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Title: Peggy Stewart at School

Author: Gabrielle E. Jackson

Release date: July 20, 2007 [eBook #22113]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEGGY
STEWART AT SCHOOL ***

E-text prepared by Roger Frank
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

(http://www.pgdp.net)

PEGGY STEWART
AT SCHOOL
BY
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
AUTHOR OF "PEGGY STEWART AT HOME," "SILVER
HEELS," "THREE GRACES SERIES, "CAPT.
POLLY" SERIES, ETC.

Copyright, 1918 by Barse & Hopkins

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE
I THE BAROMETER FALLING 1
II RECONSTRUCTION 16
III HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED 32
IV HOSTILITIES RESUMED 48
V RUCTIONS! 64
VI A NEW ORDER OF THINGS 81
VII COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL 97
VIII A RIDING LESSON 114
IX COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE 131
X TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN 149
XI BEHIND SCENES 167
XII CHRISTMAS AT SEVERNDALE 184
XIII YULETIDE 202
XIV AT SEVERNDALE 221
XV IN SPRING TERM 239
XVI A MIDNIGHT SENSATION 256
XVII A SEND-OFF WITH FIREWORKS 274

CHAPTER I

THE BAROMETER FALLING

The September morning was warmer and more enervating than September
mornings in Maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded
to be a trying one. Even at beautiful Severndale where, if at any point along
the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted upon, the air
seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of the summer had
taken from it every particle of its revivifying qualities.
In the pretty breakfast room the long French windows, giving upon the
broad piazza, stood wide open; the leaves upon the great beeches and
maples which graced the extensive lawn beyond, hung limp and motionless;
the sunlight even at that early hour beat scorchingly upon the dry grass, for
there had been little rain during August and the vegetation had suffered
severely; every growing thing was coated like a dusty miller. But within
doors all looked most inviting. The room was scrupulous; its appointments
indicated refined taste and constant care; the breakfast table, laid for two,
was dainty and faultless in its appointments; our old friend, Jerome, moved
about noiselessly, giving last lingering touches, lest any trifle be omitted
which might add to the comfort and sense of harmony which seemed so
much a part of his young mistress's life. As he straightened a fruit knife
here, or set right a fold of the snowy breakfast cloth, he kept up a low-
murmured monologue after the manner of his race. Very little escaped old
Jerome's sharp eyes and keen ears, and within the past forty-eight hours
they had found plenty to see or hear, for a guest had come to Severndale.
Yes, a most unusual type of guest, too. As a rule Severndale's guests
brought unalloyed pleasure to its young hostess and her servants, or to her

sailor father if he happened to be enjoying one of his rare leaves, for
Captain Stewart had been on sea-duty for many successive years, preferring
it to land duty since his wife's death when Peggy, his only child, was but six
years of age. Severndale had held only sad memories for him since that day,
nearly ten years ago, in spite of the little girl growing up there, cared for by
the old housekeeper and the servants, some of whom had been on the estate
as long as Neil Stewart could remember.
But nine years had slipped away since Peggy's mother's death, and the little
child had changed into a very lovely young girl, with whom the father was
in reality just becoming acquainted. He had spent more time with her during
the year just passed than he had ever spent in any one of the preceding nine
years, and those weeks had held many startling revelations for him. When
he left her to resume command of his ship, his mind was in a more or less
chaotic state trying to grasp an entirely new order of things, for this time he
was leaving behind him a young lady of fifteen who, so it seemed to the
perplexed man, had jumped over at least five years as easily as an athlete
springs across a hurdle, leaving the little girl upon the other side forever.
When Neil Stewart awakened to this fact he was first dazed, and then
overwhelmed by the sense of his obligations overlooked for so long, and,
being possessed of a lively sense of duty, he strove to correct the oversight.
Had he not been in such deadly earnest his efforts to make reparation for
what he considered his inexcusable short-sightedness and neglect, would
have been funny, for, like most men when confronted by some problem
involving femininity, he was utterly at a loss how to set about "his job" as
he termed it.
As a matter of fact, a kind fate had taken "his job" in hand for him some
time before, and was in a fair way to turn out a pretty good one too. But
Neil Stewart made up his mind to boost Old Lady Fate along a little, and his
attempts at so doing came pretty near upsetting her equilibrium; she was not
inclined to be hustled, and Neil Stewart was nothing if not a hustler, once he
got under way.
And so, alack! by one little move he completely changed Peggy's future and
for a time rendered the present a veritable storm center, as will be seen.
But we will let events tell their own story.

Old Jerome moved about the sunny breakfast-room; at least it would have
been sunny had not soft-tinted awnings and East-Indian screens, shut out
the sun's glare and suffused the room in a restful coolness and calm, in
marked contrast to the vivid light beyond the windows.
Jerome himself was refreshing to look upon. The old colored man was quite
seventy years of age, but still an erect and dignified major-domo. From his
white, wool-fringed old head, to the toes of his white canvas shoes, he was
immaculate. No linen could have been more faultlessly laundered than
Jerome's; no serviette more neatly folded. All was in harmony excepting the
old man's face; that was troubled. A perplexed pucker contracted his
forehead as he spoke softly to himself.
"'Taint going to do no how! It sure ain't. She ain't got de right bran', no she
ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a tho'oughbred and git
any sort of a span. No siree, yo' cyant. My Lawd, what done possess Massa
Neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? She cyant 'struct an' guide our yo'ng
mist'ess. Sho! She ain' know de very fust rudimints ob de qualities' ways an'
doin's. Miss Peggy could show her mo' in five minutes dan she ever is know
in five years. She ain't,—she ain't,—well I ain't jist 'zackly know how I'se
gwine speechify it, but she ain't like we all," and Jerome wagged his head in
deprecation and forced his tongue against his teeth in a sound indicating
annoyance and distaste, as he moved his mistress' chair a trifle.
Just then Mammy Lucy stuck her white-turbaned head in at the door to ask:
"Whar dat chile at? Ain't she done come in fer her breckfus yit? It's nine
o'clock and Sis Cynthia's a-stewin' an' a steamin' like her own taters."
"She say she wait fer her aunt, an' her aunt say she cyant breckfus befo'
half-pas' nine, no how," answered Jerome.
"Huh, huh! An' ma chile gotter wait a hull hour pas' her breckfus time jist
kase Madam Fussa-ma-fiddle ain't choose fer ter git up? I bait yo' she git up
when she ter home, and I bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody ter dress her,
an' wait on her han' an' foot like Mandy done been a-doin' sense yistiddy;
ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting fer dey meals. I'se pintedly
put out wid de way things is been gwine in dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past
two days, an' 's fur 's I kin see dey ain' gwine mend none neider. No, not fer

a considerbul spell lessen we has one grand, hifalutin' tornader. Yo' hyar
me!"
"I sho' does hyar yo' Mis' Lucy, an' I sho' 'grees wid yo' ter de very top
notch. Dere's gwine ter be de very dibble—'scuse me please, ma'am, 'scuse
me, but ma feelin's done got de better of ma breedin'—ter pay ef things go
on as dey've begun since de Madam—an' dat dawg—invest deyselves 'pon
Severndale. But yonder comin' our yo'ng mistiss," he concluded as a clear,
sweet voice was heard singing just beyond the windows, and quick decisive
footsteps came across the broad piazza, and Peggy Stewart, only daughter
and heiress of beautiful "Severndale," entered the room. By her side
Tzaritza, her snowy Russian wolfhound, paced with stately mien; a
thoroughbred pair indeed.
"Oh, Jerome, I am just starved. That breakfast table is irresistible. Mammy,
is Aunt Katherine ready?"
"I make haste fer ter inquire, baby," answered the old nurse, hurrying from
the room.
"I trus' she is," was Jerome's comment, adding: "Sis Cynthia done make de
sallylun jist ter de perfection pint, an' she know dat pint too."
Peggy made no comment upon the implied reproach of her guest's tardiness,
but crossing the room to a big chair, whither Tzaritza had already preceded
her to rub noses with a magnificent white Persian cat, she stooped to stroke
Sultana, who graciously condescended to purr and nestle her beautiful head
against Peggy's hand. Sultana had only been a member of the Severndale
household since July, Mr. Harold having sent her to Peggy as "a semi-
annual birthday gift," he said. She had adapted herself to her new
surroundings with unusual promptitude and been adopted by the other four-
footed members of the estate as "a friend and equal." The trio formed a
picturesque group as they stood there.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed young girl of fifteen, with her rich, clear
coloring, her cheeks softly tinted from her brisk walk in the morning
sunshine was very lovely. She wore a white duck skirt, a soft nainsook
blouse open at the throat, the sailor collar knotted with a red silk scarf. Her
heavy braids were coiled about her shapely head and held in place with
large shell pins, soft little locks curling about her forehead.

The past year had wrought wonderful changes in Peggy Stewart. The little
girl had vanished forever, giving place to the charming young girl nearing
her sixteenth milestone. The contact with the outer world which the past
three months had given, when she had made so many new friends and seen
so much of the service and social world, had done a great deal towards
developing her. Always exceptionally well poised and sure of herself, the
summer at Navy Bungalow in New London, at Newport, Boston, and at
other points at which the summer practice Squadron had touched, had
broadened her outlook, and helped her gauge things from a different and
wider viewpoint than Severndale or Annapolis afforded. Though entirely
unaware of the fact, Peggy had few rivals in the world of young girls.
Presently a step sounded upon the polished floor of the broad hall and Mrs.
Peyton Stewart, Peggy's aunt by marriage, stood in the doorway. Under one
arm she carried her French poodle. Stooping she placed it upon the floor
with the care which suggested a degree of fragility entirely belied by the
bad-tempered little beast's first move, for as Peggy advanced with extended
hand to greet her aunt, Toinette made a wild dash for the Persian cat, which
onset was met by one dignified slap of the Sultana's paw, which left its red
imprint upon the poodle's nose and promptly toppled the pampered thing
heels-over-head. Tzaritza stood watching the entire procedure with
dignified surprise, and when the yelping little beast rolled to her feet, she
calmly gathered her into her huge jaws and stalking across the room held
her up to Peggy, as though asking:
"What shall I do with this bad-mannered bit of dogdom? Turn her over to
your discipline, or crush her with one snap of my jaws?"
"Oh you horrible, savage beast! You great brute! Drop her! Drop her! Drop
her instantly! My precious Toinette. My darling!" shrieked Toinette's doting
mistress. "Peggy, how can you have such a savage creature near you? She
has crushed every bone in my pet's body. Go away! Go away!"
The scorn in Tzaritza's eyes was almost human. With a low growl, she
dropped the thoroughly cowed poodle at Peggy's feet and then turned and
stalked from the room, the very picture of scornful dignity. Mrs. Stewart
snatched the poodle to her breast. There was not a scratch upon it save the
one inflicted by Sultana, and richly deserved, as the tuft of the handsome
cat's fur lying upon the floor testified.

"I hardly think you will find her injured, Aunt Katherine. Tzaritza never
harms any creature smaller than herself unless bidden to. She brought
Toinette here as much for the little dog's protection as for Sultana's."
"Sultana's! As though she needed protection from this fairy creature.
Horrible, vicious cat! Look at poor Toinette's nose."
"And at poor Sultana's fur," added Peggy, pointing to the tuft upon the floor
and slightly shrugging her shoulders.
"She deserved it for scratching Toinette's nose."
"I'm afraid the scratch was the second move in the onslaught."
"We will not argue the point, but in future keep that great hound outside of
the house, and the cat elsewhere than in the dining-room, I beg of you—I
can't have Toinette's life endangered, or my nerves shocked in this manner
again."
For a moment Peggy looked at her aunt in amazement. Keep Tzaritza out of
the house and relegate the Sultana to the servant's quarters? What had
become of the lady of smiles and compliments whom she had known at
New London, and who had been at such infinite pains to ingratiate herself
with Neil Stewart that she had been invited to spend September at
Severndale? And, little as Peggy suspected it, with the full determination of
spending the remainder of her days there could she contrive to do so.
Madam Stewart had blocked out her campaign most completely, only "the
best laid plans," etc., and Madam had quite forgotten to take Mrs. Glenn
Harold, Peggy's stanchest champion and ally, into consideration. Mrs.
Harold had been Peggy's "guide, philosopher and friend" for one round
year, and Mrs. Harold's niece, Polly Howland, was Peggy's chum and crony.
Mrs. Stewart felt a peculiar sensation pass over her as she met the girl's
clear, steady gaze. Very much the sensation that one experiences upon
looking into a clear pool whose depth it is impossible to guess from merely
looking, though one feels instinctively that it is much deeper, and may
prove more dangerous than a casual glance would lead one to believe.
Peggy's reply was:
"Of course if you wish it, Aunt Katherine, Tzaritza shall not come into the
house during your visit here. I do not wish you to be annoyed, but on the
contrary, quite happy, and, Jerome, please see that Sultana is taken to

