Miss Ashton's New Pupil — 04 - Chapters VII and VIII

AIDS TO EDUCATION.

In the prospectus of Montrose Academy was the following sentence:-- "The design of Montrose Academy is the nurture of Christian women.

"To this great object they dedicate the choicest instruction, the noblest personal influences, and the refinements of a cultivated home."

It was to carry out this, that religious instruction was made prominent.

Not only was the Bible a weekly text-book for careful and critical study, but, in accordance with an established custom of the school, among the distinguished men and women who nearly every week gave lectures or addresses to the young ladies, were to be found those who told them of the religious movements and interests of the day.

Not only those of our own country, but those of a broader field, covering all the known world.

Returned missionaries, with their pathetic stories of their past life.

Heads of the great philanthropic societies, each one with its claim of special and immediate importance.

Professors for theological seminaries and from prominent colleges, discussing the prevailing questions that were agitating the public mind.

Trained scholars in the scientific world, laden with their rich treasures of research into nature's hidden secrets.

Musicians of wide repute, who found an inspiration in the glowing young faces before them, that called from them their choicest and their best.

Elocutionists, with their pathetic and humorous readings, always finding a ready response in their delighted audience.

These, and many others of notoriety, were brought to the academy; for Miss Ashton had not been slow in learning what is so valuable in modern teaching,--_variety_.

If there were fewer prayer-meetings in the corridors among pupils and teachers than in olden times, there was in the school more alertness of mind, a steadier, stronger ability to think, and, consequently, to study, and, therefore, judiciously used, more power to grasp, believe in, and love the great Christianity to whose service the academy was dedicated.

Nor was it by these lectures alone that the educational advantages were broadened.

The library every year received often large and important additions.

It would have been curious to note the difference between the literature selected now, and that chosen years ago.

Then a work of fiction would have been considered entirely out of place on the shelves of a library consecrated to religious training.

Now the pupils had free access to the best works of the best literary authors of the day, in fiction or otherwise.

Monthly magazines and newspapers were spread upon the library table.

There was but one thing required, that no book taken out should be injured, and that no reading should interfere with the committal of the lessons.

In the art gallery the same growth was readily to be seen.

The portraits of the early missionaries who had gone out from the school, and whose names had become sainted in the religious world, still hung there; but the walls were covered now with choice paintings,--donations from the rapidly increasing alumnæ, and from friends of the school.

Here the art scholars found much to interest and instruct them, not only in the pictures, but in the models and designs, which had been selected with both taste and skill.

There was a cabinet of minerals; but this was by no means a favorite with the pupils, though here and there a diligent student might be seen possibly reading "sermons in the stones," who could tell!

There seemed, indeed, nothing to be wanting for the "higher education" for which the institution was designed, but that the pupils should accept and improve the privileges offered them.

Marion Parke was not the only one who found herself confused by the sudden wealth of opportunity surrounding her.

Other pupils had come from the north and the south, the east and the west, many from homes where few, if any, of the advantages of modern life had been known.

That Marion should have appreciated, and to some extent have appropriated, them as readily as she did, is a matter of surprise, unless her educated Eastern parents are remembered, also the amenities of her parsonage home.

Certain it is, that watching her as so many did, and as is the common fate of every new pupil, there was not detected any of the "verdancy" which so often stamps and injures the young girl.

It was the girl next to her who leaned both elbows on the table, and put her food into a capacious mouth on the blade of her knife.

It was the one nearly opposite her that talked with her mouth so full she had difficulty in making herself understood; and another, half-way up the table, to whom Miss Barton, the teacher who presided, had occasion to say, when the girl, having handled several pieces of cake in the cake-basket, chose the largest and the best,-- "Whatever we touch here, Maria, we take."

A hard thing for Miss Barton to say, and for the girl to hear; but it must be remembered that this is a training as well as a finishing school, and that there is an old adage with much truth in it, that "manners make the man."

