“This pale blue organdie will do for receptions and any public entertainments you have,” her mother explained. “Every girl at school needs some kind of a simple evening dress. You’ll need a cloth suit for church and shopping. Then, of course, the school dresses.”
Every morning Elizabeth on her way down-stairs to breakfast slipped into the sewing room to view the new dresses. She had never so much as thought, not to say expected, to own a rain coat and bath robe, and a soft eider-down sacque. But there they lay before her. Their existence could not be questioned.
“Do you think the other girls at Exeter will have so much?” she asked of Miss Hale. “I don’t want to look as though I was trying to out-dress anyone.”
“If you find they have less than you, keep some of your good things in your trunk. You do not need to wear them all,” was Miss Hale’s advice. “No doubt they are fixing themselves up, too,” she added.
Elizabeth had never thought of the matter before. Now the mere thinking about it seemed to bring her into relation and sympathy with those hundreds of unknown girls who were, like her, counting each penny in order to spend it to the best advantage, all the while looking forward to the first of September.
It came at last. The big trunk was brought down from the attic. The new dresses were folded and packed. The books which she might need at Exeter were put into a box. The trunk was locked and carried into the lower hall, waiting for the drayman to call for it early the following morning.
At this juncture going away from home changed color. It was no longer something to look forward to with pleasure, but something to dread. Elizabeth was not the only one who felt the coming separation. She noticed through a film of tears that the best linen and china were used, and that her favorite dishes had been prepared for the last home supper.
Despite their feelings, each made an effort to be cheerful. Mr. Hobart told incidents of his own school-days, and rallied Elizabeth on being homesick before she had started.
Afterward, they sat together on the porch. The father and mother talked but Elizabeth sat silent. She was thinking that the next evening would find her far away and among strangers. She dreaded meeting girls who had been reared with others of their age, and who had been in school before, feeling that she would appear very awkward and dull until she learned the ways of school. She half wished that her father would tell her she need not go. She came closer and seating herself on the step below him, rested her head on his knee. “Father, I do not wish to go to Exeter. May I stay home with you and mother? Be a good daddy and say ‘yes.’”
“I shall be good and say ‘no.’ Our little girl must go away to-morrow. I can’t tell you how lonely we shall be, but we have had you so long that we were almost forgetting that you had a life of your own. We must not be selfish, so we send you off, bag and baggage.” Her mother added: “Unless she oversleeps, which I am sure she will unless she goes to bed right away. It is later than I supposed. Come, Elizabeth.”