“Perhaps it did,” Miss Wallace said with dear comfort. “I like to think that birds know many things that we cannot—many of the sweetest things like that.”
“Oh, you’re such a help!” breathed Virginia, the burden upon her heart already lighter. “You see, the others can’t understand why I loved him so. But you just seem to know some way.”
“I think I do know, dear,” Miss Wallace told her as they rose to go up the hill. “I want you always to tell me the things that trouble you, Virginia, and the things that make you glad, because we’re real friends now, you know; real friends for always!”
And even in the midst of her grief, Virginia was happy—happy in the knowledge that she had gained a friend—a “real friend for always.” In the hard days that followed, when so few understood why it was that the merry girl from Wyoming had suddenly grown less merry, that friendship was a tower of strength to Virginia—giving her courage and happiness when she most needed both; and proving, as it has proven so many times, that there is no sweeter, finer influence in life than the mutual helpfulness born of a friendship between a teacher and one of “her girls.”
CHAPTER XI—THE DISCIPLINING OF MISS VAN RENSAELAR
“On, of course, Dorothy, do as you like! If you’d rather play tennis with the Wyoming Novelty than go down to the village with me, go ahead. Don’t think for a moment that I care!”
Imogene leaned idly back among the pillows, while Dorothy studied the rug with a flushed face.
“You know it isn’t that I’d rather, Imogene; but Virginia and I made an agreement that I’d teach her some tennis serves, and she’d teach me to ride. She’s given me two lessons already, and now that the indoor courts are fixed I thought we’d play this afternoon, that’s all.”
“Go and play then. Don’t mind me. I’m comfortable!”
Dorothy was silent for a moment. “I don’t see why you dislike Virginia so, Imogene,” she said at last.