CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST NIGHT AT SCHOOL
Miss Leland's school wore that sober title with a somewhat frivolous air. It seemed to be saying, "Oh, call me a school if you want to—but don't take me seriously." It was like a pretty girl, who puts on a pair of bone-rimmed spectacles in fun and assumes a studious expression, while the dimples lurk in her cheeks.
It was a low, rambling, white building, with a stately colonial portico, and broad porches at each wing. In front, an immaculate lawn swept to the trim hedges that bordered the road; in the back, this lawn sloped downward to a grove of trees, which were now almost bare. Under them stood several picturesque stone benches, while just beyond lay a wide, terrace-garden with a sun-dial in the centre. Altogether, it resembled a pleasant country place, dedicated to merriment and good cheer.
Through the dusk of a rather bleak autumn night, its friendly lights shone out comfortably as the two Prescotts jogged up to the door in the station wagon.
The trip up from the Broadmore Station had not, however, been a lively one, despite the fact that two other girls besides the Prescotts had taken the hack with them; the first spasm of homesickness having evidently seized them all simultaneously. One of the girls, a little, sallow-faced creature, sat like a mouse in her corner, and by occasional dismal sniffles, gave notice that she was weeping and did not want to be disturbed. The other, a plump miss with scarlet cheeks and perfectly round eyes, had bravely essayed a conversation.
"Are you going to Miss Leland's?"
"Yes."
"Is this your first year?"
"Yes."