PEERS AND COMMONS
Along the hall down which Dorothy followed the Lady Principal were many doors opening into small class rooms. Each class was under its especial teacher, its number being limited to ten students. It was the policy of the school that by this division better instruction could be given each pupil, and Dorothy wondered to which of these groups—if any—she would be assigned. Another hall and other class rooms joined the first and longer one, at a right angle, and here Miss Muriel paused, directing:
“Proceed down this corridor till you reach the parlor at its end. There you will find Miss Hexam awaiting you. She will test your scholarship and report to me. Do not fail to answer her questions promptly and distinctly. I observe that you do not enunciate well. You slur some of your words and clip the endings from your participles. To say ‘hopin’’ or ‘runnin’’ is execrable. Also, there is no such word as ‘daown’ or ‘araoun’.’”
Dorothy’s temper rose. She had done nothing right, it seemed, since she had arrived at this “school for criticism,” as she termed it, and now said pertly:
“I reckon that’s the Southern way of talking. I noticed that the Bishop didn’t bother about his ‘gs’ and he had the same twang that all do down home. He must have lived there a right smart time when he was little.”
“Many things are permissible in a cultured old gentleman which are not in an ignorant and forward girl. You came here for your own improvement. I shall see that you attain it; or, if you fail in this after a reasonable trial, you cannot be retained. That rule is plainly stated in our circular. I will bid you good morning until I send for you.”
Poor Dorothy fairly withered under this sternness that she felt was unjust, but she felt, also, that she had been impertinent, and running after Miss Muriel, as she moved away, she caught the lady’s sleeve, imploring:
“Please don’t think I’m all bad, Miss Tross-Kingdon! I’ve been heedless and saucy, but I didn’t mean it—not for badness. Please wait and try me and I will ‘improve,’ as you said. Please, please! It would break Aunt Betty’s heart if she thought I wasn’t good and—and I’m so unhappy! Please forgive me.”
The dark eyes, lifted so appealingly, filled with tears which their owner bravely restrained, and the Lady Principal was touched by this self-control. Also, under all her sternness, she was just.
“Certainly, Dorothy, your apology is sufficient. Now go at once to Miss Hexam and do yourself credit. If you have studied music, another person will examine you in that.”