A Dear Little Girl at School

CHAPTER I

Edna and Cousin Ben Barker were on the back porch. It was a favorite place, for it was always shady there in summer and out of the wind on cold days. If big Cousin Ben did not always like to be where Edna was, on the other hand Edna invariably sought out Cousin Ben if he were to be found about the premises.

On this special afternoon he was doing something to his wheel, getting it in order for a long ride which he had planned for the next day. Edna stood watching him, ready to hand a tool or run for a piece of rag to be used in cleaning, or to fill the oil can from the bottle on the shelf upstairs.

“Where are you going to-day, Cousin Ben?” Edna always asked this for Cousin Ben’s replies were generally so funny.

“I’m going to the woods,” he said, “to see Johnny-jump-up.”

“Why will he jump up?” asked Edna in pleased expectancy of something amusing.

“Because the dog-wood bark, you know.”

“I know dog-wood blossoms,” returned Edna a little doubtfully.

“Of course, and I dare say you know the dog-wood bark, too, don’t you?”

“Ye-es, I suppose so.”

Cousin Ben went on burnishing the metal he was at work upon. “You see,” he continued after a moment, “the catkins will all be out and when I meet one I shall say, ‘Pussy, will oh, will you tell me the way to the elder Berries.’”

“What do you suppose she will say?” inquired Edna settling herself well content to continue this sort of talk, though thinking it was scarcely the season for Pussy-willows.

“She will say: ‘The elder Berry? My dear boy, any dog ought to know the way there.’ You see she knows I am a Barker.”

Edna laughed. “Go on.”

“And I will say, ‘Yes, madam, but that sassy Fras always tries to get in my path. It is a very easy matter to whip poor Will, but sassy Fras is another matter.’ Then she will ask: ‘Did you ever try to haze L. Nutt?’ and I will reply, ‘Chestnuts!’ for I don’t like to talk about hazing, being in a position to expect a little of it any day. Well, Ande, I must be off or I will find Pip’s sis away.” Cousin Ben always called Edna Ande because he declared that was what her name really was but had been turned hind side before. Some persons, Edna’s sister Celia and Agnes Evans, for instance, called Cousin Ben a very silly boy, but Edna thought his kind of nonsense great fun.

It was an afternoon in autumn. For some time past, Edna and her sister had been going into the city to school every day, but this was the last week when this would be done, for after this they would go only on Mondays returning on Fridays till the days became long again. During the winter when it was still dark at seven in the morning, and when the afternoons were so short, it had seemed better that they should not come home every day. Therefore, as Aunt Elizabeth Horner and Uncle Justus wanted much to have them remain, it was so arranged. Edna was a great favorite with her Uncle Justus, for she had spent the winter previous at his house and had gone to his school. Then, on account of Mr. Conway’s business, the family had removed from the town in which they had formerly lived and had taken a house a little out of the city.

Like most children Edna loved the country and was glad of the change. A little further up the road lived her friend Dorothy Evans and her sister Agnes, the latter was a little older than Edna’s sister Celia. All four girls attended Uncle Justus’ school and so did Margaret MacDonald, the adopted daughter of good Mrs. MacDonald who lived in the big gray stone house with the lovely grounds. Margaret was having a pretty hard time of it, as she had never had much opportunity of going to school and was far behind the girls of her own age. Edna and Dorothy were her staunch defenders, however and when matters came to a too difficult pass the older girls were appealed to and could always straighten out whatever was wrong. Frank and Charlie, Edna’s brothers, were almost too large for Uncle Justus’ school, where only little fellows went, so they went elsewhere to the school which Roger and Steve Porter attended. It was Cousin Ben’s first year at college, and he was housed at the Conways, his mother being an elder sister of Edna’s mother.

After seeing Cousin Ben start off, Edna left the porch and stood for a moment thinking what she would do next. This being the last time she would be at home for the entire week, she concluded she ought to make the most of it, but first she must get together such things as she should want for Monday. “Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, and Monday, too. There are only four, after all,” she said, counting the days on her fingers. “It seems very much longer when you first think of it.” And then, as she continued to think, to her surprise she discovered that only Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays would be the entire days she would spend away from home.

