And both were young

by Madeleine L'Engle

However, in New York, Flip didn't mind too much about school. She usually finished her homework in her free period so when she got home the rest of the day was hers. If her father was painting in his studio she would sit and watch him, munching one of the apples he always kept in a big bowl on the table with his jars of brushes. Sometimes she cleaned his brushes for him and put them back carefully in the right jars, the blue ginger jar, the huge green pickle jar, the two brass vases he had brought from China. Flip loved to watch him paint. He painted all sorts of things. He painted a great many children's portraits. He had painted literally dozens of portraits of Flip and one of them was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and people had bought some of the others. It always seemed strange to Flip that people should want a picture of someone else's child in their homes.

Sometimes Philip Hunter did illustrations for children's books and Flip had all of these books in her bookshelves; it seemed that she could never outgrow them. They were in the place of honor and whenever she was sick in bed or unhappy she would take them out and look at them. The book he was doing illustrations for now was one which he said was going to be very beautiful and important, and it was a history of lost children all through the ages. There would be pictures of the lost children in the children's crusade and the lost children in the southern states after the civil war and in Russia after the revolution, and now he was going to travel all around drawing pictures of lost children all over Europe and Asia and he told Flip that he hoped maybe the book would help people to realize that all these children had to be found and taken care of.

When Flip thought about all the lost children she felt a deep shame inside herself for her anger and resentment against Eunice and for the hollow feeling inside her stomach now as the train crawled higher and higher up the mountain. She was not a lost child. She would have a place to eat and sleep and keep warm all winter, and at Christmas time she would be with her father again.

Now the train was slowing down. Eunice stood up and brushed imaginary specks off her immaculate white skirt. Philip Hunter took Flip's suitcase off the rack. "This is it, Flippet," he said.

An old black taxi took them further up the mountain to the school. The school had once been a big resort hotel and it was an imposing building with innumerable red roofed turrets flying small flags; and iron balconies were under every window. The taxi driver took Flip's bag and led them into a huge lounge with a marble floor and stained glass in the windows. There should have been potted palms by the marble pillars, but there weren't. Girls of all ages and sizes were running about, reading notices on the big bulletin board, carrying suitcases, tennis rackets, ice skates, hockey sticks, skis, cricket bats, lacrosse sticks, arms full of books. A wide marble staircase curved down into the centre of the hall. To one side of it was a big cage-like elevator with a sign, FACULTY ONLY, in English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish. At the other side of the staircase was what had once been the concierge's desk with innumerable cubby holes for mail behind it. A woman with very dark hair and bushy eyebrows sat at it now, and she looked over at Eunice and Flip and Philip Hunter inquiringly. They crossed the hall to the desk.

"This is Philippa Hunter, one of the new girls," Eunice said, pushing Flip forward. "I am Mrs. Jackman and this is Mr. Hunter."

The black haired woman behind the desk nodded and reached for a big notebook. Flip noticed that she had quite a dark moustache on her upper lip. "How do you do? I am Miss Tulip, the matron," she said as she began leafing through the ledger. "Hartung, Havre, Hesse, Hunter. Ah, yes, Phillipa Hunter, number 97, room 33." She looked up from the book and her black eyes searched the girls milling about in the big hall. "Erna Weber," she called.

A girl about Flip's age detached herself from a cluster and came over to the desk. "Yes, Miss Tulip?"

"This is Philippa Hunter," Miss Tulip said. "She is in your dormitory. Take her upstairs with you and show her where to put her things. She is number 97."

"Yes, Miss Tulip." Erna reached down for Flip's suitcase and a lock of fair hair escaped from her barette and fell over one eye. She pushed it back impatiently. "Come on," she told Flip.