The four barges were to leave the “Salisbury School” at precisely half-past eight o'clock the next morning. Miss Salisbury was always very particular about being prompt, so woe be to any girl who might be late! There was great scurrying, therefore, to and fro in the homes of the day scholars. And the girls hurried off with maids behind carrying their baskets; or, as the case might be, big family carriages filled with groups of girls collected among those of a set; or in little pony carriages. All this made the thoroughfares adjacent to the “Salisbury School” extremely busy places indeed.
Mother Fisher sent Polly's basket over to the school, at an early hour, Polly preferring to walk, several of the girls having called for her. So they all, with Jasper, who was going as far as the corner with them, set out amidst a chatter of merry nonsense.
“Oh girls, I am so glad we are going to the Glen!” exclaimed Polly, for about the fiftieth time.
“So am I,” cried all the others in a chorus.
“Why, you haven't ever been to any other place for your picnic, have you, Polly?” cried Jasper, with a laugh.
“No,” said Polly, “we never have. But suppose Miss Salisbury had decided to try some other spot this year; oh, just suppose it, Jasper!” and her rosy color died down on her cheek. “It would have been just too dreadful for anything.”
“We couldn't have had our picnic in any other place,” declared Rose Harding; “it wouldn't be the same unless it was at the Glen.”
“Dear old Glen!” cried Polly impulsively. “Jasper, it's too bad you boys can't all come to our picnics.”
“I know it. It would be no end jolly if we only could,” said Jasper regretfully, to whom it was a great grief that the picnic couldn't take in the two schools.
“Yes,” said Polly, with a sigh, “it would, Jasper. But Miss Salisbury never will in all this world let the boys' school join.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Jasper, stifling his longing; “well, you must tell me about it to-night, the same as always, Polly.”
“Yes, I will, Jasper,” promised Polly. So he turned the corner, to go to his school. But presently he heard rapid footsteps back of him. “Oh Jasper,” cried Polly, flushed and panting, as he whirled about, “tell Phronsie I won't forget the little fern-roots. Be sure, Jasper.”
“All right; I will,” said Jasper. “Dear me! do hurry back, Polly. You'll be late.”
“Oh no, there are oceans of time,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “I've the tin case in my picnic basket, Jasper, so they will keep all fresh and nice.”
“Yes; do hurry back,” begged Jasper. So Polly, with a merry nod, raced off to the corner where the girls were drawn up in a knot, impatiently waiting for her.
Every bit of the fuss and parade in getting the big company started—for all the scholars went to the annual picnic—was a special delight to the girls. The only trouble was that the seats were not all end ones, while the favorite places up by the driver were necessarily few in each vehicle.
“Come on, Polly,” screamed Alexia. Everybody had agreed that she should have one of these choice positions because of her lame arm, which Dr. Fisher had said must be carried in its sling this day. So there she was, calling lustily for Polly Pepper, and beating the cushion impatiently with her well hand. “Oh, do hurry up!”
Polly, down on the ground in a swarm of girls, shook her head. “No,” her lips said softly, so that no one but Alexia, who was leaning over for that purpose, could possibly hear, “ask Cathie.”
“Oh bother!” exclaimed Alexia, with a frown. Then she smothered it up with a “Come, Polly,” very persuasively.
“Can't,” said Polly; “I'm going back here.” And she moved down to the end of the barge.
“Then I'm going back too.” Alexia gave a frantic dive to get down from the barge.
Miss Salisbury saw it; and as she had planned to give Alexia just that very pleasure of riding on the front seat, she was naturally somewhat disturbed. “No, no, my dear,” seeing Alexia's efforts to get down, “stay where you are.”
“Oh dear me!” Alexia craned her long neck around the side of the vehicle, to spy Polly's movements. “I don't want to be mewed up here,” she cried discontentedly. But Miss Salisbury, feeling well satisfied with her plan for making Alexia happy, had moved off. And the babel and tumult waged so high, over the placing of the big company, all the girls chattering and laughing at once, that Alexia, call as she might, began to despair of attracting Polly's attention, or Cathie's either for that matter.
“You better set down,” said the driver, an old man whom Miss Salisbury employed every year to superintend the business, “and make yourself comfortable.”
“But I'm not in the least comfortable,” said Alexia passionately, “and I don't want to be up here. I want to get down.”
“But you can't,”—the old man seemed to fairly enjoy her dismay,—“'cause she, you know,” pointing a short square thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Miss Salisbury, “told ye to set still. So ye better set.”
But Alexia craned her neck yet more, and called insistently, “Polly—oh, Polly!”
Miss Anstice looked up from the bevy of girls she was settling in another barge. “Alexia Rhys,” she said severely, “you must be quiet; it is impossible to get started unless all you girls are going to be tractable and obedient.”
“Miss Anstice,”—Alexia formed a sudden bold resolve,—“please come here. I want you very much,” she said sweetly.
Miss Anstice, pleased to be wanted very much, or indeed at all, left her work, and went over to the front barge where Alexia was raging inwardly.
“Miss Anstice, I need Polly Pepper up next to me,” said Alexia, “oh, so much. She knows all about my arm, you know; her father fixed it for me. Will you please have her come up here? Then if I should feel worse, she could help me.”
Miss Anstice peered here and there in her nearsighted fashion. “I don't see Polly Pepper,” she said.
“There she is; there she is,” cried Alexia, trembling in every limb, for her plan could not be said to be a complete success yet, and pointing eagerly to the end of her barge; “she's the fourth from the door, Miss Anstice. Oh, how lovely you are!”