She was so interested in having found this out that she ran upstairs to her mother, to tell of it. “Mother,” she said, “I have made a discovery.”

“You have, and what is it?” said Mrs. Conway.

“Why, here I’ve been thinking I’d be away from you the whole week all but Saturday and Sunday, and now I find out I shall see you every day but three, ’cause, you know, I don’t start till after breakfast on Monday, so that’s one day. Then Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I don’t see you, but I get back in time for dinner on Friday, so there is Friday, Saturday and Sunday, three more days. Isn’t it fine?”

“Very, I think.”

“And the funny part is,” Edna went on busily thinking, “I am at school five days out of the seven. It’s almost like a puzzle, isn’t it? I think I shall take Ada with me and leave her there. She is used to it, and won’t mind as much as some of the other dolls, for she was there all last year and besides, Aunt Elizabeth gave her to me. Aunt Elizabeth is quite kind sometimes, isn’t she?”

“She means to be kind all the time, but she has rather a stern manner.”

“Did you used to be afraid of her when you were a little girl?”

“No, honey, because I didn’t know her. She is your papa’s aunt, you know.”

“And he told me he didn’t see much of her, for he lived in quite another place, and I suppose by the time he grew up he wasn’t afraid of anybody. Well, anyhow, I’m glad it won’t be ‘butter or molasses’ all the week.”

“What do you mean, dearie?”

“Why, you know we couldn’t have both and there were never any preserves. Sometimes there were stewed apples, the dried kind, and they were not so very bad when they were sweet enough and had a lot of lemon flavor in them. I used to ask Ellen to do them that way and she always would, except when Aunt Elizabeth was in the kitchen and then she had to do as Aunt Elizabeth told her. If you have more preserves than you can use, don’t you think you could send her some, mother? You see we shall not be here to eat them, Celia and I, and you won’t have to use so many.”

“That is an idea. Why, yes, I can send some in every week when you go, and Celia can tell Aunt Elizabeth to have them for your supper.”

“How will she tell her?” asked Edna, feeling that this was an ordeal that she would not like to go through.

“Why, it will be very easy to say, ‘Aunt Elizabeth, here are some preserves mother thought would be nice for supper to-night.’ Don’t you think that would be easy to say?”

“Ye-es,” returned Edna a little doubtful if this would have the proper effect. “I think myself it would be better to let Ellen have them or Uncle Justus.”

Her mother laughed. Edna’s awe of Aunt Elizabeth was so very apparent.

“There is one thing I wish you would promise,” the little girl went on, “and that is, that you will always have hot cakes on Saturday mornings so I can have butter and syrup both.”

“I promise,” replied her mother smiling.

“I know Louis is mighty glad not to be going back,” Edna continued, “and I’m rather glad he isn’t myself, for this year I shall have Celia.”

“I thought you were fond of Louis.”

“I am pretty fond of him, but I’d rather have girls about all the time than boys all the time. Girls fuss with you, of course. They get mad and won’t speak, but I’d liefer they’d do that than try to boss you the way boys do. Mother, there is another thing I wish you would do, and that is I wish you would tell Aunt Elizabeth that she will please let Dorothy come to play with me sometimes. Dorothy is my particular friend, you know, and Aunt Elizabeth will never allow me to have her visit me unless you say she can.”

“Did she never allow you to have company last winter?”

Edna shook her head and a sigh escaped her.

“I will arrange that Dorothy shall come,” said her mother quite firmly.

“It’s going to be much nicer than last year,” remarked Edna in a satisfied tone, “for I shall always have Celia to go to, and you will be so near, too, and besides I like Uncle Justus much better than I did at first.”

“Of the two I should think you would have more fear of Uncle Justus than of Aunt Elizabeth,” said her mother looking down at her.

“I did at first, but I found it was mostly on account of his eyebrows; they are so shaggy.”

Mrs. Conway smiled. “I have heard it said that he can be rather terrible,” she remarked.

“Oh, well, so he can, but he isn’t all the time and Aunt Elizabeth is.”

“I hope this year you will find out that it is only Aunt Elizabeth’s eyebrows, too.”

