CHAPTER VI
ST. HELEN'S AND THE HERMITAGE
St. Helen's lay a mile west of the station, and half a mile from thevillage itself, through whose quiet, elm-shaded streets they were soondriving in the big, open carriage. The girls pointed out to Virginiathe places of especial interest--the little white church which theyattended on Sundays; Mrs. Brown's cottage, where pumpkin pies and"heavenly chocolate cake" might be purchased, if not too frequently;and, chief of attractions, the "Forget-me-not," whose sundaes, onceeaten, were never forgotten.
At the little post-office, another girl joined them, and was in turnembraced quite as rapturously by Priscilla and Dorothy as Mary hadbeen. She was introduced to Virginia as Anne Hill, Mary's roommate,and another Senior.
"The two sharks and faculty pets of St. Helen's," observed Dorothy,supplementing the introduction, and including Mary and Anne with awave of her pretty hand,
Virginia had not the vaguest idea of what a shark might be. Mostapparently, not a fish; but she saw that Dorothy's remark embarrassedboth Mary and Anne. She liked Anne at once. She was rather short andplump, with a sweet face and soft Southern accent.
"She comes from Virginia," Priscilla said in a whisper to her newroom-mate, as they drove along.
Virginia divided her attention between her great interest in thecountry and her absorbing eagerness to hear all that the girls had tosay, for Mary and Anne were kept busy answering Priscilla's andDorothy's questions. Yes, Imogene Meredith had returned, and she andVivian Winters were rooming together as they did last year. Miss Greenwas to be in The Hermitage--(a long sigh from Priscilla andDorothy)--but the adorable Miss Wallace was to be there likewise. Thefortunate girl, who was to be blessed with Dorothy's Navajo rug, and,incidentally, with Dorothy herself, was new, and a protegee of MissWallace's. (Sighs of envy from all.) Her name was Lucile Du Bose, andMiss Wallace had become acquainted with her in France through mutualfriends. She was doubtless very nice, but a little shy and apparentlylonely, and Miss Wallace had asked as a special favor to herself thatthe girls try to make her feel at home. Moreover, Miss Wallace hadproposed Dorothy as a room-mate.
"That settles it," announced Dorothy. "I shall be angelic to Lucile,even if she's positively hopeless; since I'm doing Miss Wallace afavor!"
"Who has the big up-stairs room?" asked Priscilla.
Mary and Anne laughed. "Somebody very important," said Anne in herpretty Southern accent. "She hasn't come herself, but she has trunksand bags enough for the whole family, and they keep on coming. Up tothis noon there were three trunks, two bags, a shawl strap, and fourexpress packages. And the trunks and bags are all marked 'K. Van R.--New York' in big letters. Mary and I were so wild with curiosity thatwe had the impoliteness to turn over one of the express packages tosee the name on it, and 'twas 'Miss Katrina Van Rensaelar.' We askedMiss Green about her, but gleaned no information except that she wouldbe here in a few days, and was to room alone, as her guardian hadespecially requested it."
"Dear me! How select!" observed Dorothy.
"She ought to be Katrina Van Tassel, like Katrina in 'The Legend ofSleepy Hollow,'" said Virginia, whereupon every one laughed, and Marysaid that "Sleepy Hollow" would be a very appropriate name for theroom, as the girls who had it last year never heard the rising bell,and were invariably late for breakfast.
"We're getting very near now, Virginia," said her new room-mate. And,a moment later, they drove through some stone gate-posts and up alovely curving road bordered by pines, which edged the woodland oneither side.
"There are always hepaticas here in the spring the first of anyplace," they told her.
Then they crossed a rustic bridge over a little brook, after which thepines gave way to maples and oaks, on either side of which were openfields and meadows. They snow-shoed here, they told her; and in thespring the ground was fairly blue with violets. Now the roadsides, aswell as the land near the brook, were yellow with goldenrod and purplewith asters, her mother's flowers. The road commenced to be more hillyabove the meadow, and as the horses walked slowly along, Virginianoticed with interest the shrubs and trees which grew in tangledmasses on either side. She knew the sumac, now in its autumn scarlet,and the birches; but there were many which she had never seen, and shemissed the service-berry and the buck-brush, which bordered theWyoming roads, the cottonwoods and her own dear quaking-asps, whichalways seemed so merry and friendly in the fall. What a lovely placefor a school, she kept thinking to herself, as they climbed the hill,and, suddenly leaving the wood road behind, came out upon an opencampus, dotted here and there with fine old elms and maples.