Miss Anstice, quite overcome to be told she was lovely, and especially by Alexia, who had previously given her no reason to suppose that she entertained any such opinion, went with great satisfaction down the length of the barge, and standing on her tiptoes, said very importantly, “Polly Pepper, I want to place you differently.”
So Polly, quite puzzled, but very obedient, crawled out from her seat, where she was wedged in between two girls not of her set, who had been perfectly radiant at their good fortune, and clambering down the steps, was, almost before she knew it, installed up on the front row, by Alexia's side.
“Oh Polly, what richness!” exclaimed that individual in smothered accents, as Miss Anstice stepped off in much importance, and hugging Polly. “I'm so glad my sling is on, for I never'd gotten you up here without the old thing,” and she giggled as she told the story.
“Oh Alexia!” exclaimed Polly, quite shocked.
“Well, I may get a relapse in it, you don't know,” said Alexia coolly, “so you really ought to be up here. Oh my goodness me! I forgot this man,” she brought up suddenly. “Do you suppose he'll tell?” She peered around anxiously past Polly.
“Ef you'll set still, I won't tell that teacher,” said the old man with a twinkle in his eye, “but ef you get to carryin' on, as I should think you could ef you set out to, I'll up an' give the whole thing to her.”
“Oh, I'll sit as still as a mouse,” promised Alexia. “Oh Polly, isn't he a horrible old thing!” in a stage whisper under cover of the noise going on around them.
“Hush,” said Polly.
“Well, I'm not going to hush,” cried Alexia recklessly; “I'm going to have a good time at the picnic to-day, and do just everything I want to, so there, Polly Pepper!”
“Very well,” said Polly, “then when we get to the Glen, I shall go off with the other girls, Alexia,” which had the desired effect. Alexia curled up into her corner, and hanging to Polly Pepper's arm, was just like a mouse for quiet. And off they went; the old man's whip going crack—snap! as he led the way with a grand flourish, as much better than his efforts of former years, as was possible!
The road led through winding, woodsy paths, redolent of sweet fern; the girls never tired of its delights, exclaiming at all the sights and sounds of country life at all such moments as were not filled to the brim with the songs that ran over from their happy hearts. So on and up they went to the Glen, a precipitous ravine some fifteen miles out from the city.
When the barges finally drew up with another grand flourish at the entrance, a smooth grassy plateau shaded by oaks and drooping elms, they simply poured out a stream of girls from each conveyance; the old man and his companion drivers laughing to see them tumble out. “Pretty quick work, eh, Bill?” said old man Kimball, “no screaming for first places now.”
“It's the same beautiful, dear old Glen!” exclaimed Polly, with kindling eyes and dancing feet. “Oh Alexia, come on!” and seizing the well hand, they spun round and round, unable to keep still, having plenty of company, all the other girls following suit.
Polly looked at her little watch. “In five minutes we must stop. It'll be time to get the flowers.”
“Oh, can we?” cried Alexia. “Misery me! I'm so tired cooped up in that barge, I feel stiff as a jointed doll, Polly Pepper.”
“Well, I don't,” said Polly, dancing away for dear life. “Oh Alexia, when Miss Salisbury gives the signal to explore, won't it be just fun!”
“I should say,” cried Alexia, unable to find words that would just express the case.
There was always one routine to be observed in the annual picnic of the “Salisbury School,” and no one thought for a moment of deviating from it. The maids collected the baskets taken from the wagons, and set them in a cool, shady place among the rocks just within the Glen. The girls ran hither and thither to collect flowers and ferns to drape Miss Salisbury's seat of honor, and one as near like it as possible for Miss Anstice. These were big crevices in the rocks, that were as comfortable as chairs, and having backs to them in the shape of boulders, they were truly luxurious. Indeed, Miss Salisbury had declared, when the seats were discovered by Polly Pepper at the first picnic after she joined the “Salisbury School,” that she never sat in one more comfortable; and she was so pleased when she was led to it and inducted therein, all flower-trimmed with little vines trailing off, and arching over her head.
“Why, my dears!” she exclaimed, quite overcome. “Oh, how pretty! and how did you think of it?”
“It was Polly Pepper who thought of it,” said a parlor boarder. And Polly, blushing rosy red, a new girl as she was, was led up, and Miss Salisbury set a kiss on her round cheek. Polly never forgot how happy she was that day.
And afterward, when the girls were busy in various little groups, Miss Salisbury had beckoned Polly to her side where she reposed on her throne; for it was beautiful and stately enough for one, and quite worthy of royalty itself.
“Polly,” said Miss Salisbury, in quite a low tone only fitted for Polly's ear, “do you think you could find a seat, like this beautiful one of mine, for sister? I should really enjoy it so very much more if sister had one also and she would prize the attention very much, Polly, from you girls.”
So Polly, fired with the laudable desire to find one exactly like Miss Salisbury's very own, for “sister,” at last was just so fortunate. So that was also flower-trimmed, with trailing vines to finish it off with. And every year, the first thing the girls did after dancing around a bit to rest their feet after the long drive, was to set to work to collect the vines and ferns, and decorate the two stone seats.
Then with quite a good deal of pomp and ceremony, the girls escorted the two teachers to their thrones, unpacked the little bag of books and magazines, and arranged some cushions and shawls about them. And then Miss Salisbury always said with a sweet smile, “Thank you, my dears.” And Miss Anstice said the same; although, try as hard as she would, her smile never could be sweet like Miss Salisbury's. And then off the girls would go to “exploring,” as they called rambling in the Glen, the under-teachers taking them in charge.
And now Polly Pepper ran to her hamper, which she saw in a pile where the baskets had been heaped by the maids. “There it is,” pointing to the tag sticking up; “oh, help me,—not you, Alexia,” as Alexia ran up as usual, to help forward any undertaking Polly Pepper might have in mind. “Dear me! you might almost kill your arm.”