“It couldn’t be, for she hasn’t any to speak of,” returned Edna. As she talked she was carefully packing the little trunk in which Ada’s clothes were kept. It was a tiny trunk, only about six inches long. Aunt Elizabeth had made it, herself, by covering a box with leather and strapping the leather across with strips of wood glued on. Edna liked the trunk much better than a larger one which had been bought at the store. Aunt Elizabeth was very clever in making things of this kind and would sometimes surprise her little niece with some home-made gift which was the more prized because it was unusual. The child remembered this now and began to feel that she had not shown herself very grateful in speaking as she had done a moment before. “Mother,” she said. “I didn’t mean that Aunt Elizabeth was frightful all the time. She is very kind when she gives me things like this trunk.”

“You don’t mean frightful,” replied Mrs. Conway laughing, “you mean she is rather formidable.”

But that was too much of a word for Edna, though she did not say so. Having stowed away Ada’s belongings, three frocks, two petticoats, a red hood and sacque, a blue dressing-gown and apron, she shut the lid. “I don’t think I’ll take her furs this week because she’ll not need them,” she remarked, “and I don’t think I will take any of my other dolls because I will be so glad to see them next Friday. Mother, if you come into town any time during the week will you come out to see us?”

“If I have time I certainly shall.”

Edna gave a sigh of content. It was surely going to be much better than last year. “Mother,” she said, changing the subject, “do you think Cousin Ben is silly?”

“He can be rather silly but he can also be very sensible. He is silly only when he wants to tease or when he wants to amuse a little girl I know.”

“I like his silly better than some of the big girls’s sillies. They giggle so much and aren’t funny at all. I think he is very funny. He says such queer things about the trees and plants in the woods. He twists their names around so they mean something else. Like the dog-wood, bark, you know. Mother, what is hazing?”

“It is the kind of thing the college boys do to those in a lower class; they play tricks on them which sometimes are really very cruel.”

“Do you mean they really hurt them?”

“Sometimes they hurt them very much. I knew of one young man who was forced into a pond of water on an icy day in the fall, and who nearly died of pneumonia in consequence of the cold he took from having to be in his wet clothes so long.”

“Do you think they will do anything like that to Cousin Ben?”

“I certainly hope not, though no doubt there will be some tricks played on him as he is a Freshman.”

Edna knew what a Freshman was but the matter of hazing was quite new to her and troubled her very much. Cousin Ben had gone out alone to the woods. Perhaps this very moment someone was lying in wait for him.

Hastily setting away the doll and trunk she ran downstairs, put on her coat and hat and started up the road toward the woods nearest. She had no exact plan in her mind, but she knew Cousin Ben had probably gone to see one of his classmates who lived just beyond this piece of woods. The college was on the outskirts of the city and the dormitories were within easy walking distance, so that one was liable to see a group of college boys at almost any time. Edna trotted along hoping to overtake her cousin. She did not believe anyone would attack him unless he were alone, and she meant to keep him company on his return walk. Just as she reached the edge of the woods she came upon a group of Sophomores standing a short distance away and she heard one say. “We’ll nab him as he comes out, boys.”

Who could they mean but Cousin Ben? She walked slowly that she might, if possible, hear more.

“You’re sure he came this way?” she heard another say.

“Sure,” was the reply. “We saw him go in Abercrombie’s gate.”

That settled it in Edna’s mind, for it was Will Abercrombie whose house Cousin Ben most frequented. She hesitated a moment, wondering what path her cousin would take, and then she remembered that the short cut was through the woods; it was much longer by the road. It was already getting rather late and it looked grim and gloomy in the woods, but there was nothing to do but face any danger and go straight ahead. She was crafty enough not to turn in at once for fear the boys might suspect, so she kept on a short distance to where the road turned and then she cut into the bit of forest scrambling up the bank and scratching her hands, with the brambles, but reaching the path in a few minutes. The further she went the darker it grew. The sun was setting and she could see long fingers of light between the trees. She wished she had some one with her, that Cousin Ben would appear before she went much further, but there was no sign of him and she plodded on, the dead leaves rustling about her feet or falling from overhead, giving her little starts of fear. It seemed a long, long way, and she almost wished she had not undertaken the work of rescue, but at last she saw, dimly ahead of her, a figure approaching and heard a cheerful whistling which she recognized as her cousin’s. And she darted forward to meet him.