Mammy, and ask her to keep her in her quarters while Mrs. Stewart remains
at Severndale. Are you ready for your breakfast, Aunt Katherine?"
"Quite ready," answered Mrs. Stewart, taking her seat at the table. Peggy
waited until she had settled herself with the injured poodle in her lap, then
took her own seat. Jerome had summoned one of the maids and given
Sultana into her charge, while Tzaritza was bidden "Guard" upon the
piazza. Never in all her royal life had Tzaritza been elsewhere than upon the
rug before the fireplace while her mistress' breakfast was being served, and
it seemed as though the splendid wolfhound, with a pedigree unrivalled in
the world, stood as the very incarnation of outraged dignity, and a protest
against insult. Perhaps some vague sense of having overstepped the bounds
of good judgment, if not good breeding, was beginning to impress itself
upon Mrs. Peyton Stewart. Certainly she had not so thoroughly ingratiated
herself in the favor of her niece, or her niece's friends during that visit in
New London the previous summer, as to feel entirely sure of a cordial
welcome at Severndale, and to make a false start at the very outset of her
carefully formed plans was a far cry from diplomatic, to say the least.
During those weeks at New London, when a kind fate had brought her
again in touch with her brother-in-law after so many years, Mrs. Stewart
had done a vast deal of thinking and planning. There was beautiful
Severndale without a mistress excepting Peggy, a mere child, who, in
Madam's estimation, did not count. Neil Stewart was a widower in the very
prime of life and, from all Madam had observed, sorely in need of someone
to look after him and keep him from making some foolish marriage which
might end in—well, in not keeping Severndale in the family; "the family"
being strongly in evidence in Mrs. Peyton. Her first step had been to secure
an invitation to visit there. That done, the next was to remain there
indefinitely once she arrived upon the scene. To do this she must make
herself not only desirable but indispensable.
Certainly, the preceding two days had not promised much for the fulfillment
of her plan. So being by no means a fool, but on the contrary, a very clever
woman in her own peculiar line of cleverness, she at once set about
dispelling the cloud which hung over the horizon, congratulating herself
that she had had sufficient experience to know how to deal with a girl of
Peggy's age. So to that end she now smiled sweetly upon her niece and
remarked:

"I am afraid, dear, I almost lost control of myself. I am so attached to
Toinette that I am quite overcome if any harm threatens her. You know she
has been my inseparable companion in my loneliness, and when one is so
utterly desolate as I have been for so many years even the devotion of a
dumb animal is valued. I have been very, very lonely since your uncle's
death, Peggy, dear, and you can hardly understand what a paradise seems
opening to me in this month to be spent with you. I know we are going to
be everything to each other, and I am sure I can relieve you of a thousand
burdens which must be a great tax upon a girl of your years. I do not see
how you have carried them so wonderfully, or why you are not old before
your time. It has been most unnatural. But now we must change all that.
Young people were not born to assume heavy responsibilities, whereas
older ones accept them as a matter of course. And that's just what I have
come way down here to try to do for my sweet niece," ended Mrs. Stewart
smiling with would-be fascinating coyness. The smile would have been
somewhat less complacent could she have heard old Jerome's comment as
he placed upon the pantry shelf the fingerbowls which he had just removed
from the table.
"Yas, yas, dat's it. Yo' needn't 'nounce it. We knows pintedly what yo's
aimin' ter do, an' may de Lawd have mussy 'pon us if yo' succeeds. But
dere's shorely gwine be ructions 'fore yo' does, er my name ain't Jerome
Randolph Lee Stewart."

CHAPTER II

RECONSTRUCTION

"I have to ride into Annapolis, this morning, Aunt Katherine. Would you
like to drive in?" asked Peggy, when the unpleasant breakfast was ended.
"I should be delighted to, dear," answered Mrs. Stewart sweetly, striving to
recover lost ground, for she felt that a good bit had been lost. "At what time
do you start?"
"Immediately. I will order the surrey."
She left the room, her aunt's eyes following her with a half-mystified, half-
baffled expression: Was the girl deeper than she had given her credit for
being? Had she miscalculated the depth of the pool after all?
All through the breakfast hour Peggy had been a sweet and gracious young
hostess, anticipating every want, looking to every detail of the service,
ordering with a degree of self-possession which secretly astonished Mrs.
Stewart, who felt that it would have been difficult for her, even with her
advantage of years, to have equaled the girl's unassuming self-assurance
and dignity, or have rivaled her perfect ability to sit at the head of her
father's table. A moment later Mrs. Stewart went to her room to dress for the
drive into town, her breakfast toilet having been a most elaborate silk
negligee. Twenty minutes later the surrey stood at the door, but, contrary to
Mrs. Stewart's expectations, her niece was not in it: she was mounted upon
her beautiful black horse Shashai, at whose feet Tzaritza lay, her nose
between her paws, but her ears a-quiver for the very first note of the low
whistle which meant, "full speed ahead." On either side of Shashai, a superb
bodyguard, stood Silver Star, Polly Howland's saddle horse, though he was

still quartered at Severndale, and Roy, the colt that Peggy had raised from
tiny babyhood, and which had followed her as he would have followed his
dam, ever since the accident that had made him an orphan.
Perhaps the reader of "Peggy Stewart" will recall Mrs. Stewart's horror
upon being met at the railway station by "the wild West show," as she
stigmatized her niece's riding and her horses, for rarely did Peggy Stewart
ride unless accompanied by her two beautiful horses and the wolfhound,
and her riding was a source of marvel to more than one, her instructor
having been Shelby, the veteran horse-trainer, who had been employed at
Severndale ever since Peggy could remember, and whose early days had
been spent upon a ranch in the far West where a man had to ride anything
which possessed locomotive powers. At the present moment a more
appreciative observer would have thrilled at the sight, for rarely is it given
to mortal eyes to look upon a prettier picture than Peggy Stewart and her
escort presented at that moment.
Given as a background a beautiful, carefully preserved estate, which for
generations has been the pride of its owners, a superb old mansion of the
most perfect colonial type, a sunny September morning, and as the figures
upon that background a charming young girl in a white linen riding-skirt,
her rich coloring at its best, her eyes shining, her seat in her saddle so
perfect that she seemed a part of her mount, and you have something to
look upon. To this add three thoroughbred horses and a snowy dog, an old
colored servitor, for Jerome had come out with a message from Harrison,
and it is a picture to be appreciated. Had the tall woman standing upon the
broad piazza been able to do so, many things which happened later might
never have happened at all.
Mrs. Stewart was elaborately gowned in a costume better suited for a drive
in Newport than Annapolis, especially Annapolis in September. It was a
striking creation of pale blue linen and Irish point lace, with a large lace hat,
heavy with nodding plumes and a voluminous white lace veil floating out
about it. She was a handsome woman in a certain conspicuous way, and
certainly knew how to purchase her apparel, though, not above criticism in
her selection of the toilet for the occasion, as the present instance evinced.
She now walked to the piazza steps, and had anyone possessing a sense of
humor been a witness of it, the transformation which passed over the lady's
face en transit would have well nigh convulsed him, for the smile which

had illumined her countenance at the door had gradually faded as she
advanced until, when the steps were reached, it had been transformed into a
most disapproving frown.
To Peggy the reason was a mystery, for she had not overheard her aunt's
comments upon the occasion of the drive from the railway station three
days before. Of course Jess had, and they had been freely circulated and
keenly resented in the servants' quarters, but no whisper of them had been
carried to the young mistress. Nevertheless, Peggy was beginning to
discover that a good many of her actions, and also the order of things at
Severndale, had brought a cloud to her Aunt's brow, and a little sigh escaped
her lips as she wondered what the latest development would prove. It
seemed so easy for things to go amiss nowadays, when heretofore nearly
everything had seemed, as a matter of course, to go right. Then the self-
elected dictator spoke:
"Peggy, dear, are you not to drive with me?"
"Thank you, Aunt Katherine, but I always ride, and I have several errands to
do which I can better attend to if I am mounted."
"Well, it can hardly be necessary for you to have three saddle horses at
once. It seems to me unnecessarily conspicuous, and in very bad taste for a
young girl to go tearing about the country, and especially into Annapolis—
the capital City of the State—in the guise of a traveling circus."
A slight smile curved Peggy's lips as she answered:
"Annapolis is not New York, Aunt Katherine. What might be out of place in
such a city would be regarded as a matter of course in a little town where
everybody knows everybody else, and they all know me, and the
Severndale horses. Nobody ever gives us a thought. Why should they? I'm
nothing but a girl riding into town on an errand."
"You are extremely modest, I must say. Is it quite native or well—we'll
dismiss the question, but I must ask you to do me the favor of leaving your
bodyguard behind today; it may not seem conspicuous for you to play in a
Wild West Show, but I must decline to be an actor. You are growing too old
for such mad pranks, and are far too handsome a girl to invite observation."
Peggy turned crimson.

"Why, Aunt Katherine, I never regarded it as a prank in the least. I have
ridden this way all my life and no one has ever commented upon it. Daddy
Neil knows of it—he has ridden with me hundreds of times himself—and
never said one word against it. And you surely do not think I do it to invite
observation? Why, there isn't anything to observe. I am certainly no better
looking than hundreds of other girls; at least, you are the only one who has
ever commented upon my personal appearance. But I beg your pardon; you
are my guest. I am sorry. Bud, please call Shelby to take Star and Roy back;
I don't dare trust them to you."
The little negro boy who had brought Shashai to the doorstep, and who had
been staring popeyed during the conversation, dashed away toward the
paddock, to rush upon Shelby with a wild tale of "dat lady f'om de norf was
a-sassin' Missie Peggy jist scan'lous and orderin' Shelby fer to come quick
ter holp her."
"What you a-talking about, you little fool nigger?" demanded Shelby. Then
gathering that something was amiss with the little mistress whom all upon
the estate adored, he hastened to the house, his face somewhat troubled, for
hints of the doings up there had penetrated even to his quarters.
"Shelby, please take Star and Roy back to the paddock and be sure to fasten
them in."
"Ain't they a-goin' with you, Miss Peggy?"
"Not this morning, Shelby."
The man looked from the girl to the lady now settling herself in the
carriage. Toinette still stood upon the piazza waiting to be lifted up to her
mistress, too fat and too foolish to even go down the steps alone. As Shelby
stepped toward the horses Mrs. Stewart waved her hand toward the dog and
said to him:
"Lift Toinette into the surrey."
Shelby paid no more attention to her than he paid to the quarreling jays in
the holly trees, and the order was sharply repeated.
"Oh, are you a-speakin' to me, ma'am?" he then said.
"Certainly. I wish my dog handed to me."

Shelby looked at the pampered poodle and then at its mistress. Then with a
guileless smile remarked:
"Now you don't sesso? Well, when I git back to the paddock with these here
horses what can't go 'long with Miss Peggy, I'll send a little nigger boy up
here for ter boost your dog up to you, but I tend horses on this here place."
The man's dark skin grew several shades darker owing to the blood which
flooded his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed as he looked for one second
straight into Mrs. Stewart's. What possessed the woman to antagonize
everyone with whom she came in touch? Shelby had never laid eyes upon
her until that moment, but that moment had confirmed his dislike conceived
from the reports which had come to him. He now went up to the horses.
Knowing that neither of them had halters on, he had brought two with him
and now slipped them over his charges' heads, saying as he did so:
"You've got to come 'long back with me and keep company manners, do
you know that, you disrepu'ble gad-abouts? You ain't never had no proper
eddicatin' an' now it's a-goin' to begin for fa'r. You-all are goin' ter be larnt
citified manners hot off the bat. So come 'long back to the paddock an' git
your fust lesson."
The horses toyed and played with him like a couple of children, but went
pacing away beside him, now and again pulling at his sleeve, poking at him
with their soft muzzles or mumbling at his cheeks with their velvety lips, a
pair of petted, peerless creatures and as beautiful as any God had ever
created. Now and again they stopped short to neigh a peremptory call, as
though asking the reason of this surprising conduct.
"Are you ready, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy.
"As soon as Jerome takes your hound in charge. I don't care to have
Toinette driven frantic with fear by the sight of her. She will grow so
excited that I shall be unable to hold her."
Now the past two hours had held a good many annoyances for Peggy
Stewart to whom annoyances had been almost unknown. Perhaps they
constitute the discipline of life, but thus far Peggy Stewart had apparently
gotten on pretty well without any radical chastening processes. Her life had
been simply, but well, ordered, and her naturally sunny soul had grown
sweet and wholesome in her little world. If correction had been necessary

Mammy's loving old heart had known how to order it during Peggy's
babyhood; Harrison had carefully watched her childhood, and her young
girlhood had been most beautifully developed by her guardian, good Dr.
Llewellyn, who loved her as a grand-daughter. Then had come Mrs. Harold,
who had done so much for the young girl. Why could it not have gone on?
Perhaps the ordering of Peggy's life had been too smooth to develop the
best in her character, so Kismet, or whatever it is which shapes the odd
happenings of our lives, had stepped in to lay a hurdle or two to test her
ability to meet obstacles. Since seven-thirty that morning she had met little
else in one form or another, and had taken them rather gracefully, all things
considered. Her breakfast had been delayed an hour; the breakfast itself had
been far from the pleasant meal it usually proved; she had been needlessly
criticised for her habit of riding with her beloved horses; and now poor
Tzaritza, after being banished the house, was to be debarred from following
her young mistress; something unheard of, since the hound had acted as
Peggy's protectress ever since she could follow her. The blood flooded into
the girl's face, as turning to her Aunt she said very quietly, but with a
dignity which Mrs. Stewart dared not encroach upon:
"I am very sorry to seem in any way discourteous or disobliging, Aunt
Katherine, but Daddy Neil and Compadre, have always wished Tzaritza to
accompany me when I ride. I have never felt any fear but they feel
differently, as there are, of course, some undesirable characters between
Severndale and Annapolis, and they consider Tzaritza a great protection
against any possible annoyance. We will ride on ahead, since it is likely to
annoy you, but I must go into Annapolis this morning. Another time I shall
drive with you, but I can't ask you to drive where I must ride today. When
you see some of the Annapolitan streets you will understand why. They
have not been re paved since the first pavements were laid generations ago,
and you would be most uncomfortable. Be careful where you drive, Jess. I
will meet you at the Bank."
There was a graceful bow to Mrs. Stewart, a slight pressure of the knee
against Shashai, a low whistle to Tzaritza and she had whirled and was
away like the wind.
Madam Stewart drew a quick breath and compressed her thin lips until they
formed barely a line, and during that drive into Annapolis did some rapid