“This old arm,” cried Alexia,—“I'm sick and tired of it.”
“Well, you better take care of it,” cried Polly gaily, “and then it won't be an old arm, but it will be as good as brand new, Alexia. Oh, one of the other girls, do come and help me.”
“What do you want, Polly?” cried some of the girls, racing up to her.
“I want to get out my hamper,” said Polly, pointing to the tag sticking up “high and dry” amid a stack of baskets. “My tin botany case is in it; I must get the ferns I promised to bring home to Phronsie.”
“You stand away, all of ye.” The old man Kimball, his horses out of the shafts, and well taken care of, now drew near, and swept off with his ample hand the bunch of girls. “Which one is't? Oh, that ere one with the tag,” answering his own question. “Well, now, I'll git that for you jest as easy as rolling off a log. One—two—three—there she comes!”
And, one, two, three, and here she did come! And in a trice Polly had the cover up, and out flew the little green tin botany case; and within it being an iron spoon and little trowel, off flew Polly on happy feet to unearth the treasures that were to beautify Phronsie's little garden; a bunch of girls following to see the operation.
The magazine fell idly to the lap of Miss Salisbury. She sat dreamily back, resting her head against the boulder. “Sister,” she said softly, “this is a happy custom we have started. I trust nothing will ever prevent our holding our annual picnic.”
“Yes,” said Miss Anstice absently. She was very much interested in a story she had begun, and she hated to have Miss Salisbury say a word. Although she had on a stiff, immaculate white gown (for on such a festival as the annual picnic, she always dressed in white), still she was not in the same sweet temper that the principal was enjoying, and she held her thumb and finger in the place.
“Yes, the picnic is very good,” she said, feeling that something was expected of her, “if we didn't get worms and bugs crawling over the tablecloth.”
“Oh sister!” exclaimed Miss Salisbury, quite shocked; “it is no time to think of worms and bugs, I'm sure, on such a beautiful occasion as this.”
“Still, they are here,” said Miss Anstice; “there is one now,” looking down at the hem of her gown. “Ugh! go right away,” slapping her book at it. Then her thumb and finger flew out, and she lost her place, and the bug ran away, and she added somewhat tartly, “For my own taste, I should really prefer a festival in the schoolroom.”
When it came to spreading the feast, not one of the maids was allowed to serve. They could unpack the hampers, and hand the dishes and eatables to the girls, and run, and wait, and tend. But no one but the Salisbury girls must lay the snowy cloth, dress it up with flowers, with little knots at the corners, concealing the big stones that kept the tablecloth from flapping in any chance wind. And then they all took turns in setting the feast forth, and arranging all the goodies. And some one had to make the coffee, with a little coterie to help her. The crotched sticks were always there just as they had left them where they hung the kettle over the stone oven. And old man Kimball set one of the younger drivers to make the fire—and a rousing good one it was—where they roasted their corn and potatoes. And another one brought up the water from the spring that bubbled up clear and cold in the rocky ravine, so when all was ready it was a feast fit for a king, or rather the queen and her royal subjects.
And then Miss Salisbury and “sister” were escorted with all appropriate ceremonies down from their stone thrones,—and one had the head and the other the foot of the feast spread on the grass,—to sit on a stone draped with a shawl, and to be waited on lovingly by the girls, who threw themselves down on the ground, surrounding the snowy cloth. And they sat two or three rows deep; and those in the front row had to pass the things, of course, to the back-row girls.
“Oh, you're spilling jelly-cake crumbs all down my back,” proclaimed Alexia, with a shudder. “Rose Harding,” looking at the girl just back of her, “can't you eat over your own lap, pray tell?”
“Well, give me your seat then,” suggested Rose, with another good bite from the crumbly piece in her hand, “if you don't like what the back-row girls do.”
“No, I'm not going to,” said Alexia, “catch me! but you needn't eat all over my hair. Ugh! there goes another,” and she squirmed so she knocked off the things in her neighbor's as well as her own lap.
“Oh dear me! Keep your feet to yourself, Alexia Rhys,” said the neighbor; “there goes my egg in all the dirt—and I'd just gotten it shelled.”
“All the easier for the bugs,” observed Alexia sweetly; “see, they're already appropriating it. And I guess you'd kick and wriggle if some one put jelly cake down your back,” returning to her grievance,—“slippery, slimy jelly cake,” twisting again at the remembrance.
“Well, you needn't kick the things out of my lap. I didn't put the jelly cake down your back,” retorted the neighbor, beginning to shell her second egg.
Oh dear! was ever anything quite so good in all this world as that feast at the “Salisbury picnic!”
“I didn't suppose those baskets could bring out so much, nor such perfectly delicious things,” sighed Polly Pepper, in an interval of rest before attacking one of Philena's chocolate cakes.
“Polly, Polly Pepper,” called a girl opposite, “give me one of your little lemon tarts. You did bring 'em this year, didn't you?” anxiously.
“Yes, indeed,” answered Polly; “why, where are they?” peering up and down the festal, not “board,” but tablecloth.
“Don't tell me they are gone,” cried the girl, leaning over to look for herself.
“I'm afraid they are,” said Polly; “oh, I'm so sorry, Agatha!”
“You should have spoken before, my child,” said a parlor boarder, who had eaten only three of Mrs. Fisher's tarts, and adjusting her eyeglasses.
“Why, I've only just gotten through eating bread and butter,” said Agatha. “I can't eat cake until that's done.”
