Betty Lee, Freshman

by Harriet Pyne Grove

Back again in the echoing halls of the school building, Betty felt that the worst was over, yet she was both lonely and a little timid in regard to what was still before her. Oh for Janet or some one of the girls she knew! Other girls, who must have been in the eighth grade together, were walking arm in arm, or with arms around each other’s waist as they approached the door of the same home room to which Betty’s feet were carrying her. She wondered if poor little Doris felt the same way. She went into the school room with the others, finding its back seats well filled already. Accordingly she dropped into the nearest front seat, which was on the outside row near the door.

As it was not polite to stare, she believed, she did not look at the girls sitting around her except for glances here and there; but it was perfectly legitimate to gaze forward at the home room teacher. Was she going to like her?

Two teachers were standing, near the large desk in front and before the blackboard, which covered its appropriate space on three walls. The fourth side of the room was devoted to windows. The teachers were laughing and talking together, apparently in the best of spirits. Then a gong rang, or something made a sound in the halls and a corresponding ring in the room. Immediately one of the ladies departed and the other turned to face the class with a great change of countenance, not exactly stern, Betty thought, but it was quite obvious that her home room teacher was ready to handle any obstreperous little freshman who did not want to keep order.

But no one was disorderly this morning. It was an event to enter high school. The expectant faces met the dignified survey of the teacher. In due time she explained what was to be done. Cards were there from the office. Schedules had been made out for each one. They were to report to their respective teachers at the rooms whose numbers were given. Lockers could not be given for some time. They would be obliged to carry their books and take them home, but it was remarked that they would want to study at home in any event. Books would be given out on the next day.

“Oh, then, you didn’t have to buy any books,” Betty thought. She wondered if her mother would like that. They would never buy any second hand books and her mother had ideas on germs. There were a number of questions that Betty would have liked to ask as the teacher talked, but she did not dare interrupt. There seemed to be too many things to remember. Of course, it was easier for the girls and boys that lived in the city all the time.

“And now,” the teacher was saying, “I want you to give your whole attention to one thing. On these cards that I am giving you, you will see what you are to write; and while I know that this is all rather new to you, that fact is not going to excuse you for making mistakes in what is really important. Pay attention and do not write until you are sure you know what to write down.

“Perhaps you wonder why I am saying this, but if you saw some of the cards that we have had in past years, you would not wonder at all. When you read that line saying the year of your birth, don’t put down the present year. Girls less than a year old are not admitted to the freshman class!”

There was a subdued ripple of laughter at this, though it was just possible that some of the girls did not understand the joke. A few looked worried. But Betty had never been really afraid of teachers, having had no cause to be afraid, and she did not intend to begin now. Very carefully she read over the list of what she was supposed to record; and then, after the teacher was through with her explanation, she started in. There was nothing very bad about this. Of course they wanted to know your address and who your father and mother were and everything.

“Elizabeth Virginia Lee,” she wrote, her name “in full,” in careful round and legible hand. Writing was not hard for Betty, which was fortunate and would make her entire school life easier for her. Betty had been named for two grandmothers. At present she “rather hated it,” the long names, but she always added that they were good, sensible names and that her mother like them.

Betty remembered the year of her birth and was not obliged to count back, as the teacher had suggested might be necessary. Indeed, the teacher had grown a little sarcastic while remarking that “they” were “not particularly interested in mere birthdays,” and that “birthday presents were not given.”