thinking. Evidently she had made another mistake.
As Peggy rode along the highway which led to Annapolis, the usual merry,
lilting songs, to which Shashai's hoofbeats kept time, were silenced, and the
girl rode in deep thought. Shashai tossed his head impatiently as though
trying to attract her attention, and now and again Tzaritza bounded up to her
with a deep, questioning bark. Peggy smiled a little abstractedly and said:
"Your Missie is doing some hard thinking, my beauties and doesn't feel
songful this morning." Then after a moment she resumed:
"O Shashai, what is the matter with everything? Am I all wrong, or is Aunt
Katherine different from everybody else? I have never met anyone just like
her before, and I feel just exactly as though someone had drawn a file
across my teeth, and I dare say that's all wrong too. If the Little Mother and
Polly were only here they'd know how to make me see things differently,
but I seem to get in wrong at every turn. Aunt Katherine has been here only
two days, but what days they have been! And ten times more to follow
before the month ends!"
Shashai had gradually slowed down until he was walking with his own
inimitably dainty step, his hoofs falling upon the leaf-strewn road with the
lightness of a deer's. Presently they came to a pretty wood-road leading
almost at angles to the highway, but Peggy was again too occupied to notice
that Tzaritza had turned into it and that Shashai, as a matter of course, had
followed her. Annapolis could be reached by this less frequented way but it
made a wide detour, leading past Nelly Bolivar's home. As they struck the
refreshing coolness of the byway Shashai broke into what Peggy called his
"rocking-chair gait," though she was so much a part of him that she was
hardly aware of the more rapid motion. Her first clear intimation that her
route had changed occurred when a cheerful voice called out:
"And she wandered away and away into the land o' dreams, my princess."
Peggy raised her head quickly and the old light flashed back into her eyes,
the old smile curved her lips as she cried:
"Why, Nelly Bolivar! How under the sun came I here?"
"In the usual way, I reckon, Miss Peggy. I don't often see you come in any
other. But this time you sure enough look as though you had been
dreaming," laughed Nelly, coming close to Shashai, who instantly

remembered his manners and neighed his greeting, while Tzaritza thrust her
head into the girl's arms with the gentlest insinuation. Nelly held the big
head close, rested her face against it a second, then took Shashai's soft
muzzle in both hands and planted a kiss just where it was most velvety,
saying softly:
"I can't imagine you three separated. The picture would not be complete.
But what is wrong, Miss Peggy? You look so sober you make me feel
queer," for the smile had gone from the girl's face and Nelly was quick to
feel the seriousness of her expression.
"Perhaps I'm cross and cranky, Nelly. At any rate I've no business to be here
this minute. I started for Annapolis, but my wits got wool-gathering, I
reckon, and I let Shashai turn in here without noticing where he was going.
Aunt Katherine will reach Annapolis before I do and—then—" and Peggy
stopped and wagged her head as though pursuit of the subject would better
be dropped. Nelly's face clouded. It had not required the two days of Mrs.
Stewart's visit to circulate a good many reports concerning her. Indeed both
Jerome and old Mammy had described her at length, and the description
had lost nothing upon their African tongues, nor had the experiences of the
three months spent up north: Madam Stewart had figured rather
conspicuously in their pictures of the "doin's up yander." Had she suspected
how accurately the old colored people had gauged her, or how great an
influence their gauging was likely to have upon the plans she had so
carefully laid, she might have been a little more circumspect in her conduct
toward them. But to her they were "just black servants" and she was entirely
incapable of weighing their influence in the domestic economy, or of
understanding their shrewd judgment as to the best interests of the young
girl whom each, in common with all the other old servants upon the estate,
loved with a devotion absolutely incomprehensible to most northern-born
people. And another potent fact, entirely absent from the characteristics of
the northern negro, is the fact that the southern negro servants' "kinnery"
instantly adopts and maintains the viewpoint of those "nearest the throne."
It is a survival of the old feudal system, unknown in the cosmopolitan
North, but which even in this day, so remote from the days of slavery,
makes itself very distinctly felt in many parts of the South.
And many of the servants upon the Severndale estate had been there for
three generations. Hence Peggy was their "chile," and her joys or sorrows,

happiness or unhappiness, were theirs, and all their kin's, to be talked over,
remedied if possible, but shared if not, or made a part of their own delight
in living, as the case might demand. And the ramifications of their kinship
were amazing. No wonder the report that "an aunt-in-law ob de yo'ng
mistress yonder at Severndale, had done come down an' ondertuck fer ter
run de hull shebang an' Miss Peggy inter de bargain, what is never been run
by nobody," had circulated throughout the whole community, and met with
a resolute, though carefully concealed opposition—subtle, intangible, but
sure to prove overwhelming in the end—the undertow, so hidden but so
irresistible. All this had stolen from one pair of lips to another and, of
course, been related with indignant emphasis to Jim Bolivar, Nelly's father,
one of the tenants of Severndale's large estate. And he, in turn, had
discussed it with Nelly, who worshipped the very ground Peggy chose to
stand upon, for to Peggy Stewart Nelly owed restored health, her home
rescued when ruin seemed about to claim everything her father owned, and
all the happiness which had come into her lonely life.
No wonder she now looked up to the deep brown eyes with her own blue
ones troubled and distressed.

CHAPTER III

HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED

During her drive into Annapolis Madam Stewart did more deep thinking
than it was generally given to her shallow brain to compass. Like most of
her type, she possessed a certain shrewdness, which closely touched upon
cunning when she wished to gain her ends, but she had very little real
cleverness, and practically no power of logical deduction.
Today, however, she had felt antagonism enveloping her as a fog, and
would have been not a little surprised to realize that its most potent force
lay in Peggy's humble servitors rather than in Peggy herself. From the old
darkey driving her, so deferentially replying to her questions, and at such
pains to point out everything of interest along the way, she felt it radiate
with almost tangible scorn and hostility, and yet to have saved her life she
could not have said: "He is remiss in this or that."
They drove into Annapolis by the bridge which crosses the Severn just
above the Naval Hospital, and from which the whole Academy is seen at its
best, with the wide sweep of the beautiful Chesapeake beyond. Jess pointed
out everything most carefully. Then on they went across College Creek
bridge, up College Avenue, by historic old St. Ann's and drew up at the
Bank to meet Peggy. Mrs. Stewart looked about her in undisguised
disappointment and asked:
"Is this the capital city of the State of Maryland? This little town?"
Jess' mouth hardened. He loved the quaint old town and all its traditions. So
did his young mistress. It had always meant home to her, and to many,
many generations of her family before her. The old "Peggy Stewart" house

famous in history, though no longer occupied by her own family, still stood,
a landmark, in the heart of the town and was pointed to with pride by all.
"Dis sho' is de capital city ob de State, Ma'am. Yonder de guv'nor's
mansion, jist over dar stan' de co't house, an' yonder de Cap'tal an' all de
yether 'ministrashum buildin's, an' we'all's powerful proud ob 'em."
Mrs. Stewart smiled a superior smile as she replied:
"I have heard that the South is not progressive and is perfectly apathetic to
conditions. It must be. Heavens! Look at these streets! They are perfectly
disgusting, and the odor is horrible. I shall be glad to drive home."
"De town done been pave all mos' all new," bridled Jess. "Dis hyar
pavement de bes' ob brick. Miss Peggy done tole me ter be keerful whar I
drive yo' at, an' I tecken yo' on de very be's."
"And what, may I inquire, is your very worst then? Have you no street
cleaning department in your illustrious city?"
"We suttenly has! Dey got six men a-sweeping de hull endurin' time."
"What an overwhelming force!" and Mrs. Stewart gave way to mirth.
It was fortunate that Peggy should have arrived at that opportune moment,
for there is no telling what might have occurred: Jess's patience was at the
snapping-point. But Peggy's talk with Nelly Bolivar had served to restore
her mental equilibrium to a certain degree—and her swift ride into
Annapolis had completed the process. It was a sunny, smiling face which
drew up to the surrey and greeted Mrs. Stewart. Peggy had made up her
mind that she would not let little things annoy her, and was already
reproaching herself for having done so. She had resolved to keep her temper
during her aunt's visit if a whole legion of tormenting imps were let loose
upon her.
Three weeks of Mrs. Stewart's visit passed. Upon her part, three weeks of
striving to establish a firmer foothold in the home of her brother-in-law; to
obtain the place in it she so ardently coveted—that of mistress and absolute
dictator. But each day proved to her that she was striving against some
vaguely comprehended opposition. It did not lie in Peggy, that she had the
grace to concede, for Peggy had complied with every wish, which she had
graciously or otherwise, expressed, except the one debarring Tzaritza from

following Shashai when she rode abroad, and be it said to Peggy's credit
that she had held to her resolution in spite of endless aggravations, for
Madam was a past mistress of criticism either spoken or implied. Never
before in all her sunny young life had Peggy been forced to live in such an
atmosphere.
Little by little during those weeks Mrs. Stewart had pre-empted Peggy's
position as mistress of the household; a position held by every claim of
right, justice and natural development, for Peggy had grown into it, and its
honors and privileges rested upon her young shoulders by right of
inheritance. She had not rushed there, or forced her claim to it, hence had it
been gradually given into her hands by old Mammy, her nurse, Harrison,
the trusty housekeeper, and at length, as she had more and more clearly
demonstrated her ability to hold it, by Dr. Llewellyn, her guardian, who
regarded it as an essential part of a Southern gentlewoman's education.
Then had come Mrs. Harold, whose tact and affection seemed to supply just
the little touch which the young girl required to round out her life, and fit
her to ultimately assume the entire control of her father's home.
But all this was entirely beyond Mrs. Stewart's comprehension. Her own
early life had been passed in a small New Jersey village in very humble
surroundings. She had been educated in the little grammar school, going
later to an adjoining town for a year at high-school. In her home, domestic
help of any sort had been unknown, she and her mother, an earnest, hard-
working woman, having performed all the household work. There were no
traditions connected with that simple home; it was just an everyday round
of commonplace duties, accepted as a matter of course. Then Mrs. Stewart,
at that time "pretty Kitty Snyder," went as a sort of "mother's helper" to a
lady residing in Elizabeth, whose brother was in a New Jersey College.
Upon one of his visits to his sister he had brought Peyton Stewart home for
a visit: Peyton, the happy-go-lucky, irresponsible madcap. Kitty Snyder's
buxom beauty had turned all that was left to be turned of his shallow head
and she had become Mrs. Peyton Stewart within a month.
The rest has been told elsewhere. For a good many years she had "just lived
around" as she expressed it, her income from her husband's share of the
very comfortable little fortune left him by his father, being a vast deal more
than she had ever dreamed of in her youthful days. She felt very affluent.

All things considered, it was quite as well that Peyton had quit this earthly
scene after two years of married life for "Kitty" had rapidly developed
extravagant tastes and there were many "scenes." Her old associates saw her
no more, and later the new ones often wondered why the dashing young
widow did not marry again.
They did not suspect how often her plans laid to that end had misscarried,
for her ambitions were entirely out of proportion to her qualifications.
Now, however, chance had brought her once more in touch with her
husband's family, and she was resolved to make hay while the sun shone. If
Neil Stewart had not been an odd mixture of manly strength and child-like
simplicity, exceptional executive ability and credulity, kindliness and quick
temper, he would never in the wide world have become responsible for the
state of affairs at present turning his old home topsy-turvy, and in a fair way
to undo all the good works of others, and certainly make Peggy extremely
unhappy.
But he had "made a confounded mess of the whole job," he decided upon
receiving a letter from Peggy. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say
upon reading between the lines, because it was not so much what Peggy had
said as that which she left unsaid, which puzzled him, and to which puzzle
Harrison supplied the key in her funny monthly report. Never in all the ten
years of her stewardship had she failed to send her monthly letter.
Harrison was a most conscientious old body if somewhat below par in
educational advantages. Nevertheless, she had filled her position as nurse,
maid and housekeeper to Peggy's mother for over thirty years, and to Peggy
for ten more and her idea of duty was "Peggy first, Martha Harrison
second." Her letter to Neil Stewart, which he read while his ship was being
overhauled in the Boston Navy Yard, set him thinking. It ran:
Severndale, Maryland.
September 21, 19—

Captain Neil Stewart,
U. S. N.
Respected Sir:—

As has been my habit these many years, I take my pen in hand to make my
monthly report concerning the happenings and the events of the past month.
Most times there isn't many of either outside the regular accounts which,
praises be, ain't never got snarled up none since I've had the handling of
them.
As to the past three weeks considerable has took place in this quiet,
peaceful (most times, at least) home, and I ain't quite sure where I stand at,
or am likely to. Things seem sort of stirred round. Like enough we-all are
old-fashioned and considerable sot in our ways and can't rightly get used to
new-fangled ones. Then, too, we—I speak for everybody—find it kinder
hard to take our orders from anybody but Miss Peggy, who has got the right
to give them, which we can't just see that anybody else has got. Howsoever,
some folks seem to think they have, and what I am trying to get at is, have
they? If I have got to take them from other folks, why, of course I have got
to, but it has got to be you that tells me I must.
Up to the present time I seem to have been pretty capable of running things
down here, though I am free to confess I was right glad when Mrs. Harold
come along as she done, to give me a hint or two where Miss Peggy was
concerned, for that child had taken to growing up in a way that was fair
taking the breath out of my body, and was a-getting clear beyond me
though, praises be, she didn't suspicion the fact. If she had a-done it my time
would a-come for sure. But the good Lord sent Mrs. Harold to us long
about that time and she was a powerful help and comfort to us all. He don't
make no mistakes as a rule and I reckon we would a done well to let well
enough alone and not go trying to improve on his plans for us. When we do
that the other one is just as likely as not for to take a hand in the job and if
he ain't a-kinder stirring round on these premises right this very minute I'm
missing my guess and sooner or later there is going to be ructions.
Cording to the way we-all think down here Miss Peggy's mighty close to
the angels, but maybe we are blinded by the light o'love, so to speak.
Howsoever and nevertheless, we have got along pretty comfortable till
lately when we have begun to discover that our educasyons has been terribl
neglected and we have all got to be took in hand. And we are being took
powerful strong, let me tell you! It is some like a Spanish fly blister: It may
do good in the end but the means thereto is some harrowing to the flesh and
the spirit.