CHAPTER II

Cousin Ben striding along did not at first see the little girl, but at her calling “Cousin Ben, Cousin Ben,” he stopped short.

“Why, you little monkey, what are you doing here?” he said. “The bugaboos will catch you here in these dark woods.”

“There isn’t such a thing as bugaboos,” returned Edna stoutly, “and I should be very silly to think so, but something will catch you if you don’t look out.”

“‘The gob-e-lins will get you if you don’t look out,’” replied Cousin Ben, laughing. “Is that what you are trying to say? If you are not afraid of bugaboos neither am I afraid of goblins. What do you think is going to get a big fellow like me?”

“Why,” said Edna at once becoming serious, “I will tell you; I heard some college boys talking back there by the edge of the woods.”

“You did? and what did they say?”

“They said: ‘We’ll nab him as he comes out, boys.’”

“Humph! What did they look like? Did you know any of them?”

“The one who said that was John Fielding, and there was another that I’ve seen before. He sits back of our pew at church.”

“Sophs, both of them, and did you come all this way to tell me about it?”

“Why, yes, I was afraid they wanted to haze you.”

“What do you know about hazing?”

“Mother told me about a young man who nearly died of pneumonia because some of the boys doused him in cold water, in a pond or something.”

“And you didn’t want me to have pneumonia. I won’t on this occasion, I promise you. I think we can circumnavigate those fellows. I won’t see Johnny-jump-up to-day.”

Edna laughed. “Won’t they be disappointed?”

“They will that. Now come along and let’s get out of here.”

“Which way shall we go?”

“Oh, we will take the back road and come out there below the MacDonald barn so they won’t get a hint of our coming home, for the barn is below the woods, you know. It is a little further, but I hope you don’t mind that.”

“No, indeed, I am so glad to have you get out of the way of those boys.”

“If I can manage to side-track them for a while perhaps they won’t be so keen. I thought they had it in for me, and have been rather expecting an onslaught.”

They cut through the woods, coming out the other side and taking a short road not much used, which brought them out a little distance from the main road which was then easily reached. “Now we’re safe,” said Edna with satisfaction as she saw her own gate.

“We? You don’t suppose they’d haze you, do you?”

“Oh, no, but I feel safer when I am near home.”

Ben dropped his bantering tone when they came up to the gate. “I say, Edna,” he said, “you are a real Trojan to do this for me, and I shall not forget it in a hurry. Lots of big girls and boys, too, would have let the thing go, and not have taken the trouble. I am a thousand times obliged to you.”

“Oh, but I wanted to do it, you know. I should have been very unhappy if anything had happened to you.”

“I believe you would,” returned Ben seriously; and they went in the house together.

This was the last Edna heard of hazing and if Cousin Ben was ever caught he did not tell her or anyone else.

Monday came around quite soon enough and Edna started off with her sister Celia to go to the city. It seemed quite natural to be back in the room which she had occupied the year before, only now Celia would share it with her. Ada was put in her old place on a little chair, her trunk by her side, and then the two girls went down to the school-room where a number of the pupils had already gathered. One of these was Clara Adams, a little girl whom Edna was sorry to see entering the school that year. She was a spoiled, discontented child who was continually pouting over some fancied grievance, and was what Dorothy and Edna called “fusty.” For some reason she was always trying to pick a quarrel with Edna, and by the whispering which went on when Edna entered the room and the sidelong looks which were cast at her, as two or three girls, with hands to mouths, nudged one another, she felt sure that on this special occasion she was being talked about. However, she paid no attention to this little group but went over to where Dorothy was sitting and began to tell her about the preserves which Celia had successfully given in Ellen’s charge.

At recess the same group of girls which had been whispering in the morning, again gathered in one corner and began their talk in low tones. Clara Adams was in the centre and it was she to whom the others were all looking. Clara was a favorite because of her wealth rather than because of her disposition, and she had followers who liked to have it said that they were intimate with her.

“What do you suppose they are talking about?” said Dorothy after a while.

“I’m sure I don’t know and what’s more I don’t care,” replied Edna. “Do you care, Dorothy?”