"And this is St. Helen's," the girls told her, as they followed theelm-shaded driveway, while her delighted eyes wandered across thelawns to the gray stone buildings, upon which the ivy was alreadyturning red.
"It's lovely," she said softly, "just as lovely as mother used to tellme. You see, years ago my mother came here to school, too."
Perhaps the softness of her voice told the girls more than she herselfhad done, for they were silent for a moment. Then Mary said,
"Miss King wanted me to bring Virginia over to the office as soon asshe came, so you girls can go on to The Hermitage. You might as wellleave your bag in the carriage, Virginia. They'll put it in yourroom."
Miss King's office was in the largest of the gray stone buildings,which, Mary told Virginia, held the gymnasium, the big assembly hall,some recitation rooms, and the offices of the principal and otherimportant personages.
"You'll love Miss King," Mary reassured her, perhaps guessing thatVirginia felt a little shy. "You see, she doesn't teach any more, andshe leaves most of the care of the girls to the younger teachers; butshe always conducts chapel, and arranges with each girl separatelyabout her studies. It's wonderful how she knows every girl in St.Helen's, and she's interested in every little thing that concerns us.We just love her!"
They went up the steps, and into a large, open hall, at the end ofwhich a fire blazed in a big stone fire-place.
"We don't really need a fire now," Mary explained, "but Miss King saysit seems more homelike and cheerful when the girls come in."
From the hall many doors led to different rooms, and through two bigcentral ones they passed into a large office. A young woman at thedesk rose to greet them.
"You're to take the young lady to Miss King's private office, MissWilliams," she said.
Mary thanked her, and crossing the room, rapped upon the door of aninner office. A sweet, cheery voice said, "Come in," and they entereda large sunny room, by the western window of which sat a gray-hairedlady, who rose with girlish eagerness to greet them.
"I have been waiting for you, my dears," she said, and Virginiathought she had never heard such a sweet voice. "And I have beenwaiting years for you, Virginia," she continued. "Come to the window.I want to look at my dear Mary Webster's little girl."
She took them by either hand, and drew them to the window. Then shetook off Virginia's hat, and with tears in her sweet, almost sad blueeyes studied the girl's face.
"My dear," she said at last, "you don't look like your mother, and yetyou do. Your eyes are gray, while hers were blue, but the light inthem is just the same, and your mouth is hers. But it is only fairthat you should look also like that fine father of yours whom yourmother brought to see me eighteen years ago. It was twenty years agothat Mary Webster left St. Helen's the sadder for her leaving; and nowthe same St. Helen's is gladder for her coming again in her littledaughter. Oh, my dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!"
With that her blue eyes quite brimmed over with tears, and she heldVirginia close a moment and kissed her.
A lump rose in Virginia's throat and she could not speak. The dearmemory of her mother, and more than all else, the genuine praise andappreciation of her father, the first she had heard since she cameEast, with the exception of Aunt Nan's compliment, quite overcame her.Tears filled her eyes, and her chin quivered, when she tried to thankMiss King. But the dear lady understood, and, still holdi
ng her hand,turned to talk with Mary until Virginia should be herself again.
"And, now," she said gayly, a few moments later, "you're both to havetea with me, for I've told Miss Weston I'm not to be interrupted onany condition. We don't have girls from Wyoming every day, do we,Mary? You like my room, Virginia?" For Virginia's eyes were wanderingabout the room, charmed with everything.
"I just love it, Miss King," she said, in her natural, unaffected way."It makes me think of a sunny autumn afternoon at home. The walls arejust the color of our brown foot-hills, and the yellow curtainsagainst them are like the sunlight on the hills. And I love themarigolds on the table, I always have them in mother's garden at home.She loved them so."
"I'm so glad it seems like that to you," Miss King told her, "becauseit always makes me think of October, my favorite month." And shelooked about contentedly at the soft brown walls, the pale yellow silkcurtains, the darker furniture, and the bowl of yellow and brownmarigolds which saw their reflection in the polished table. Thepictures were largely soft landscapes in sepia, Corot's and Millet's;but here and there was hung a water color in a sunny, golden frame.
"I wanted a restful room with soft colors, and soothing pictures--notprofound, energy-inspiring ones--for in this room I rest and read andtalk with my girls. And some way it satisfies me--the way I havefurnished and arranged it. Now, Virginia, I want to know about thatwonderful country of yours. You must tell us while we drink our tea."