I don't suppose there is no hope of your a-visiting your home before the
ship is ordered South for the fall target practice, more is the pity. Tain't for
me to name nothing but I wish to the Lord Mrs. Harold was here. SHE is a
lady—Amen.
Your most humble and obedient housekeeper,
Martha Harrison.
The day after this letter was written Dr. Llewellyn 'phoned to Peggy that he
would return at the end of the week and if quite agreeable would like to
pass a few days at Severndale with her, as his own housekeeper had not yet
returned from her holiday.
Peggy was in an ecstasy of joy. To have Compadre under her own roof from
Saturday to Monday would be too delightful. Brimful of her pleasurable
anticipations, and more like the natural, joyous girl of former days than she
had been since leaving Mrs. Harold and Polly, she flew to the piazza where
her aunt, arrayed in a filmy lingerie gown, reclined in one of the big East
India chairs. For a moment she forgot that she did not hold her aunt's
sympathies as she held Mrs. Harold's, and cried:
"Oh, Aunt Katherine, Compadre will be here on Friday evening and will
remain until Monday! Isn't that too good to believe?"
"Do you mean Dr. Llewellyn?" asked Mrs. Stewart, coldly.
"Yes, Aunt Katherine, you had no chance to know him before he went away,
but you will just love him."
"Shall I?" asked Mrs. Stewart with a smile which acted like a wet blanket
upon poor Peggy.
"But why do you call him by that absurd name? Why not call him Dr.
Llewellyn?"
"Call him Dr. Llewellyn?" echoed Peggy. "Why, I have never called him
anything else since he taught me to call him by that dear name when I was a
wee little thing."
"And do you expect to cling to childish habits all your days, Peggy dear?
Isn't it about time you began to think about growing up? Sit here upon this
cushion beside me. I wish to have a serious talk with you and this seems a
most opportune moment. I have felt the necessity of it ever since my arrival,

but have refrained from speaking because I feared I might be misjudged and
do harm rather than good. Sit down, dear."
Mrs. Stewart strove to bring into her voice an element of deep interest,
affection was beyond her,—and Peggy was sufficiently intuitive to feel it.
Nevertheless, if anything could have appealed to this self-centered woman's
affection it ought surely to have been the young girl who obediently
dropped upon the big Turkish cushion, and clasping her hands upon the
broad arm of the chair, looked up into the steely, calculating eyes with a
pair so soft, so brown, so trustful yet so perplexed, that an ordinary woman
would have gathered her right into her arms and claimed all the richness
and loyalty of affection so eager to find an outlet. If it could only have been
Mrs. Harold, or Polly's mother, how quick either would have been to
comprehend the loving nature of the girl and reap the reward of it.
Mrs. Stewart merely smiled into the wild-rose face in a way which she
fondly believed to accentuate her own charms, and tapping the pretty brown
hands with her fan, said:
"I am growing extremely proud of my lovely niece. She is going to be a
great credit to me, and, also, I foresee, a great responsibility."
"A responsibility, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy, a perplexed pucker upon
her forehead. "Have I been a responsibility to you since you came here? I
am sorry if I have. Of course I know my life down here in the old home is
quite different from most girls' lives. I didn't realize that until I met Mrs.
Harold and Polly and then, later, went up to New London and saw more of
other girls and the way they live. But I have been very happy here, Aunt
Katherine, and since I have known Mrs. Harold and Polly a good many
things have been made pleasanter for me. I can never repay them for their
kindness to me."
Peggy paused and a wonderfully sweet light filled her eyes, for her love for
her absent friends was very true and deep, and speaking of them seemed to
bring them back to the familiar surroundings which she knew they had
grown to love so well, and where she and Polly had passed so many happy
hours.
Mrs. Stewart was not noted for her capacity for deep feeling and was more
amused than otherwise affected by Peggy's earnest speech, classifying it as

"a girl's sentimentality." Finer qualities were wasted upon that lady. So she
now smiled indulgently and said:
"Of course I can understand your appreciation of what you consider Mrs.
Harold's and her niece's kindness to you, but, have you ever looked upon
the other side of the question? Have you not done a great deal for them? It
seems to me you have quite cancelled any obligation to them. It must have
been some advantage to them to have such a lovely place as this to visit at
will, and, if I can draw deductions correctly, to practically have the run of. It
seems to me there was considerable advantage upon their side of the
arrangement. You, naturally, can not see this, but I'll venture to say Mrs.
Harold was not so unsophisticated," and a pat upon Peggy's hand playfully
emphasized the lady's charitable view.
Peggy felt bewildered and her hands fell from the arm of the chair to her
lap, though her big soft eyes never changed their gaze, which proved
somewhat disconcerting to the older woman who had the grace to color
slightly. Peggy then rallied her forces and answered:
"Aunt Katherine, I am sure neither Mrs. Harold nor Polly ever had the
faintest idea of any advantage to themselves in being nice to me. Why in
this world should they? They have ten times more than I could ever give to
them. Why think of how extensively Mrs. Harold has traveled and what
hosts of friends she has! And Polly too. Goodness, they let me see and
enjoy a hundred things I never could have seen or enjoyed otherwise."
Mrs. Stewart laughed a low, incredulous laugh, then queried:
"And you the daughter of Neil Stewart and a little Navy girl? Really, Peggy,
you are deliciously ingenue. Well, never mind. It is of more intimate matters
I wish to speak, for with each passing day I recognize the importance of a
radical reconstruction in your mode of living. That is what I meant when I
said I foresaw greater responsibilities ahead. You are no longer a child,
Peggy, to run wild over the estate, but—well, I must not make you vain. In
a year or two at most, you will make your début and someone must provide
against that day and be prepared to fill properly the position of chaperone to
you. Meantime, you must have proper training and as near as I can ascertain
you have never had the slightest. But it can not be deferred a moment
longer. It is absolutely providential that I, the only relative you have in this
world, should have met you as I did, though I can hardly understand how

your father overlooked the need so long. Perhaps it was from motives of
unselfishness, though he must have known that I stood ready to make any
sacrifice for my dear dead Peyton's brother." Just here Mrs. Peyton's
feelings almost overcame her and a delicate handkerchief was pressed to
her eyes for a moment.
Ordinarily tender and sympathetic to the last degree, Peggy could not
account for her strange indifference to her aunt's distress. She simply sat
with hands clasped about her knees and waited for her to resume the
conversation. Presently Madam emerged from her temporary eclipse and
said:
"Forgive me, dear, my feelings quite overcame me for a moment. To
resume: I know dear Neil would never ask it of me, but I have been
thinking very seriously upon the subject and have decided to forget self, and
my many interests in New York, and devote my time to you. I shall remain
with you and relieve you of all responsibility in this great household, a
responsibility out of all proportion to your years. Indeed, I can not
understand how you have retained one spark of girlish spontaneity under
such unnatural conditions. Such cares were meant for older, more
experienced heads than your pretty one, dear. It will be a joy to me to
relieve you of them and I can not begin too soon. We will start at once. I
shall write to your father to count upon me for everything and, if he feels so
disposed, to place everything in my hands. Furthermore, I shall suggest that
he send you to a fine school where you will have the finishing your birth
and fortune entitle you to. You know absolutely nothing of association, with
other girls,—no, please let me finish," as Peggy rose to her feet and stood
regarding her aunt with undisguised consternation, "I know of a most
excellent school in New York, indeed, it is conducted by a very dear friend
of mine, where you would meet only girls of the wealthiest families" (Mrs.
Stewart did not add that the majority had little beside their wealth to stand
as a bulwark for them; they were the daughters of New York City's newly
rich whose ancestry would hardly court inspection) "and even during your
school days you would get a taste of New York's social advantages; a thing
utterly impossible in this dull—ahem!—this remote place. I shall strongly
advise dear Neal to consider this. You simply cannot remain buried here. I
shall, of course, since I feel it my duty to do so, but I can have someone
pass the winter with me, and can make frequent trips to Washington."

Mrs. Stewart paused for breath. Peggy did not speak one word, but with a
final dazed look at her aunt, turned and entered the house.

CHAPTER IV

HOSTILITIES RESUMED

As Peggy left the piazza her aunt's eyes followed her with an expression
which held little promise for the girl's future happiness should it be given
into Mrs. Stewart's keeping. A more calculating, triumphant one, or one
more devoid of any vestige of affection for Peggy it would have been hard
to picture. As her niece disappeared Mrs. Stewart's lips formed just two
words, "little fool," but never had she so utterly miscalculated. She was
sadly lacking in a discrimination of values. Peggy had chosen one of two
evils; that of losing her temper and saying something which would have
outraged her conception of the obligations of a hostess, or of getting away
by herself without a moment's delay. She felt as though she were strangling,
or that some horrible calamity threatened her. Hurrying to her own room
she flung herself upon her couch and did that which Peggy Stewart was
rarely known to do: buried her head in the cushions and sobbed. Not the
sobs of a thwarted, peevish girl, but the deeper grief of one who feels
hopeless, lonely and wretched. Never in her life had she felt like this. What
was the meaning of it?
Those who were older and more experienced, would have answered at
once: Here is a girl, not yet sixteen years of age, who has led a lonely life
upon a great estate, remote from companions of her own age, though adored
by the servants who have been upon it as long as she can remember. She
has been regarded as their mistress whose word must be law because her
mother's was. Her education has been conducted along those lines by an old
gentleman who believes that the southern gentlewoman must be the
absolute head of her home.

About this time there enters her little world a woman whose every impulse
stands for motherhood at its sweetest and best, and who has helped all that
is best and truest in the young girl to develop, guiding her by the beautiful
power of affection. All has been peace and harmony, and Peggy is rapidly
qualifying in ability to assume absolute control in her father's home.
Then, with scarcely a moment's warning, there is dropped into her home
and daily life a person with whom she cannot have anything in common,
from whom she intuitively shrinks and cannot trust.
Under such circumstances the present climax is not surprising.
Peggy's whole life had in some respects been a contradiction and a cry for a
girl's natural heritage—a mother's all-comprehending love. The love that
does not wait to be told of the loved one's needs and happiness, but which
lives only to foresee what is best for her and to bring it to pass, never mind
at what sacrifice to self. Peggy had missed that love in her life and not all
the other forms combined had compensated.
Until the previous year she had never felt this; nor could she have put it into
words even at the present moment. She only knew that in Polly's
companionship she had been very, very happy and that she was terribly
lonely without her. That in Mrs. Harold she had found a friend whom she
had learned to love devotedly and trust implicitly, and that in the brief time
Mrs. Howland, Polly's mother, had been in Annapolis and at New London,
she had caught a glimpse of a little world before undreamed of; a world
peculiarly Polly's and her mother's and which no other human being
invaded. Mrs. Howland had just such a little world for each of her daughters
and for the son-in-law whom she loved so tenderly. It was a world sacred to
the individual who dwelt therein with her. There was a common world in
which all met in mutual interests, but she possessed the peculiar power of
holding for each of her children their own "inner shrine" which was truly
"The Holy of Holies."
Although Peggy had known and loved Mrs. Harold longest, there was
something in Mrs. Howland's gentle unobtrusive sweetness, in her hidden
strength, which drew Peggy as a magnet and for the first time in her life she
longed for the one thing denied her: such a love as Polly claimed.

But it seemed an impossibility, and her nearest approach to it lay in Mrs.
Harold's affection for her.
Peggy was not ungrateful, but what had befallen the usual order of things?
Was this aunt, with whom, try as she would, she could not feel anything in
common, about to establish herself in the home, every turn and corner of
which was so dear to her, and utterly disrupt it? For this Peggy felt pretty
sure she would do if left a free hand. Already she had most of the old
servants in a state of ferment, if not open hostility. They plainly regarded
her as an interloper, resented her assumption of rule and her interference in
the innumerable little details of the household economy. Her very evident
lack of the qualities which, according to their standards, stood for "de true
an' endurin' quality raisin'," made them distrust her.
Now the "time was certainly out of joint" and poor little Peggy began to
wonder if she had to complete the quotation.
All that has been written had passed like a whirlwind through Peggy's
harassed brain in much less time than it has taken to put it on paper. It was
all a jumble to poor Peggy; vague, yet very real; understood yet baffling.
The only real evidences of her unhappiness and doubt were the tears and
sobs, and these soon called, by some telepathic message of love and a life's
devotion, the faithful old nurse who had been the comforter of her childish
woes. For days Mammy had been "as res'less an' onsettled as a yo'ng tuckey
long 'bout Thanksgivin' time," as she expressed it, and had found it difficult
to settle down to her ordinary routine of work during the preceding two
weeks. She prowled about the house and the premises "fer all de 'roun worl'
like yo' huntin' speerits," declared Aunt Cynthia, the cook.
"Huh!" retorted Mammy, "I on'y wisht I could feel dat dey was frien'ly
ones, but I has a percolation dat dey's comin' from below stidder above."
So perhaps this explains why she went up to Peggy's room at an hour which
she usually spent in her own quarters mending. Long before she reached the
room she became aware of sounds which acted upon her as a spark to a
powder magazine, for Mammy's loving old ears lay very close to her heart.
With a pious "Ma Lawd-God-Amighty, what done happen?" she flew down
the broad hall and, being a privileged character, entered the room without
knocking. The next second she was holding Peggy in her arms and almost

sobbing herself as she besought her to tell "who done hurt ma baby? Tell
Mammy what brecken' yo' heart, honey-chile."
For a few moments Peggy could not reply, and Mammy was upon the point
of rushing off for Harrison when Peggy laid a detaining hand upon her and
commanded:
"Stop, Mammy! You must not call Harrison or anyone else. There is really
nothing the matter. I'm just a silly girl to act like this and I'm thoroughly
ashamed of myself." Then she wiped her eyes and strove to check a
rebellious sob.
"Quit triflin'! Kingdom-come, is yo' think I'se come ter ma dotage? When is
I see you a cryin' like dis befo'? Not sense yo' was kitin' roun' de lot an' fall
down an' crack yo' haid. Yo' ain' been de yellin', squallin' kind, an' when yo'
begins at dis hyar day an' age fer ter shed tears dar's somethin' pintedly
wrong, an' yo' needn' tell me dar ain't. Now out wid it."
Mammy was usually fiercest when she felt most deeply and now she was
stirred to the very depth of her soul.
"Why, Mammy, I don't believe I could tell you what I'm crying for if I
tried," and Peggy smiled as she rested her head upon the shoulder which
had never failed her.
"Well, den, tell me what yo' ain't cryin' fo', kase ef yo' ain't cryin' fer
somethin' yo' want yo' shore mus' be a-crying fo' somethin' yo' don't want,"
was Mammy's bewildering argument. "An' I bait yo' I ain't gotter go far fer
ter ketch de thing yo' don' want neither," and the old woman looked ready
to deal with that same cause once it came within her grasp.
Peggy straightened up. This order of things would never do. If she acted
like a spoiled child simply because someone to whom she had taken an
instinctive dislike had come into her home, she would presently have the
whole household demoralized.
"Mammy, listen to me."
Instinctively the blood of generations of servitude responded to Peggy's
tone.
"I have been terribly rude to a guest. I lost my temper and I'm ashamed of
myself."

