Polly's First Year at Boarding School

  CHAPTER X

  THE VALENTINE PARTY

  On the twelfth of February, Mrs. Baird announced after school, thatthere would be a masquerade party on Valentine's Day.

  "Last year, the old girls will remember, that we had a book party, andit was great fun," she said, "but this year, I have thought of somethingentirely new. I want you all to dress as famous women in history. Choosethe particular heroine you admire most, find a picture of her in thelibrary, and try to copy it. The attic will be open this afternoon andyou may take what you want from the costume trunks. The Seniors have theaffair in charge and they are offering a prize for the bestrepresentation." The girls clapped their appreciation of this novel ideaand Mrs. Baird continued:

  "Don't all come as Queen Elizabeths, and Betsy Rosses, find some one notso well known, and whom you really admire. There will be lots ofvisitors on the platform and I want you all to look your best."

  "Jemima," Betty gasped, when they had been dismissed and she, Lois andPolly were in the latter's room. "Who under the sun can we go as?"

  "It is hard, isn't it?" Lois said, "but you had a splendid costume lastyear; didn't you go as the Last of the Mohicans?"

  "Yes, I have my Indian suit."

  "Why don't you go as Pocahontas?" Polly suggested. "Your hair isn'tblack, but it would look great in two heavy braids."

  "That's just what I'll do. I'll go grab that suit before any of theothers get it." And Betty dashed for the attic.

  Lois jumped as the door slammed. "Isn't that just like Bet, she ought togo as a little whirlwind. Poll, what can we go as?"

  "I don't know, let's ask Miss Porter."

  "Do you suppose we can find her?"

  "Yes, she's probably in her room."

  They walked down Faculty Corridor, and tapped gently at the last door onthe left.

  "Come in," called a voice, not Miss Porter's.

  They entered, to find Miss King, the trained nurse, sitting on thewindow box, a bunch of artificial flowers in one hand, and a ratherbattered velvet hat in the other.

  "Is Miss Porter here?" Lois asked.

  "Yes, just a minute," Miss Porter was struggling in the depths of hercloset. "I'll be with you in a second; sit down."

  "What is it, costumes?" Miss King asked, when they were seated on thecouch.

  "Yes, we thought Miss Porter would help us decide what to wear," Pollyexplained.

  "I'm here about costumes, too, but it's hardly the same. I'm begging. Ifound that poor little wretch Martha, who works in the laundry, outyesterday without a hat. I told her she'd catch her death of cold and togo put one on right away. She said she couldn't because she didn't haveany."

  "Oh, the poor kid," Polly's sympathy was genuine.

  "I've a tam I could give her to wear every day," she said shyly, "if youthink--"

  "Think, I know she'd love it. I'll come to your room and get it afteryou've had your talk with Miss Porter. Thank you. I was trying to rig upsomething out of these," she shook the flowers and hat, "but a tam willsave the day."

  While this conversation was going on, Lois had been explaining theirdifficulty to Miss Porter.

  "'Women in History.' That ought to be easy." Miss Porter thought for aminute. "Mrs. Baird really wants you to go as your favorite characters?Lois, who is your favorite heroine?"

  "Jeanne d'Arc, the martyred Maid of Orleans," Lois replied dramatically."Do you think I might go as Jeanne d'Arc?" she asked eagerly.

  "I like that," Polly interrupted. "I thought at the Hallow-e'en party Iwas to be a Jeanne d'Arc. Oh, well, I give up my rights for this once;besides," she added seriously, "I don't really love her the way you do."

  "Won't armor be hard to imitate?" Miss King asked.

  Miss Porter walked over beside the window and took down a framed picturefrom the wall. She held it behind her back.

  "Armor won't be necessary," she said. "Lois, have you ever seen theJeanne d'Arc painting by Jules Bastien-Lepage, at the MetropolitanMuseum in New York City?"

  "Oh, yes, of course, I saw it this vacation. She's standing in thewoods, just in peasant clothes. I love it. She looks as if she wereseeing visions. You remember it, Poll?" Lois was all excitement.

  "Here's a copy of it," Miss Porter said, producing the picture. "AndLois, I declare you look like her. There, you may keep this print torefer to, it ought to be very easy to find a peasant's costume. NowPolly, who's your favorite heroine?"

  Polly rumpled her hair, hesitated, and rumpled her hair again.