It may seem a thing almost unnecessary and unkind to suggest, that even the most brilliant scholarship could not give a girl a high standing in a school of this kind, if it were unaccompanied with the thousand little marks of conduct which attest the lady.

Maria, after her rebuke from Miss Barton, left the table in a noisy flood of tears, of course the sympathy of all the girls going with her.

Miss Barton was pale, and there were tears in her eyes; but no one noticed her, unless it was to throw toward her disapproving looks.

The fact was, that she had spoken to Maria again and again, kindly and in private, about this same piece of ill-manners, and the girl had paid no heed to it.

There seemed nothing to be left to her but the public rebuke, which, wounding, might cure.

Marion took the whole in wonderingly.

Was this, then, considered a part of that education for which purpose what seemed to her such a wealth of treasures had been gathered?

Here were lectures, libraries, art galleries, beautiful grounds, excellent teachers, a bevy of happy companions, and yet among them so small a thing as a girl's handling cake at the table, and choosing the largest and the best piece, was made a matter of comment and reproof, and, for the first time since she had been in the academy, had raised a little storm of rebellion on the part of pupils towards a teacher.

When she went to her room, Susan had already told the others, who sat at different tables, what had happened.

Susan was excited and angry, but Dorothy said quietly,-- "And why should Maria have taken the best bit of cake, even if it had been on the top?

I wouldn't." "No: you would have been the last girl in the school to take the best of anything," said Gladys, giving Dorothy a hug and a kiss; "and as for Miss Barton, she's a dear, anyway, and I dare say she feels at this moment twice as bad as Maria."

"Sensible girl, am I not, Marion?"

seeing Marion come into the room.

"Don't you take sides in any such things; you mind what I say!

Teachers know what they are doing; and if any of us are reproved, why, the long and short of it is, nine times out of ten we deserve it.

It's 'for the improvement of our characters' that everything is done here."

"I believe you," said Marion heartily; and, trifling as the event was, she put it with the long array of educational advantages which she had come from the far West to seek.

"It requires attention to little as well as great things"--she thought, wisely for a girl of sixteen--"to accomplish the object of this finishing-school."

CHAPTER VIII. DEMOSTHENIC CLUB.

"Well!

what of that!

If college boys can have secret societies, and the Faculties, to say the least, wink at them, why can't academy girls?

I don't see!"

This is what Jenny Barton said one evening to a group of girls out in the pretty grove back of the academy building.

There were six of them there.

Jenny had culled them from the school, as best fitted for her purpose.

She had two brothers in Harvard College, and she had been captivated by their stories of the "Hasty Pudding Club," of which they were both members.

"So much fun!

such a jolly good time!

why not, then, for girls, as well as for boys?"

When, after the long summer vacation, Jenny came back to school to establish one of these societies, to be called in after years its founder, and at the present time to be its head, this was the height of her ambition, the one thing that she determined to accomplish.

These six girls that in the gloaming of this September night are waiting to hear what she has to say were well chosen.

There was Lucy Snow, the one great mischief-maker in the school.

No teacher but wished her out of her corridor; in truth, no teacher, not even Miss Ashton, who never shrank from the task of trying to make over spoiled pupils, was glad to see her back at the beginning of a new year.

There was Kate Underwood, a brilliant girl, a fine scholar, and the best writer in the school.

There was Martha Dodd, whose parents were missionaries at Otaheite; but Martha will never put her foot on missionary ground.

There was Sophy Kane, who held her head very high because she was second cousin of Kane, the Arctic explorer, and who talked in a grand manner of what she intended to do in her future.

There was Mamie Smythe, "chock-full of fun," the girls said, and was never afraid, teachers or no teachers, rules or no rules, of carrying it out.

There was Lilly White, red as a peony, large as a travelling giantess, with hands that had to have gloves made specially to fit them, and feet that couldn't hide themselves even in a number ten boot.