"What did you say to her, baby?"
"I didn't say anything, I just acted outrageously."
"An' what she been a-sayin' ter yo'?"
Peggy only colored.
Mammy nodded her bead significantly. "Ain't I know dat! Yo' cyant tell me
nothin' 'bout de Stewart blood. No-siree! I know it from Alphy to Omegy;
backards an' forrards. Now we-all kin look out fer trouble ahead. But I'se
got dis fer ter say: Some fools jist nachelly go a-prancin' an' a-cavortin' inter
places whar de angils outen heaven dassent no mo'n peek. If yo' tells me I
must keep ma mouf shet, I'se gotter keep it shet, but Massa Neil is allers a
projectin' 'bout ma safety-valve, an' don' yo' tie it down too tight, honey, er
somethin' gwine bus' wide open 'fore long. Now come 'long an' wash yo'
purty face. I ain' like fer ter see no tears-stains on yo' baby. No, I don'. Den
yo' go git on Shashai an' call yo' body-gyard and 'Z'ritza an' yo' ride ten
good miles fo' yo' come back hyer. By dat time yo' git yo' min' settle down
an' yo' stummic ready fo' de lunch wha' Sis' Cynthia gwine fix fo' yo'. I seen
de perjections ob it an' it fair mak' ma mouf run water lak' a dawg's. Run
'long, honey," and Mammy led the way down the side stairs, and watched
Peggy as she took a side path to the paddock.
As she was in and out of her saddle a dozen times a day she wore a divided
skirt more than half the time—another of Mrs. Stewart's grievances—and
upon reaching the paddock her whistle soon brought her pets tearing across
it to her. Their greeting was warm enough to banish a legion of blue imps,
and a joyous little laugh bubbled to her lips as she opened the paddock gate
and let the trio file through. Then in the old way she sprang upon Shashai's
back and with a gay laugh cried:
"Four bells for the harness house."
Away they swept, as Peggy's voice and knees directed Shashai, Tzaritza,
who had joined Peggy as she stepped from the side porch, bounding on
ahead with joyous barks.
Peggy called for a bridle, which Shelby himself brought, saying as he
slipped the light snaffle into Shashai's sensitive mouth and the headstall
over his ears:

"So you've bruck trainin', Miss Peggy, an' are a-going for a real old-time
warm-up? Well, I reckon it's about time, an' the best thing you can do, for
you look sort o' pinin' an' down-in-the-mouth. Light out, little girl, an' come
back lookin' like you uster; the purtiest sight God ever created for a man,
woman or child ter clap eyes on. Take good care of her, Shashai, and you
too, Tzaritza, cause you won't get another like her very soon."
Shelby's eyes were quick to discern the traces of Peggy's little storm, and he
was by no means slow in drawing deductions. Peggy blushed, but said:
"I guess Daddy was right when he said I'd better go to school this year. You-
all will spoil me if I stay here. Good-by, dear old Shelby, I love everyone on
the place even if they do spoil me," and away she swept, as bonny a little
bareback rider as ever sat a horse.
Meanwhile, up at the house events were shaping with the rapidity of a
moving picture show.
When Peggy left her so abruptly Madam Stewart sat still for a few
moments, pondering her next step. She had arrived at some very definite
conclusions and intended carrying them out without loss of time. Her first
move in that direction led her into the library where she wrote a letter to her
brother-in-law. It was while she was thus occupied that Mammy had found
Peggy and sent her for her ride. Then Mammy sought Harrison. Ordinarily,
Mammy would have died before consulting Harrison about anything
concerning Peggy, but here was a common issue, and if Mammy did not
know that a house divided against itself must fall, she certainly felt the
force of that argument. In Harrison she found a sympathetic listener, for the
old housekeeper had been made to feel Mrs. Stewart's presence in the house
in hundreds of irritating little ways. Mammy told of finding Peggy in tears,
though she could not, of course, tell their cause. But Harrison needed no
cause: the tears in themselves were all the cause she required to know.
Their conversation took place in the pantry and at the height of Harrison's
protest against the new order of things a footfall was heard in the dining-
room beyond. Thinking it Jerome's and quite ready to add one more to their
league of defenders of Peggy's cause, Harrison pushed open the swinging
door and stepped into the dining-room with all of her New England-
woman's nervous activity. Mrs. Stewart stood in the room surveying with a

critical, calculating eye, every detail of its stately, chaste appointments, for
nothing had ever been changed.
Mrs. Stewart looked up as Harrison bounced in.
"O Harrison, you are exactly the person I wished to speak with," she said.
"There are to be a few changes made in Mr. Stewart's domestic
arrangements. In future I shall assume control of his home and relieve Miss
Peggy of all responsibility. You may come to me for all orders."
She paused, and for the moment Harrison was too dumbfounded to reply,
while Mammy in the pantry, having overheard every word, was noiselessly
clapping her old hands together and murmuring: "Ma Lawd! Ma Lawd!
Now I knows de sou'ce ob dat chile's tears." Before Harrison could recover
herself Mrs. Stewart continued:
"Dr. Llewellyn will be here tomorrow for the weekend, and as I am to be
mistress of the household it is more seemly that I preside at the head of the
table. Tell Jerome that I shall sit there in future. And now I wish you to take
me through the house that I may know more of its appointments than I have
thus far been able to learn."
Without a word Harrison led the way into the hall, and up the beautiful old
colonial stairway.
Peggy's sitting-room and bed-room were situated at the south-east corner of
the house overlooking the bay. Back of her bath and dressing-rooms were
two guest rooms. A broad hall ran the length of the second story and upon
the opposite side of it had been Mrs. Neil Stewart's pretty sitting-room,
which corresponded with Peggy's and her bed-room separated from her
husband's by the daintiest of dressing and bath-rooms. Neil Stewart's "den"
was at the rear. Beyond were lavatories, linen-room, house-maid's room and
every requirement of a well-ordered home.
Mrs. Peyton began by entering Peggy's sitting-room, a liberty she had not
hitherto taken, but she felt pretty sure Peggy was not in the house. At any
rate she had made her plunge and did not mean to be diverted from her
object now. Martha Harrison was simply boiling with wrath at the intrusion.
"You are a wonderfully capable woman, Martha. I see I shall have very
light duties," was Mrs. Peyton's patronizing comment.

"Harrison, if you please, ma'am," emphasized that person.
"Oh, indeed? As you prefer. Now let me see the rooms on the opposite side
of the hall."
Perhaps had Mrs. Peyton asked Harrison to lead her into the little
mausoleum, built generations ago in the whispering white pine grove upon
the hill back of the house, it could not have been a greater liberty or
sacrilege. Not so great, possibly. In all the nine years nothing had been
changed. They were sacred to the entire household and especially sacred to
Harrison who had held it her especial privilege to keep them immaculate. In
the bed-room the toilet and dressing tables held the same articles Mrs. Neil
had used; her work-table stood in the same sunny window. In the sitting-
room the books she loved and had read again and again were in the case, or
lying upon the tables where she had left them. It seemed as though she
might have stepped from the room barely ten minutes before. There was
nothing depressing about it. On the contrary, it impressed upon the observer
the near presence of a sweet, cultivated personality. The sitting-room was a
shrine for both Peggy and her father, and it was his wish that it be kept
exactly as he had known and loved it during the ideal hours he had spent in
it with wife and child. He and Peggy had spent many a precious one there
since its radiant, gracious mistress had slept in the pine grove. Harrison
crossed the hall and opened the door, still mute as an oyster. Mrs. Stewart
swept in, Toinette, who had followed her, tearing across the room ahead of
her and darting into every nook and corner. At that moment the obnoxious
poodle came nearer her doom than she had ever come in all her useless life,
for Harrison was a-quiver to hurl her through the open window.
"What charming rooms," exclaimed Madam, trailing languidly from one to
the other, touching a book here, some exquisite curio there, the carved ivory
toilet articles on the dresser. The morning sunlight, tempered by the green
and white awnings at the great bowed-windows filled the tastefully
decorated rooms with a restful glow. They were beautiful rooms in every
sense of the word.
"Very charming indeed and very useless apparently. They seem not to have
been occupied in months. They are far more desirable than those assigned
to me at the North side of the house. The view of the bay is perfect. As I am

to be here indefinitely, instead of one month only, you may have my things
moved over to this suite, Harrison. I shall occupy it in future."
"Occupy this suite?" Harrison almost gasped the words.
"Certainly. Why not? You need not look as though I had ordered you to
build a fire in the middle of the floor," and Mrs. Peyton laughed half
scornfully.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but when Mr. Neil gives the order to move your things
into this suite, I'll move them here. These was his wife's rooms and his
orders to me was never to change 'em and I never shall 'till he tells me to.
There's some things in this world that can't be tampered with. Please call
your dog, ma'am; she's scratchin' that couch cover to ribbons."
The enemy's guns were silenced for the time being. She picked up her
poodle and swept from the room. Harrison paused only long enough to
close all the doors, lock them and place the keys in her little hand bag. Then
she departed to her own quarters to give vent to her pent-up wrath.
Mrs. Stewart retired to her own room.
The next evening Dr. Llewellyn arrived and when he took his seat at the
table his gentle face was troubled: Mrs. Peyton had usurped Peggy's place at
the head. Peggy sat opposite to him. She had accepted the situation
gracefully, not one word of protest passing her lips and she did her best to
entertain her guests. But poor old Jerome's soul was so outraged that for the
first time in his life he was completely demoralized. Only one person in the
entire household seemed absolutely and entirely satisfied and that was
Harrison, and her self-satisfaction so irritated Mammy that the good old
creature sputtered out:
"Kingdom come, is yo' gittin' ter de pint when yo' kin see sich gwines-on
an' not r'ar right spang up an' sass dat 'oman?"
"Just wait!" was Harrison's cryptic reply.

CHAPTER V

RUCTIONS!

Jerome had just passed a silver platter to Madam Stewart, his hands
trembling so perceptibly as to provoke from her the words: "Have you a
chill, Jerome?" as she conveyed to her plate some of Cynthia's delicately
fried chicken.
Jerome made no answer, but started toward Peggy's chair. He never reached
it, for at that moment a deep voice boomed in from the hall:
"Peggy Stewart, ahoy!"
With the joyous, ringing cry of:
"Daddy Neil! Oh, Daddy Neil!" Peggy sprang from the table to fling herself
into her father's arms, and to startle him beyond words by bursting into
tears. Never in all of his going to and fro, however long his absences from
his home, had he met with such a reception as this. Invariably a smiling
Peggy had greeted him and the present outbreak struck to the very depth of
his soul, and did more in one minute to reveal to him the force of Harrison's
letter than a dozen complaints. The tears betrayed a nervous tension of
which even Peggy herself had been entirely unaware, and for Peggy to have
reached a mental condition where nerves could assert themselves was an
indication that chaos was imminent. For a moment she could only sob
hysterically, while her father held her close in his arms and said in a tone
which she had never yet heard:
"Why, Peggy! My little girl, my little girl, have you needed Daddy Neil as
much as this?"

