[A twin baby carriage containing weary infants, propelled by
a perspiring young person, was coming in the gate]
[“My beads!” shrieked Hazel, pouncing on the necklace]
[It looked very much as if all the mysteries were solved]
[“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel]
GIRLS OF HIGHLAND HALL
[CHAPTER I—ON THE WAY]
The time was almost noon of a warm September day. The place was State Street, Chicago. The persons were six, and four of them were seeing Chicago for the first time. They walked two by two in a little procession. There were other persons in State Street too, probably somewhere between a thousand and a million; but we don’t need to worry a great deal about those others, though of course if they hadn’t been there there would have been more room for our friends.
This small procession was headed by a well-dressed, moderately stout, smooth-shaven gentleman with touches of white in his black hair and a kindly, benevolent expression in his dark eyes and about his fine mouth. A handsome man and a good man, as any one could see.
His companion was a little girl of perhaps thirteen years of age. She, too, had big dark eyes with long lashes; and a nicely shaped mouth. Her complexion was just exactly right and her short hair curled crisply about the unusually pleasing countenance. Her name was Bettie and it seemed to be a very good fit.
The second couple followed close at the heels of the first, presenting a curious contrast. One of them, whose name was Jean, was instantly attractive because of the serene loveliness of her expression. One knew at a glance that she was a person to be trusted. The girl beside her, all of two years younger, was very much smaller; a little sprite of a girl, with bright, gray eyes and quantities of fluffy golden hair. She, also, was a pretty child. Her small features were shapely and she looked, as indeed she was, an unusually bright child. She was quick and graceful in her movements and nothing in the shop windows escaped the eager, birdlike glance of little Marjory Vale.
The third couple was erratic in its movements. Sometimes it damaged the heels of Jean and Marjory by crowding too close. Sometimes it lagged so far behind—the windows were most attractive—that it had to run to catch up. One of this couple, Mabel Bennett, was not built for running. Mabel was the youngest and the broadest of the sextette; but her undeniable plumpness did not detract from her looks. One couldn’t help liking her honest blue eyes, the wholesome red and white of her fine complexion, her sturdy, childlike figure, her dependable legs and the rich bronze of her abundant hair. It was braided this morning in a thick, uneven braid; from which numerous tendrils that curled in large, loose, rather becoming rings escaped untidily. One guessed that inexperienced Mabel had been her own decidedly unskilful hairdresser that morning. Mabel’s partner in the procession was a girl of about fifteen, so unusual in appearance that strangers turned to look at her. Dark as a gipsy, with glowing crimson cheeks, bright black eyes with curling lashes, soft black hair that grew naturally in pleasing curls neatly tied back with a broad black ribbon; a shapely, graceful figure possessing to an unusual degree an atmosphere of style. The girls were all well dressed, mostly in blue serge, but this fifth young person, Henrietta Bedford, wore her clothes with a different air. One realized that the serge in her smartly cut frock was a degree finer than that in Mabel’s rumpled middy or in Marjory’s very brief skirt. Also Henrietta’s scarlet silken tie was broader, more brilliant and of a heavier texture than those of the other girls. One could easily see that there were wealth and generations of cultivation back of Henrietta—and adventures ahead of her.
One of the adventures was about to begin, but the kindly man who led the procession was far from suspecting it. It was Mabel who started this one.