Marjorie Dean, High School Senior

Mignon’s return to school occasioned much speculation on the part of her class mates. As only the Lookouts knew the true reason of her brief withdrawal from Sanford High, it had been a subject for fruitful cogitation among the other seniors. Not even the Lookouts knew, with one exception, the reason for Mignon’s return. Among themselves they laid it to her ability to manage her father. Marjorie, the one exception, kept her own secret. What took place on a certain rainy evening remained locked forever within her heart. Besides the three intimately interested parties to the little drama, only one other shared the secret. From her captain she kept back nothing.

To Marjorie the remaining days of May passed with a pleasant uneventfulness, which she mentally likened to the welcome calm that inevitably succeeds a storm. She was filled with a quiet sense of exultation. With the ending of her senior year had come peace. Mignon’s miraculous change of heart had resulted in removing from the senior class the last element of discord. The seniors were now indeed one heart, one soul, marching on, shoulder to shoulder, toward the end of their high school course.

She had but one regret. She earnestly wished that the new Mignon might again take her place among the Lookouts. The fulfilling of this desire, however, would entail an amount of explanation which she did not feel privileged to make. She and Mignon discussed the painful subject at length, both agreeing sadly that matters must remain as they were. Having sown chaff with a liberal hand, this unhappy reminder of her treacherous conduct was in itself a part of the bitter harvest Mignon was obliged to reap. As she had meted it out to others, so it had been measured back to her. With the belated realization, however, had come resigned acceptance. Mignon’s feet were at last planted firmly in the straight path.

The arrival of rose-decked June marked the beginning of the pleasant flurry which always attends the sweet girl graduate’s preparations for Commencement. Strolling home from school each afternoon in the warm sunshine of early summer, Marjorie and her devoted companions brimmed with eager conversation relating to the momentous occasion. With Commencement exercises set for the morning of June twenty-second, they were divided between anticipation of the event and regret at saying good-bye to Sanford High.

The day nursery was also an important topic of discussion. Although their successors had been already chosen, they were not expected to take up their new responsibilities until school re-opened in the fall. The original Lookouts had decided to carry on the work as best they could through the summer. Vacation time would see a part of their number absent from Sanford during one or more of the summer months. In consequence the daily pilgrimages to the nursery at which they had taken turns could not continue. Each girl had agreed, however, to go there as often as possible to assist the two women in charge, who were permanently attached to the place.

Their chief anxiety for the welfare of the little home they had founded related to money matters. The present prosperous state of the Lookouts’ treasury would keep the enterprise in a flourishing condition until well into the next year. After that they could only hope that their successors would find ways and means to continue the good work. They had solemnly pledged themselves to pay a year’s dues in advance into the treasury before leaving home in the autumn to continue their education in the various colleges of their choice. They were also resolved to get together during the next Christmas vacation and devise some sort of entertainment which their town folks would patronize. This much at least they could offer to the cause they had so generously espoused.

Lingering at the Macys’ gate on the way from school one afternoon to discuss this very important subject, Jerry remarked confidentially: “I almost forgot to tell you a real piece of news. My father told me about it this noon. Someone, he wouldn’t say who, has offered Sanford High a scholarship to Hamilton College. The name of the giver is to be announced on Commencement morning with the winner’s name. We’ll probably hear about it at chapel to-morrow morning. I thought you’d like to know beforehand. It’s a splendid chance for Lucy Warner or Veronica, for that matter. They’re both brilliant students. Either is likely to win it.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?” glowed Marjorie. “I don’t know which of the two I’d rather see win it. Lucy’s heart is set on going to college. I’ve never heard Ronny say anything about it. I suppose she would like to go on with her education, though.”

“Of course you’ve never heard her say a word about it,” retorted Jerry, “or about anything else. She’s beyond me. I said when I first met her that I was going to find out the whys and wherefores of her. I’ve never found out a thing. Where she learned to dance so beautifully, where those two expensive dancing dresses came from, why she works for her board and looks like a princess, are mysteries I can’t ferret out. She’s a perfect dear and has helped the Lookouts a lot, but she’s the great enigma, just the same.”

“It’s rather queer about her,” mused Marjorie. “I used to think that she’d some day explain a few things. Perhaps there’s really nothing mysterious to explain. She is probably a natural dancer. Miss Archer must have given her those two beautiful dresses and she was born with the air of a princess.”

