Miss Ashton's New Pupil — 02 - Chapters III and IV

She did not suppose for a moment it was to be permanently hers, but fell asleep wondering what could be next in waiting for her.

CHAPTER III. GLADYS HAS A ROOM-MATE.

When Dorothy left Marion at the call of the gong for study hours she went at once to her own room.

She had two room-mates, both her cousins; one, Gladys Philbrick, was a Florida girl, the only child of a wealthy owner of several orange-groves.

She was motherless, and needed a woman's care, and the advantages of a Northern education, so her father sent her to live with relatives in the small seaport town of Rock Cove.

The other, Susan Downer, was the child of a sister of Mr. Philbrick;

her father followed the sea, and her brother, almost the one boy in Rock Cove who did not look upon a sailor life as the only one worth living, was at the present time a student at the academy at Atherton, only a few miles from Montrose.

Dorothy herself was the child of a fisherman--her own mother dead, and she left under the care of a weak stepmother, whose numerous family of small children had made Dorothy's life one of constant hardship.

When Mr. Philbrick, in one of his visits to Gladys at the North, became acquainted with this little group of cousins, he had no hesitation--being not only an educated man, but also one of a great heart and generous nature--in making plans for their future education.

In carrying these out, he had sent Jerry Downer to Atherton; Gladys, Susan, and Dorothy to Montrose.

Her cousins were already busy with their books when Dorothy came into the room; and, careful not to disturb them, she sat quietly down to study her own lessons, but she could not fix her mind upon them.

Marion alone down-stairs, homesick, with no one to say a kind word to her, or to tell her about the school, "a stranger in a strange land," she kept repeating to herself; "and such a sweet-looking girl.

It's too bad!"

Try her best not to, she still found herself watching the hands of the clock.

For a wonder she was anxious to have study hours over; she wanted to tell her cousins about Marion.

As it proved, they were quite as anxious to hear; for no sooner had the clock struck nine, and the gong struck again for the close, as it had for the opening of study hours, than they shut their books, and Gladys said,-- "Tell us about Two Hundred?

What a way you have, Dorothy, of always finding out people who want you!"

"She was all alone," said Dorothy, by way of answer; "and she looked so lonely."

"Tell us about her," said Susan.

"Never mind the lonely; new scholars always are; that's a part of their education, Miss Ashton says.

We should have been if we hadn't been all together.

What is she like?"

"She's lovely," said Dorothy.

"She is pretty, and she isn't. Her hair just waves all over her head; and her eyes were blue, and they were hazel, and they were--" "Gray!"

put in Gladys.

"Yes, I suppose they were gray; but they were all colors, but cat colors, until it grew too dark for me to see her."

"We shall like her.

I wish she could have a room near us.

Her eyes tell true tales."

"She can," said Gladys instantly.

"She can room with me.

I am the only girl in school who hasn't a room-mate.

You wait"--and Gladys, without another word, hurried out of the room.

She very well knew that after nine Miss Ashton disliked a call unless there was some imperative necessity for it, so she knocked so gently on the closed door that she was hardly heard; and when at last Miss Ashton appeared, she looked so tired, and her smile was so wan, that Gladys, eager as she was, wished she had been more thoughtful; but, in her impulsive way, she blundered out,-- "She can come to me.

I'm all alone, you know."

"Who can come to you, Gladys?"

If it had been any other of her pupils, Miss Ashton would have been surprised; but three years had taught her that this Florida girl was exceptional.

"Two Hundred!

Dorothy says she is lovely, with big eyes, and lonely"-- "You mean Marion Parke?"

"Yes, that's her name.

We all call her Two Hundred."

"Then you must not call her so any more.

It would annoy her."

"I never will if you'll please let her come and room with me.

It's such a cheerful room, and I'll be ever so nice to her, Miss Ashton;

try me, and see."

"But, Gladys, you know your father pays me an extra price for your having your room to yourself."

