Hillcrest was a five hours’ journey from Webster, and to-day Virginia could look at the countrysides which they passed with a less perturbed spirit than that with which she had so unsuccessfully tried to watch them nearly a week before. The visit in Vermont was over, and after all it had not been so hard. She really loved dear, frank, funny Aunt Nan very dearly, and she somehow felt sure that Aunt Nan loved her. As for Grandmother Webster, perhaps she did not love her Wyoming granddaughter just yet; but, Virginia assured herself, remembering her grandmother’s warm kiss at parting, she at least did not entirely disapprove of her. After all, it was hard to have one’s only granddaughter from Wyoming—especially hard when one could not understand that Wyoming was not a wilderness.
But as she reviewed the five days, she could not find any glaring improprieties or mistakes, except perhaps shocking poor Dr. Baxter. But even then, she had only told the truth. After all, manners are quite the same in Wyoming as in Vermont, she thought. To be sure her a’s were hardly broad to suit Grandmother Webster, and her r’s quite too prominent. In Vermont there were no r’s—that is, where they belonged. If used at all, they were hinged in the funniest sort of way to the ends of words. Virginia laughed as she remembered how grandmother had called her “Virginiar” and the maid “Emmar,” but pronounced Webster, which possessed a real r at the end “Websta.” She wondered if the girls at St. Helen’s would all speak like that. If so, they would find her funny, indeed; but she did not mind.
New England was lovely. She did not wonder that her mother had always talked so much of its fir-covered hills, its rocky, sunny pastures, its little white-churched villages nestling in the hollows, its crimson maples, its goldenrod and asters. And this very journey to St. Helen’s, which she was now taking, her own mother years before had taken many, many times in going back and forth to school before and after vacations Quick tears filled her eyes as she remembered. Her mother would be glad if she knew her little daughter was on her way to her mother’s old school. Perhaps she did know after all. And with this thought came a resolve to be an honor and a credit to them all.
At one of the larger stations where the train stopped longer than usual was gathered on the platform a merry group of persons, saying good-by to two girls, who were apparently going to take the train. Perhaps they also were going to St. Helen’s, thought Virginia, and she studied the group as closely as politeness would allow.
“Now, Priscilla, do be careful, and don’t get into any more scrapes this year,” she heard a sweet-voiced, motherly-looking woman say, as she kissed one of the girls good-by.
“Mother dear, I’m going to be the model of the school, wait and see,” the girl cried, laughing. “Dorothy is, too, aren’t you, Dot?”
“Of course, I am, Mrs. Winthrop. Dad’s going to cut down my allowance if I don’t get all A’s. Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, I’ve had such a heavenly time! Thank you so much for everything.”
“You must come again,” said a tall gentleman in white flannels, evidently Priscilla’s father, as he shook hands, while his invitation was echoed heartily by two jolly-looking boys—one of about Donald’s age, though not nearly so nice-looking, Virginia thought, and the other younger. The train gave a warning whistle.
“Priscilla, are you sure you haven’t forgotten something?”
“First time in her life if she hasn’t!”