Half an hour later there came a tap on the door and Adele sprang up to open it. Gertrude smilingly entered, leading by the hand a young stranger whose dress was too short in skirt and sleeve, as though she had long since outgrown it. Her face was tanned by sun and wind and her dark hair was tightly braided, and, as Peggy had said, there was an almost startled look in the big brown eyes that were unusually beautiful and expressive.
The girls about the fireplace arose to greet the newcomer.
“This is Matilda Perkins,” Gertrude said kindly. “She has come to be one of our Linden Hall family.” Then, turning to the stranger, she added in her friendliest manner, “Matilda, I am not going to tell you the names of these eight maidens just at first, but you will quickly learn them. Suppose you and I occupy the window-seat. Oh, girls,” she chatted on, “I do believe that I smell pop-corn. Did you pop some while I was away and eat it all up?”
“We did pop it while you were away,” Betty Burd agreed, “but we saved every kernel of it to share with you and Matilda.” Then, opening the closet door, she brought forth a big Chinese bowl brimming over with fluffy white kernels.
“Cup your two hands, everybody!” Betty then sang out. “You may each have all that they will hold.” Sewing had to be abandoned for a time and the girls purposely chatted together that the newcomer might become used to them and their ways. Glancing at her a few moments later, Adele was glad to see that the startled expression had vanished from those wonderful brown eyes and that instead they were twinkling with amusement.
“This is Matilda Perkins.”
The girls, although they said little to Matilda directly, included her in a general way as they talked about exams only a week ahead, and at last, when Marie, the maid, rapped and told them that Madame Deriby was now ready to receive the new pupil in her office, that girl arose and said without a trace of her former shyness, “Thank you all for the pleasant time,” and then she was gone.
As soon as they were sure that Matilda was out of hearing, Peggy Pierce tiptoed over to the door and locked it. Then she said, “Now, Gertrude, do tell us all you know about her. She certainly is a new type of girl to me.”
“Well,” Gertrude began, “even Madame Deriby does not as yet know much about Matilda. She told me that about two weeks ago she received a letter from an old friend of hers, Bishop Wesley. His sister went to school with Madame Deriby in France, and they are still devoted friends. Now and then the good Bishop has sent a pupil to Linden Hall, but it has always been a girl from a home of wealth and refinement, and so when the Bishop wrote that he would like to send another little friend of his, Madame Deriby replied that she would gladly receive Matilda even though the rooms are really all taken. Of course she was expecting a pupil of the type that the Bishop usually sent, but when she saw this countrified girl, Madame Deriby, who is kindness personified, said that for a moment she was puzzled to know what to do, for the only bed unoccupied is in the room of that English girl who came at Christmas, the one who considers herself too good to associate with any of us.”