“That’s not the answer,” disagreed Jerry with a shake of her head. “I guess it’s the only one we’ll ever get, though, so why worry about it? I’m a baffled sleuth and I might as well own up to it. I can’t truthfully say now that I know everything about everybody.”

Jerry’s admitted mystification regarding Veronica Browning deepened considerably. When the club met at Marjorie’s home the next evening, the latter quietly assured her that she had no intention to try for the scholarship. The announcement of it and the details of the test examinations to be held to determine the winner, having been publicly made that very morning, it was freely discussed at the meeting. Of the Lookouts, it appeared that Lucy Warner was the only one to try for it. Several members of the senior class, outside the club, had also entered the lists.

The parting of the ways so near, the sextette of girls who had emerged from their freshman year, a devoted band, clung fondly to one another. Not even the glories of approaching Commencement and the consciousness of work well done could drive away the thought that their school days together would soon be a thing of the past. Commencement would witness a break in the fond little circle. The next fall Marjorie, Jerry and Muriel were to take up their new life at Hamilton College. Susan and Irma expected to enter Wellesley College, while Constance Stevens would begin her training for grand opera in New York City. It would indeed be a parting of the ways.

Although Harriet Delaney had not been of their original number, she was equally dear. It was a source of consolation to Marjorie that Harriet was also bound for the same conservatory as Constance. She reflected that, with Hamilton College not very far from New York, she would be always in direct touch with both girls. It was conceded by all that they would miss Veronica sorely. Several times Marjorie had questioned her regarding her future plans, only to receive evasive replies that discouraged further inquiry.

So while June laughed its fragrant, blossoming way toward the twenty-second of the month, the sextette of sworn friends became doubly endeared to one another as they took their last walks together to and from school. As Lookouts they would continue to meet regularly until their vacation flittings began, but as schoolmates their days were numbered. Having disposed of their final tests in January, they were free of the bugbear of examinations. The week preceding Commencement Day took on a singularly social tone. Jerry and Hal gave their long postponed dance. Constance gave an informal hop at Gray Gables. Muriel sent out invitations for a lawn party, and Marjorie entertained the Lookouts at a Saturday luncheon.

Commencement Day dawned with a cloudless blue sky and a lavish display of sunshine. More than one pair of anxious feet pattered to the window before seven o’clock that morning to view the weather prospects. To the members of the senior class it was thus far the most eventful day in their short lives. They considered it quite their due that Nature should put on her most radiantly smiling face in their honor.

Awake with dawn, Marjorie had slipped on a soft, pink negligee and curled herself up on her window seat for a quiet little session with herself. A pensive wistfulness lay in her brown eyes as she gazed dreamily out at the beauty of the sunlit morning. Her mind harked back to her first days at Sanford High School. Again she saw herself a timid outlander, entering the great study hall for the first time. It seemed ages ago. How quickly her four years at high school had sped! There had certainly been plenty of vicissitudes. Compared to the joys that had been hers, they paled to insignificance. She marveled that she should have been so abundantly blessed. Face to face with the end of her course, she could only regret that she had not done more to deserve these benefits. Untouched by false pride or vanity, she could not know how great a power for good she had been. Very humbly she bowed her head in a silent prayer of thankfulness to the Divine Source from whence all blessings flowed.

At breakfast, however, this retrospective mood was temporarily banished by her General’s teasing sallies. Later, as she donned her exquisite graduation gown of white chiffon, reverence again flowed over her like a mantle. When at ten o’clock her father assisted her into the waiting limousine with much ridiculous ceremony, she presented an unusually lovely vision of radiant girlhood. Only the faint brooding light in her eyes gave sign of the deeper emotion that lay behind them.

The Commencement exercises were to be held in Sanford Hall, a good-sized auditorium on an upper floor of the high school building. The anteroom was to be used as a meeting place for the graduates. From there they were to march, two by two, into the main auditorium. The first three rows of seats at the left of the large room, roped in by broad white ribbon, had been reserved for them. In contradistinction to the custom of many high schools, none of the graduates were to read essays. As valedictorian, Lucy Warner was the only one of them to be publicly heard. The pastor of the First Episcopal Church of Sanford was to address the graduates. The President of the Board of Education and Miss Archer were also to make short addresses. To the former belonged the privilege of announcing the winner of the scholarship.