Then followed one of the most memorable hours of Virginia's schoollife. Years afterward the remembrance of it was to stay with her--asweet and helpful influence. They sat in the brown and gold room,which the sun setting made more golden, and talked of school plans, ofthe new girls, of the summer just passed, and most of all ofVirginia's country, which neither Miss King nor Mary had seen. Thesubjects of their conversation were simple enough, but in some way thegray-haired woman by the window made everything said doubly memorableand precious; and when they left, as the school clock was strikingfive, they felt, as many before them had felt, strangely helped andstrengthened.
"Isn't she wonderful?" breathed Virginia, as they went down the stepstogether.
"Yes, she is," Mary said thoughtfully. "And after I've been with her Iwonder what it is about her that helps one so. She doesn't say verymuch--she always makes you talk; but there's just something beautifulabout her that you always feel. I guess that's why St. Helen's is sucha fine school."
They took the long way around the campus so that Virginia might seethe buildings. In addition to the large main one, there were twoothers, also of gray stone--one for recitations and the othercontaining the laboratories and Domestic Science rooms. There wasalso, Mary told her, in the pine woods below the hill, a little graystone chapel, called St. Helen's Retreat, where they held their vesperservices, and where the girls were free to go when they wished. It wasthe quietest, dearest place, Mary said. She did not see how she hadhappened to forget to show Virginia the woodsy path that led to it, asthey came up the driveway. The cottages for the girls were scatteredabout the campus. There were six of them,--King Cottage, West,Overlook, Hathaway, Willow, and The Hermitage. Each accommodatedfifteen girls, with the exception of The Hermitage, which was smallerthan the others and held but nine. Miss King did not like dormitories,Mary explained, as they went along. She thought they lacked a homefeeling, and so St. Helen's had never built dormitories for its girls.Moreover, in spite of many requests, Miss King limited her number ofgirls to eighty-five--a large enough family, she said, since she wishedto know each member of it. The cottages did look homelike certainly,Virginia thought, with their wide porches, well-kept lawns, shrubs,and garden flowers. The Hermitage was the tiniest of them all, andstood quite apart from the others behind a clump of fir trees, throughwhich a gravel path led to the cottage itself.
"Really, The Hermitage isn't a very appropriate name for a house fullof girls," Mary said, as they drew nearer the little cottage; "but oneof the older graduates gave the money for it and asked the privilegeof naming it herself. So she selected that name on account of thelocation, forgetting that girls aren't a bit like hermits."
Virginia thought the name and location alike lovely; and as theypassed through the fir trees and reached the porch which surroundedthe house, her satisfaction was complete. Inside, The Hermitage wasquite as attractive as its brown-shingled exterior. On the first floorwere the living-room, with a wide stone fire-place and book-linedwalls, the sunny, homelike dining-room, and the rooms of the twoteachers. Up-stairs were the four rooms of the girls, each large andsunny, and opening upon a porch, and away up on the third floor wasone large room, which was this year to be occupied by the mysteriousKatrina Van Rensaelar.
All was hurry and bustle on the second floor of The Hermitage as Maryand Virginia went up the stairs. Five girls were frantically andunsystematically unpacking--pausing every other minute to go the roundsfor the sake of exhibiting some new possession acquired during thesummer. Two of the girls Virginia had not seen, and her new room-matepromptly introduced them.
"These are our next door neighbors, Virginia," she said, "ImogeneMeredith and Vivian Winters. And this is Virginia Hunter from the BigHorn Mountains in Wyoming."
"Indeed?" remarked the one called Imogene, raising her eyebrows andextending a rather languid hand. "Quite off the map, n'est-ce pas?"and she laughed.
She was tall with dark, extremely-dressed hair, and eyes that did notmeet your own. Her dress was of the latest fashion, and she woreseveral pieces of expensive jewelry. Virginia was embarrassed by hereasy, uninterested manner, and her strange laugh. Vivian Winters sheliked better. Vivian was short with a sweet, childish face, andwistful blue eyes. She, too, was dressed far too lavishly for school,Virginia felt, but she liked her all the same, and did not feel at allembarrassed in replying to her pleasant little welcome. As she lookedat them, she recalled the conversation she had heard between Priscillaand Dorothy in the train, and she thought she understood Priscilla'sfeeling toward Imogene. But, perhaps, they were both mistaken, and shewouldn't begin by being prejudiced. Just then Dorothy called Imogeneto her room at the other end of the hall, and Priscilla took Virginiato their own room.
