Part 10 (1/2)

It was a forlorn afternoon; but Peggy stuck to her work manfully, and had the satisfaction of closing the book at last with the feeling that she was sure of it now, however things might be in the morning under Miss Pugsley's hostile eye.

There was still a little time left before supper. She ran out to the lawn, hoping to find Grace Wolfe still there, but she was disappointed.

The only occupants of the lawn were half a dozen soph.o.m.ores cl.u.s.tered together at one end. Blanche Haight was among them, and at sight of Peggy she turned her back pointedly, and whispered to the others. They turned with one accord and stared at Peggy, with a cool insolence that made her blood boil within her and surge up in angry red to her forehead. She could not do anything about it; they had a right to stare, if they had no better manners. She returned the look for a moment, then turned away with a sore and angry heart. Fortunately, at this moment came out two cla.s.smates of her own whom she knew slightly,--mild, pleasant girls, with no special traits of interest, but still friendly and approachable. They were going to play tennis, and invited Peggy to join them; so she had a good half-hour of exercise and pleasure, and came in with rosy cheeks, and with the cobwebs all blown away for the time.

At eight o'clock Peggy was standing before her gla.s.s, putting a last touch to her hair, and surveying her image with some anxiety. Did she ”look nice?” Peggy had as little personal vanity as a girl could well have; but she had learned from her cousin Margaret that it was part of her duty to look as well as she could. Her cousin Rita would have had her go further than this.

”Study, my child,” Rita would cry, ”to be beautiful! Let it be your dream by night, your thought by day!” And, in all kindness, Rita would try to teach her how to cross her feet so that they might look slender, how to extend her little finger when she raised her hand, ”not too much, but to an exact point, _cherie_!” how to turn her head so as to show the lines of the neck to advantage. But Peggy's own good sense, aided by Margaret's calm wisdom, had told her the inappropriateness of Rita's graceful airs and poses to her own st.u.r.dy personality. She was to look nice; more she could not aspire to. So here she was to-night, in a pretty blue silk waist, with a serge skirt of a darker shade, her hair smoothly braided in one mammoth ”pigtail,” and tied with blue ribbons, her neat collar fastened with a pretty pearl brooch. Thus attired, our Peggy was truly pleasant to look upon; and her ”Is that right, Margaret?” brought a little satisfied nod of reply from the smiling image in the gla.s.s.

Drawing near the Owl's Nest, she heard a hum of voices, and straightway her heart sank again, and shyness possessed her. There was a crowd there! They would all be juniors and seniors, and she the only freshman among them. How could she go in? Oh! she almost wished she was up in the other corridor with the younger girls!

But at this moment the door opened, and Bertha's kind face looked out.

”Here you are, Peggy!” she cried, cordially. ”Come along; there's plenty of room, for I've saved a place for you. Come!”

For a moment Peggy hung back, and knew how Lobelia Parkins felt; then she made an effort, and followed Bertha into the room.

The Owl's Nest was a corner room, with windows on two sides. It seemed to be furnished chiefly with books. There were the two bra.s.s beds, of course, the twin bureaus, the desks, and table. All of these, except the beds, were covered with books; bookshelves took up most of the wall s.p.a.ce, though there were two or three good pictures, among them a great photograph of the sea, that almost dashed the spray in one's face, so perfect was it. It was at a later visit that Peggy observed the books; now, she was conscious of nothing save the girls. The room was certainly full of them. There were three on each bed, curled up in every variety of picturesque and comfortable att.i.tude; two sat on one of the bureaus, having pushed books and toilet articles up into a toppling and highly perilous mountain behind them; four more crouched somehow on the rather narrow window-seats. The rest were on the floor, except two early birds, who had come in time to get the two chairs. The floor was made comfortable with sofa-pillows, borrowed from the whole length of the corridor. Altogether, there might have been twenty girls in the room, and every girl was, or seemed to be, talking as fast as her tongue could move.

Peggy was hailed with a bird-like call from one corner.

”My Veezy-vee! come here, Peggy Montfort, and sit by me.”

It was Viola Vincent. She was curled up at the head of one of the beds.

She wore the prettiest pink tea-gown imaginable, and her hair was a wonder of puffs and curls.

”Come here!” she repeated, patting the pillows. ”Lots of room; miles!

Let her come here, Fluffy!”

”Yes, she shall, in a minute, V.,” replied Bertha. ”But first,--Toots, here's Peggy Montfort!”

The Snowy Owl came swiftly out of the closet, where she had been performing some mystic rite; she took Peggy's two hands in hers, and held them in a warm, firm grasp that was the very soul of cordiality.

”I'm so glad!” she said. ”How's the poor little thing? Better? I'm sure you did her a great deal of good.”

”Oh, no!” stammered Peggy, pleased and confused. ”I couldn't really do anything; but she is feeling better.”

Gertrude Merryweather nodded wisely. ”My dear, you can do a great deal for her!” she said. ”We'll have a talk sometime; no chance now. Only, Bertha has been telling me things, and I'm so glad you are in our street! There, now V. shall have you.”

Judge of the glow at Peggy's heart, on these words from the Junior President, the best-loved girl--or so it was said--in the whole school.

Those foolish tears actually got half-way up to her eyes,--only they were very different from the last tears; but fortunately Viola's high-pitched babble drove them back again.

”My _dear_! How nice you look! perf'ly _fine_! doesn't she, V.? Say, that's a dandy pin you've got on, simply _dandy_! There! isn't this too quaint for anything? You comfy? so'm I! Room, my dear? gallons of room!

I haven't seen you for an age; where have you kept yourself? I looked into your room, though, and it's perf'ly _fine_! I told you it would be, when you had things fixed. Your chintz is too perfectly sweet for anything; isn't it, V.? We were simply cold with envy, weren't we, V.?”

”Do cackle for yourself, if you must cackle, V.!” responded Vivia Varnham, who sat on the same bed, a little lower down. ”I can't hear myself think, you make such a noise.”

”No, really?” cried Viola. ”But that must be such an advantage sometimes, V. But, say! we came here to hear the Snowy talk, didn't we?

She hasn't had much chance yet, has she? Are you ready to talk, Snowy?