Peggy made a gallant rally of her self-control and cried:
"Oh, Daddy, and everybody, please forgive me, but I am so surprised and
startled and delighted that I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm so ashamed
of myself," and smiling through her tears she strove to draw away from her
father that he might greet the others, but he kept her close within his
circling left arm, as he extended his hand in response to the effusive
greeting of his sister-in-law.
With what she hoped would be an apologetic smile for Peggy's untoward
demonstration, Mrs. Stewart had risen to welcome him.
"We must make allowances for Peggy, dear Neil. You came so very
unexpectedly, you know. I hardly thought my letter would be productive of
anything so delightful for us all."
"I fear it was not wholly, Katherine. I had several others also. How are you,
Doctor? I see you haven't quite abandoned the ship. Well, I'm glad of that; I
need my executive officer and my navigator also."
At the concluding words Mrs. Peyton smiled complacently. Who but she
could fill that office? But Captain Stewart's next words dissipated that smile
as the removal of a lantern slide causes the scene thrown upon the screen to
vanish.
"Yes, indeed, my navigator must get busy. She's had a long leave, but I need
her now and she's never failed me in heavy weather. She'll report for duty
on the thirtieth, thank the powers which be. Hello, Jerome! What's rattled
you like this? Next time I set my course for home I'd better send a wireless,
or I'll demoralize the whole personnel," and Neil Stewart's hearty laugh
brought a sympathetic smile to Dr. Llewellyn's and Peggy's lips.
And well it might, for in the background the minor characters in the little
drama had filled a rôle all their own. In the doorway stood Harrison, bound
to witness the outcome of her master-stroke and experiencing no small
triumph in it. Behind her Mammy, with characteristic African emotion, was
doing a veritable camp-meeting song of praise, though it was a voiceless
song, only her motions indicating that her lips were forming the words,
"Praise de Lawd! Praise Him!" as she swayed and clasped her hands.
But Jerome outdid them all: At his first glimpse of the master he was so
flustered that he nearly collapsed where he stood, and his platter had a

perilous moment. Then, crying, "Glory be!" he beat a hasty retreat intending
to place it upon his serving table, but growing bewildered in his joy,
inadvertently set it upon a large claw-foot sofa which stood at the end of the
dining-room, where Toinette, ever upon the alert, and not banished from the
dining-room as poor Tzaritza had been, promptly pounced upon the
contents, and in the confusion of the ensuing ten minutes laid the
foundation for her early demise from apoplexy.
"Brace up, Jerome, I'm too substantial to be a ghost, and nothing short of
one should bowl you over like this," were Captain Stewart's hearty words to
the old man as he shook his hand.
"Asks yo' pardon, Massa Neil! I sho' does ask yo' pardon fer lettin' mysef
git so flustrated, but we-all's so powerful pleased fer ter see yo', an' has been
a-wanting yo' so pintedly, that—that—that—but, ma Lawd, I—I—I'se cla'r
los' ma senses an', an—Hi! look yonder at dat cusséd dawg an' ma fried
chicken!"
For once in her useless life Toinette had created a pleasing diversion. With a
justifiable cry of wrath Jerome pounced upon her and plucked her from the
platter, in which for vantage she had placed her fore feet. Flinging her upon
the floor, he snatched up his dish and fled to the pantry, Neil Stewart's roars
of laughter following him. Toinette rolled over and over and then fled
yelping into her mistress' lap to spread further havoc by ruining a delicate
silk gown with her gravy-smeared feet. Tzaritza, who had followed her
master into the room, looked upon the performance with a superior surprise.
Neil Stewart laid a caressing hand upon the beautiful head and said
laughingly:
"You'd blush for that little snippin-frizzle if you could, wouldn't you, old
girl? Well, it's up to you to teach her better manners. She's young and
flighty. The next time she starts in on any such rampage, just pick her up
and carry her out, as any naughty child should be carried. Understand?"
"Woof-woof," answered Tzaritza, deep down in her throat.
"She's wise all right. After this you can leave that midget of yours in her
care, Katherine. But now let's get busy. I'm upon the point of famishing.
Come, Peggy, honey; rally your forces and serve your old Daddy."

Peggy turned toward her aunt. Not until that moment had her father been
aware of the change made at his table. Then it came to him in a flash, and
Mrs. Peyton was hardly prepared for the change which overspread his
countenance as he asked:
"Peggy, why have you allowed your aunt to assume the obligations of
hostess? Have you lost your ability to sit at the head of my table, daughter?"
Poor Peggy! It was well she understood or she would have been nearly
heartbroken at the rebuke. Mrs. Peyton answered for her:
"Little Peggy had far too much upon her young shoulders, dear Neil. So I
have volunteered to relieve her of some of her duties. I am happy to be able
to do so."
"Indeed, Katherine, we are all under deep obligation to you, I am sure, but
Peggy hardly seems overborne by her burdens, and it is my wish that my
daughter shall preside in her mother's place at my table. Jerome, Mrs.
Stewart is to be relieved of this obligation after this meal. You are to be
quite free of all responsibility during your visit with us, Katherine. And
now, little girl, let me look at you. July, August, and, let me see, twenty-five
days of September since I left you? Nearly three months. You manage to do
remarkable things in a brief time, little daughter. But I fancy by the time I
get back here again they will be more remarkable. Great plans are
simmering for you; great plans," and her father nodded significantly across
at her.
Peggy was too happy to even ask what they were. She could only smile and
nod back again.
Meanwhile Mrs. Stewart had used her napkin to scrub off her besmirched
poodle's feet and had then surreptitiously thumped her down upon her lap
where the table-cloth would conceal her. At Captain Stewart's concluding
words she felt her hopes revive a trifle. She was a fair actress when it
served her turn. So now smiling across the table she said:
"So you have decided to consider my suggestion, Neil?"
"In one respect, yes, Katherine. I see plainly that things can no longer go on
as they have been going. Llewellyn concurs in that." He glanced toward the
Doctor, who nodded gravely.

"I do most fully. Our halcyon days must end, I fear, as all such days do
eventually, and we must meet the more prosaic side of life. Let us hope it
will assume a pleasing form. I am loth to hand in my resignation as
Dominie Exactus, however," he ended with a smile for Peggy.
Peggy looked puzzled, and glanced inquiringly from one to the other. Her
father stretched forth a hand and laid it over hers which rested upon the
edge of the table:
"Smooth out the kinks in your forehead, honey. Nothing distressing is to
happen."
"Hardly," agreed Mrs. Stewart. "On the contrary, if your father acts upon
my suggestion something very delightful will be the outcome, I am sure. I
feel intuitively that you approve of my plan regarding the school, Neil."
Peggy started slightly, and looked at her father. He nodded and smiled
reassuringly, then turning toward his sister-in-law, replied:
"Your letter, Katherine, only served to convince me that Peggy must now
have a broader horizon than Severndale, or even Annapolis affords. Dr.
Llewellyn and I talked it over when I was home over a year ago, and again
last June. When we first discussed it we were about as much at sea as the
'three wise men of Gotham' who launched forth in a tub. We needed a better
craft and a pilot, and we needed them badly, I tell you, and at that time we
hadn't sighted either. Then the 'Sky Pilot' took the job out of our hands and
He's got it yet, I reckon. At any rate, indications seem to point that way, for
on my way down here He ran me alongside my navigator and it didn't take
her long to give me my bearings. She got on board the limited at Newark,
N. J., and we rode as far as Philly together. She had three of her convoys
along and they're all to the good, let me tell you."
"Oh, Daddy, did you really meet Mrs. Harold and Polly, and who was with
them?" broke in Peggy eagerly.
"I surely did, little girl; Mrs. Harold, Polly, Ralph and Durand. She was on
her way for a week's visit with some relatives just out of Philly—in Devon,
I believe, a sort of house-party, she's chaperoning—and a whole bunch of
the old friends are to be there. Well, I got the 'Little Mother' all to myself
from Newark to Philly and we went a twenty-knot clip, I tell you, for big as
I am, I was just bursting to unload my worries upon someone, and that little

woman seems born to carry the major portion of all creation's. She gets
them, any way, and they don't seem to feaze her a particle. She bobs up
serene and smiling after ever comber. But I've yet to see the proposition she
wouldn't try to tackle. Oh, we talked for fair, let me tell you, and in those
two hours she put more ideas into this wooden old block of mine than it's
held in as many months. Did your ears burn this afternoon, Peggy? You are
pretty solid in that direction, little girl, and you'll never have a better friend
in all your born days, and don't you ever forget that fact. Well, the upshot is,
that next Friday, one week from today, Middie's Haven will have its tenant
back and, meantime, she is to write some letters and lay a train for your
welfare, honey. That school plan is an excellent plan, Katherine, but not a
New York school: New York is too far away from home and Mrs. Harold.
Peggy will go to Washington this winter. Hampton Roads is not far from
Washington and the —— will put in there a number of times this winter.
That gives me a chance to visit my girl oftener and also gives Peggy a
chance to visit Mrs. Harold, and run out here now and again if she wishes,
though the place will be practically closed up for the winter. It was very
good of you to offer to remain here but I couldn't possibly accept that
sacrifice; for all your interests lie in New York, as you stated in your letter
to me. You still have your apartments there, you tell me, and to let you bury
yourself down here in this lonely place would be simply outrageous. Even
Peggy has been here too long, without companions."
Neil Stewart paused to take some nuts from the dish which Jerome, now
recovered and beaming, held for him. Mrs. Stewart could have screamed
with baffled rage, for, now that it was too late, she saw that she had quite
overshot the mark, and given her brother-in-law a complete advantage over
her designs. "And that hateful, designing cat!" as she stigmatized Mrs.
Harold "had completed her defeat." She had gauged her brother-in-law as "a
perfect simpleton where a woman was concerned," and never had she so
miscalculated. He was easygoing when at home on leave, or off on one of
his outings, as he had been when she met him in New London. Why not?
When he worked he worked with every particle of energy he possessed, but
when he "loafed," as he expressed it, he cast all care to the winds and was
like an emancipated school-boy. It was the school-boy side of his nature she
had gauged. She knew nothing of Neil Stewart the Naval Officer and man;
hadn't the very faintest conception of his latent force once it was stirred.
And she little guessed how she had stirred it by her letter written the

morning she had made Peggy so unhappy. It was the one touch needed to
bring the climax and it had brought it with a rush which Mrs. Peyton had
little anticipated. What the outcome might have been had Neil Stewart not
met Mrs. Harold on that train is impossible to surmise further than that he
had fully decided to free himself of all connection with Peyton's widow. He
had always disliked and distrusted her, but now he detested her. Peggy's
letters had revealed far more than she guessed, though they had not held
one intended criticism. She had written just as she had written ever since
she promised him when he visited her the previous year, to send "a report of
each day, accurate as a ship's log." But she could not write of the daily
happenings without giving him a pretty graphic picture of Mrs. Stewart's
gradual usurpation, and Harrison had felt no compunction in expressing her
views.
And so the "best laid plans o' mice and (wo)men" had "gone agley" in a
demoralizing manner, and Neil Stewart had come down to Severndale
"under full headway," and wasted no time in "laying hold of the helm." That
talk upon the train had been what he termed "one real old heart-to-hearty,"
for Mrs. Harold had foreseen just such a crisis and felt under no obligation
to refrain from speaking her mind where Mrs. Stewart was concerned. She
had seen just such women before. Captain Stewart had asked her to read the
letters sent to him. She nearly had hysterics over Harrison's, but Peggy's
brought tears to her eyes, for she loved the girl very dearly and understood
her well. Mrs. Stewart's letter made her eyes snap and her mouth set firmly,
as she said:
"Captain Stewart, you have asked my advice and I shall give it exactly as
though Peggy were my daughter, for I could hardly love her and Polly more
dearly if they were my own children. I am under every obligation of
affection to Peggy but not the slightest to Mrs. Stewart, and from all I
observed in New London she is by no means the woman to have control
over a girl like Peggy. She is one of the most lovable girls I have ever
known, but at the same time has one of the most distinct personalities and
the strongest wills. She can be easily guided by combined wisdom and
affection, but she would be ruined by association with a calculating,
unrefined, or capricious nature, and, pardon my frankness, I consider Mrs.
Peyton Stewart all of these. Peggy needs association with other girls—that
is only natural—and we must secure it at once for her."

Neil Stewart laid her words to heart, and the ensuing week brought to pass
some radical changes.
On the thirtieth of September the whole brigade of midshipmen came
pouring back to Annapolis, the academic year beginning on October first.
On the thirtieth also came Mrs. Glenn Harold and her niece Polly Howland,
brown, happy and refreshed by their summer's outing, and Polly eager to
meet her old friends at the Academy and her chum Peggy.
October first falling upon Sunday that year the work at the Academy would
not begin until Monday, and, although the midshipmen had to report on
September thirtieth, Sunday was to a certain extent a holiday for them and
on that afternoon a rare treat was planned for some of them by Captain
Stewart.
On Sunday morning Neil Stewart, with Mrs. Stewart and Peggy drove into
Annapolis to attend service at the Naval Academy Chapel where their
entrance very nearly demoralized Polly Howland, no hint of their intention
having been given her. They were a little late in arriving and the service had
already begun. As Polly was rising from her knees after the first prayer
Peggy was ushered into the pew, and Polly, Polly under all circumstances,
cried impulsively:
"Oh, lovely!" her voice distinctly audible in the chancel. Whether the
Chaplain felt himself lauded for the manner in which he had read the
prayer, or was quick to guess the cause of that unusual response, it is not
necessary to decide. Certain, however, were two or three distinct snickers
from some pews under the gallery, and Polly nearly dove under the pew in
front of her.
There was no chance for the thousand and one topics of vital importance to
be even touched upon while the service was in progress, but once the
recessional rolled forth Peggy's and Polly's tongues were loosened and went
a-galloping.
"Oh, Daddy has a plan for the afternoon which is the dearest ever,"
announced Peggy, the old light back in her eyes, and the old enthusiasm in
her voice.
"Tell it right off then. Captain Stewart's plans are the most wonderful ever.
I'll never forget New London," cried Polly.

