Miss Ashton's New Pupil — 13 - Chapters XXV and XXVI

DIPHTHERIA.

On Tuesday the regular exercises of the day were to begin.

All day Monday, carriage after carriage came driving up to the academy, depositing their loads of freight,--excited girls full of the freshness and pleasure gathered from their brief holiday.

The long corridors were merry with affectionate osculations.

Light, happy laughs danced out from rosy lips, and arms were twined and intertwined in the loving clasp of young girls.

So much to tell!

So much to hear!

Miss Ashton, welcoming the coming groups, called it a "Thanksgiving Pandemonium;" but she enjoyed it quite as much as any of the rioters.

In the evening, when they were all together in the large parlor, she turned the gathering into a pleasant party, helped to fill it with fun and frolic, and sent even the most homesick to their rooms with smiles instead of tears.

Not a word had been said of Nellie Blair's sickness.

There is no place where a panic is more easily started and harder to control than in a girls' school; nor is there any cause that will so surely awaken it as a case of diphtheria.

Its acute suffering, its often sudden end, its contagiousness, all combine to make it the most dreaded of diseases.

Some reason had to be given, of course, for the condition in which Marion's room-mates found their room on their arrival, also for Marion's removal.

Miss Ashton had guardedly told them the truth, with the strictest request that they should keep it to themselves; but, in spite of her injunction, that night after the party broke up, there was not a girl in the hall who did not know and who was not alarmed by Nellie's sickness.

Anxious groups gathered together in the corridors and discussed it.

Some fled to their rooms and wrote hurried notes home, asking for leave to come back at once.

The panic had begun, augmented beyond doubt by the excitement consequent on the return.

Miss Ashton was besieged by girls, all anxious to know the exact state of the case, and not a few clamoring for leave to go away, even that very night, from the contagion.

Had she any less influence over this frightened crowd, or they any less trust in her wisdom and kindness, half of the rooms would have been empty before morning; but, as it was, simply by telling them the truth, that Nellie had diphtheria, but that the doctor said that it was not a malignant case, and that there was not the slightest danger of its spreading, with even ordinary care, she succeeded in so far quieting their fears that they went to their rooms, though, if she had only known it, to discuss with even more excitement than they had shown to her the dreadful possibilities before them.

One girl actually stole out at midnight and, hurrying through the cold and darkness, went to the house of a cousin who lived near by, waking and alarming the family in a way that they found hard to forgive, and taking by this exposure so severe a cold that, serious lung symptoms developing, she was sent home, and her academical course ended.

The next morning when the school gathered in the chapel, they found Dr. Dawson on the stage.

After the preliminary exercises were over, he rose, and said,-- "Young ladies, I understand you have taken fright on account of the case of diphtheria that is occurring here.

I am an old man, as you see, and have had a hundred, perhaps five hundred cases as like this as two peas in a pod."

(He stopped, expecting a smile at least for his homely comparison, but every face was as sober as if he had come to sound a death-knell.

) "Miss Blair _is_ sick, I might say is _very_ sick, but I am not in the least anxious about her, or about any of you.

Under ordinary circumstances, and I consider these very ordinary, I think there is not any probability of another case in the house.

"Take an old physician's advice.

Stay where you are, go promptly and faithfully about your regular duties, don't mention the word diphtheria, and don't think of it.

If I were a life-insurance agent, I would insure those of you who obeyed my injunctions for half the premium that I would those who worry over this, or run away.

Again I say, go faithfully about your ordinary duties, and all of you" (dropping his voice into solemn tones now) "ask God to be with and protect you, and restore to you your sick companion."

Then he took up his hat and marched down through the long, girl-bordered aisle, smiling and nodding to those he knew as he went.

On the whole, his speech did little to allay the panic.

He had not only allowed that Nellie was _very_ sick, but he had talked about "life-insurance," and asking God for protection.

Qualms of fear followed him as he went.

Miss Ashton understood the assembly better than the wise physician, and before he had closed the door she regretted that she had asked him to address them.

One part of his advice, however, was sound; that regarding to the scholars at once resuming their work, and putting diphtheria out of conversation and mind.

If only good advice could or would always be taken, what a different world it would be!

Fortunately here, among these two hundred girls, there were leaders both sensible and trusted, who did follow the doctor's advice, went at once about their studies, and ably seconded the exertions of the teachers to resume the usual routine of work.