“A foolish waste of time,” observed the parlor boarder; “bread and butter is for every day; cake and custards and flummery for high holidays,” she added with quite an air.
“Hush up, do,” cried Alexia, who had small respect for the parlor boarders and their graces, “and eat what you like, Penelope. I'm going to ransack this table for a tart for you, Agatha.”
She sent keen, bird-like glances all up and down the length of the tablecloth. “Yes, no—yes, it is.” She pounced upon a lemon tart hiding under a spray of sweet fern, and handed it in triumph across. “There you are, Agatha! now don't say I never did anything for you.”
“Oh, how sweet!” cried Agatha, burying her teeth in the flaky tart.
“I should think it was sour,” observed Amy Garrett; “lemons usually are.”
“Don't try to be clever, Amy child,” said Alexia, “it isn't expected at a picnic.”
“It's never expected where you are,” retorted Amy sharply.
“Oh dear, dear! that's pretty good,” cried Alexia, nowise disconcerted, as she loved a joke just as much at herself as at the expense of any one else, while the others burst into a merry laugh.
“There's one good thing about Alexia Rhys,” the “Salisbury girls” had always said, “she can take any amount of chaff, and not stick her finger in her eye and whimper.”
So now she smiled serenely. “Oh dear, dear! I wish I could eat some more,” she said. “I haven't tasted your orange jelly, Clem, nor as much as looked at your French sandwiches, Silvia. What is the reason one can eat so very little at a picnic, I wonder?” She drew a long breath, and regarded them all with a very injured expression.
“Hear that, girls!” cried Silvia; “isn't that rich, when Alexia has been eating every blessed minute just as fast as she could!”
“I suppose that is what we all have been doing,” observed Alexia placidly.
Miss Salisbury had been a happy observer of all the fun and nonsense going on around her, and renewing her youth when she had dearly loved picnics; but it was not so with Miss Anstice. At the foot of the festal tablecloth, she had been viewing from the corners of her eyes the inroads of various specimens of the insect creation and several other peripatetic creatures that seemed to belong to no particular species but to a new order of beings originated for this very occasion. She had held herself in bravely, although eating little, being much too busy in keeping watch of these intruders, who all seemed bent on running over her food and her person, to hide in all conceivable folds of her white gown. And she was now congratulating herself on the end of the feast, which about this time should be somewhere in sight, when a goggle-eyed bug, at least so it seemed to her distraught vision, pranced with agile steps directly for her lap, to disappear at once. And it got on to her nerves.
“Oh—ow! Take it off.” Miss Anstice let her plate fly, and skipped to her feet. But looking out for the goggle-eyed bug, she thought of little else, and stepped into some more of the jelly cake—slipped, and precipitated herself into the middle of the feast.
“Oh Miss Anstice!” cried the “Salisbury girls,” jumping to their feet.
“Sister!” exclaimed Miss Salisbury, dropping her plate, and letting all her sweet, peaceful reflections fly to the four winds.
“I never did regard picnics as pleasant affairs,” gasped Miss Anstice, as the young hands raised her, “and now they are—quite—quite detestable.” She looked at her gown, alas! no longer immaculate.
“If you could wipe my hands first, young ladies,” sticking out those members, on which were plentiful supplies of marmalade and jelly cake, “I should be much obliged. Never mind the gown yet,” she added with asperity.
“I'll do that,” cried Alexia, flying at her with two or three napkins.
“Alexia, keep your seat.” Miss Anstice turned on her. “It is quite bad enough, without your heedless fingers at work on it.”
“I won't touch the old thing,” declared Alexia, in a towering passion, and forgetting it was not one of the girls. “And I may be heedless, but I can be polite,” and she threw down the napkins, and turned her back on the whole thing.
“Alexia!” cried Polly, turning very pale; and, rushing up to her, she bore her away under the trees. “Why, Alexia Rhys, you've talked awfully to Miss Anstice—just think, the sister of our Miss Salisbury!”
“Was that old thing a Salisbury?” asked Alexia, quite unmoved. “I thought it was a rude creature that didn't know what it was to have good manners.”
“Alexia, Alexia!” mourned Polly, and for the first time in Alexia's remembrance wringing her hands, “to think you should do such a thing!”
Alexia, seeing Polly wring her hands, felt quite aghast at herself. “Polly, don't do that,” she begged.
“Oh, I can't help it.” And Polly's tears fell fast.
Alexia gave her one look, as she stood there quite still and pale, unable to stop the tears racing over her cheeks, turned, and fled with long steps back to the crowd of girls surrounding poor Miss Anstice, Miss Salisbury herself wiping the linen gown with an old napkin in her deft fingers.
“I beg your pardon,” cried Alexia gustily, and plunging up unsteadily. “I was bad to say such things.”
“You were, indeed,” assented Miss Anstice tartly. “Sister, that is quite enough; the gown cannot possibly be made any better with your incessant rubbing.”
Miss Salisbury gave a sigh, and got up from her knees, and put down the napkin. Then she looked at Alexia. “She is very sorry, sister,” she said gently. “I am sure Alexia regrets exceedingly her hasty speech.”
“Hasty?” repeated Miss Anstice, with acrimony, “it was quite impertinent; and I cannot remember when one of our young ladies has done such a thing.”
All the blood in Alexia's body seemed to go to her sallow cheeks when she heard that. That she should be the first and only Salisbury girl to be so bad, quite overcame her, and she looked around for Polly Pepper to help her out. And Polly, who had followed her up to the group, begged, “Do, dear Miss Anstice, forgive her.” And so did all the girls, even those who did not like Alexia one bit, feeling sorry for her now. Miss Anstice relented enough to say, “Well, we will say no more about it; I dare say you did not intend to be impertinent.” And then they all sat down again, and everybody tried to be as gay as possible while the feast went on.
