Polly's Senior Year at Boarding School Part 1

Polly's Senior Year at Boarding School.

by Dorothy Whitehill.

CHAPTER I

SENIORS!

Polly Pendleton and Lois Farwell returned to Seddon Hall as seniors.

Up the long hill that led from the station their carriage crawled as it had done on every other opening day.

From the summit of the hill the low, red-roofed buildings of the school smiled a welcome from their setting of blazing Autumn leaves, and all around them girls were calling out greetings.

There was a marked change in the two girls' outward appearances--their hair was up and their skirts were longer, their whole bearing was older.

They were different from the two youngsters whose Freshman year has already been recorded. That is, they looked different, and if you had asked them about it they would have a.s.sured you that they were indeed different.

But, the old-time twinkle in Polly's eyes and Lois' sudden merry laugh gave you a comforting feeling that, after all, in spite of a.s.surances and looks, they were still the same Polly and Lois.

Nothing very eventful had happened in either one of their lives, during the past years. They had spent their Winters at Seddon Hall and their vacations at Polly's old home in New England with Mrs. Farwell. Polly's uncle, Mr. Pendleton, and Dr. Farwell, had come up on visits when they could. Bob, Lois' big brother, had come, too, but less frequently of late. He was at college now and working very hard.

They had made new friends, but, what is more important, they had kept their old ones.

This well ordered way of living, however, had to change. Time had gone on slowly, but steadily and now, suddenly, they were Seniors. It was an exhilarating thought and Polly and Lois hugged each other whenever it struck them afresh.

Their carriage finally reached the door. In a second they were in the reception room, and, after they had greeted Mrs. Baird and the faculty, they dashed up the front stairs--a privilege only accorded the Seniors--and found their room, a big corner one, which they were to share in Senior Alley. Rooming together was another Senior privilege.

"Poll, we're back." Lois threw her suitcase without regard to contents on one of the beds and looked around her.

"Yes, we're back, and we're Seniors and, what's more, we've the best room on the Alley," Polly answered, enthusiastically. "We'll put your window box there." She indicated a broad bow window, overlooking the campus and gym. "And we'll--"

"Oh! don't let's fuss about the decorations now," Lois interrupted.

"Let's find Betty and the other girls. I'm dying to know who's back."

"I am too, sort of," Polly agreed reluctantly, as they left the room and started for the a.s.sembly Hall. "Do you know, Lo, I always feel funny about the new girls."

"Why?"

"Oh, I can't exactly explain, but I don't like them; I wish they hadn't come. We were so all right last year. Why couldn't just the old girls come back and go on where we left off?"

"Why, you silly," Lois laughed. "Some of last year's girls were new and you liked them. Anyway, cheer up, and don't worry about it now. Listen to the racket they're making in the hall."

Polly gave herself a little shake, a trick she had when she wanted to dismiss a thought from her mind, but her face failed to reflect Lois'

smile of antic.i.p.ation. She was a queer puzzle, was Polly. Uncle Roddy once described her as a tangle of deep thoughts, completely surrounded by a sense of humor. And Mrs. Farwell always insisted that she discussed the weightiest problems of life when she was running for a trolley. Lois was the exact opposite, an artist, a dreamer of dreams, who, when her mind was off on some airy flight, was maddeningly indifferent to everything else. They were ideal friends, for they acted as a balance, the one for the other. They were so much together that no one ever thought of them singly.

A shout of welcome from the old girls, and eager silence from the new ones, greeted their entrance into the a.s.sembly Hall. There was a hubbub of h.e.l.los for a minute, and then Betty descended upon them.

Betty, the freckled face--she wasn't a bit changed. She still wore a ribbon on her hair, and her nose was as snubbed and impudent as ever. Of course, she was taller and her skirts were longer, but no one realized it. That was the difference. With Polly and Lois the years had really added themselves and marked a change, but Betty was still Betty and years mattered not at all.