"I think, Miss Ashton,"--looking earnestly in Miss Ashton's face,--"he would be ashamed of me if I wasn't willing to share it with her.

Please!

I'll be as amiable as an angel."

Miss Ashton knew the cousins well.

She knew, if she excepted Susan, of whom she felt always in doubt, she could hardly have chosen out of her school any girls from whom she would have expected kinder and safer treatment for the new-comer.

"How could I have doubted God would provide for this missionary child!"

she thought, as she looked down into the earnest face beside her; but she only said,-- "Thank you, Gladys; I will think it over!"

and Gladys, not at all sure her offer would be accepted, went back to her room.

The next morning, it must be confessed, things looked differently to her from what they had on the previous night.

It was such a luxury to have a whole room to herself; to throw her things about "only a little," but that little enough to make it look untidy.

She did not exactly wish she had waited until she knew more of Marion, and she tried to excuse her reluctance to herself by the doubt whether she ought not to have consulted her cousins, as their parlor was a room common to them all; but it was too late now, and when she received a little note from Miss Ashton, saying she should send Marion to her directly after breakfast, she made hasty preparations for her reception.

The dining-hall was filled with small tables, around which the girls had taken their seats, when Miss Benton came in with Marion.

Generally a new-comer was hardly noticed among so many; but the peculiarity of Marion's admittance, rounding their number to the largest the school had ever held, made her a marked character for the time.

Every eye was turned upon her as she, wholly unconscious of the attention she attracted, walked quietly behind the teacher to a seat next to Gladys.

"Gladys, this is your new room-mate," said Miss Benton.

Then she introduced her to the others at the table, and left her.

"Grace before meat," whispered Gladys to her as the customary signal for asking a blessing was given.

Miss Ashton rose, and every head in the crowded hall was reverently bowed as she prayed.

They were the first words of prayer Marion had heard since she knelt by her father's side in the far-away home on the morning of her departure.

"The same God here as there!"

Among this crowd of strangers this thought came to her with the comfort its realization everywhere, and at all times, brings.

Even here, she was not alone.

There was a low-toned, pleasant hum of conversation at the table during breakfast; the teacher who presided drew Marion skilfully into it now and then; and she was the centre of a little group as the school went from the hall to the chapel, where a short religious service was every morning conducted.

This was under Miss Ashton's special care, and she took great pains to make it the keynote of the school-life for the day.

So far in the term, what she said had its bearing on the immediate duties before them; but this morning she had felt the need of meeting the cases of homesickness with which the opening of every new year abounded, and which seemed, to the pupils at least, matters of the greatest and saddest importance.

She chose one of the most cheerful hymns in the collection they used, by which to bring the tone of the school into harmony with her remarks; and, after it was sung, she said:-- CHAPTER IV. SETTLING DOWN TO WORK.

"If I were to ask, which I am too wise to do,"--here a smile broke out over the faces of her audience--"those among you who are homesick to rise, how many do you suppose I should see upon their feet?"

A laugh now, and a good deal of elbow-nudging among the girls.

"In the twenty years I have been principal of this academy, I have seen a great deal of this sickness, and I have sympathy with, and pity for it.

It has been often told us that the Swiss, away from their Alpine homes, often die of it, but I have never yet found a case that was in the least danger of becoming fatal; so far from it, I might say, that when, since the Comforter sent to us in all our troubles has taken the sickness under his healing care, my most homesick pupils have become my happiest and most contented; so, if I do not seem to suffer with you, my suffering pupils, it is because I have no fear of the result.

"I have a prescription to offer you this morning.

Love your home--the more the better; but keep a great place in your hearts for your studies.

Give us good recitations in the place of tears.

_Study_--study cheerfully, earnestly, faithfully, and if this fails to cure you, come and tell me.

I shall see I have made a wrong diagnosis of your condition."

Another laugh over the room, in which some of the unhappy ones were seen to join.

"A few words more.