"Why, he wants you and the Little Mother and Durand and Ralph and Jean
and Gordon—"
"Gordon?" echoed Polly, a question in her eyes.
Peggy nodded an emphatic little nod, her lips closing in a half-defiant, half
who-dares-dispute-his-judgment little way, then the smile returned to the
pretty mouth and she continued, "Yes, Gordon Powers and his room-mate,
great, big Douglas Porter, and Durand's new room-mate, Bert Taylor, he
comes from Snap's old home, so Daddy learned, to come out to Severndale
this afternoon for a real frolic."
She got no further for they had reached the terrace in front of the Chapel by
that time where greetings were being exchanged between many mutual
friends and the two girls, so widely known to all connected with the
Academy were eagerly welcomed back.
Meanwhile, out on the main walk the Brigade had broken ranks and the
midshipmen were hurrying up to greet their friends. Captain Stewart was a
favorite with all, and one of the very few officers who could recall how the
world looked to him when he was a midshipman. Consequently, he was
able to enter into the spirit and viewpoint of the lads and was always
greeted with an enthusiasm rare in the intercourse between the midshipmen
and the officers. Mrs. Harold was their "Little Mother," as she had been for
the past five years, and Peggy and Polly the best and jolliest of companions
and chums, their "co-ed cronies," as they called them.
Mrs. Stewart they had met in New London, but there was a very perceptible
difference in their greeting to that lady: It was the formal, perfunctory bow
and handclasp of the superficially known midshipman; not the hearty,
spontaneous one of the boy who has learned to trust and love someone as
Mrs. Harold's boys loved and trusted her.
The crowd which had poured out of the Chapel was soon dispersed, as
everybody had something to call him elsewhere. Our group sauntered
slowly toward the Superintendent's home where Captain Stewart left them
and went in to make his request for the afternoon's frolic. It was promptly
granted and orders were given to have a launch placed at his disposal at
two-thirty P.M.

Such a treat, when least expected, sent the boys into an ecstatic frame of
mind, and when the bugle sounded for dinner formation they rushed away
to their places upon old Bancroft's Terrace as full of enthusiasm as though
averaging eight and ten instead of eighteen and twenty years of age.

CHAPTER VI

A NEW ORDER OF THINGS

That Sunday afternoon of October first, 19— was vital with portent for the
future of most of the people in this little story.
It took but a short time to run out to Severndale, and once there Neil
Stewart made sure of a free hour or two by ordering up the horses and
sending the young people off for a gallop "over the hills and far away."
Shashai, Silver Star, Pepper and Salt for Peggy, Polly, Durand and Ralph,
who were all experienced riders, and four other horses for Douglas,
Gordon, Jean and Bert, of whose prowess he knew little. He need not have
worried, however, for Bert Taylor came straight from a South Dakota ranch,
Gordon Powers had ridden since early childhood and Douglas Porter had
left behind him in his Southern home two hunters which had been the joy of
his life. But Jean Paul Nicholas, Ralph's little pepper-pot of a room-mate,
had never ridden a horse in his life, and the running he would come in for at
the hands of his fellow midshipmen if they suspected that fact might have
made almost any other lad hesitate before taking his initial spin in the
company of experts. Not so little Jean Paul with his broad shoulders, the
brace of an Admiral and his five-feet-six-inches; a veritable little bantam-
cock, and game to the finish.
As the happy cavalcade set off, waving merry farewells to the older people
gathered upon the piazza, Tzaritza bounding on ahead, their route led them
past the paddock where Shelby and old Jess, with several others connected
with the estate, stood watching them. Shelby as an old hand and privileged
character, took off his hat and waved it hilariously, as he called out:

"Well that is one sight worth while, Miss Peggy. We've got our own girl
back again, praises be!" while old Jess echoed his enthusiasm by shouting:
"Praise de Lawd we has, an' we got de boss yander, too!"
"Sure thing, Shelby!" answered Durand.
"He's all right, Shelby!" cried Ralph.
"Nicest Daddy-Neil in the world," was Polly's merry reply, then added, "Oh,
Peggy, look at Roy! He's crazy to come with us," for Roy, the little colt
Peggy had raised, was now a splendid young creature though still too young
to put under the saddle.
Peggy looked toward the paddock where Roy was running to and fro in the
most excited manner and neighing loudly to his friends.
"Let him come, Shelby, please," she called, and the foreman opened the
gate. Roy darted through like a flash, giving way to all manner of mad
antics, rushing from one four-footed companion to another, with a playful
nip at one, a wild Highland-fling-of-a-kick at another, a regular rowdy
whinny at another, until he had the whole group infected, but funniest of all,
Jean Paul's mount, the staid, well-conducted old Robin Adair, whose whole
fifteen years upon the estate had been one long testimony to exemplary
behavior, promptly set about demonstrating that when the usually well-
ordered being does "cut loose" he "cuts loose for fair."
Jean Paul was essentially a sailor-laddie, the direct descendant of many
sailor-laddies, and he was "built upon nautical lines," so said Ralph. On the
summer cruise just ended he had demonstrated his claim to be classed
among his sire's confrères, for let the ship pitch and toss as it would, his
legs never failed him, his stomach never rebelled and his head remained as
steady and clear as the ship's guiding planet.
But he found navigating upon land about as difficult as a duck usually finds
it, and was about as well qualified to bestride and ride a horse as that
waddling bird is. Consequently, he had "heaved aboard" his mount with
many well concealed misgivings, but up to the present moment none of his
friends had even suspected his very limited experience as a horseman, but
truth to tell, never before in his life had Jean Paul's legs crossed anything
livelier than one of the gymnasium "side horses." Now, however, the cat
was about to escape from the bag, for Robin Adair, flinging decorum and

heels behind him, set forth on a mad gallop to overhaul Roy, who had
elected to set the pace for the others. Whinnying, prancing, cavorting, away
Roy tore in the lead, Robin Adair hot-foot upon him, Jean Paul striving
manfully to keep his pitching seat, which he felt to out-pitch any deck ever
designed by man. In about two minutes the pair were a hundred yards in the
lead, Jean's cap had sailed airily from his head, and after flaunting into
Silver Star's face, had roosted upon a near-by shrub. Jean himself promptly
decided that reins were a delusion and a snare (Robin's mouth was hard)
and let them go to grasp the pommel of his Mexican saddle. But even that
failed to steady him in that outrageous saddle, nor were stirrups the least
use in the world; his feet were designed to stick to a pitching deck, not
those senseless things. In a trice both were "sailing free" and—so was Jean.
As Robin's hind legs flew up Jean pitched forward to bestride the horse's
neck; as he bounded forward Jean rose in the air to resume his seat where a
horse's crupper usually rests.
Oh it was one electrifying performance and not a single move of it was lost
upon his audience which promptly gave way to hoots and yells of diabolical
glee, at least the masculine portion of it did, while Polly and Peggy, though
almost reduced to hysterics at the absurd spectacle, implored them to "stop
yelling like Comanches and do something."
"Aren't we doing something? Aren't we encouraging him and helping on a
good show?" "Oh, get onto that hike!" "Gee whiz, Commodore, if you jibe
over like that you'll go by the board." "Put your tiller hard a-port." "Haul in
on your jib-sheet," "Lash yourself to the main-mast or you'll drop off
astern," were some of the encouraging words of advice which rattled about
Jean's assailed ears, as the space grew momentarily wider between him and
his friends, those same friends wilfully holding in their mounts to revel in
"the show."
But Jean's patience and endurance were both failing. He could have slain
Robin Adair, and he was confident that his spine would presently shoot
through the crown of his head. So flinging pride to the four winds, he
shouted:
"Hi, come on here one of you yelling chumps, this craft's steering-gear's out
of commission! Overhaul her and take her in tow. I'd rather pay a million
salvage than navigate her another cable's length."

"'Don't give up the ship!'" "'Never say die!'" "Belay, man, belay!" were the
words hurled back until Peggy crying:
"You boys are the very limit!" pressed one knee against Shashai's side and
said softly: "Four Bells, Shashai."
Robin Adair was no match for Shashai. Robin was as good a hackney as
rider ever bestrode, but Shashai was a thoroughbred hunter with an Arab
strain. Ten mighty bounds took him to Robin's head and for Peggy to swing
far out of her saddle, grasp the dangling reins, speak the word of command
which all her horses knew, loved and obeyed, took less time than it has
taken to write of it.
"One Bell, Shashai. Robin, halt! Steady!" and Jean Paul's mount came to a
standstill with Jean Paul sitting upon its haunches, and Jean Paul's eyes
snapping, and Jean Paul's teeth biting his tongue to keep from uttering
words "unbecoming an officer and a gentleman;" for "being overhauled by
a girl" after he had "made a confounded fool of himself trying a land-
lubber's stunt" was not a rôle which seemed in any degree an edifying one
to him.
To her credit be it said, Peggy managed to keep a straight face as she turned
to look at her disgruntled guest, which was more than could be said of his
companions who came crowding upon him, even Polly's self-control being
taxed beyond the limit.
"Why didn't you tell me you'd never ridden?" asked Peggy, her lips sober
but her eyes dancing.
"Because it would have knocked the whole show on the head," answered
Jean, yanking himself forward into the saddle which only a moment before
had seemed to be in forty places at once.
"So you decided to be the whole show yourself instead! You're a dead game
sport, Commodore. Bully for you!" cried Durand, slipping from his mount
to examine the "rigging of the Commodore's craft."
"Do you want to try it again?" asked Polly.
"Will a fish swim?" answered Jean. "Do you think I'm going to let this side-
wheeler shipwreck me? Not on your life, Captain. Clear out, the whole
bunch of you chumps. If I've got to cross the equator I'll have the escort of

ladies, not a bunch of rough-necks. Beat it! You let a girl overhaul and slow
down this cruiser and now you're all ready to come in for a share of the
salvage. Get out! Clear out! Beat it! Take 'em away, Captain, and leave me
the Admiral. She can give everyone of you the lead by a mile and then
overhaul you on the first tack. Get out, for I'm going to take a riding lesson
and I'm going to pay extra and have a private one."
"Yes, do go on ahead, and, Polly, call Roy. He is responsible for Robin's
capers but he will behave if you take him in charge."
"Come on, Roy—and all other incorrigibles," laughed Polly, unsnapping her
second rein and slipping it around Roy's silky neck. Roy loved and obeyed
Polly almost as readily as Peggy, and cavorted off beside her as gay as a
grig.
"We'll report heavy weather and a disabled ship, messmate," called Ralph.
"Report and hanged. You'll see us enter port all skee and ship-shape, and
don't you fool yourself, my cock sure wife (Bancroft Hall slang for a room-
mate), so so-long. Now come on, Peggy, and put me wise to navigating this
craft, for it has me beat to a standstill."
"Go on, people; we'll follow presently and when we overhaul you you'll be
treated to a demonstration of expert horsemanship," called Peggy after the
laughing, joking group, her own and Jean's laughs merriest of all.
"Now get busy in earnest," she said to the half-piqued lad, whose face wore
an expression of "do or die" as he again mounted his steed.
"You can just bet your last nickel I'm going to! Great Scott, do you think
I'm going to let this beat me out, or that yelling mob out yonder see me put
out of commission? Now fire away. Show me how to keep my legs clamped
and to sit in the saddle instead of on this beast's left ear."
As Peggy was a skilled teacher and Jean an apt pupil the combination
worked to perfection, and when in a half-hour's time they joined the main
body of the cavalcade, Jean had at least learned where a saddle rests and
had trained his legs to "clamp" successfully.
Meanwhile, back on Severndale's broad piazza Peggy was the subject of a
livelier discussion than she would have believed possible, and the upshot of
it was a decision which carried Neil Stewart, Mrs. Harold, herself, and

Polly off to Washington early the following morning to visit a school of
which Mrs. Harold knew. Mrs. Stewart was very courteously asked to
accompany the party of four, which was to spend three or four days in the
Capital, but Mrs. Stewart was distinctly chagrined at her failure to carry
successfully to a finish the scheme which she felt she had so carefully
thought out. Alas, she could not understand that she sorely lacked the most
essential qualities for its success—unselfishness, disinterestedness, the finer
feeling of the older woman for the younger, and all that goes to make
womanhood and maternal instinct what they should be. She felt that her
reign at Severndale was ended and nothing remained but to make as
graceful a retreat as possible. So she declined the invitation, stating that she
was very anxious to visit some friends in Baltimore and would take this
opportunity to do so, going by a later train.
Neil Stewart did not press his invitation. He wanted Mrs. Harold and the
girls to himself for a time and knowing that it would be his last opportunity
to see them for many months, resolved to make the most of it. Not by word
or act had he expressed disapproval of Mrs. Stewart's rather extraordinary
line of conduct since her arrival at Severndale, though evidences of it were
to be seen at every turn, and both Harrison's and Mammy's tongues were
fairly quivering to describe in detail the experiences of the past month.
Harrison was wise enough not to criticise, but she lost no opportunity for
asking if she were to carry out this, that, or some other order of Mrs.
Stewart's, until poor Neil lost his temper and finally rumbled out:
"Look here, Martha Harrison, how long have you been at Severndale?"
"Nigh on to twenty years, sir, and full fifteen years with that blessed child's
mother before she ever heard tell of this place. I took care of her, as right
well you know, long before she was as old as Miss Peggy."
"And have I ever ordered any changes made in her rules?"
"None to my knowledge, sir. They was pretty sensible ones and there didn't
seem any reason to change them."
"Well, you're pretty long-headed, and until you do see reason to change 'em
let 'em stand and quit pestering me. You're the Exec. on this ship until I see
fit to appoint a new one and when I think of doing that I'll give you due
notice."

