“WHO IS SHE, ANYWAY?”
The curfew bell sent the younger girls to their rooms a few moments later; but Cora Rathmore went to bed without speaking to her roommate. And Nancy felt too unhappy herself to try to overcome the other girl’s reticence.
The girl from Higbee School had had so many adventures that day that she could not at once go to sleep. She lay awake a long time after Cora’s heavy and regular breathing assured her that her companion in Number 30 was in the land of dreams.
She heard the gong at ten which demanded silence and “lights out” of the girls on the upper dormitory floors. Then a list-slippered teacher went through the corridor. After that she went to sleep.
But her own dreams were not very restful. She was hiding something all night long from some creature that had a hundred eyes!
In the morning, when she awoke, she knew that what she had been trying to hide—what she must hide, indeed—was the knowledge that she was “Miss Nobody” from all these eager, inquisitive, perhaps heartless girls.
Nancy had been in the habit of rising early, and she was up and dressed before rising bell at seven. When Cora rolled over sleepily and blinked about the sun-flooded room, she saw Nancy tying her hair-ribbon, being otherwise completely dressed, and she whined:
“Well! I sha’n’t like you, Miss. I can see that, plainly. You don’t know enough to lie abed and let a fellow sleep.”
“I am sure I did not wake you,” replied Nancy, composedly. “It was the gong.”
“Bah!” grumbled Cora, crawling out of bed.
Nancy had read over the rules again and she knew that from rising bell until breakfast at half-past seven she was free to do as she chose. So, not caring to listen to her roommate’s ill-natured remarks, she slipped out and found her way downstairs and out of the building.
It was a clear, warm September morning. The leaves on the distant maples had only just begun to turn. The lawns before Pinewood Hall were beautiful. Behind and on both sides of the great main building was the grove of huge pine trees that gave the place its name.
Beautifully smooth, pebbled paths led through this grove in several directions. Nancy chanced upon one that led to the gymnasium and swimming pool. There were tennis and basketball courts, and other means of athletic enjoyment.
Down the easy slope, from the top of the knoll where the gym. stood, flowed the wide, quiet Clinton River, with a pennant snapping in the morning breeze on the staff a-top the school boathouse.
“Oh, this is the most beautiful place!” thought Nancy. “What a perfectly lovely time I should have here if only the girls liked me. I must make them like me. That’s what I’ve got to do.”
She saw only two or three other girls about the grounds, and those at a distance. As she ran back to the main building, however, that structure began to hum with life. More than anything else did Pinewood Hall remind Nancy of a great beehive.
Many of the bedroom windows were wide open now; the more or less tousled heads of girls in all stages of dressing appeared, and disappeared again, at these windows. They called back and forth to each other; laughter rang happily from many of the dormitories; the waking life of the great school seemed, to the lonely girl, very charming indeed.
Why, among all these girls there must be some who would be friendly! This thought helped Nancy a great deal. She entered the building and joined the beginning of the line at the breakfast-room door, much encouraged.
“Look at these hungry young ones,” exclaimed Corinne Pevay, coming down the broad stair from the West Side, like a queen descending to give audience to her subjects.
“Morning, Corinne! Morning, Miss Pevay!” were the cries of greeting.
“‘Good morning, little myrtle-blossoms! Let me tell you mommer’s plan!’” sing-songed the older girl. “‘Do some good to all the folkses’—Hullo, Carrie!”
“‘Good-morn-ing-Car-rie!’” sang the crowd of girls at the dining-room door as the captain of the East Side of the Hall appeared—Carrie Littlefield.
There was a burst of laughter, and Corinne held up her hand admonishingly.
“Not so much racket, children!” she said. “There! the gate is opened, and you can all go in to pasture. Little lambkins!”
Nancy was carried on by the line to the open door. The pleasant-faced woman who had stood in the doorway of the lodge the evening before, was here, and she tapped Nancy on the shoulder.
“Go to the lower tables, my dear. You are a new girl, and all your class will be down there. What is your name?”
“Nancy Nelson.”
“Yes, indeed. Your trunk and bag are here. Between eight and nine you may come to the trunk room in the basement and show me which of your possessions you wish carried to your room. Where is your room?”
“Number 30,” replied Nancy.
“East or West?”
“West, ma’am.”
“I am Jessie Pease,” said the good woman, smiling kindly on the orphan. “If you need anything, my dear, come to Jessie; she’s the big sister of all you girls,” and she patted Nancy on the head as the girl, her heart warmed suddenly, went to her place at the end of the room.
The girls of her class—the incoming class of new girls, or freshmen—took places at the table as they chose. There were no more than a score as yet. Some had already formed groups of acquaintanceship. Some few, like Nancy, were alone; but Nancy did not feel that she could force her company on any one of these other lonesome souls. She must wait for them to speak first to her.
The sophomores filled their tables nearby, chattering and laughing. They looked with much amusement at the freshmen, but some of the teachers were in the room now and the second-year girls thought it best not to “rig” their juniors openly.