And by the time they sang the “Salisbury School Songs,”—for they had several very fine ones, that the different classes had composed,—there was such a tone of good humor prevailing, everybody getting so very jolly, that no one looking on would have supposed for a moment that a single unpleasant note had been struck. And Miss Anstice tried not to look at her gown; and Miss Salisbury had a pretty pink tinge in her cheeks, and her eyes were blue and serene, without the tired look that often came into them.
“Now for the story—oh, that is the best of all!” exclaimed Polly Pepper, when at last, protesting that they couldn't eat another morsel, they all got up from the feast, leaving it to the maids.
“Isn't it!” echoed the girls. “Oh, dear Miss Salisbury, I am so glad it is time for you to tell it.” All of which pleased Miss Salisbury very much indeed, for it was the custom at this annual festival to wind up the afternoon with a story by the principal, when all the girls would gather at her feet to listen to it, as she sat in state in her stone chair.
“Is it?” she cried, the pink tinge on her cheek getting deeper. “Well, do you know, I think I enjoy, as much as my girls, the telling of this annual story.”
“Oh, you can't enjoy it as much,” said one impulsive young voice.
Miss Salisbury smiled indulgently at her. “Well, now, if you are ready, girls, I will begin.”
“Oh, yes, we are—we are,” the bright groups, scattered on the grass at her feet, declared.
“To-day I thought I would tell you of my school days when I was as young as you,” began Miss Salisbury.
“Oh—oh!”
“Miss Salisbury, I just love you for that!” exclaimed the impulsive girl, and jumping out of her seat, she ran around the groups to the stone chair. “I do, Miss Salisbury, for I did so want to hear all about when you were a schoolgirl.”
“Well, go back to your place, Fanny, and you shall hear a little of my school life,” said Miss Salisbury gently.
“No—no; the whole of it,” begged Fanny earnestly, going slowly back.
“My dear child, I could not possibly tell you the whole,” said Miss Salisbury, smiling; “it must be one little picture of my school days.”
“Do sit down, Fanny,” cried one of the other girls impatiently; “you are hindering it all.”
So Fanny flew back to her place, and Miss Salisbury without any more interruptions, began:
“You see, girls, you must know to begin with, that our father—sister's and mine—was a clergyman in a small country parish; and as there were a great many mouths to feed, and young, growing minds to feed as well, besides ours, why there was a great deal of considering as to ways and means constantly going on at the parsonage. Well, as I was the eldest, of course the question came first, what to do with Amelia.”
“Were you Amelia?” asked Fanny.
“Yes. Well, after talking it over a great deal,—and I suspect many sleepless nights spent by my good father and mother,—it was at last decided that I should be sent to boarding school; for I forgot to tell you, I had finished at the academy.”
“Yes; sister was very smart,” broke in Miss Anstice proudly—“she won't tell you that; so I must.”
“Oh sister, sister,” protested Miss Salisbury.
“Yes, she excelled all the boys and girls.”
“Did they have boys at that school?” interrupted Philena, in amazement. “Oh, how very nice, Miss Salisbury!”
“I should just love to go to school with boys,” declared ever so many of the girls ecstatically.
“Why don't you take boys at our school, Miss Salisbury?” asked Silvia longingly.
Miss Anstice looked quite horrified at the very idea; but Miss Salisbury laughed. “It is not the custom now, my dear, in private schools. In my day—you must remember that was a long time ago—there were academies where girls and boys attended what would be called a high school now.”
“Oh!”
“And I went to one in the next town until it was thought best for me to be sent to boarding school.”
“And she was very smart; she took all the prizes at the academy, and the principal said—” Miss Anstice was herself brought up quickly by her sister.
“If you interrupt so much, I never shall finish my story, Anstice,” she said.
“I want the girls to understand this,” said Miss Anstice with decision. “The principal said she was the best educated scholar he had ever seen graduated from Hilltop Academy.”
“Well, now if you have finished,” said Miss Salisbury, laughing, “I will proceed. So I was despatched by my father to a town about thirty miles away, to a boarding school kept by the widow of a clergyman who had been a college classmate. Well, I was sorry to leave all my young brothers and sisters, you may be sure, while my mother—girls, I haven't even now forgotten the pang it cost me to kiss my mother good-bye.”
Miss Salisbury stopped suddenly, and let her gaze wander off to the waving tree-tops; and Miss Anstice fell into a revery that kept her face turned away.
“But it was the only way I could get an education; and you know I could not be fitted for a teacher, which was to be my life work, unless I went; so I stifled all those dreadful feelings which anticipated my homesickness, and pretty soon I found myself in the boarding school.”
“How many scholars were there, Miss Salisbury?” asked Laura Page, who was very exact.
“Fifteen girls,” said Miss Salisbury.
“Oh dear me, what a little bit of a school!” exclaimed one girl.
“The schools were not as large in those days,” said Miss Salisbury. “You must keep in mind the great difference between that time and this, my dear. Well, and when I was once there, I had quite enough to do to keep me from being homesick, I can assure you, through the day; because, in addition to lessons, there was the sewing hour.”
“Sewing? Oh my goodness me!” exclaimed Alexia. “You didn't have to sew at that school, did you, Miss Salisbury?”
“I surely did,” replied Miss Salisbury, “and very glad I have been, Alexia, that I learned so much in that sewing hour. I have seriously thought, sister and I, of introducing the plan into our school.”
“Oh, don't, Miss Salisbury,” screamed the girls. “Ple—ase don't make us sew.” Some of them jumped to their feet in distress.