Among the most prominent of these was Dorothy Ottley.

She had that indescribable moral power over the girls which comes, and one is tempted to say comes only, from a consistent, faithful, gentle, loving character.

She did not draw to herself that impulsive love which is here to-day and gone to-morrow, so common among girls; but if any were sad or sick or in trouble they instinctively sought Dorothy, and they always found in her what they needed.

She was plain looking; her sea-browned face, her thin, light hair that wind and wave had bleached, the pathetic look that years of a hard life had stamped upon her, could not conceal, could not even dim, the strong, true soul that looked out of her gray eye, or change the effect of the honest words her lips always spoke.

Now, wherever she went, the girls clustered around her, followed her example in prompt attendance on the regular duties, and somehow, no one could have told you just how, felt safer that she was there.

Marion, Miss Ashton kept from among them.

If she had been exposed to the disease from Nellie's being with her, it might be best not to allow her to mingle with the others; besides, they would shun her, and that Marion would find hard to bear.

As it was not known except to her room-mates that she had returned from her vacation, this was easy to do; and so in the pleasant guest-room Marion went on with her studies without a fear of diphtheria, only thinking of, and anxious for, the sick friend.

It was Gladys who began the series of attentions that on the second day filled Nellie's room with gifts of flowers, of fruit, of books, even of candy and pretty toys, which the girls had already begun to gather for the coming Christmas.

Miss Mason, the trained nurse, was kept busy at certain hours answering the teacher's knock who brought the gifts and the accompanying love,--and Nellie, poor Nellie, struggling with the pain and the uncertainty, was cheered and helped by loving attentions given to her for the first time in her desolate life.

Miss Ashton, hearing every hour from the sickroom, shared in the cheer and the help; there was a reward to her in this proof of the tenderness and generosity of that wonderful woman's nature she had made it her life's work to develop and train.

Each day there was a bulletin put up in the hall, stating Nellie's condition.

It was always cheerful.

Miss Ashton wrote,-- "Nellie is cross this morning.

Dr. Dawson pronounces it the best symptom he has seen since she was taken sick."

"Nellie has asked for a piece of that mince-pie one of you sent her.

Nurse says, 'No,' but looks much pleased at the request."

"Rejoicing in the hospital!

a decided improvement in Nellie."

"Nellie teases to sit up."

"Nellie lifted onto the sofa!

Dressed in my old blue wrapper!

Looks white and funny."

"Nellie sends her love and thanks to all her kind, kind friends."

"Nellie teasing to see Marion Parke."

"Nellie pronounced out of danger."

"Nellie removed to Mrs. Gaston's, where she will stay until she is strong enough to resume her studies.

Sends love and thanks."

The next day there were rumors around the school that Marion Parke, who had been missed by this time, and accounted for, was taken sick with diphtheria, and was much worse than Nellie had ever been.

Now, of course, the panic began anew; and as many of the girls had written home and obtained leave to return, more than that, commands to do so, as the sick girl's case was contagious, Miss Ashton found all her trouble renewed.

She had been besieged with letters from anxious parents, charging her not to trifle with their children's lives, but by all means to send them home at once if there was the least real danger; so now she had no hesitation in letting those go who wished, indeed it was a relief to her to have the number of her school smaller, and the anxiety lessened; but now it was only a scare.

Marion did have a sore throat, but it was one which comes often with an ordinary cold, and Dr. Dawson laughed at it, gave her some slight medicines, and scolded Miss Ashton for having separated her so long from the girls.

The girls gave her a wide berth, but for this Miss Ashton had prepared her, and Marion was more amused than hurt by it.

Before a week had passed, the four room-mates were together in their old rooms, and Marion was made a heroine.

All she had done for Nellie was exaggerated, with that generous exaggeration of which girls are so capable.

After all, this diphtheritic episode had only been injurious to the school inasmuch as it had broken into the regular routine, and thrown hindrances into the completion of work which was expected to be done before the coming on of the long holiday vacation.

That Christmas and New Year's came so soon after Thanksgiving was something for the teachers to deplore; but as they were in no way responsible for it, and as indeed Christmas was a religious holiday, well in keeping with the _animus_ of the institution, they met it heartily, the more so than usual this year, as they hoped, the vacation over, to resume the regular course, both in study and discipline, without any further interruption.

CHAPTER XXVI. CHRISTMAS COMING.

