Part 4 (1/2)
”What new scholar?” inquired Florence Stevenson, looking up from her book. ”This is the first I have heard of any.”
”Why, don't you know?” answered little Fannie, glad to have a listener.
”Her name is--is--Well, I can't remember what it is,--something odd; but she comes from ever so far off, and she's real pretty, kind of sad-looking, you know.”
”What in the world is the child talking about?” broke in Marion. ”Who ever heard of Miss Stiefbach's taking a scholar after the term had begun?”
”I remember hearing something about it, now,” said Julia. ”The girl was to have come at the beginning of the quarter; but she has been sick, or something or other happened to prevent. I believe she comes from St.
Louis.”
”I wonder who she'll room with; she can't come in with us, that's certain,” said Marion, with a very decided air.
”Why, of course she won't,” replied Florence; ”we never have but two girls in a room. Oh! I know, she will go in with little Rose May; see if she doesn't!”
”Well, I tell you, I am sorry she's come!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Marion. ”I hate new scholars; they always put on airs, and consider themselves sort of privileged characters. I for one shall not take much notice of her.”
”Why, Marion,” exclaimed Grace Minton, ”I should think you would be ashamed to talk so! She may be a very nice girl indeed. You don't know anything about her.”
”I don't care if she is a nice girl. She ought to have come before. It will just upset all our plans; the cla.s.ses are all arranged, and everything is going on nicely. There are just enough of us, and I say it is a perfect bother!”
”I really don't see why you need trouble yourself so much,” broke in Georgie Graham, who was always jealous of Marion, and never lost an opportunity of differing with her, though in a quiet way that was terribly aggravating. ”I don't believe you will be called upon to make any arrangements, and I don't see how one, more or less, can make much difference any way.”
The entrance of Miss Christine prevented Marion's reply, and she immediately took up her book and became apparently absorbed in her studies.
”O Miss Christine,” they all exclaimed at once, ”do tell us about the new scholar.” ”Is she pretty?” ”Will she be kind to us little girls?”
”How old is she?” and many other questions of a like nature, all asked in nearly the same breath.
”If you will be quiet, and not all speak at once, I will try and tell you all you want to know. The name of the new scholar is Rachel Drayton.
She is about sixteen, and I think she is very pretty, although I do not know as you will agree with me. She seems to have a very lovely disposition, and I should think that after a while she might be very lively, and a pleasant companion for you all; but at present she is very delicate, as she has just recovered from a very severe illness brought on by her great grief at the death of her father. They were all the world to each other, and she was perfectly devoted to him. She cannot yet reconcile herself to her loss. He has been dead about eight weeks.
Her mother died when she was a baby, and the nearest relation she has is her father's brother, who is now in Europe. Poor child! she is all alone in the world; my heart aches for her.”
Miss Christine's usually cheery voice was very low and sad, and the tear that glistened in her eye proved that her expressions of sympathy were perfectly sincere; if, indeed, any one could have doubted that kind, loving face. As she ceased speaking, there was a perfect silence throughout the room, and those who had felt somewhat inclined to side with Marion felt very much conscience-stricken.
Marion, however, continued studying, not showing the slightest signs of having had her sympathies aroused.
Miss Christine continued: ”I hope, girls, you will be particularly kind to Miss Drayton. She must naturally feel lonely, and perhaps diffident, among so many strangers, and I want you all to do everything in your power to make it pleasant for her. You in particular, Marion, having been here longer than any of the others, will be able to make her feel quite at home.”
”Indeed, Miss Christine, you must excuse me. You know taking up new friends at a moment's notice, and becoming desperately intimate with them, is not my forte.”
”Marion,” replied Miss Christine, in a quiet, but reproving tone, ”I do not ask you to become desperately intimate with her, as you call it, or anything of the kind. I merely wish you to show her that courtesy which is certainly due from one school-girl to another.”
Marion made no reply, and Miss Christine sat down and commenced talking to the girls in her usual pleasant manner. It was her evident interest in everything which concerned them, that made her so beloved by her pupils.
They all knew that they could find in her a patient listener, and a willing helper, whenever they chose to seek her advice; whether it was about an important, or a very trifling matter.
There was some little bustle and confusion as the girls laid aside their books, and cl.u.s.tered round Miss Christine with their fancy-work, or leaned back in their chairs, glad to have nothing in particular to do.
”Miss Christine!” exclaimed little Rose May, ”I do wish you would show me how to 'bind off.' I keep putting my thread over and over, and, instead of taking off st.i.tches, it makes more every time. I think these sleeves are a perfect nuisance. I wish I hadn't begun 'em!”
”Why, you poor child,” laughingly replied her teacher, ”what are you doing? You might knit forever and your sleeves would not be 'bound off,'
if you do nothing but put your worsted over. Who told you to do that?”