She was as good-natured as she was uncouth, and never happier than when she was being made a butt of.

These were to be the nucleus around which this society was to be formed; and as they threw themselves down on the bed of pine-leaves which carpeted the old stump of a tree upon which Jenny Barton was seated, they were the most characteristic group that could have been chosen out of the school.

Jenny had shown her powers of leadership when she made the selection.

The opening sentence of this chapter was what she said in reply to some objection which Kate Underwood had offered.

Kate liked to be popular, to be admired and courted for her talents: it was the _secret_ society that would prevent this.

This, Jenny Barton understood; and in the long debate that followed she met it well.

There should be a public occasion now and then.

Did not the Harvard societies give splendid spreads, and have an abundance of good times generally?

The society was established, and its name, after a long and warm debate, chosen: "The Demosthenic Club."

"For we are going to debate, you know; train for lecturers, public readers, ministers, actresses, lawyers, and whatever needs public speaking," said President Jenny.

Vice-President Kate Underwood gave her head an expressive toss, and, if it hadn't been too dark to see her smile, there might have been seen something more than the toss; for while they talked, the long twilight had faded away, the little ripples of the lake by whose side they were sitting had gone to sleep on its quiet bosom.

The air was full of the chirrup of innumerable insects; two frogs, creeping up from the water, adding a sonorous bass, and the long, slender pine-leaves chimed into this evening lullaby with their sad, sweet, Æolian notes.

But little of all of this did this Demosthenic Club notice as, coming out at length from the darkness of the grove, they saw the sky full of stars, the academy windows blazing with gas-light, and knew study hours had been begun.

Not to be in their rooms punctually at that hour was an infringement upon the "regulations" not easily excused, and to begin the formation of their society by incurring the displeasure of their teachers did not promise well for their future.

"Take off your boots," whispered Mamie Smythe, as they stood hesitating at the door.

In a moment every pair of boots was in the girls' hands, and they were creeping softly through the empty corridors toward their respective rooms.

As fate would have it, the only one who reached her room was Lilly White.

To be sure, Fräulein Sausmann, the German teacher, heard steps in her corridor, and, opening her door a crack, peeped out.

When she saw Lilly White creeping along on the toes of her great feet, her boots, like two boats, held one in each hand, she only smiled, and said to herself, "Oh, Fräulein White!

She matters not.

She studies no times at all," and shut her door.

All the others were taken in the very act; and their shoeless feet, their confession of a guilty conscience, were reported to Miss Ashton.

"Seven of the girls!

that means a conspiracy of some sort," said this wise teacher.

"I must keep an eye upon them."

How much any one of this "Demosthenic Club" suspected of their detection by their corridor teachers it would be difficult to say, for, except by a glance, no notice was taken of them at the time.

Jenny Barton told the others triumphantly at their next secret session, how she had hidden her shoes behind her, and taken little, mincing steps, so to hide her feet, and imitated the whole performance, much to the amusement of the others.

"Ah, but!"

said Mamie Smythe, "that wasn't half as good as what I did.

When I met Miss Stearns pat in the face, and she looked me through and through with those great goggle eyes of hers, I just said, 'O Miss Stearns, I was so thirsty I couldn't study; I had to go and get a drink of ice-water!'

"Then the ugly old thing stared at the boots I had forgotten to hide, as much as to say, 'It was very necessary, in order to go over these uncarpeted floors, to take off your boots, I suppose, Mamie Smythe!'

If she had only said so right out, I should have answered,-- "'Why, Miss Stearns, I did it so not to make a noise;' that's true, isn't it, now?"

looking round among the laughing girls.

"And you ought to have added," put in Kate Underwood, "you didn't want to disturb any one in study hours; that was true, wasn't it?"

"Exactly what I would have said; but then, when she only goggle-eyed me, what could a girl do?"

"Do?

Why, do what I did," said Lucy Snow.

