The quaver in Mother’s voice caused Mimi to look up quickly. For a poignant instant they looked at each other and then Mimi’s arms went around her Mother’s neck. Tightly they clung to each other and all the dread of parting, which each had been choking back, rushed around them. Again mother was holding her baby and, with all the self assurance her fourteenth birthday had brought melted away, a baby Mimi was clinging to her Mother.
“There, there, child,” Mother was saying in a steadier voice—Mother was so brave—“I must get the rest of your underclothes. You polish your tennis shoes so they will be dry enough to pack.” Mother had gone quickly.
That day the packing was finished and the trunk snapped shut and Mimi hung the key around her neck on a blue ribbon.
That day, Mimi said goodbye to Von, to King, who was being sent to the pasture for the winter, to Honky, to the campers, to Cissy, and to her dear, dear family. She couldn’t say goodbye to Miss Jane for she was still honeymooning.
And the next day, Mimi arrived at Sheridan School. She was a day early, but Mother and Daddy wanted her safely there before they left and they were sailing soon now; consequently, she was the only Sheridan student on the train. She was one more than was expected apparently.
“Heah you is, Miss,” said the Red Cap, who bundled Mimi off the train—Daddy had given him fifty cents and told him to “see after the young lady.” The porter looked up and down the empty platform and back at Mimi, “Shall I put you in a cab?”
“Yes,” Mimi answered the porter, trying not to appear nonplused by not being met. “To Sheridan School—Preparatory Hall,” she said aloofly to the driver as if taking a cab was something she did every day. That was the last time she ever said Preparatory Hall. From then on it was Prep Hall.
Though outwardly composed, Mimi was upset inside. She had always imagined arriving at school in the midst of a great hubbub, old girls rushing up to greet you, new girls making friendly approaches, chaperones taking your baggage checks. She knew Daddy had wired Mrs. Cole, the matron. Here she was alone in a taxi going no telling where! The taxi had skirted the business district and turned off the main thoroughfare. Mimi clutched her pocket book. Suppose—no she mustn’t imagine such silly things, but the papers were full of taxi hold-ups—last week in Chicago—but this wasn’t Chicago. It was a sleepy southern town—bump, bump, and just as Mimi was about to convince herself that she was being taken to a desolate wayside, the taxi turned right on to the Boulevard—bump, bump, right again on to a long winding gravel driveway. Leaning forward Mimi made a mental picture of Sheridan School, the size of the windshield. Between the winding rows of deep-set pin oaks and frost-kissed maples, Mimi saw the enormous red brick building with its three colonial porches set at intervals, dividing the building into sections called “halls.” The center point of the horseshoe curve of the drive practically touched the concrete steps of the central porch.
The taxi stopped here and the driver blew his horn.
Although there were many signs of activity—windows open, mattresses airing, gardeners busy—it was several minutes before the door opened and a very flustered Mrs. Cole popped out. She was setting her hat aright and buttoning the coat of her blue suit as she came out.