“Yes,” said Molly, whimsically. “Beth wears her face in front at present.”
“Smarty! Miss Baldwin has rather a striking phiz.”
“Hasn’t she?” cried the enthusiastic Molly.
“And here she is!” exclaimed another girl, who had likewise been going over the magazines. “No mistaking it for anybody else. That’s Miss Baldwin, sure enough,” and she showed the cover of the magazine so that all could see.
“How clever!” drawled another girl. “Fancy posing for a famous artist.”
Molly was delighted that she had interested these girls—some of the wealthiest in the school—in her chum. But a very unpleasant experience was to arise out of the event for Beth. That, however, was in the future.
Beth had time in this first very busy day at the school to think of Cynthia Fogg; but it was not until Sunday morning that she saw the freckled girl again.
On Sunday morning the rising bells rang an hour later than on other days. Beth, having entirely recovered from the weariness caused by her journey and her broken sleep on the boat, awoke at her usual time—and they had been early risers at the little cottage on Bemis Street. Mr. Baldwin always went to the locomotive works at half-past six.
The sun was just peering above the eastern hills. Beth’s windows faced the south and the farther shore of the river. Mist was rising from the surface of the stream, and the few boats plying up and down the current were scarcely outlined in it.
Up on the bluff the air was clear enough, and the banks of red and yellow branches across the river were beautiful in appearance. Up-stream Beth could see tall pillars of smoke rising through the fog from the factory chimneys at Jackson City—not as many of them smoking as usual, however, because of the day.