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"Do you know, Miss Dum, you looked like Diana when youstood on that rock?"--_Page 230._]
AT BOARDING SCHOOL WITH THE TUCKER TWINS
By NELL SPEED
AUTHOR OF "THE MOLLY BROWN SERIES," ETC.
_WITH FOUR HALF-TONE ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR O. SCOTT_
NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, BY HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. LEAVING HOME 5 II. ENTER THE TUCKERS 23 III. GRESHAM 36 IV. MY ROOMMATES 48 V. LETTERS 60 VI. THE FOUNDLING 69 VII. KITTY'S FOSTER-FATHER 88 VIII. ABOUT MATHEMATICS AND ME 102 IX. FOOTBALL 110 X. BOYS 123 XI. LETTERS AND SEVERAL KINDS OF FATHERS 137 XII. ANNIE'S MOTHER 147 XIII. THE CONCERT 167 XIV. THE SPREAD 176 XV. HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS 191 XVI. A VISIT FROM THE TUCKERS 201 XVII. DEER HUNTING 210 XVIII. THE MIGHTY HUNTER 227 XIX. A VISIT TO RICHMOND 241 XX. DINNER AT COUSIN PARK'S 259 XXI. THE DESPERATION OF DUM 274 XXII. MORE LETTERS 294 XXIII. ZEBEDEE'S VISIT 300
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE "Do you know, Miss Dum, you looked like Diana when you stood on that rock?" _Frontispiece_
They made such a racket that a sad, crooked face was poked into the door 48
"From mother," exclaimed the girl, trembling with excitement 156
Dum looked at me aghast. "Page, you here, and Dee" 271
At Boarding School with the Tucker Twins.
CHAPTER I.
LEAVING HOME.
Leaving home to go to boarding school was bad enough, but leaving on adamp, cold morning before dawn seemed to be about the worst thing thatcould befall a girl of fifteen. I have noticed that whatever age youhappen to be seems to be the age in which hardships are the mostdifficult to bear.
Anyhow, there I was, only fifteen, facing the necessity of saying earlymorning farewells, the first one of all to my comfortable bed, where Ihad slept off and on, principally on, for those fifteen years. And now Iand my bed must part.
"Day done bus'ed, Miss Page. The doctor is stirrin' an' you'd betterrise an' shine," and kind old Mammy Susan leaned yearningly over me. "Ihate to wake up my lamb. I knowd dis day would come when dey'd take you'way from me, but I nebber did think 'twould be 'fo' dawn wif all delong day 'head er me to be studyin' 'bout you. What yo' mammy goin' terdo 'thout you, chile?"
"Well, Mammy, we'll have to grin and bear it. I'll be home Christmas,and that isn't so far off." I jumped out of bed and pulled my hat-tubinto the middle of the floor, ready for my daily cold sponge bath.Probably I had inherited the habit of the cold bath from my Englishgrandfather along with the big hat-tub.
"Law, chile, can't you leave off punishin' yo'self jes' dis onct? Youcan't be to say dirty, an' dis here water is pow'ful cold."
Mammy and I had had this discussion about my cold bath every morningsince I had been old enough to bathe myself. It was only after manybattles that she had stopped sneaking warm water into my big can. Thatmorning I let it pass, although the water was lukewarm.
"Y'ain't mad wif yo' ole Mammy, is yer, honey chile? Looks like I didn'thave de heart to plunge my baby lamb into sho'nuf cold water on sech adark chilly day, wif her a-leavin' an' all. 'Tain't ter say warm now. Ijes' tempered it a leetle."
"That's all right, Mammy. 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb' andyou, it seems, temper the water. They say there are lots of bathrooms atGresham, and I can have the water as deep and cold as I want it."
"Well, don't you go drown yo'self in any er dem new-fashioned plumbin'tubs, an' fer de lan's sake, Miss Page, don't you let yo'self be draweddown inter none er dem was'e pipes," and Mammy Susan hurried off tobring in the all too early breakfast.
I dressed in my usual haste, putting on my nice blue traveling suit,ordered by mail from New York. It was quite long, well down to my shoetops, and I felt very stylish and grown-up. I had never given anythought to my appearance, and no one else in my life seemed to haveexcept Cousin Sue Lee and Mammy. I don't know just what Cousin Suethought about me, but Mammy thought I was the most beautiful creaturein the world and freely told me so. That morning as I put on the littleblack velvet toque, also purchased by mail, I looked at myself verycritically in the mirror.
