"Her name's 'Fenler,'" corrected her chum.
"I know that, but I choose to call her 'Fender,' because she's like those they have on engines to scoop up any one who is on the tracks. She's just been down to the station to 'scoop' two new pupils, and I guess—"
A tap of a ruler left the sentence unfinished.
Arabella Correyville, without an idea as to what was whispered, had seen the broad smile, and had heard the giggle.
"Who was out there?" she wrote on a bit of paper, and cautiously passed it to Patricia Levine.
"I don't know. I didn't see them, but they must be swell. They had ever so much luggage." That was just like Patricia. She judged every one thus.
That a girl could be every inch a lady, and at the same time, possess a small, well chosen wardrobe was past understanding; but any girl, however coarse in appearance and manner, could, with a display of many gaudy costumes, convince Patricia that she was a young person of great importance.
Miss Fenler talked with them for a few moments, and then left them to unpack their belongings, saying that later, when they felt rested, they might come down to the reception hall and meet some of the girls who would be their classmates during the year.
It was the custom, she said, for the pupils to meet for a social half-hour before dinner, to talk over the happenings of the day, their triumphs or failures in class-room, or at sports, or to tell what had interested those who had been out for a tramp.
There had been an afternoon session that day for the purpose of choosing from the list of non-compulsory studies.