  "She's not very well known, at least, I never heard any one talk abouther," she answered, "but I think she's the bravest woman that everlived. We had a book about her at home, that I used to read and re-readon rainy days."

  "Well, what's her name?" Lois demanded impatiently.

  "Florence Nightingale, the Angel of the Crimea," Polly said, verysolemnly.

  "Oh, Polly, do you love her, too?" Miss King's eyes were shining. "So doI."

  "You couldn't choose a better woman to portray, dear child," Miss Porterspoke up. "You'll find the Seniors know all about her. They are studyingabout the Crimean War this winter."

  "Please tell me who she was, I never even heard of her," said Loisapologetically.

  Miss King began: "She was an Englishwoman, the first one to go out as anurse for the soldiers. She thought that if they fought for theircountry, the least their country could do for them was to give themproper care when they were wounded. At first the generals resented herinterfering and thought she was fussy because she wanted clean hospitalsand clean food--"

  "But the soldiers adored her," Polly interrupted, and then carried awayby the theme, she continued. "She always walked through the longhospital wards every night and they used to turn and kiss her shadow onthe wall as she passed, and they named her the Angel of the Crimea. Oh,she was so brave. All the hardships she went through, cold and hunger."Polly stopped speaking, but her thoughts went back to the stirringscenes she had read about and thrilled over so often in a certain littlewindow seat off the broad stairway in her old home.

  Miss King's voice recalled her, "I can give you a costume, one of my'kerchiefs will do, and I know how to make a Nightingale cap. We'll partyour hair in the middle and fix it low on your neck and--"

  They took the rest of the afternoon to discuss the plans. It was notuntil the dressing hour that Polly and Lois saw Betty again. She hadapparently found her costume without any trouble, for she had beenskating all afternoon.

  "The ice was bully," she greeted them. "Where have you been all thistime?"

  "With Miss Porter; did you find your costume?" Polly answered.

  "Yes, first thing. Have you decided what you're going as?"

  "Yes, but we're not telling," Lois teased. "We thought out peachy ones."

  "Ah, please."

  "No, never."

  "Do you know what any of the others are going as?"

  The conversation was being shouted from room to room.

  "No, do you?"

  "Connie is going as Lady Macbeth."

  "What, why she's not historical, she's Shakespearean," Polly protested.

  "Connie insists she was a real woman, and that Shakespeare knew allabout her. Anyway, she says she's going to walk in her sleep and say:'Out, damned spot.'"

  "Are you really, Con?" Lois raised her voice so that it could be heardat the other end of the corridor.

  "Am I really what?" came Connie's reply.

  "Going as Lady Macbeth at the party?"

  "Of course I am. She was a real person."

  "Well, she wasn't very well known," Angela added her voice to theothers.

  "Maybe not, to the uneducated," Connie said loftily, "but she will beafter the party."

  There was a minute of hilarious laughter, that ended as the study hourbell rang for silence.

  After dinner, Lois and Polly, their weighty problem of costumes offtheir minds, were talking of valentines.

  "If we could only think of something different, there are no really goodones at t
he store," Lois said, rummaging in the closet for the peanutbutter jar.

  "I know it. I bought some but they are no good. How do you send them,through the mails?" Polly asked.

  "No, the Seniors make a big red box and put it in the Assembly Roomvalentine morning, and everybody puts their letters in it. The box isopened at the party and the valentines are given out."

  "How would it be to make some red cardboard hearts and write verses onthem?"

  "Make them up, do you mean?"

  "Yes, about the girls."

  "Fine, let's try--but first let's get comfy."

  Lois' definition of comfy was to sit tailor fashion on a bed surroundedby pillows, with jam, crackers and other eatables near at hand.

  Polly preferred the window seat, it was broad and cozy, and you couldalways look out of the window when you wanted inspiration.

  "All ready," Lois said, sitting down. "Give me a pencil. Now, whofirst?"

  "You take Bet, and I'll take Connie," Polly said.

  They both wrote for a minute, and then Lois read:

  "Oh, Betty Thompson, Betty B., When you get this please think of me

  No, that's no good."

  "It is good," Polly protested feebly, "but it's not especiallyoriginal."

  "That's awful," Lois insisted, drawing a heavy line through the words.

  "What's yours to Connie?"

  "To Connie, our musician, a valentine we send, We hope that when she gets this she will her manners mend."