The Demosthenic Club had received two severe setbacks since its organization.

One when Kate Underwood's tableaux fell under Miss Ashton's displeasure on account of the carelessness it had shown in injuring, for fun's sake, the feelings of a schoolmate; the other when members of the club had been guilty of a flagrant breach of the rules, by the stolen sleigh-ride with the Atherton boys.

"In spite of it all," Kate Underwood said, "we will just change its name, and go on as if nothing had happened.

We are to be now the 'Never Say Die Club.'

Vote on it, girls."

The new name was adopted by acclamation, and several other votes were carried at the same time, all in favor of law and order, showing how truly these girls had meant to keep the promises they had made in their extremity to Miss Ashton, to be law-abiding members of the school.

They held their secret meetings as often and as secretly as their constitution demanded; they discussed all questions that the interests of the times suggested.

If they had a spread, it was before study hours, and with unlocked doors.

On the whole, Jenny Barton, Kate Underwood, and Mamie Smythe took the lessons they had received into good, honest hearts, and grew, by the many resisted temptations which were born of the secrecy of their club, into better, nobler characters.

Miss Ashton, watching them with vigilant eyes, marked the improvement, and showed her value of it by greater confidence in its leading members.

There was an important meeting to be held a week before the breaking up for the Christmas vacation.

It was to be in Lilly White's room, where, indeed, most of their meetings were held, for Lilly had a room by herself, richly furnished, this being the only inducement her parents could offer her, that made her consent to the fearful ordeal of a few years at school,--to be dull and to be wealthy!

Who would desire it for any child?

"You understand," said President Jenny Barton, after the meeting was called to order, "that this is to be no common affair.

It's to be, well!

it's to be a sort of atonement for--well, for those other affairs; and, girls, if we do anything about it, let's do it up handsome.

What do you say?"

"Do it jist illigant, or let it alone," said Mamie Smythe.

"Jist illigant!"

repeated one member of the club after another, until the president said,-- "Motioned, and carried.

Now for our plan.

Keep it a profound secret!"

Such a busy place as the academy became now, probably had its counterpart in every girls' boarding-school all over the length and breadth of our land.

Where there is good discipline and good scholarship, neither the rules nor the lessons are allowed to be slighted; but as December days shorten, and December cold strengthens, even the most indolent pupil finds herself under a certain stress of occupation which she cannot resist.

Shirking can find no place in the recitation-room.

Moments that have been idled away now become precious, each one laden with its weight of some loving remembrance to be made for the dear ones at home.

Such treasures of delicate silks, laces, plushes, velvets, ribbons, embroideries, card-boards, tassels, cords, gilt in every shape and capable of every use; such pretty gift-books, booklets, cards, afghans, sofa-pillows, head-rests; such wonders of ingenuity in working up places for thermometers, putting them in dust-pans, tying them onto bread-rollers, slipping them behind wonderful clusters of sweet painted flowers; such pen-wipers, such blotters, work-baskets, paper-baskets, bureau coverings, bureau mats!

napery of all varieties;

and, after all, this enumeration is but the beginning of what in Montrose Academy was hidden in drawers, stowed away in most impossible and impracticable places, yet always ready to the hand for a spare moment.

Two hundred girls,--for by this time most of the diphtheritic runaways had returned,--and all, without an exception, were Christmas busy!

Christmas crazy!

What a changed place it made of the school!

Benedictions on the hallowed holiday!

If we put aside its religious bearing, think of it only as a time when heart goes out to heart, even the most selfish of us all will remember to show our love in a visible token of affection.

If, with all this, we can make our offerings hallowed by a tenderer love and a deeper affection for Him in whose honor the whole world keeps the festival, then, indeed, the day becomes to us the most blessed and beautiful of our lives!

Marion Parke saw it as it was kept here in an entirely new way.

At her Western home, her father had made it a day of religious observance.

Marion had always been leader in trimming their church with the pretty greens which their mild winter spared to them, and on Christmas Sunday they sang Christmas hymns, and listened to a Christmas sermon.

On Christmas Eve they had a Christmas-tree, and hung it with such useful gifts as their necessities demanded and a small purse could provide.

It was a happy, precious day, simply and heartily kept; but here she was lost in wonder, as she was called from room to room to see the rare and beautiful gifts which, it seemed to her, abounded everywhere.