"Page Allison, are you pretty or not? I, for one, think not. You've gotfreckles on your nose and your mouth is simply huge. I'd like to saysomething about your eyes to take the conceit out of you, but they lookso like Father's that I'd feel just like I was sassing him if I did.Anyhow, I'm glad your hair curls."
I had intended to sentimentalize over leaving my room and going out intothe world, but I forgot all about it, and grabbing my ready-packedsuitcase, also a mail order, I raced downstairs as Mammy Susan rang thebreakfast bell.
Father was already in the dining-room, standing with his back to thelittle wood fire that Mammy had kindled to cheer us up with. Mammyalways seemed to feel that when we were in any distress she must warm usand feed us whether we were cold and hungry or not. That morning we wereneither, but we warmed by her fire and tried to choke down a great dealof her batter bread and roe herring to show her we appreciated herefforts.
Father looked up as I came in and for a moment regarded me in speechlessamazement.
"Why, honey, you almost took my breath away! You look so grown-up in thenew dress and hat. I didn't know you were so like your Mother, child,"and he drew me to him and kissed me.
Father and I were as a rule not very demonstrative, but I clung to himfor a moment and he held me close with his long, wiry arm.
"I wish I could take you to Gresham, honey, but old Mrs. Purdy is verylow and she expects me to be with her at the end."
"That's all right, Father, don't you worry. There are certain to beother girls on the train who are going to Gresham and I'll butt in onthem," I answered much more bravely than I felt. It did seem terriblylonely and forlorn to be going off and installing myself in boardingschool. "I think it's fine that you can drive me over to Milton and putme on the train. Last night when I heard such a knocking at the door Iwas afraid I wouldn't see you in the morning because you'd be off onsome life or death mission. What was the matter?"
"Oh, just Sally Winn's bread pills had given out and she was afraid shewould not last through the night without them." Father always took meinto his confidence about the bread pills he administered to thehypochondriacs.
"Do you know, Father, I believe if you charged midnight fees for thosebread-pill and pink-well-water prescriptions, that Sally Winn and somemore just like her would at least wait until morning to die."
"Oh, well, little daughter, Sally's got
lots of good in her, and tryingto die is the only excitement she has ever had in her whole life."
"Well, I won't begrudge it to her but I do hate to have your restbroken. Mammy," I said to Mammy Susan as she came in bearing a plate ofred-hot flannel cakes, "don't you let Father be too late getting intohis heavy underwear; and make a row every time he drives the colt untilhe will stop it from sheer weariness. And, Father, you make Mammy takeher tonic; and don't let her go out in the wet dew waddling aroundafter her ducks. She will catch her death."
"Susan, you hear Miss Page? Don't dare go in anything but dry dew. A fewinches on her skirt and her curls tucked up under her bonnet make herthink she's been taking care of us all these years instead of our takingcare of her."
"Law, ain't she the spit of her Ma, Doc Allison? 'Cep fer yo' eyes.Ain't quite so tall; but she's young yit in spite er sich a longtrailin' skirt. I's sorry to be de one to break de news, but de colt isout dere a-prancin' an' pawin', an' ef you's a-goin' you'd better go."
I had often pictured my going away and had always seen myself withdifficulty restraining my tears; but now the time had come and the coltwas cutting up, so I forgot to cry even when I told the dogs good-by;and just as I was giving Mammy Susan a last hug, and if tears were everto come they must hurry, Father called to me to jump in, for he couldn'thold the colt another minute. And in I was and away and not crying atall but laughing, as we turned around on one wheel and went skimmingdown the drive.
The sun was all the way up at last and it wasn't a cold, damp day atall, but promised to be fair and clear. We had a six-mile drive to thestation at Milton and the colt saw to it that we got there in plenty oftime.
"Now, Page, be certain when you make the change at Richmond, if you haveto ask any questions to ask them of a man in brass buttons."
"Yes, Father," and I smiled demurely, remembering how I always acted ascourier when we went on our trips. Father, being the most absent-mindedof men except where his profession was concerned, was not to be trustedwith a railroad ticket.