  "That rimes," Lois said reluctantly. "But there's nothing the matterwith Con's manners, so it doesn't make sense."

  "That's just it," Polly agreed hopelessly. "We can't write sense thatrimes, because we're not poets."

  "Betty can, let's get her to help. You go, I'm so comfy."

  "All right, lazy one, don't eat all the jam before I get back," andPolly left, to return in a few minutes with Betty.

  "Original valentines, that's a bully idea," she said when the plan hadbeen explained to her. "Let's start with Connie."

  Polly and Lois agreed. They did not think it necessary to say that theyhad already started with Connie.

  "Four lines are enough, let's see, what rimes with valentine? Columbine,turpentine--aha! I've got it." Betty scribbled furiously. "How's this?

  "Just to tell you, Connie, That a drop of turpentine, Will take the blood stain off your hand, We send this valentine."

  "Oh, Bet, that's great. How did you ever think of it?" Polly was filledwith admiration.

  "Oh, genius is burning tonight, that's all," Betty laughed. "Now let'sthink of one for Angela."

  "Something about Latin for her, don't you think?" Polly said.

  The suggestion was enough for Betty. "Fine, dine, pine," she chanted."Listen:

  "Angela, so fair and wise, Oh hear us sadly pine, We've tried, but couldn't find you A Latin valentine."

  Lois and Polly looked at each other in speechless wonder, and Betty, nowthoroughly started, wrote absurd jingles to all the girls. She reachedthe height of her achievement in Louise Preston.

  "Read it again, Bet, it's the best of all," Polly said, delighted. AndLois spread a cracker inches thick with jam, and presented it--

  "To the Poet," she said. "I haven't a laurel wreath so this will have todo."

  "You can't eat it until you've read the poem again," Polly insisted.

  "Oh, all right." Betty consulted her pad.

  "Some people sigh, and wish for the day, When work is all gone, and there's only play. But if the world were black as ink, We wouldn't care at all If Lois were always captain And our hearts her basket ball."

  "I don't think much of it, the meter changes," Betty said critically.

  "That's all right, as long as it doesn't change in the same verse,"Polly replied. "I think it's great. Who next?"

  "Oh, no more tonight," Betty groaned, "give me my cracker. I'm starved."

  "No time, there goes the silence bell." Lois laughed.

  "No time? Just watch me," and Betty put the whole cracker in her mouthat once, and left for her own room.

  "Good-night," Polly and Lois called after her, but she could only nod inresponse.

  The party was at its height. Every age and every country was representedin the costumes. Betsy Rosses, Grace Darlings and Pocahontases aboundedamong the younger children. And there was every known character fromAgrippa of Roman fame, to Queen Victoria, among the upper school. Highruffs danced with 'kerchiefs, and French heels, with sandals. In fact,every one had taken so much interest in their costume that the Seniorsand faculty, who were acting as judges, were hard put to find any oneparticular girl who outshone the rest.

  Lois and Betty had drifted off to a corner of the room, during therefreshments. They made a curious picture against the boughs of greenthat decked the walls. Betty was a stolid Indian maid, from the beadedmoccasins to her parted hair, her face was smeared with grease paint,and she had tribal marks all over her forehead and cheeks. Polly lookedvery efficient in her immaculate nurse's costume, her hair was partedseverely, and she had on a soft white winged cap. Over her uniform shewore a long gray cape. No one had been able to name her, and after theguessing was over she spent her time in explaining, and exaltingFlorence Nightingale.

  As for Lois, Miss Porter was right when she said that she looked likeBastien-Lepage's picture of Jeanne d'Arc, and certainly rags became her.She had found a bodice, that laced over a white blouse, and an oldpatched skirt. Miss Porter had fixed her hair in a soft careless knot,and as she stood beside Polly and Betty, a little tired from theexcitement of the evening, there was a far away, dreamy look in her eyesthat bespoke the seeing of glorious visions.

  "Louise asked me if we sent her that valentine," Lois said, between sipsof lemonade.

  "Did you tell her we did?" Polly inquired.

  "Yes, I did, because she said it was the sweetest one she'd received,and I just had to let her know that Bet wrote it."

  Betty said: "Oh, shucks, why did you do that?" and changed the subjectby asking: "Who do you think will get the prize?"

  The answer was cut short as Angela, who was Catharine of Russia, andConnie joined them.

  "Well, Lady Macbeth," Polly greeted them, "have you established yourclaim to being a real historical character yet?"