Marjorie’s entrance into the anteroom was the signal for a soft murmur of admiration on the part of a group of white-gowned, flower-laden girls gathered in a corner of the rendezvous. To her adoring friends she had never before looked quite so utterly lovely. The purity of her dainty gown served to enhance the beauty of her sparkling brown eyes and sweetly serious features. A sheaf of long-stemmed white roses, which she carried, was the last touch needed to complete the picture.

“You’re the ideal girl graduate, Marjorie,” greeted Jerry, who had come forward to meet her. “I look nice, the girls there look nicer, but you look nicest. Hal will be all puffed up with pride when he sees you with his roses. Connie is carrying the ones Laurie sent her.”

“It was thoughtful in Hal to send them.” Marjorie’s color heightened. “They are exquisite. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated them. Someone was nice to you, too, Jerry,” she added slyly, noting the huge bouquet of pink roses on Jerry’s plump arm.

It was Jerry who now flushed. “I have Danny Seabrooke to thank for them,” she confided. “Don’t you dare tell the girls, though.”

Before she could make laughing promise of secrecy, they had reached the others. For the next five minutes a lively exchange of conversation went on among the bevy of graduates, now clustered around Marjorie. She then left them to pay her admiring respects to Mignon La Salle, who had just arrived. Her sharp features animated by a smile of genuine friendliness, Mignon had never appeared to better advantage. Her white lingerie gown, a marvel of expensive simplicity, Marjorie thought the most becoming frock she had ever seen Mignon wear.

Pausing to clasp hands and chat with her for a moment, Marjorie passed on to speak to Lucy Warner, a dignified little figure in a simple white organdie frock. As valedictorian, Lucy was living in a maze of proud happiness. From one to another of her classmates, Marjorie wandered, leaving behind her an atmosphere of good will, created by her lovable personality. In all her class there was not one who did not wish her well.

Seated at last in Sanford Hall between Jerry and Constance, she made an alarming discovery. Glancing up and down the rows of white-clad girls, she noted that Veronica Browning was absent. What had happened to keep Ronny away, she wondered in perplexity. The question repeated itself in her brain as she tried to fix her mind on the clergyman’s address.

Her eyes constantly sought the door nearest the graduates’ section in the hope of seeing the missing girl appear. She wondered if her friends had also made the same belated discovery. Of a sudden she drew a sharp breath. A slender, graceful girl had entered the hall and was noiselessly making her way to the ribboned enclosure. Was this beautiful newcomer, in the ravishing white lace frock, humble Veronica Browning? A gasping sigh from Jerry announced the stout girl’s patent amazement at the metamorphosis. The sigh was followed by an emphatic jab from Jerry’s elbow which spoke volumes. Marjorie had but to glance about her to note equal signs of mental perturbation on the part of her classmates as Veronica slipped into a vacant seat in the third row.

The end of the exercises, however, was destined to furnish them with an even greater surprise. Eagerly alert to hear the name of the winner of the scholarship, the announcement that Lucy Warner had gained it was not in itself a matter of astonishment. It was the speaker’s next remark that furnished the surprise.

“I take great pleasure in announcing that this scholarship, the first to be presented to Sanford High School, is the gift of Miss Veronica Browning Lynne. Miss Lynne wishes it to be known hereafter as the ‘Marjorie Dean Scholarship,’ a tribute of her esteem for Miss Marjorie Dean,” was the bombshell that burst on the senior class.

The thunder of applause that swept the auditorium drowned his further speech. Down among the graduates Marjorie Dean presented a petrified figure of amazement. Her brown eyes blinded by tears, she heard dimly the vigorous acclamation of her schoolmates and townspeople. Dimly she was aware that Jerry was holding one of her hands; Constance the other. With a little sob, she freed them, hiding her burning cheeks behind them. Nor did she have the courage to remove them until the clamor died away. Again she heard the speaker’s voice.

“I have also another announcement to make which, while not strictly related to high school matters, pertains to a number of the graduates who are members of the senior class sorority, ‘The Lookout Club.’ During the short period in which this sorority has been in existence it has accomplished much good. Mr. Victor La Salle, one of our most prominent Sanford citizens, wishes me to state that in token of his kindly regard for Miss Marjorie Dean, a member of the club, he wishes to make an endowment of one thousand dollars a year to be used by the Lookout Club as a help in carrying on their work.

