Peggy Stewart at School

by Gabrielle E. Jackson

"How long have you been observing this wonderful wonder?" asked Juno.

"I think Peggy Stewart has held my interest from the first moment we came to live at Severndale," was Nelly's perfectly truthful, though not wholly enlightening, answer. Juno thought the evasion intentional and looked at her rather sharply. She was more than curious to see Nelly's home and father, and wondered if the party would be invited there.

The Christmas hop, which had been a paradise within flag-draped walls for Captain Stewart's guests, was numbered among delights passed, but so many more were in store and the grand climax of the year, the New Year's eve hop, though, alack! it had to be given on the night of December thirtieth instead of the thirty-first, was looked forward to with eagerness.

The party had come out to Severndale by a special car at twelve-thirty, and a "madder, merrier" group of young people it would have been hard to find.

Upon their return to Bancroft Hall after Mrs. Harold's summary dismissal from "Middie's Haven" the previous Saturday night, Ralph, Jean Paul, Durand, Bert, Gordon and Doug had been ordered to report at the office and had it not been for the hint given at the tea, would have gone in trepidation of spirit. But it so happened that the officer in charge was possessed of a flickering memory of his own midshipman days, and his twinkling eyes and cheerful grin were reassuring. The boys all openly adored him, and even though they had dubbed him Hercules Hugh, would have formed a door mat of their bodies had he hinted a desire for it.

When the lucky six finally grasped the fact that Captain Stewart had actually obtained forty-eight hours liberty for them, and they were to go out to Severndale with the house-party, some startling things came very near taking place right in the O C's office. Luckily the favored ones restrained themselves until they reached Durand's room on the third deck, where a vent promptly presented itself, and is too good a story to leave untold.

Naturally at Christmas, innumerable boxes of "eats" are shipped to the midshipmen from all over the United States, their contents usually governed by the section of the world from which they are forwarded. New England invariably sends its quota of mince pies, roast turkeys and the viands which furnish forth a New England table at Yuletide. The South and West send their special dishes.

Durand's Aunt Belle never failed him. Each holiday found a box at Bancroft addressed to the lad who was so dear to her, and it was always regarded as public property by Durand's friends, who never hesitated to open it and regale themselves, sure that the generous owner of the "eats" would be only too glad to share with them everything he owned. But like most generous souls, Durand was often imposed upon, and this year the imposition went to the very limit. While Durand and his friends were over in Wilmot Hall his box was rifled, but it could hardly have been said to have been done by his friends, several men who had counted upon "Bubbles being a good old scout" having made way with practically everything the box contained. When he returned to his room the turkey carcass, picked clean as though buzzards had fallen upon it, rested forlornly upon its back in the middle of his study table. It was well for him that the midshipman on duty in his corridor had been one of the marauders, otherwise he would have been speedily reported for that which followed.

When the yelling, shouting bunch rushed into Durand's room they stopped short and a few expletives expressed their opinions of the pirates. But Durand's wits worked quickly. Catching up the denuded bird by its greasy neck and giving the yell of a Comanche, he rushed out into the corridor waving his weapon over his head like a war club. The man on duty at the table at the end of the corridor saw him coming and needed no further hint that his Nemesis was upon him. Regardless of duty or anything else, he bounded from his chair and fled around the corner of the corridor, the turkey carcass speeding after him with unerring aim.

Had he remained within range he would have received all and more than his share of the bird. Unluckily, a divisional officer had chosen that moment to turn into the corridor, and the turkey whizzed over his head, for he was one very tiny man. Durand did not wait to make inquiries. He had not removed cap or overcoat, a window was close at hand, the window of the adjoining room was accessible to one as agile as Durand, and the next second he was out of one and through the other, leaving his friends to make explanations.