Nancy, however, saw several of the girls who had ridden in the ’bus with her from the station the night before. Last to arrive in the soph. group was the fat girl—Belle Macdonald. She was a pretty girl, but she was yawning still and her hair had been given only “a lick and a promise,” while her frock was not neat.
In the middle of breakfast Carrie Littlefield, the captain of the East Side, walked slowly along the soph. tables and stopped behind Belle. Some of the girls began to giggle; the fat one looked a little scared, and for the moment seemed to lose a very hearty appetite.
Carrie wrote something on a pad, tore off the paper, and thrust it into Belle’s hand. Then she went along the row gravely, plainly eyeing those girls who belonged to her own half of the school.
“Nasty thing!” Nancy heard somebody whispering shrilly. “I bet she gave Belle all morning in her room—and lessons don’t begin until to-morrow.”
This was Cora Rathmore. Nancy’s roommate had come in at the very last minute and taken a seat not far from her. Cora, having been a month and a half at Pinewood in the spring, knew about the running of the school.
The two captains—“monitors” they might be called—made it one of their duties to see that the girls came to table in the morning in neat array. Later they took a trip through the rooms to see that beds were properly stripped, windows open for airing, nightclothes hung away, and everything neat and tidy.
Of course, the maids made beds, swept and dusted dormitories, and all that; but each girl was supposed to attend to her own personal belongings; slovenliness was frowned upon throughout the school.
Nancy learned much that first forenoon at Pinewood. She did not talk much with any of the girls—either of her own class or older. But she heard a good deal, and kept her eyes and ears open.
She remembered what the lodgekeeper’s wife had told her, and she found her way to Jessie Pease’s room in the basement. There was a crowd of girls there already. They were laughing, and joking, and teasing the good woman, who seemed, as she said, to be a “big sister” to them all. Nobody called her “Mrs. Pease;” she insisted upon their treating her as though she really were their older sister.
Yet there was a way with Jessie Pease that kept even the rudest girl within bounds. They did not seek to take advantage of her—at least, if any of them tried to do so, they did not succeed.
“Now, you know very well, Elsie Spear,” the good woman was saying, shaking her head, “that you cannot wear such things here at Pinewood. Your mother, I am sure, would not have allowed you to put a bun like that in your trunk had she known it!”
“Well, my hats won’t stay on without it,” complained Elsie. “And anyway, mother’s maid packed my trunk.”
“Your mother’s maid evidently does not know the rules of Pinewood Hall,” said Jessie Pease, severely. “If your hats do not stay on without all that fluff, I’ll find you a cap to wear,” and she laughed.
There were other contraband things, too. Each girl had to give up her keys and allow the woman to unpack her trunks. Such clothing and other possessions as were allowable, or necessary, were placed to one side for transportation to the owner’s dormitory.
Some girls had whole trays full of gay banners, pictures, photographs, and the other “litter” that delight the heart of a boarding-school miss when she can decorate her dressing-case and wall. Of course, the freshies only had their home pictures and little silver or glass keepsakes and toilet sets.
“Now, my plump little pigeon,” said Jessie Pease to Nancy, as she laid out the school dresses which Miss Prentice had bought for her with the money Mr. Gordon had supplied, “you seem nicely fixed for wearing apparel—and such plain, serviceable things, too. Not many of my girls come here so very sensibly supplied.
“And now, where are the pretty things—in your bag?”
“My old clothes are in the bag, please,” replied Nancy, bashfully.
“Oh! but where are the pictures of the folks at home? And the little knicknacks they gave you when you came away?” said Jessie Pease, her fair face all one big smile.
“There—there aren’t any folks, please,” stammered Nancy.
“What, dear?” gasped the woman, sitting straighter on her knees and staring at her.
“I am an orphan, and I have no friends, ma’am,” stammered Nancy, in so low a voice that nobody else could hear.
“You poor girl!” cried the woman, her smile fading, but love and welcome still shining in her big, brown eyes.
She stretched forth her arms and—somehow—Nancy found herself in the tight circle, with her head down in the curve of Jessie Pease’s motherly neck.
“How long ago did you lose them, dear?” asked the good woman.
“Oh, a very long, long time ago,” sobbed Nancy. “I was too little to remember—much.”
“And you’ve missed ’em ever since—you’ve just been honin’ for a mother, I know,” said the woman, crooningly, and patting Nancy’s shoulder.
“There, there, child! It’ll all be strange to you here for a while; but when you can’t stand it any more—when it does seem as though you’d got to be mothered—you come down to the lodge to Jessie Pease. Remember, now! You will surely come?”
“I will,” promised Nancy.
“Now wipe your eyes and laugh!” commanded Jessie Pease. “Why, Pinewood Hall is the finest place in the world for girls—especially for those that are like you. Here’s a great, big family of sisters and cousins ready waiting for you. Get acquainted!”
But that seemed easier said than done. Nancy was not by nature gloomy nor reticent; but it was unfortunate that she had been paired with Cora Rathmore.