"There's a huge box here for you," she said, as they went down thehall. "It nearly fills the room."
"Oh, it's my saddle here already!" cried Virginia. "It is a huge box,isn't it?"
"Your--what?" asked the amazed Priscilla, and listened open-mouthedwhile Virginia explained, and told her about Jim and the others. Sointerested did she become that before they realized it, thesupper-bell had rung, and found them sitting side by side on the bigbox, friends already.
"I never heard anything so interesting in all my life," exclaimedPriscilla, as they searched for hairbrushes and towels among theirconfused luggage. "And will you really teach me to ride?"
"Why, of course, I will. You'll love it! Oh, I'm sorry to be late thevery first night!"
"That's the best time of all, because they expect it then. Besides,Miss Green's dining out, and Miss Wallace--you'll love her!--took LucileDu Bose to town to see the oculist. Mary's in charge tonight, andshe'll excuse us."
"Is Mary part teacher?" Virginia asked, puzzled.
No, not that exactly, Priscilla explained; but each year the girls ofthe different cottages elected one of their number who would be aSenior the next year to be a kind of cottage monitor, to take chargeof the table and study hours when the teachers were out.
It was an honor to be elected, because it meant that the girlsconsidered you trustworthy; and every one at St. Helen's knew andtrusted Mary Williams.
Virginia admired Mary more than ever. It must be wonderful, shethought as she tied her hair-ribbon and searched for a cleanhandkerchief, to be trusted by every one in school. Could they saythat of her when she became a Senior?
"What are you, Priscilla?" she asked as they went down-stairs.
"I'm a Junior," said Priscilla, "and so are Dorothy and Imogene. Anneis a Senior like Mary. Vivian's a Sophomore, and Lucile Du Bo
se, too,they say. As for Miss Van Rensaelar, no one knows. Maybe she's apost-grad. She sounds very grand."
That evening they finished unpacking, and by nine o'clock their roomwas quite settled. The Navajo rugs were on the floor--the envy of thehouse. The saddle-box they had covered, and with pillows it made quitea picturesque divan. Of course, the effect was lessened in the mind ofany one who might attempt to sink down upon it, but it looked well,and there were chairs enough without it. Each cot was covered withafghan and pillows. Even the pictures were hung, and their fewtreasured books, of which Virginia discovered to her joy Priscilla wasas fond as she, were placed in the little wall book-case fromVirginia's room at home. Altogether the big room had a cheery,homelike atmosphere, and they both felt very happy.
Before going to bed they visited their neighbors. Mary and Anne's roomthey found not unlike their own, only there were even more booksabout, and an adorable tea-table with brass kettle and little alcohollamp, for Seniors were allowed to serve tea on Saturday afternoons.Dorothy's room was in a sad state of upheaval, the Navajo rug,carefully spread on the floor, being the only sign of an attempt atsettlement. Dorothy herself was curled up on the couch, deep in amagazine. Her room-mate had not returned she said, so why arrangethings? Their ideas might not harmonize.
The room opposite their own, occupied by Imogene and Vivian, wassettled in a most unsettled manner. Virginia thought as she enteredthat never in her life had she seen so many things in one room. Oneentire wall was festooned with a dreaded fish-net, in which werecaught literally hundreds of relatives, friends, and acquaintances;the other walls were covered with pennants. The couches were so piledwith pillows that one could not find room to sit down; the dresserswere loaded with costly silver toilet articles, and more friends insilver frames; even the curtains were heavy with souvenirs, which werepinned to them. There were no books, except a few school-books, tuckedunder the desk, and no pictures, save highly decorated posters, wedgedamong the pennants, where a few inches of bare space had not beenallowed to remain uncovered. It all gave Virginia a kind of stifledsensation, and she was glad to return to their own room when thenine-thirty bell had rung.
It was strange to crawl into her cot-bed opposite Priscilla; strangeto talk in whispers for a few moments, and then to say "Good-night."For a few more moments she wondered with a wave of homesickness, morefor her father than for herself, what they were all doing at home.Were they sleeping while the mountains kept their silent night watch?No, that could not be, for the time was different. Colonel Standishhad explained that to her on the journey East. Dear Colonel Standish!What was that difference? Was it two hours earlier at Hillcrest? Thenit would be only eight o'clock at home. Or was it--? But her tiredhead, so weary from the day's excitement, refused to reckondifferences in time, and Virginia fell asleep.