"Jemima!" she exclaimed, joyfully, "but I'm glad you've come. What under the sun did you wait until the late train for. I've been here all day and I've felt like a fish out of water. There's a raft of new girls, but no Senior specials, thank goodness. The two Dorothys are here,"--she paused and wrinkled her nose just the least little bit in disapproval, and then rushed on. "I'm rooming with Angela, you know. Isn't it mean Connie isn't back? Ange misses her already."

Constance Wentworth, of whom she spoke, was one of the old girls and Angela Hollywood's chosen companion. She had not returned this year because her music professor had insisted upon her starting in at the Conservatory of Music, for she was a remarkable pianist. The girls realized that no one would ever quite fill her place.

"Where is Ange?" Lois inquired, when Betty paused for breath.

"In her room, I mean our room; she's moping," Betty answered. "She said three distinct times that she wished Connie were back, and so I left.

I'm not sensitive, but--" Betty left the rest unsaid, but her look expressed volumes.

"Poor Ange!" Polly said with exaggerated feeling. "I don't blame her; let's go find her; she must need cheering up; besides, I'm tired of meeting new girls."

Angela answered their knock a few minutes later with a "Come in,"

uttered in her own particular drawl. She was sitting on her bed in the midst of clothes. Apparently, she had made little or no progress in unpacking her suitcase, for nothing was put away.

Angela had always been, and was still, the unrivaled beauty of Seddon Hall. Her complexion was as soft and pink as a rose petal, and her s.h.i.+mmering golden hair and big blue eyes made you think of gardens and Dresden china. She was never known to hurry, and she spoke with a soft lazy drawl, which, curiously enough, never irritated any one. She had won quite a renown as a poet, but was too quiet to be generally popular.

"h.e.l.lo, you three!" she greeted, as the girls entered. "I'm awfully glad you're back. Isn't this a mess?" She included the room with a wave of her arm. "I don't know where to begin."

"It's exactly the way it was when I left you," Betty exclaimed with pretended wrath.

"I know it; but you've been so piggy with the dresser drawers and the wardrobe that there's no room for my things," Angela teased back.

She was apparently willing to leave the argument so, for as the girls dropped into comfortable positions on the floor and window seat, she discarded the shoe she was holding, stuffed a pillow behind her and folded her hands. Her guests stayed until dinner time and talked. It was almost a cla.s.s meeting; for it was a well established fact that when these four girls decided anything the rest of the cla.s.s agreed with an alacrity that was very flattering to their good judgment.

It was not until Mrs. Baird, who sat at the Senior table the first night as a special favor, asked them if they had discovered any homesick new girls, that they realized that as Seniors, holding responsible positions in the school, they had failed already.

After dinner they stopped to consult on the Bridge of Sighs--the covered way that connected the two main buildings of the school.

"Well, what's to be done?" inquired Lois. "Instead of deciding what color shoes we'd wear at commencement we should have been drying somebody's eyes."

"Quite right," Betty mimicked Lois' righteous tones. "We were very selfish; in fact, I'm ashamed of _us_. Let's go to a.s.sembly Hall and be giddy little cheerers up."

Polly laughed.

"Oh, Bet, be sensible! Hasn't your observation in the past taught you that homesick girls don't go to a.s.sembly Hall to cry? They tuck their silly heads under their protecting pillows in their own room. Let's go to Freshman Lane."

"Why Freshman?" Angela inquired softly. "Freshmen are too young and excited to be homesick so soon. Let's go to the Sophs quarters."

They went, tapping gently at every door all the way down the corridor, but received no response.

"They're a heartless lot," Betty declared at the last door. "Not one of them in tears. It's not right, they're entirely too cheerful for so young a cla.s.s." And she scowled wrathfully as an indication of her displeasure.

"Never mind, Bet," Lois laughed, "maybe we'll have better luck with the Juniors."

Betty took heart and led the way.

Lois was right, though the doleful sobs that met their ears at the door of Junior Mansions--nicknamed the year before because the present Seniors had been so very elegant--could hardly be called luck.

"Jemima!" Betty exclaimed. "A deluge, our search proves fruitful at last."