“I shall die,” declared Alexia tragically, “if we have to sew.”
There was such a general gloom settled over the entire party that Miss Salisbury hastened to say, “I don't think, girls, we can do it, because something else equally important would have to be given up to make the time.” At which the faces brightened up.
“Well, I was only to stay at this school a year,” went on Miss Salisbury, “because, you see, it was as much as my father could do to pay for that time; so it was necessary to use every moment to advantage. So I studied pretty hard; and I presume this is one reason why the incident I am going to tell you about was of such a nature; for I was over-tired, though that should be no excuse,” she added hastily.
“Oh sister,” said Miss Anstice nervously, “don't tell them that story. I wouldn't.”
“It may help them, to have a leaf out of another young person's life, Anstice,” said Miss Salisbury, gravely.
“Well, but—”
“And so, every time when I thought I must give up and go home, I was so hungry to see my father and mother, and the little ones—”
“Was Miss Anstice one of the little ones?” asked Fanny, with a curious look at the crow's-feet and faded eyes of the younger Miss Salisbury.
“Yes, she was: there were two boys came in between; then Anstice, then Jane, Harriett, Lemuel, and the baby.”
“Oh my!” gasped Alexia, tumbling over into Polly Pepper's lap.
“Eight of us; so you see, it would never do for the one who was having so much money spent upon her, to waste a single penny of it. When I once got to teaching, I was to pay it all back.”
“And did you—did you?” demanded curious Fanny.
“Did she?—oh, girls!” It was Miss Anstice who almost gasped this, making every girl turn around.
“Never mind,” Miss Salisbury telegraphed over their heads, to “sister,” which kept her silent. But she meant to tell sometime.
Polly Pepper, all this time, hadn't moved, but sat with hands folded in her lap. What if she had given up and flown home to Mamsie and the little brown house before Mr. King discovered her homesickness and brought Phronsie! Supposing she hadn't gone in the old stagecoach that day when she first left Badgertown to visit in Jasper's home! Just supposing it! She turned quite pale, and held her breath, while Miss Salisbury proceeded.
“And now comes the incident that occurred during that boarding-school year, that I have intended for some time to tell you girls, because it may perhaps help you in some experience where you will need the very quality that I lacked on that occasion.”
“Oh sister!” expostulated Miss Anstice.
“It was a midwinter day, cold and clear and piercing.” Miss Salisbury shivered a bit, and drew the shawl put across the back of her stone seat, closer around her. “Mrs. Ferguson—that was the name of the principal—had given the girls a holiday to take them to a neighboring town; there was to be a concert, I remember, and some other treats; and the scholars were, as you would say, 'perfectly wild to go,'” and she smiled indulgently at her rapt audience. “Well, I was not going.”
“Oh Miss Salisbury!” exclaimed Amy Garrett in sorrow, as if the disappointment were not forty years in the background.
“No. I decided it was not best for me to take the money, although my father had written me that I could, when the holiday had been planned some time before. And besides, I thought I could do some extra studying ahead while the girls were away. Understand, I didn't really think of doing wrong then; although afterward I did the wrong thing.”
“Sister!” reproved Miss Anstice. She could not sit still now, but got out of her stone chair, and paced up and down.
“No; I did not dream that in a little while after the party had started, I should be so sorely tempted, and the idea would enter my head to do the wrong thing. But so it was. I was studying, I remember, my philosophy lesson for some days ahead, when suddenly, as plainly as if letters of light were written down the page, it flashed upon my mind, 'Why don't I go home to-day? I can get back to-night, and no one will know it; at least, not until I am back again, and no harm done.' And without waiting to think it out, I clapped to my book, tossed it on the table, and ran to get my poor little purse out of the bureau drawer.”
The girls, in their eagerness not to lose a word, crowded close to Miss Salisbury's knees, forgetting that she wasn't a girl with them.
“I had quite enough money, I could see, to take me home and back on the cars, and by the stage.”
“The stage?” repeated Alexia faintly.
“Yes; you must remember that this time of which I am telling you was many, many years back. Besides, in some country places, it is still the only mode of conveyance used.”
Polly Pepper drew a long breath. Dear old Badgertown, and Mr. Tisbett's stage. She could see it now, as it looked when the Five Little Peppers would run to the windows of the little brown house to watch it go lumbering by, and to hear the old stage-driver crack his whip in greeting!
“The housekeeper had a day off, to go to her daughter's, so that helped my plan along,” Miss Salisbury was saying. “Well would it have been for me if the conditions had been less easy. But I must hasten. I have told you that I did not pause to think; that was my trouble in those days: I acted on impulse often, as schoolgirls are apt perhaps to do, and so I was not ready to stand this sudden temptation. I tied on my bonnet, gathered up my little purse tightly in my hand; and although the day was cold, the sun was shining brightly, and my heart was so full of hope and anticipation that I scarcely thought of what I was doing, as I took a thin little jacket instead of the warm cloak my mother had made me for winter wear. I hurried out of the house, when there was no one to notice me, for the maids were careless in the housekeeper's absence, and had slipped off for the moment—at any rate, they said afterward they never saw me;—so off I went.
“I caught the eight o'clock train just in time; which I considered most fortunate. How often afterward did I wish I had missed it! And reasoning within myself as the wheels bore me away, that it was perfectly right to spend the money to go home, for my father had been quite willing for me to take the treat with Mrs. Ferguson and the others, I settled back in my seat, and tried not to feel strange at travelling alone.”
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed the girls, huddling up closer to Miss Salisbury's knees. Miss Anstice paced back and forth; it was too late to stop the story now, and her nervousness could only be walked off.