"I walked right up to Miss Palmer, she's so ill-natured, and likes so much to have us all hate her, that you can do anything with her, and I said,-- "'Miss Palmer!

I know it's study hours, but I ate too much of that berry shortcake for tea, and I went to find the matron, to see if she couldn't give me something to ease the pain.'

"'I think' said she (the horrid thing), 'if you would put on your boots, it might alleviate the pain; but for fear it should not--you didn't find the matron, I suppose?'

"'No, ma'am,' I said, 'I didn't see her; I had to come away no better than I went.'

"'I am very sorry for you; you appear to be in great pain.'

"I was doubling up like--like a contortionist," and she smiled, and said,-- "'Come into my room, as you can't find the matron, perhaps I can help you.'

"So in I had to go; and, girls, if you can believe it, after fumbling around among her phials, she brought me something in a tumbler.

It was half full and looked horrid!

I tell you, I shook in my stocking feet, and I began to straighten up, and whimpered,--I could have cried right out, it looked so awful, so _awful_, but I only whimpered,--'I'm better, a good deal, Miss Palmer; I'll go to my room, and if I can't study, I'll go to bed.'

"'You must take this first.

I don't like to send you away in such severe pain, particularly as you couldn't find the matron, without doing something to help you.

You know I am responsible to your parents for your health!'

"'My parents never give me any medicine,' I snarled, for I was getting ruxy by this time.

"'Perhaps you would have enjoyed better health if they had, and would have been less liable to these sudden attacks of pain,' she said; and, girls, if you can believe it, when I looked up in her face, there she was in a broad grin, holding the tumbler, too, close to my mouth.

"'I'm--I'm lots better,' I whimpered.

"'I'm glad to hear it,' the ugly old thing said; 'but I must insist on your drinking this at once, or I shall have to take you down to Miss Ashton's room; she is more responsible than I am, and I am sure would not pass any neglect on my part over.'

"By this time the tumbler touched my lips, and, girls, I was so sure that she would take me down to Miss Ashton,--and there is no such thing as keeping anything away from her, for you know how she hates what she calls a 'prevarication,'--that I just had my choice, to drink that nasty stuff, or to betray the Demosthenic Club, or to tell a fib, and have my walking-ticket given me, so I opened my mouth wide, and swallowed one swallow, then was going to turn away my head, but Miss Palmer held the tumbler tight to my lips, as I have seen people do to children when they were giving castor oil.

I took another, and tried again, but there was the tumbler tighter still, so down with it I went, and--and--she had no mercy; she made me drain it to the last drop; then she put it on the table, and said,-- "'Now, Lucy, you can go to your room; I think you will feel well enough to study your lesson, but if you do not, come back in a half-hour, and I will give you another, and a stronger dose.

Put on your boots before you go; you may take cold on the bare floors, in your condition.

Good-night.'

"She opened her door, and held it open in the politest way until I had passed out, then I heard her laugh--laugh out loud, a real merry, ringing laugh, every note of which said as plainly as words could,-- "'I've caught you now, old lady.

How is the pain?

Did the medicine help you?'

"I tell you, girls, it was the hardest pain I ever had in my life, and I never want another."

"Tell us how the medicine tasted," said Lilly White.

"Tasted!

why, like rhubarb, castor oil, assafoetida, ginger, mustard, epicac, boneset, paregoric, quinine, arsenic, rough on rats, and every other hideous medicine in the pharmacopoeia."

"Good enough for you; you oughtn't to have lied," said Martha Dodd, her missionary blood telling for the moment.

But the other girls only laughed; the joke on Lucy was a foretaste of the fun which this club was to inaugurate.

Now, if Miss Palmer did not report to Miss Ashton, and she break up the whole thing, how splendid it would be!

Undaunted, as after a week nothing had been said to them in the way of disapproval, they went on to choose the other members of the club; to appoint times and places for meeting; and to organize in as methodic and high-sounding a manner as their limited experience would allow.

CHAPTER IX.