“Oh, I don’t know; just a little, I think. See, they are going over and whispering to Molly Clark, and she is getting up and going over there. I wonder what it is all about.”

Edna wondered, too, but neither she nor Dorothy found out that day. The same thing went on the next day. One by one most of the girls whom Edna and Dorothy liked the best were seen to join the little company of whisperers, and whenever Clara Adams would pass the two friends she would give them a look as much as to say: Wouldn’t you like to know what we know?

“I think it is just horrid mean of them,” said Dorothy when the next day came and they were no nearer to knowing the secret than they had been in the beginning.

“I heard Molly say something about to-morrow afternoon,” said Edna. “They are all going to do something or go somewhere. I am going to tell sister, so I am.”

“And I’ll tell my sister. Maybe they know something about it, Edna.”

They lost no time in seeking out their sisters to whom they made known the state of affairs. “And they are getting hold of nearly all the nicest girls,” complained Edna. “Molly Clark, and Ruth Cutting and all those. They haven’t said anything to Margaret, for I asked her. She isn’t here to-day.”

“Have you any idea what they are going to do?” Dorothy asked her sister.

“I have an idea, but it may not be right.”

“Oh, tell us, do.” The two younger girls were very eager.

Agnes leaned over and said in a low voice, “I believe they are getting up some sort of club.”

“Oh!” This idea had never occurred to either of the little girls before.

“And they don’t want us in it,” said Edna, “I wonder why.”

“It is all that horrid Clara Adams,” declared Dorothy. “She is jealous of you because you always know your lessons and behave yourself, and she don’t like me because I go with you and won’t give you up for her.”

“How do you know?” asked Edna.

“I know,” returned Dorothy, and then she shut her lips very tightly.

“All the girls used to like us,” said Edna sadly.

“Bless your dear heart,” said Agnes drawing the child to her, “I shouldn’t care. They will be sorry enough after a while, you may be sure, and will wish they had treated you two better. Celia, we mustn’t let those little whippersnappers have it all their own way. Never you mind, children, we’ll do something, too. Celia and I will talk it over and let you know to-morrow. You and Celia come up to our house Saturday afternoon and we’ll see if we can get Margaret and perhaps one or two others. Now run along and let us talk over a plan I have.”

The two went off joyously, arms around one another. When Agnes championed their cause there was no more reason to be troubled, and they finished their recess in a corner by themselves quite content.

There were not more than a dozen little girls in the class and when half of these had gone over to the enemy, and one or two were absent it left a very small number for Edna and Dorothy to count upon, but they did not care after the older girls had taken up their cause, and they cast quite as independent looks at Clara as she did at them. They would have a secret too. “And it will be a great deal nicer than theirs,” declared Dorothy. So when the bell rang they went back to their seats in a very happy frame of mind.

The next day a new pupil appeared and at recess she was swooped down upon by one of Clara’s friends and was borne away, but after a while she left the group and went back to her seat. Dorothy and Edna were out in the school yard playing, but when they came in the new scholar looked smilingly at Edna and after a while she made her way to where they were standing. “Isn’t this Edna Conway?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m Edna,” was the reply from the little round-faced girl who smiled at her.

“I’m Jennie Ramsey, and my mother told me to be sure to speak to you and tell you I was at the fair last year and I was so glad when you got the doll.”

“Oh, were you there?” Edna looked pleased. “I am so glad you have come here to school. This is Dorothy Evans.”

Jennie and Dorothy smiled at each other and Edna went on. “Dorothy don’t you remember about Mrs. Ramsey who took so much trouble to get Margaret away from that dreadful woman? She must be a lovely mother, for she was so dear to Margaret.”

“Do tell me about her,” said Jennie. “I have been so much interested, for mother told me all about how you ran against her in the street and how you won the doll for her and all about her being adopted so I did hope I should know you some day. I’d like to be friends, if you will let me.”

“Oh, I’d love to be,” Edna spoke heartily, “and I am so glad you know about Margaret. She comes here to school, but of course she isn’t very happy about having to be in the class with such little girls. Mrs. MacDonald is talking of getting a governess for her till she can catch up a little, but we shall be sorry to have her not come here.”