“But I noticed the farther I got from the boarding school, little doubts would come creeping into my mind,—first, was it very wise for me to have set out in this way? then, was it right? And suddenly in a flash, it struck me that I was doing a very wrong thing, and that, if my father and my mother knew it, they would be greatly distressed. And I would have given worlds, if I had possessed them, to be back at Mrs. Ferguson's, studying my philosophy lesson. And I laid my head on the back of the seat before me, and cried as hard as I could.”
Amy sniffed into her handkerchief, and two or three other girls coughed as if they had taken cold, while no one looked into her neighbor's face.
“And a wild idea crossed my mind once, of rushing up to the conductor and telling him of my trouble, to ask him if I couldn't get off at the next station and go back; but a minute's reflection told me that this was foolish. There was only the late afternoon train to take me to the school. I had started, and must go on.”
A long sigh went through the group. Miss Anstice seemed to have it communicated to her, for she quickened her pace nervously.
“At last, after what seemed an age to me, though it wasn't really but half an hour since we started, I made up my mind to bear it as well as I could; father and mother would forgive me, I was sure, and would make Mrs. Ferguson overlook it—when I glanced out of the car window. Little flakes of snow were falling fast. It struck dismay to my heart. If it kept on like this,—and after watching it for some moments, I had no reason to expect otherwise, for it was of that fine, dry quality that seems destined to last,—I should not be able to get back to school that afternoon. Oh dear me! And now I began to open my heart to all sorts of fears: the train might be delayed, the stagecoach slow in getting through to Cherryfield. By this time I was in a fine state of nerves, and did not dare to think further.”
One of the girls stole her hand softly up to lay it on that of the principal, forgetting that she had never before dared to do such a thing in all her life. Miss Salisbury smiled, and closed it within her own.
There was a smothered chorus of “Oh dears!”
“I sat there, my dears, in a misery that saw nothing of the beauty of that storm, knew nothing, heard nothing, except the occasional ejaculations and remarks of the passengers, such as, 'It's going to be the worst storm of the year,' and 'It's come to stay.'
“Suddenly, without a bit of warning, there was a bumping noise, then the train dragged slowly on, then stopped. All the passengers jumped up, except myself. I was too miserable to stir, for I knew now that I was to pay finely for my wrong-doing in leaving the school without permission.”
“Oh—oh!” the girls gave a little scream.
“'What is it—what is it?' the passengers one and all cried, and there was great rushing to the doors, and hopping outside to ascertain the trouble. I never knew, for I didn't care to ask. It was enough for me that something had broken, and the train had stopped; to start again no one could tell when.”
The sympathy and excitement now were intense. One girl sniffed out from behind her handkerchief, “I—I should have—thought you would—have died—Miss Salisbury.”
“Ah!” said Miss Salisbury, with a sigh, “you will find, Helen, as you grow older, that the only thing you can do to repair in any way the mischief you have done, is to keep yourself well under control, and endure the penalty without wasting time on your suffering. So I just made up my mind now to this; and I sat up straight, determined not to give way, whatever happened.
“It was very hard when the impatient passengers would come back into the car to ask each other, 'How soon do you suppose we will get to Mayville?' That was where I was to take the stage.
“'Not till night, if we don't start,' one would answer, trying to be facetious; but I would torture myself into believing it. At last the conductor came through, and he met a storm of inquiries, all asking the same question, 'How soon will we get to Mayville?'
“It seemed to me that he was perfectly heartless in tone and manner, as he pulled out his watch to consult it. I can never see a big silver watch to this day, girls, without a shiver.”
The “Salisbury girls” shivered in sympathy, and tried to creep up closer to her.
“Well, the conductor went on to say, that there was no telling,—the railroad officials never commit themselves, you know,—they had telegraphed back to town for another engine (he didn't mention that, after that, we should be sidetracked to allow other trains their right of way), and as soon as they could, why, they would move. Then he proceeded to move himself down the aisle in great dignity. Well, my dears, you must remember that this all happened long years ago, when accidents to the trains were very slowly made good. We didn't get into Mayville until twelve o'clock. If everything had gone as it should, we ought to have reached there three hours before.”
“Oh my goodness me!” exploded Alexia.
“By this time, the snow had piled up fast. What promised to be a heavy storm had become a reality, and it was whirling and drifting dreadfully. You must remember that I had on my little thin jacket, instead—”
“Oh Miss Salisbury!” screamed several girls, “I forgot that.”
“Don't tell any more,” sobbed another—“don't, Miss Salisbury.”
“I want you to hear this story,” said Miss Salisbury quietly. “Remember, I did it all myself. And the saddest part of it is what I made others suffer; not my own distress.”
“Sister, if you only won't proceed!” Miss Anstice abruptly leaned over the outer fringe of girls.
“I am getting on to the end,” said Miss Salisbury, with a smile. “Well, girls, I won't prolong the misery for you. I climbed into that stage, it seemed to me, more dead than alive. The old stage-driver, showing as much of his face as his big fur cap drawn well over his ears would allow, looked at me compassionately.
“'Sakes alive!' I can hear him now. 'Hain't your folks no sense to let a young thing come out in that way?'
“I was so stiff, all I could think of was, that I had turned into an icicle, and that I was liable to break at any minute. But I couldn't let that criticism pass.
“'They—they didn't let me—I've come from school,' I stammered.
“He looked at me curiously, got up from his seat, opened a box under it, and twitched out a big cape, moth-eaten, and well-worn otherwise; but oh, girls, I never loved anything so much in all my life as that horrible old article, for it saved my life.”
A long-drawn breath went around the circle.
