“I wish she’d come back,” said Bettie. “The days seem twice as long with her so far away.”
It was undeniably dull without Henrietta; but Maude managed on one occasion at least to cheer the other girls considerably. She had been unnaturally good for several weeks; but now the spirit of impishness that sometimes controlled her had been bottled up too long for safety and was just about ready to break loose.
A full length mirror stood at the end of the West Corridor, across one of the corners. It swung on pivots, from an upright frame. It was possible to unscrew those pivots and remove the framed mirror from this outer frame. Indeed, Sallie had once mentioned casually that this feat might easily be accomplished by two girls, whereupon curious Maude had examined the screws with much interest and had satisfied herself that Sallie’s statement was true.
At certain times of the day, Miss Woodruff, who was as regular as a clock in all her habits, strolled to that mirror to make certain that her skirts hung properly; for no one was more particular as to her appearance than was stout Miss Woodruff. She invariably wore gray, for school use. She possessed three serge gowns, made precisely alike, from the same piece of goods. She spoke of these garments as her “uniform.” When not in use, these gowns hung in her bedroom closet.
But one dreadful day, when excellent Miss Woodruff looked in the glass at the usual time, she started back in horror. There was her reflection, dark gray frock, unmistakable hair-do and all, yet what in the world was the matter with it? The face was different, the figure was shorter and fatter and its outline was curiously lumpy in places.
There were stifled giggles from the nearby doorways as the puzzled lady leaned forward to look closer—at Maude. For of course it was Maude, attired in one of Miss Woodruff’s gray gowns, with pillows stuffed inside; and her hair, skilfully arranged by Cora, closely resembled Miss Woodruff’s. The naughty but ingenious girl standing just back of the vacant frame, was faithfully imitating every movement made by Miss Woodruff, every expression that flitted across her astonished face.
“Nous avons,” began Maude, stepping through the frame, with her hands crossed meekly on her dark gray breast, “les raisins blancs et noirs—”
But at this point, to the uproarious delight of the entire West Corridor, Miss Woodruff seized her reflection by the shoulders and shook it until pillows began to drop from beneath the gray gown.
“Maude Wilder,” gasped the breathless lady, finally, “you may keep right on learning American History—two pages a day until Commencement.”
Ten minutes later, when Miss Woodruff took her daily walk on the long veranda she was surprised to meet herself halfway, as it were.