“I may also add that Miss Dean is to be congratulated on having attained to so high a position of regard in the estimation of the donors.”

Marjorie could never quite remember the ending of the Commencement exercises. As in a dream she walked up on the stage with her class to receive her diploma to the tune of fresh and infinitely embarrassing applause. The unexpected had robbed her of coherent thought. Three words alone sang in her bewildered brain, “Veronica Browning Lynne.”

The exercises ended, she moved mechanically off the stage in the line of graduates, headed toward the anteroom. Exiting from stage into the side room, she became immediately the center of a buzzing throng of highly excited girls.

“Here she is, Marjorie,” shrieked Jerry, as she laid gentle hold on Veronica and shoved her into Marjorie’s outstretched arms.

“Ronny, who are you?” was all Marjorie could say as she folded Miss Archer’s “servant girl” in her arms.

For answer Veronica merely laughed. Raising her clear voice she said, “Girls, I have something to say to you. I am a wicked impostor. I hope you’ll all forgive me for deceiving you so long. I did so for purely personal reasons. I am really not so very poverty-stricken and I was never a servant of Miss Archer’s. She is my god-mother. I came to visit her, but decided to stay in Sanford and go to high school. I played at being a servant just for fun. That’s all.”

It was indeed “all” so far as Veronica wished the majority of her classmates to know. That afternoon, however, Marjorie, Jerry and Constance gathered in Miss Archer’s living room to hear the more intimate details of the affair from Veronica’s lips.

“I couldn’t explain things to the others,” she began. “I wish only you three to know the rest. It was Mignon who put the servant idea in my head. When you and she called on my god-mother that day, Marjorie, I was amused to find that she thought me a maid. I was merely helping God-mother straighten the house while Hulda was away. It came to me in a flash that it would be fun to pretend poverty and see what happened. So I made God-mother promise to keep quiet about the real me. I’m glad now that I did. It has shown me how splendid girls can be. I love the Lookouts, every one, but I know Jerry and Connie won’t feel hurt if I say I love Marjorie best of all.

“Before I came here, I went to a select boarding school near New York City. I didn’t care much for it and when God-mother visited us last summer she urged me to try a year of high school for a change. That’s how I happened to come here. Only one person in Sanford found me out, your friend Laurie Armitage. It happened that he had seen me do that Dance of the Night at an open air performance which we gave for charity at the boarding school. The moment he saw me in that black robe he recognized me. I made him promise to keep my secret. As for my dancing, I’ve always loved to dance. My mother, who died years ago, was a professional dancer. My father is Alfred Lynne, who owns so many fruit ranches in California. Now have I explained myself satisfactorily?”

“You have.” Jerry drew a long breath. “I must say you kept your secret well. I’ll tell you frankly, I tried my hardest to find out who you really were. I never believed you were what you pretended to be. I can’t get over it.”

“Nor I,” echoed Marjorie. To herself she was thinking that she now knew who had sent Lucy Warner the ten dollars. Irrelevantly she added: “You’ve done a great deal for Lucy Warner, Ronny, and for Sanford High School. I didn’t deserve the honor of having the scholarship named for me. I hardly know how to thank you for such a wonderful thing.”

“I offered the scholarship especially for Lucy,” admitted Veronica. “I have always felt sorry for her. I knew she wanted to go to college, and I thought she would win it. She is a very stubborn but very brilliant girl. As for you, Marjorie, you deserve the best that life can give you. It’s eminently fitting that your name should be perpetuated in Sanford High School. Isn’t it, girls?”

Veronica’s question elicited an affectionate response from Jerry and Constance that caused Marjorie’s hand to cover her ears in playful protest against such lavish appreciation of herself.

“You are hopeless, all of you,” she declared, a slight tremble in her clear tones. “You forget that I’m just plain Lieutenant Dean with a long hike ahead of me through the Country of College. As a freshman at Hamilton I’ll be a very insignificant person. Whatever I’ve been or tried to be in Sanford won’t count there. But your faith in me will count for a great deal. Trying to live up to it will keep me out of mischief. Then I can’t help but be a good soldier.”