Moving away on the train at last and waving good-by to his long, sadface, made me realize that the knot was cut. What a good father he was!How had we ever been able to make up our minds to this boarding schoolscheme? Nothing but the certainty that my education was a very one-sidedaffair and that I must broaden out a bit had determined Father; and asfor me, I longed to know some girls.
I, who yearned for friends, was growing up without any. Fifteen yearsold and I had never had a real chum! I couldn't remember my mother, butI am sure she would have been my chum if she had lived. Mammy Susan didher best and so did Father, but a little girl wants another little girl.We had neighbors in plenty, but our county seemed to be composed of oldmaids and childless widows with a sparse sprinkling of gray-bearded men.
My mother's people were English and she had no relatives on this side ofthe water. Father belonged to a huge family, all of them great visitors,but so far as I knew, no children among them. All kinds of old maids:rich and poor, gentle and stern, soft and hard, big and little, they allmanaged once a year to pay their dear cousin, Dr. Allison, a visit atBracken. I did not mind their coming. The soft ones seemed to have beenlittle girls once, which was something. I used to think when I was quitea little thing that the hard ones must have been little boys, becauseof the statement in my Mother Goose that little boys were made of "Snapsand snails and puppy dog tails,"--not nice soft collie pups' tails,either, but the tight, hard kind that grew on Cousin Park Garnett's pug.
Cousin Park Garnett was the rich, hard one whom I visited in Richmondthe winter before. On her annual visitation to us she had remarked to myfather:
"Cousin James, are Page's teeth sound? White teeth like that are, as arule, not very strong. Her mouth is so enormous you had better look toit that her teeth are preserved," and she pursed up her own thin lipsand put on her green persimmon expression.
"Perfectly sound, I think, Cousin Park. Of course her teeth must bepreserved. As for her mouth being big, she'll grow up to it." But theoutcome of the conversation was that I had to visit Cousin Park and takein the dentist. Think of the combination! Cousin Park took me to theWoman's Club in the afternoon where we listened to a lecture on "TheInfluence of Slavic Literature on the Culture of the Day." I waslonging for the movies but managed to keep my big mouth shut and listento the lecture, so I could tell Father about it and make him laugh. Istayed in Richmond three days and did not speak to one single soul underfifty. Even the dentist was old and tottering, so shaky that I wasafraid he would fall into my mouth.
I saw loads of nice girls my own age skating on the sidewalk or walkingarm-in-arm chattering away very happily, but Cousin Park didn't know whothey were or did know and knew nothing to their credit. I was glad toget back to Bracken where there were no girls to know. There were atleast the dogs at Bracken that I could talk to and race over the hillswith. Even Cousin Park could not doubt their royal pedigrees.
It was dear little Cousin Sue Lee who persuaded Father and me both thatI ought to go to boarding school. Cousin Sue was the best of allFather's female relatives. She was gentle and poor and had a job in theCongressional Library in Washington. With all her gentleness, she wassprightly and had plenty of what Father called "Lee spunk"; and withall her poverty, she wore the sweetest clothes and always brought me alovely present every year and a nice shawl for Mammy or a black silkwaist or something or other to delight the old woman's heart. CousinPark never gave me anything,--not that I wanted her to. She would visitus two weeks and then present Mammy with a dime, using all the pomp andceremony that a twenty-dollar gold piece would have warranted.
"Jimmy," Cousin Sue had said one day (she was the only one of all thecousins who called Father Jimmy), "I know you and Page will think I aman interfering old cat, but that child ought to go to school. I am notgoing to say a word about her education. She has an excellent educationin some things. I have never seen a better read girl of her age. But thetime may come when she will regret knowing no French, and she tells meshe stopped arithmetic last year and never started algebra."
"Well, what good did algebra ever do you or me?" quizzed Father.
"Now, Jimmy, don't ask such foolish questions. It's just something allof us have to have. What good does your cravat do you? None; it's noteven a thing of beauty, but you have to have one all the same."
"Oh, you women," laughed Father, "there's no downing you with argument."
"But as I was saying," continued Cousin Sue, "it is not dear littlePage's education I am thinking of. It's something much more important. Iwant her to know a whole lot of girls and make a million friends. Why,I'm the only young friend the child has, and I am getting to be nearerfifty than forty."