I take it for granted that when a young girl comes to join my school, she comes as a lady.

There are qualifications needed to establish one's claim to the title.

I shall state them briefly:-- "Kindness to, and thoughtfulness of, others; politeness, even in trifles; courtesy that wins hearts, generosity that makes friends, unselfishness that loves another better than one's self, integrity that commands confidence, neatness which attracts; tastefulness, a true woman's strength; good manners, without which all my list of virtues is in vain; cleanliness next to godliness; and, above all, true godliness that makes the noblest type of woman,--a Christian lady."

Then she offered a short, fervent prayer, and the school filed out quietly to the different class-rooms for their morning recitations.

She spoke to Marion as she passed her, and Marion knew that the dreaded hour of her examination had come.

She followed Miss Ashton to a room set apart for such purposes; and, to her surprise, the first words the principal said to her were,-- "Come and sit down by me, Marion, and tell me all about your home!"

"About home!"

Marion's heart was very tender this morning, and when she raised her eyes to Miss Ashton, they were full of tears.

"I want to learn more of your mother,"--no notice was taken of the tears.

"I had such a nice letter from her about your coming, so nice that, though I hadn't even a corner to put you in, I could not resist receiving you; and now you are invited to come into the very rooms where I should have been most satisfied to put you.

I will tell you about your future room-mates; I think you will be happy there."

Then she told her of the three cousins, dwelling upon their characters generally, leaving Marion to form her particular opinion as she became acquainted with them.

What the examination was Marion never could recall.

Her father was a college graduate.

Her mother had been educated at one of our best New England schools, and her own education had been given her with much care by them both.

Miss Ashton found her, with the exception of mathematics, easily prepared to enter her middle class; and the mathematics she had no doubt she could make up.

Probably there was not a happier girl among the whole two hundred than Marion when, with a few kind, personal words, Miss Ashton dismissed her.

Her past studies approved, and her future so delightfully planned for.

Miss Ashton gave her the number of her room in the third corridor, telling her that the same young lady she had seen on the previous night was waiting to receive her.

When, after some difficulty, she found her way there, the door was opened by Dorothy, who had been watching for her.

"This is our all-together parlor," she said.

"Gladys, you know, and Susan,--this is my cousin, Susan Downer.

We are glad to have you with us."

It was a simple welcome, but it was hearty, and we all know how much that means.

Gladys led her to the window.

"Come here first," she said, "and look out."

It was the same view she had seen from the guest-room the night before, only now it was soft and tender in the light of a half-clouded autumn sun.

"My father said, when he saw it, it ought to make us better, nobler, and happier to have this to look at.

That was asking a great deal, was not it?

because, you see, we get used to it.

But there's the sea; you know how the sea looks, never the same twice; because it's still and full of ripples to-day, you don't know but the waves will be tumbling over Judith's Woe to-morrow."

"I never saw the ocean," said Marion.

"That is one of the great things I have come to the East to see."

"Never saw the ocean?"

repeated Gladys, looking at Marion as curiously as if she had told her she never saw the sun.

"Oh, what a treat you have before you!

I almost envy you.

This is well enough for a landscape, but the seascapes leave you nothing to desire.

Now, come to our room.

You are to chum with me, and we will be awful good and kind to each other, won't we?"

"How happy I shall be here!"

was Marion's answer, as she looked around the rooms.

"I wish my mother could see it all!"

"I wish she could," said Dorothy kindly.

The rooms in this academy building were planned in suites,--a parlor, with two bedrooms opening from it.

These accommodated four pupils, unless, as was frequently the case, some parents wished their daughter--as did Gladys's father--to have her sleeping-room to herself.

In this case extra payment was made.

Marion found her trunk already in Gladys's room, and the work of settling down was quickly and pleasantly done, with the help of her three schoolmates.

Lucky Marion!

She had certainly, so far, begun her Eastern life under the pleasantest auspices.

CHAPTER V.