“'Here, you just get into this as soon as the next one,' said the stage-driver gruffly, handing it over to me where I sat on the middle seat. I needed no command, but fairly huddled myself within it, wrapping it around and around me. And then I knew by the time it took to warm me up, how very cold I had been.
“And every few minutes of the toilsome journey, for we had to proceed very slowly, the stage-driver would look back over his shoulder to say, 'Be you gittin' any warmer now?' And I would say, 'Yes, thank you, a little.'
“And finally he asked suddenly, 'Do your folks know you're comin'?' And I answered, 'No,' and I hoped he hadn't heard, and I pulled the cape up higher around my face, I was so ashamed. But he had heard, for he whistled; and oh, girls, that made my head sink lower yet. Oh my dears, the shame of wrong-doing is so terrible to bear!
“Well, after a while we got into Cherryfield, along about half-past three o'clock.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed the young voices.
“I could just distinguish our church spire amid the whirling snow; and then a panic seized me. I must get down at some spot where I would not be recognized, for oh, I did not want any one to tell that old stage-driver who I was, and thus bring discredit upon my father, the clergyman, for having a daughter who had come away from school without permission. So I mumbled out that I was to stop at the Four Corners: that was a short distance from the centre of the village, the usual stopping place.
“One of the passengers—for I didn't think it was necessary to prolong the story to describe the two women who occupied the back seat—leaned forward and said, 'I hope, Mr. Cheesewell, you ain't goin' to let that girl get out, half froze as she's been, in this snowstorm. You'd ought to go out o' your beat, and carry her home.'
“'Oh, no—no,' I cried in terror, unwinding myself from the big cape and preparing to descend.
“'Stop there!' roared Mr. Cheesewell at me. 'Did ye s'pose I'd desert that child?' he said to the two women. 'I'd take her home, ef I knew where in creation 'twas.'
“'She lives at the parsonage—she's th' minister's daughter,' said one of the women quietly.
“I sank back in my seat—oh, girls, the bitterness of that moment!—and as well as I could for the gathering mist in my eyes, and the blinding storm without, realized the approach to my home. But what a home-coming!
“I managed to hand back the big cape, and to thank Mr. Cheesewell, then stumbled up the little pathway to the parsonage door, feeling every step a misery, with all those eyes watching me; and lifting the latch, I was at home!
“Then I fell flat in the entry, and knew nothing more till I found myself in my own bed, with my mother's face above me; and beyond her, there was father.”
Every girl was sobbing now. No one saw Miss Anstice, with the tears raining down her cheeks at the memory that the beautiful prosperity of all these later years could not blot out.
“Girls, if my life was saved in the first place by that old cape, it was saved again by one person.”
“Your mother,” gasped Polly Pepper, with wet, shining eyes.
“No; my mother had gone to a sick parishioner's, and father was with her. There was no one but the children at home; the bigger boys were away. I owe my life really to my sister Anstice.”
“Don't!” begged Miss Anstice hoarsely, and trying to shrink away. The circle of girls whirled around to see her clasping her slender hands tightly together, while she kept her face turned aside.
“Oh girls,” cried Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy, “if you could only understand what that sister of mine did for me! I never can tell you. She kept back her own fright, as the small children were so scared when they found me lying there in the entry, for they had all been in the woodshed picking up some kindlings, and didn't hear me come in. And she thought at first I was dead, but she worked over me just as she thought mother would. You see we hadn't any near neighbors, so she couldn't call any one. And at last she piled me all over with blankets just where I lay, for she couldn't lift me, of course, and tucked me in tightly; and telling the children not to cry, but to watch me, she ran a mile, or floundered rather—for the snow was now so deep—to the doctor's house.”
“Oh, that was fine!” cried Polly Pepper, with kindling eyes, and turning her flushed face with pride on Miss Anstice. When Miss Salisbury saw that, a happy smile spread over her face, and she beamed on Polly.
“And then, you know the rest; for of course, when I came to myself, the doctor had patched me up. And once within my father's arms, with mother holding my hand—why, I was forgiven.”
Miss Salisbury paused, and glanced off over the young heads, not trusting herself to speak.
“And how did they know at the school where you were?” Fanny broke in impulsively.
“Father telegraphed Mrs. Ferguson; and luckily for me, she and her party were delayed by the storm in returning to the school, so the message was handed to her as she left the railroad station. Otherwise, my absence would have plunged her in terrible distress.”
“Oh, well, it all came out rightly after all.” Louisa Frink dropped her handkerchief in her lap, and gave a little laugh.
“Came out rightly!” repeated Miss Salisbury sternly, and turning such a glance on Louisa that she wilted at once. “Yes, if you can forget that for days the doctor was working to keep me from brain fever; that it took much of my father's hard-earned savings to pay him; that it kept me from school, and lost me the marks I had almost gained; that, worst of all, it added lines of care and distress to the faces of my parents; and that my sister who saved me, barely escaped a long fit of sickness from her exposure.”
“Don't, sister, don't,” begged Miss Anstice.
“Came out rightly? Girls, nothing can ever come out rightly, unless the steps leading up to the end are right.”
“Ma'am,”—Mr. Kimball suddenly appeared above the fringe of girls surrounding Miss Salisbury,—“there's a storm brewin'; it looks as if 'twas comin' to stay. I'm all hitched up, 'n' I give ye my 'pinion that we'd better be movin'.”
With that, everybody hopped up, for Mr. Kimball's “'pinion” was law in such a case. The picnic party was hastily packed into the barges,—Polly carrying the little green botany case with the ferns for Phronsie's garden carefully on her lap,—and with many backward glances for the dear Glen, off they went, as fast as the horses could swing along.