And so we wrote for catalogues of schools and settled on Gresham. AndCousin Sue sent for a bolt of nainsook and yards and yards of lace andinsertion and made up a whole lot of pretty underclothes for me.
"Girls need a lot of things in this day and generation," I heard her sayto Father. "A great deal more than they used to when I was young. I amdetermined Page shall not go off to school looking like an 'OrphanAnnie.'"
"But, Sue, your holiday won't do you any good if you spend it allsewing on the machine for my child," objected Father.
"We'll get in Miss Pinky Davis to help and in a week's time Page willhave enough clothes to last her until she gets married,--that is, if shedoes not follow the traditions of the family and be an old maid."
It was a pretty well known fact that Cousin Sue had been a belle in herday, and even now when she came back to visit in the County severalweather-beaten bachelor farmers would manage to have business atBracken. I have always noticed that an old maid who is so from choicedoes not mind joking about it, but the others do.
A country doctor is seldom a bloated bond-holder; so Cousin Sue and Iordered, with great care and economy, the necessary things from NewYork: suit, hat, gloves, shoes, up-to-date shirt waists and plenty ofmiddies, a raincoat, umbrella, etc.
"Now, my dear," said my sweet co
usin, "you can be perfectly sure thatyour outfit is appropriate at least. Your clothes are stylish,well-made and suitable to your age. I have always felt that youngpeople's clothes should be so right that they do not have to think aboutthem."
As I sped away on the train to Richmond, I remembered what Cousin Suehad said before she went back to the grind in Washington, and had afeeling of intense satisfaction that my little trunk in the baggage carheld such a complete wardrobe that I would not have to bother my headabout it any more. Up to this summer, clothes had been my abomination,but I had at last waked up to the fact that it made some difference howI looked; and now I was going to look all right without any trouble tomyself.
Train pulling into Richmond and still not a tear! "What is the matterwith you, Page Allison? When girls leave their childhood's home in booksthey always weep suds. Don't you love your home as much as a stick of aheroine in a book?" I knew I loved my home, but somehow it was sodelightful to be going somewhere and maybe getting to know a millionpeople, as Cousin Sue said I must.
An hour's wait in Richmond! I rechecked my trunk, having purchased aticket to Gresham; then I seated myself to possess my soul in patienceuntil the 10.20 train should be called. The station in Richmond wasfamiliar enough to me, as Father and I took some kind of a trip everyyear and always had to come through Richmond. As I have said before, Iattended to tickets and baggage when I traveled with Father, so I wasnot in the least nervous over doing it now.
"I must keep my eye open for girls who are likely to be going toGresham," I thought. "They'll all have on dark blue suits." That was arule of the school, the dark blue suit. "There's one now! But can she begoing?" And I thought of what Cousin Sue had said of "Orphan Annie."
The girl was seated opposite me in the waiting room. She had just comeup the steps lugging a huge telescope, stretched to its greatestcapacity, and looking nervously around had sunk on a bench. She searchedfeverishly through a shabby little hand-bag she was carrying and havingsatisfied herself that the ticket she had just purchased was safe sheseemed to be trying to compose herself; but one could see with half aneye that she was nervous and frightened. She glanced uneasily at theclock every few minutes and constantly compared with it an Ingersollwatch which each time she had to search for in her bag. Several trainswere called and every time she got up and made a rush for the gates, buteach time came back to her seat opposite me.
Her blue dress was evidently homemade. The skirt dragged in the back andthe jacket was too short for the prevailing fashion. Her hat had beenworn as mourning and still had a little fold of crepe around the edge,making a suitable setting for that tear-stained face. I couldn't tellwhether she was pretty or not, her features were so swollen withweeping. Helen of Troy herself looked homely crying, I am sure. Inoticed that her throat was milk white and that the thick plait of hairthat hung down her back, mercifully concealing somewhat the crookedseams of the ill-made jacket, was as yellow as ripe wheat.
"Poor thing," I thought, "I believe I'll speak to her and see if I cancheer her up some." But my philanthropic resolution was forgottenbecause of the entrance into the waiting room and into my life, I amglad to add, of the three most delightful and original persons I haveever seen or known.