Four Little Blossoms at Oak Hill School Part 3

"I could go to school now," scolded Twaddles, "only everybody says I'm too young."

"Never mind," said Father Blossom comfortably. "You've years of school ahead of you, Son. Does Mother have to go this morning?"

"No indeed," answered Mother Blossom cheerfully. "I've already seen Miss Mason about Meg, and as she is going to be in the same room with Bobby, he will look after her. And if you don't want to be late the first morning, children, I think you should start in a few minutes."

The whole family followed Meg and Bobby to the door to see them off, and even Norah left her morning work to wave good-by to them. Philip and Annabel Lee and Sam were standing in the garage door to see them go, and altogether the two scholars felt rather important.

"There's Fred Baldwin," said Bobby, spying a boy just ahead of them.

"He's in my grade. Hey, Fred!"

The boy turned and waited for them to come up with him.

"h.e.l.lo," he said shyly, "going to school, Bobby?"

"Sure," replied Bobby. "Here is my sister Meg."

Fred and Meg said "h.e.l.lo," and the three walked along rapidly toward the schoolhouse.

"Did you have Miss Mason last year?" Fred asked.

"Yes. You had Miss Watts, didn't you?" said Bobby. "Is she cross?"

"Awful," confided Fred sadly. "I'll bet I stayed in three nights a week regular."

His dancing black eyes seemed to say that he had had a good time in school, no matter if he had been kept in; indeed Fred was a mischievous-looking child, and his own mother was inclined to think, as she often told him, that Miss Watts probably could tell another story.

"I have to take Meg up and let her get her seat," announced Bobby when they reached the school yard. "You coming?"

Fred thought he would stay down and see some of the boys.

"I don't care where I sit," he explained. "And if you go in late most all the front seats have been given out. I'd rather sit in the back of the room."

So you see Fred did have a choice, though he said, and probably honestly thought, he did not.

Meg followed Bobby upstairs and into a large square room half filled with chattering children. A gray-haired lady was speaking to the young woman who stood near a desk on a small platform.

"That's Miss Wright, the vice-princ.i.p.al," whispered Bobby, indicating the gray-haired woman. "Mr. Carter, over at the grammar school, is the real princ.i.p.al. If you're real bad, Miss Wright sends for him. But she opens a.s.sembly and like-a-that."

Presently Miss Wright went out, and Bobby led Meg up to the teacher.

"This is my sister Meg," he said politely. "She hasn't any seat yet."

"How do you do, Margaret?" said Miss Mason, smiling. "Your name is really Margaret, isn't it? I like to use my pupils' full names. I'm sorry your sister can't sit with you, Robert, but I can't mix the grades. You may have any seat on this aisle, Margaret."

Poor Meg found it most confusing to be called Margaret, and was almost startled to hear Bobby addressed as "Robert." Father Blossom occasionally called him that, but only when he meant to scold him. But Meg sensibly supposed that when one went to school there were a number of new things to get used to, and it seemed that names were to be among them.

She chose a seat half-way down the aisle and in a direct row with Bobby's, which was on the other side of the room. And by the time she had made her choice and put away her pencil box, Miss Mason announced that it was five minutes of nine and that no child should leave the room.

Clang! A harsh gong rang through the halls. Clang! Clang!

The noise in the school yard ceased with a suddenness that was surprising. The gong rang again and a trampling and scuffling through the halls announced that the boys and girls were marching up to their cla.s.srooms. Miss Mason took her place at the door, and as a long line marched into her room she directed them where to sit. Meg wondered what she was to do with her hat.

"Beginning with the first aisle, the girls may go to the cloak room and hang up their hats," announced Miss Mason, just as if Meg had spoken aloud. "Then after all the girls have returned, the boys may go, aisle by aisle. And I want no whispering or unnecessary delay."

Before the last of the boys had found a hook for his cap, clang! went the gong again and a piano some distance away sounded a lively march.

"Stand!" said Miss Mason. "Margaret, you may lead the line. Come here." Meg stood quietly.

"Margaret Blossom!" and this time Miss Mason's voice sounded impatient. "Is the child dreaming? You're holding back the whole room."

Meg blushed and came forward hastily. To tell the truth, she had not realized that Miss Mason was speaking to her--the unfamiliar "Margaret" bewildered her.

"Take your place here," commanded Miss Mason, pus.h.i.+ng her gently into a place in the doorway. "And when you see the last child leave that room opposite, wheel in after her and follow to the auditorium."

Meg looked around for Bobby. He was near the end of the long line that had formed around the sides of the room, and when he caught his sister's eye he grinned and nodded encouragingly to her.

"You'll do all right," he seemed to say.

CHAPTER IV

THE DEAD SNAKE

A little girl in a checked gingham dress was at the end of the line of children who marched out from the room across the hall, and, obedient to a look from Miss Mason, Meg followed her. Down the corridor, up three steps and into a round, light room they marched, the piano tinkling steadily. Meg saw now that it was on the platform, and, goodness! the player was a small girl who didn't look much older than Meg herself.

"Do you take music lessons?" whispered a girl next to Meg, as they turned down a row of seats facing the platform and other children rapidly filled up the rows back of them. "You do? Well, when you get in the third grade you'll have to play for 'em to march. Miss Wright makes all the third and fourth graders who can play anything learn an a.s.sembly march."

Meg was glad that she was only in the first grade, and yet she thought that it must be exciting to sit at a piano away up on a high platform and play for the whole school. She wondered if, by practicing faithfully, she could learn an a.s.sembly march by the time she reached the third grade.

The girl at the piano played a cras.h.i.+ng chord, and the children dropped into their seats with a concerted fervor that shook the walls.

Miss Wright, the gray-haired vice-princ.i.p.al Meg had seen in her room talking to Miss Mason, opened the large Bible that lay on the desk, and, facing the children, read a few verses. Then the little piano girl played for the hymn they sang, finding the books in racks on the backs of the seats. Next Miss Wright made them a little speech, in which she said she hoped they were all rested from the long vacation and would work hard so that every one might be promoted at the end of the term.

"She always says that," whispered the girl next to Meg.

"How do you know?" asked Meg, whispering, too.

"Why, I've been to school for most three years," said the other girl proudly. "You first grade? Do you have Miss Mason or Miss Watts? Miss Mason! Oh, gee, she's as cross as anything. I had her my first year."

Meg opened her mouth to say that she liked Miss Mason, but the bell rang again and the children rose and turned toward the aisles. The small girl at the piano rattled another lively march, and in orderly lines the children marched back to their cla.s.srooms. a.s.sembly was over for that morning.

"Just a minute, before we begin our writing lesson," announced Miss Mason when, with some noise and fluttering, her cla.s.ses had found their seats. "I believe in trusting my pupils to a great extent; I can not watch you every minute. Besides, you know as well as I do when you do wrong. I want to know how many of you whispered in the auditorium this morning. Raise your hands, please."

Poor Meg's eyes widened in horror. For a moment she was furious at the girl who had spoken to her and so tempted her to whisper. But if Meg was only six years old she was an honest little girl and she knew that in any case she might have whispered. The third-grade girl was probably trying to be friendly, too.

Meg raised her hand. There were half a dozen other hands in the air.