From the very first day the black-eyed girl tried to make it as unpleasant as possible for Nancy. Cora had plenty of acquaintances. They were always running into the room. But Cora never introduced any to her roommate.
Cora was one of those girls who have many, many decorations for her room. Her dressing-case was stacked with photographs and all around and above it the wall was decorated with banners, and funny or pretty pictures, school pennants and the like.
On the other side of the room Nancy’s wall and bureau were bare of any adornment. Her toilet set had been selected by Miss Prentice and was more useful than decorative. Nothing Nancy wore was frivolous. The other girls therefore set her down as “odd.”
“Why, she hasn’t a single picture on her bureau,” said one girl who was visiting Cora. “Don’t you suppose she has any folks?”
“Maybe they’re so ugly they’re afraid of breaking the camera if they pose for a picture,” giggled another light-minded girl.
“Well,” drawled Belle Macdonald, who was one of Cora’s sophomore friends, “even an orphan usually has pictures of the folks she’s lost. And this Nelson girl hasn’t told anything about herself; has she?”
“She hasn’t told me, that’s sure,” snapped Cora. “She’s a nobody, I believe. I don’t believe she belongs in this school with decent girls.”
“Oh, Cora! what do you mean?” gasped one of her hearers.
“Well, Pinewood is supposed to be a school for well-connected girls. I know my mother would never have let me come had she supposed I was to be paired with a little Miss Nobody.”
“We ought to have our choice,” sighed another of the girls.
“And Grace and I were going to have such fun this half,” declared Cora.
One of the others giggled. “That’s why you weren’t allowed to be with Montgomery,” she remarked. “I heard Corinne talking about it.”
“Oh, that Canuck! I hate her,” said Cora, speaking thus disrespectfully about the West Side captain.
“Well, if any of us was in her place, I reckon we’d be strict, too. It means something to be captain of a side at Pinewood Hall,” said Belle, who, having been at the school longer than the others, had imbibed some of that loyalty which is bound to impregnate the atmosphere of a boarding school.
“A fine chance Montgomery, or Cora, would have to be captain,” giggled another.
“Yes! and who is going to be leader of the freshman class?” demanded Cora. “The big girls have got something to say about that, I suppose?”
“Some of the teachers will have,” laughed Belle. “You’ll find that out. Who are you rooting for, Cora?”
“Grace, of course! Why, her father’s a senator, and she’s got lots of money. She’s influential. She ought to be class president.”
“All right; but the election isn’t allowed until just before Christmas. It will be the most popular girl then, you’ll find. And she’ll have to be popular with the teachers as well as with you girls.”
This conversation in Number 30, West Side, occurred something like a fortnight after school had opened. The girls were all at work by that time—those who would work, at least.
Because she was so much alone, perhaps, Nancy Nelson’s record was all the better. But she did not sulk in her room.
Indeed, Cora had so much company—girls who usually ignored Nancy altogether—that the orphan was glad to get out when they appeared. And her refuge was the gym. There she became acquainted with the more athletic girls of the school.
They found—even the sophs and juniors—that Nancy could play tennis and other games. She swam like a fish, too, and was eager to learn to row. The captain of the crew, the coach of the basketball team, and others of the older girls, began to pay some attention to Nancy.
But with her own class she had not become popular. Nancy really had little more than a speaking acquaintance with any other freshman.
Not being included in the group of girls who so often came to see Cora Rathmore in Number 30, Nancy was debarred from other groups, too. Nobody came to see her in the room, and she was invited nowhere—perhaps because the other girls thought she must be “in” with the clique to which Cora belonged.
At the head of this party of freshmen was the very proud girl named Grace Montgomery, whom Cora indefatigably aped. Girls who were proud of their parents’ money, or who catered to such girls because they were so much better off than their mates, for the most part made up this clique.
There was not more than a score of them; but they clung together and were an influence in the class, although altogether there were nearly a hundred freshmen.
As the days went by the lessons became harder and the teachers more strict. Nancy found that it was very hard to be put out of her own room in study time because of the chattering of other girls, many of whom, it seemed, did not care how they stood in their classes.
“Really, I cannot hear myself think!” Nancy gasped one day when she had sat with her elbows on her desk, her hands clasped over her ears, trying to give all her attention to the text-book before her.
For half an hour there had been noise enough in Number 30 to drive a deaf and dumb person distracted.
“Well, if you don’t like it, you can get out!” snapped Cora, when Nancy complained. “You’re not wanted here, anyway.”
“But I have as much right here as you have—and a better right than your friends,” said Nancy, for once aroused.
“I don’t think a girl like you has any business in the school at all,” cried Cora, angrily. “Who knows anything about you? Goodness me! you’re a perfect Miss Nobody—I can’t find a living soul that knows anything about you. I don’t even know if your folks are respectable. I’ve written home to my folks about it—that’s what I have done,” pursued the angry girl. “I’m going to find out if we girls who come from nice families have got to mix up with mere nobodies!”