  "I have, doubter," Connie answered haughtily. "There was a real LadyMacbeth, Mrs. Baird says so, and, 'sure she is an honorable man, woman,'I mean, 'Therefore, avaunt and quit my sight, let the earth hide thee,and thy base mockery.'"

  Angela put her hand over Connie's mouth. "Don't mind her, she's beentalking like this all evening," she said. "Did you get the packages thatwere in the express-room?"

  "Packages, no, where are they?" Polly demanded.

  "Why, I saw them before dinner, there were three, just alike, andaddressed to you and Lo, and Bet."

  "Let's get them this minute," Betty said, starting for the door. "Comeon with us."

  They threaded their way through the crowd of dancing girls, and racedfor the express-room.

  "I bet it's a joke," Lois said as she reached for the electric switch.

  But when the light was turned on, sure enough there were three packages,piled one on the other, on the table.

  "Open them quick," Connie commanded. "I am dying of curiosity."

  Off came the wrappers, and there was a shout of joy as threeheart-shaped boxes of candy appeared.

  "How wonderful!"

  "My favorite kind!"

  "What adorable boxes!"

  "They're painted on silk."

  "How sweet!"

  "Who could have sent them?" Lois asked.

  "Mr. Pendleton, perhaps," Betty suggested.

  "No, it's not Uncle Roddy's writing," Polly said; "besides, he sent me alittle gold heart, yesterday."

  "Open them, perhaps there's a card or something inside," Angelasuggested. This proved to be the case.

  Polly opened hers first, and the rest watched eagerly.


  "It just says: 'A friend of a very dear friend of yours,'" she read."Who can that be? Read yours, Lo."

  "Mine says: 'In remembrance of a charming evening.'"

  "Listen, I know," Betty exclaimed. "'From a devoted admirer, once mayorof a certain city.' Don't you see, it's Mr. Whittington, that friend ofyour uncle's, Polly."

  "Of course it is, and the very dear friend of mine is Uncle Roddy,"Polly exclaimed delightedly.

  "The charming evening must be the night we went to see 'Peter Pan,'"Lois said. "Wasn't it nice of him to remember it."

  "But why does he say 'once mayor of a certain city'?" Connie inquired,re-reading Betty's card.

  "Oh, that's because Bet nicknamed him Lord Mayor of London," Pollyexplained. "His name is really Dick Whittington."

  They each selected a candy, and munched in happy silence.

  "Lois Farwell, Lois Farwell. Oh, Lois," a voice called suddenly from thedepths of the hall. "Where are you?"

  "Here, in the express-room," Lois answered; "What is it?"

  Dot Mead poked her head in the doorway.

  "You're wanted upstairs, right away, hurry!"

  "Why?" chorused everybody.

  "Oh, never mind," Dot said, mysteriously, "only hurry."

  They were no sooner in the Assembly Hall again before Mrs. Baird tappedthe little desk bell for silence.

  "Girls, the Seniors have decided to award the prize of the evening toJeanne D'Arc, impersonated by Lois Farwell. Lois, will you come here,dear?"

  The girls made an opening through the center of the room. Lois, toomystified for words, walked slowly up to the platform. Mrs. Bairdpresented her with a tiny silver loving cup. "This gives me very greatpleasure, my dear," she said smiling, "because Jeanne D'Arc is one of myfavorite heroines, too."

  Lois tried to stammer her thanks. Just then Louise Preston steppedforward with a wreath of laurel. "Here's the crown that goes with it,Lo," she whispered. "Kneel down."

  Lois knelt on the lower step, and Louise placed the wreath on her head.

  "I crown you the most beautiful picture of the evening," she said. Andthe girls broke out in heartiest applause.

  "I knew it, I knew it," Miss Porter whispered to Miss King. "She'sexquisite. See how her eyes sparkle when she blushes. She's exactly thesensitive, delicate type, for a Jeanne D'Arc."

  "She is lovely," Miss King agreed, in her frank way. "But if I'd had theawarding of the prize, Polly would have had it. She's a splendid girl,she gave me a sweater, as well as a tam for Martha. I love that spirit."

  Lois went to bed, elated at her success, and the praise she hadreceived. She smiled delightedly at her reflection in the mirror.

  "I wonder," she mused, "if any one will ever tell Mother about this. Iwould like her to know but, of course, I can't myself."