Money to purchase such things for herself to give away she had not, but she watched her room-mates, as they deftly prepared their gifts for their Rock Cove homes, with delight.

How busy and happy they were!

Sometimes Marion's longing to send something, if only a little remembrance, home brought the tears into her eyes.

Gladys was the first to see this and to guess its cause.

At once she began to purchase new silks, trimmings of all kinds, booklets, cards, increasing her store, until even her cousins, accustomed as they were to her fitful extravagances, wondered at her.

When her drawers, never too orderly, began to assume a chaotic appearance, she said fretfully one morning to Marion Parke, who was looking and laughing at the chaos,-- "I should think, instead of laughing at me, it would be a great deal better natured in you to help me put them into some kind of order.

Your drawer isn't half full.

Look here!

open it, and let me tuck some of these duds in."

Marion opened hers, pushed the few things it contained carefully into a corner, and said,-- "You are very welcome to all the room you want.

Remember, I am only here on sufferance; it is really all yours."

"Nonsense!

help me, can't you?

I shall pitch them in any way, and you are so tidy!"

Help her Marion did, and when the jumbled but valuable contents of the drawer were all transferred, Gladys shut it up with a gleeful laugh.

"Oh, how splendid it is," she said, "to have the drawer clean and clear again!

Never one of those duds is going back, and you can use them or throw them away; put them in a rag-bag if you want to; I've nothing more to do with them."

Then Sue and Dorothy understood what the extravagance meant, but Marion did not; she only stood still, staring at Gladys, wondering what she could have said or done to vex her kind-hearted room-mate.

And it was not until hours afterward, when she was alone with Dorothy, and Dorothy told her they were gifts to her, that she knew how rich in Christmas treasures she had suddenly become.

And here it is pleasant to tell, that this was only one of Gladys's thoughtful kindnesses.

Little bundles of similar gifts were constantly going from her to the doors of the girls whose small means made Christmas presents luxuries in which they could not indulge.

Even Gladys's liberal father wondered often over the amount of money which she wished for these holidays; but he trusted her, and in truth felt proud and glad that this only child had a noble, generous nature, which could, and did, think of others more than of herself; for in the account which she always sent him of the expenditure of these moneys, while there were many "give aways," there were few dollars spent on herself.

One day, in the regular mail-bag, there came this note to Miss Ashton:-- We, the undersigned, grateful for the undeserved kindnesses with which you have made our repentant days so happy, request the pleasure of your company in the parlor, Tuesday evening, December 22. JENNY BARTON, SOPHY KANE,

KATE UNDERWOOD, MAMIE SMYTHE,

LUCY SNOW, LILLY WHITE,

MARTHA DODD,

_and all the members of the "Never Say Die Club."

_ "What are those girls up to now?"

Miss Ashton said with a pleasant laugh, as she read the invitation, but she accepted it without any delay, and when she was told by Miss Newton, the confidential helper of the whole school in any of their wants, that the parlor had been lent to the secret society for the evening, and no teacher was to be allowed entrance until eight o'clock, she smilingly acquiesced.

The club were excused from their recitations that afternoon, and it was amusing to see how much spying there was among the rest of the school to find out what was going on.

All that could be seen, however, was the coming in of a big boxed article, unfortunately for the curious, so boxed that no one could even guess what it contained.

A general invitation had been given to the whole school, and before the appointed hour for opening the door, groups of girls in full evening dress began to fill the corridor and press close to the door.

When, punctual to the appointed moment, it was flung open, a burst of laughter followed.

Ranged around a covered object in the middle of the room stood twenty girls, dressed in gray flannel blankets made in the fashion of the penitential robes worn by nuns.

They all wore stiff white hoods, with the long capes coming down over their shoulders, and each one carried in her hand a small tin pan filled to the brim with ashes.

They stood immovable until Miss Ashton entered the room, when the whole club sank upon their knees, bending their heads until they nearly touched the floor, dexterously placing the tin of ashes upon their backs.

No sooner had they assumed this position than a little flag was unfurled from the top of the covered object in the middle of the room, upon which was printed in large letters:-- "FORGIVE, AND ACCEPT."

Then the covering was slowly removed by some one hidden beneath it, and there stood an elegant writing-desk, on the front of which were the words:-- "A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO MISS ASHTON THE MERCIFUL FROM HER GRATEFUL

NEVER SAY DIE CLUB."

CHAPTER XXVII.