot of wealthy relatives and friends, to borrow the money. Hewanted, for one thing, to let his own relatives reap some of the benefitif there _was_ any. Well, that cowboy was--and is--sort of a distantcousin of my father's; and my father was one of the men he wantedespecially to see.
"Now, here's the exciting part. His partner, the rolling stone, was withhim when he went to my father's rooms in London. And _I_ was there. Andwhen the cowboy introduced the other man to Father, I sat right up andlooked at him--he looked like somebody I _knew_.
"Then Father introduced them both to me--he's always careful about thingslike that, you know. And then I spoke right up and said:
"'Mr. Dickinson, is your first name John? And did you ever have a littlegirl named Sallie?' My goodness! You should have seen that little man'sface! All lit up with joy."
"But," cried Jean, "you don't mean _our_ Sallie! You don't mean thatthat was Sallie's _father_!"
"I _do_," assured Henrietta. "Of course it seemed awfully nervy to speakright out like that to a strange man, right before my proper father andCousin George. I never could have done it, if I hadn't known myself howhorrible it was to be a school orphan. After that, I told him all aboutSallie. And _he_ said that after he got out of the hospital he hadhunted for her just as long as he had had any money; but the poor oldman who had left Sallie at the wrong school couldn't remember anythingat all about it. Without money, and so weak that he could hardly crawl,Mr. Dickinson couldn't do very much toward hunting Sallie up--and therewere so _many_ girls' schools in this part of the country. And after hehad drifted out West, he was always too poor to come back. This is thefirst bit of luck he's had. But it's a _big_ bit. The oil well is allright--he had to stop in New York to attend to some part of thebusiness--telegrams to and from Texas and things like that. That's why hedidn't come when I did. Sallie's father and the cowboy, too, will bevery rich men. Of course he was going to begin to search for Sallie justas soon as things were settled; but I saved him a lot of time andtrouble. But, oh! _Such_ a time as I've had keeping this tremendoussecret."
"Where's Sallie's father now," demanded Mabel.
"In the library with Sallie."
"I'm glad about the money," said Jean, earnestly, "but Henrietta, is--ishe going to be a _nice_ father for our Sallie?"
"Yes, he is," returned Henrietta. "I watched him all the way over on theboat and there isn't a single thing the matter with him."
"That's great," breathed Mabel. "But what is he like?"
"Well, he has pleasant eyes and a _good_ face and nice, gentlemanners--and he doesn't eat with his knife. Just after I found him Ibegan to tremble for fear he _mightn't_ be the kind of father we'd wantfor our Sallie; but he _is_--just exactly. Perhaps he isn't one of thoseterribly strong characters like Daniel Webster or Oliver Cromwell orJohn Knox--but who'd _want_ a father like that! But I'm sure he'll be acomfortable person to live with and Cousin George--the cowboy, youknow--likes him; and Father says George is mighty particular about hisfriends. And of course he'll pay up everything Sallie owes this schooland give her everything she needs."
At dinner time that night, Sallie's father sat in the place of honor atDoctor Rhodes's table. And Sallie, such a radiant Sallie, with her headhigh and her eyes bright, sat beside him, listening hungrily to hiswords.
And when Sallie's clear young voice was lifted in song at theCommencement Day exercises, it didn't come from behind a tree. LovelySallie didn't _need_ to hide behind a tree or to burrow down in the longgrass; for her Commencement Day gown was quite as new and beautiful asanybody's and certainly no other girl wore a happier expression.
"But it's her father she's the gladdest about," explained Mabel. "Shejust _loves_ him."
"I'm glad of that," said Bettie, who was sitting on her suitcase on thebaggage strewn veranda. "It wouldn't be much fun to go to Texas with afather you _didn't_ love. And isn't it great! He's going to let hervisit Henrietta in Lakeville in August and go back to school with herafterwards so we aren't going to lose every bit of our Sallie afterall."
"And," said Jean, "Mabel is going to spend a week with me and then herown people will be home. And there's Charles coming now to take us allto the station. Good-by, old Highland Hall. You're going to be a big,lonesome place without us."
"A year is a funny thing," commented Bettie, with her last backwardglance at the tall building. "While it's happening, it seems to be amillion miles long; and then, the very next minute, it's all gone."
"By this time tomorrow," breathed Marjory, "we'll be home; and all thedays will have wings. But Mabel, what in the world _are_ you doing?"
"I'm--kuk--crying," gulped Mabel.
"You funny old baby," laughed Henrietta. "You're too tender hearted."
"It isn't that at all," sobbed Mabel, "but something just terrible hashappened. I forgot to label them and I kuk--kuk--can't remember which lockof hair is Maude's and which is Cora's--and I j
"Well," soothed Marjory, "both girls are far from bald--you can easilywrite for more hair."
"Cheer up," comforted Jean, "I _did_ label mine and I can identify_anybody's_ hair. And--and we _all_ hate to part with those girls; but wemust look respectable when we get to the station; and when Mr. Blackmeets us in Chicago--"
"We'll be mighty glad to see him," said Mabel, smiling bravely throughher tears, "and this time I'll try not to get lost."
"Climb out, everybody," said Charles, stopping his car. "Here's thestation, right in the same old place. And there's your train, right ontime. And I hope I don't see another girl or another trunk for the nextfour months. So long and good luck."
THE END