But Mammy would have exploded had she not expressed her views.
Harrison had chosen the moment when Captain Stewart had gone to his
room just before supper that eventful Sunday evening, but Mammy spoke
when she carried up to him the little jug of mulled cider for which
Severndale was famous and which, when cider was to be had, she had never
failed to carry to "her boy," as Neil Stewart, in spite of his forty-six years,
still seemed to old Mammy.
Tapping at the door of his sitting-room, she entered at his "Come in." She
found him standing before a large silver-framed photograph of Peggy's
mother. It had been taken shortly before her death and when such a tragic
ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. A fancy-dress ball
had been given by the young officers stationed at the Academy and Mrs.
Stewart had attended it gowned as "Marie Stuart," wearing a superb black
velvet gown and the widely-known "Marie Stuart coif and ruff" of exquisite
Point de Venice lace. She had never looked lovelier, or more stately in her
life, and that night Neil Stewart was the proudest man on the ballroom floor.
Then he had insisted upon a famous Washington photographer taking this
beautiful picture and—well, it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored,
for within another month she had dropped asleep forever.
Good old Mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and
instead of saying what she had come to say: "ter jist nachelly an' pintedly
'spress her min'," she went close to his side and looking at the lovely face
smiling at her, said:
"Dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat a-one,
Massa Neil, lessen it gwine be Miss Peggy. She favor her ma mo' an' mo'
every day she livin', an' I wisht ter Gawd her ma was right hyer dis minit fer
ter see it, dat I do."
"Amen! Mammy," was Captain Stewart's reply. "Peggy needs more than we
can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. The trouble is she seems
to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been thinking
she was a child."
Neil Stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf and
sighed.

"No, sir, dat ain't it. Deed tain't. She been a-growin' up dis long time, but
we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide 'nough. An' now we's
all got shook wide awake by somebody else."
Mammy paused significantly. Neil Stewart frowned.
"Just as well maybe. But don't light into me. I'm all frazzled out now.
Harrison's hints are like eight inch shells; Dr. Llewellyn's like a highly
charged electric battery; Jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten minutes and
even Shelby and Jess use pop-guns. Good Lord, are you going to let drive
with a gatling? Clear out and let me drink my cider in peace, and quit
stewing, for I tell you right now the fire-brand which has kept the kettles
boiling is going to be removed."
"Praise de Lawd fo' dat blessin' den. It was jist gwine ter make some of dem
pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? Good-night, Massa Neil,
drink yo' cider an' thank de Lawd fo' yo' mercies."
"Good-night, Mammy. You're all right even if I do feel like smacking your
head off once in a while. Used to do it when I was a kid, you know, and
can't drop the habit."
The following morning the party of four set off for Washington, Polly
sorely divided in her mind regarding her own wishes. To have Peggy
elsewhere than at Severndale was a possibility which had never entered into
her calculations. How would it seem to have no Severndale to run out to?
No Peggy to pop into Middie's Haven? No boon companion to ride, walk,
drive, skate with, or lead the old life which they had both so loved? Polly
did some serious thinking on the way to the big city, and wore such a sober
face as they drew near the end of their journey that Captain Stewart asked,
as he tweaked a stray lock which had escaped bonds:
"What's going on inside this red pate? You look as solemn as an ostracized
owl."
"I'm trying to think how it is going to seem without Peggy this winter and I
don't like the picture even a little bit," and Polly wagged the "red pate"
dubiously.
"Better make up your mind to come along with your running-mate. By
Jove, that's a brain throb, Peggy! How about it? Can't you persuade this girl
of ours to give up the co-ed plan back yonder in Annapolis,—she knows all

the seamanship and nav. that's good for her already,—and you'll need a
room-mate up here at Columbia Heights School if we settle upon it," and
Captain Stewart looked at Polly half longingly, half teasingly. Polly had
grown very dear to the bluff, sincere man during her companionship with
Peggy, and had crept into a corner of his heart he had never felt it possible
for anyone but Peggy herself to fill. Somehow, latterly when thinking and
planning for Peggy's well-being or pleasure, visions of Polly's tawny head
invariably rose before him, and Polly's happy, sunny face was always beside
the one he loved best of all. The two young girls had become inseparable in
his thoughts as well as in reality.
"Oh, Polly, will you? Will you?" begged Peggy, instantly fired with the
wildest desire to have Polly enter the school which it had been decided she
should enter if at closer inspection it proved to be all the catalogues, letters
and dozens of pamphlets sent to Mrs. Harold represented it to be.
"If I go to the Columbia Heights School what will Ralph say? And all the
others, too? They'll say I've backed down on my co-ed plan and will run me
half to death. Besides, Ralph needs me right there to let him know I'm
keeping a lookout."
"He doesn't need you half as much as this girl of mine needs you. You just
let Ralph do a little navigating for himself and learn that it's up to him to
make good on his own account. He's man enough to; all he needs now is to
find it out. Will you let him do so by coming down here with Peggy?"

CHAPTER VII

COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL

As Captain Stewart asked the question which ended the last chapter the W.
B. & A. electric car came to a standstill in the heart of Washington and as he
assisted his charges to descend the steps, Polly was the last. As she placed
her hand in his she looked straight into his kind eyes and said:
"I'm just ready to fly all to bits. I love Peggy and want to be with her; I love
Aunt Janet and old Crabtown and everything connected with it; I've always
kept neck-and-neck with Ralph in his work and I hate the thought of
dropping out of it, but, oh, I do want to be with Peggy."
"Come along out to the school and see what you think of it before you
decide one way or the other; then talk it all over with your aunt and you
won't go far amiss if you follow her advice, little girl."
"I'll do it," answered Polly, with an emphatic wag of her head, and Peggy
who overheard her words nearly pranced with joy.
Hailing a taxicab Captain Stewart directed the chauffeur to drive them to an
address in the outskirts of the city and away they sped. It was only a short
run in that whirring machine over Washington's beautiful streets and when
the school was reached both Peggy and Polly exclaimed over the beauty of
its situation, for Columbia Heights School was in the midst of spacious
grounds, the buildings were substantial and attractive, giving the impression
of ample space, all the fresh air needed by vigorous, rapidly developing
bodies, and the sunshine upon which they thrive. Beautiful walks and drives
led in every direction and not far off lovely Stony Brook Park lay in all the
beauty of its golden October glow.

Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart were graciously welcomed by its
charming principal who promptly led the way to her study, a great room
giving upon a broad piazza, where green wicker furniture, potted plants and
palms suggesting a tropical garden. When Polly's eyes fell upon it she
forgot all else, and cried impulsively:
"Oh, how lovely! Can't we go right out there?" And then colored crimson.
Mrs. Vincent smiled as she slipped an arm across Polly's shoulder and
asked:
"Are you to be my newest girl? If so, I think we would find something in
common."
Polly raised her big eyes to the sweet, strong face smiling upon her and
answered:
"I hadn't even thought of coming until an hour ago. It was all planned for
Peggy, but, oh, dear, if I only could be twins! How am I ever to be a co-ed
in Annapolis and a pupil here at the same time? Yet I want dreadfully to be
both, I'm so fond of Peggy."
"I fear we cannot solve that problem even in Columbia Heights School,
though we try pretty hard to solve a good many knotty ones. Suppose I talk
it over with the grown-ups and meantime arrange for your entertainment by
two or three of the girls. We think they are rather nice girls too," and Mrs.
Vincent pressed an electric button which promptly brought a neat maid to
the door.
"Hilda, ask Miss Natalie and Miss Marjorie to step to my study."
Within a few moments two girls appeared in the doorway, the taller one
asking:
"Did you wish to see us, Mother?"
Introductions followed, whereupon the Principal said:
"Natalie, please take Miss Stewart and Miss Howland for a walk through
the grounds. It is recreation period and they will like to meet the other girls
and see the buildings also, I think. And remember, you are to picture
everything in such glowing colors, and be so entertaining that they will
think there is no other place in all the land half so lovely, for I have fully

decided that we must have sweet P's in our posy bed. We have a Rose, a
Violet, a Lily, Myrtle, Hazel, Marguerites,—oh, a whole flower garden
already—but thus far no sweet-peas."
"We will, Mrs. Vincent. Please come with us," said Marjorie cheerily, no
trace of self-consciousness or the indefinable restraint so much oftener the
rule than the exception between teacher and pupil. Mrs. Harold had been
observing every word and action as it was a part of her nature to observe—
yes, intuitively feel—every word and action of the young people with
whom she came in touch, and the older ones who were likely to bring any
influence to bear upon their lives, and this little scene did more to confirm
her in the belief that she had not been amiss when she selected Columbia
Heights School for Peggy than anything else could have done. Next to her
husband, her sister and her nieces, Peggy was the dearest thing in the world
to her, and the past year had shown her what tremendous possibilities the
future held for the young girl if wisely shaped for her. The two ensuing
hours were pleasant and profitable for all concerned and when they ended
and Captain Stewart and his party re-entered the taxicab to return to their
hotel in Washington, it was decided that Peggy should come to Columbia
Heights School on October fifteenth, but Polly's decision was still in
abeyance. She wished to have one of her long, quiet talks with her aunt
before "shifting her holding ground," she said, and that could only be up in
Middie's Haven, cuddled upon a hassock beside Mrs. Harold's easy chair,
with the logs lazily flickering upon the brass andirons. So the ensuing two
days in Washington were given over to sightseeing and "a general blow-
out," as Captain Stewart termed it, insisting that he could not have another
for months and meant to make this one "an A-1 affair." Then back they went
to Severndale where Mrs. Stewart, to their surprise, had returned the
previous day, having failed to find her friend in Baltimore. As she had
already overstayed the length of time for which her invitation to Severndale
had been extended, she had no possible excuse for prolonging it, and
deciding that her schemes had met with defeat largely owing to her own
impolitic precipitation in forcing the situation, she did not mean to make an
ignominious retreat. So, with well assumed suavity she told her brother-in-
law that some urgent business matters claimed her attention in New York,
and asked if he could complete his arrangements for Peggy's departure
without her aid, as she really ought to go North without delay.

If Neil Stewart was amused by this sudden change in the lady's tactics, to
his credit be it said that he did not betray any sign of it. He thanked her for
her kind interest in Peggy and his home, for all she had done for them, and
left nothing lacking for her comfort upon her homeward journey, even
shipping to the apartment in New York enough fruit, game and various
other good things from Severndale to keep her larder well supplied for
weeks, and supplementing all these with a gift which would be the envy of
all her friends. But when he returned to Severndale after bidding the lady
farewell at the station, he breathed one mighty sigh of relief. He had
escaped a situation of which the outcome was a good deal more than
problematical for everyone concerned, and most vital for Peggy.
Then came busy days of preparation for Peggy and Polly, for the outcome
of that fireside powwow had been a decision in favor of Columbia Heights
School for Polly also, for that winter at least, and when the fifteenth dawned
bright and frosty, Mrs. Harold accompanied the girls to Washington,
Captain Stewart's leave having meantime expired. But he had gone back to
his ship in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had
returned to it in July, and with a comforting sense of security in the outcome
of his present plans for Peggy. The longer he knew Mrs. Harold the greater
became his confidence in her judgment, and she had assured him that Peggy
should be her charge that winter exactly as Polly was. Moreover, Mrs.
Harold had persuaded Mrs. Howland to close her house in Montgentian for
the winter and come to Annapolis, bringing Gail with her, for Constance
had decided to follow the Rhode Island whenever it was possible for her to
do so, and this decision left Mrs. Howland and Gail alone in their home. So
to Wilmot Hall came Polly's mother and pretty sister, the former to spend a
delightfully restful winter with her sister and the latter to take her first taste
of the good times possible for a girl of twenty-one at the Naval Academy.
The first breaking away from Severndale was harder for Peggy than anyone
but Mrs. Harold guessed. Somehow intuition supplied to her what actual
words could never have conveyed, even had they been spoken, but Peggy,
once her resolution had been taken to go away to school, was not a girl to
bewail her decision. And now she was a duly registered pupil at Columbia
Heights with Polly for her room-mate in number 67, her next-door neighbor
Natalie Vincent, Mrs. Vincent's daughter, a jolly, honest, happy-go-lucky
girl, who looked exactly as her mother must have looked at fifteen. A long

line of rooms extended up and down, both sides of the corridor, the end one,
No. 70, with its pretty bay-window overlooking the lawn and Stony Brook
beyond, was occupied by Stella Drummond, a tall, striking brunette of
eighteen. To the hundred-fifty girls in Columbia Heights School this story
can only allude in a brief way but of those who figure most prominently in
Polly's and Peggy's new world we'll let Polly give the general "sizing-up."
These girls were all about the same age, and, excepting Stella, juniors, as
were Peggy and Polly, whose previous work under tutors and in high school
had qualified them to enter that grade at Columbia Heights.
It was their first night at the school, and "lights-out" bell had rung at ten
o'clock, but a glorious October moon flooded the room with a silvery light,
almost as bright as day. Peggy in one pretty little white bed and Polly in the
one beside it were carrying on a lively whispered conversation.
"Well, we're here," was Polly's undisputable statement as she snuggled
down under her bed-covers, "and now that we are what do you think of it?"
"I'm glad we've come. It will seem a lot different, and rather queer to do
everything by rules and on time, but, after all, we had to do almost
everything by rule up home."
"Yes, but they were nearly always our own rules; yours, anyway. Why,
Peggy, I don't believe there is a girl in this school who ever had things as
much her own way as you have had them."
"Maybe that's the reason I didn't get along with Aunt Katherine," answered
Peggy whimsically.
"Aunt Katherine!" Polly's whisper suggested italics. "Do you know Miss
Sturgis, the math. teacher, makes me think of her a little. Miss Sturgis is
strong-minded, I'll bet a cookie. Did you hear what she said when she was
giving out our books on sociology—doesn't it seem funny, Peggy, for us to
take up sociology?—'She hoped we would become good American citizens
and realize woman's true position in the world.' Somehow I've thought
Tanta has always had a pretty clear idea of 'woman's position in the world.'
At any rate she seems to have plenty to do in her own quiet way and I've an
idea that if anyone ever hinted that she ought to go to the polls and vote
she'd feel inclined to spell it pole and use it to 'beat 'em up' with, as Ralph

and the boys would say. Oh, dear, how we are going to miss 'the bunch,'
Peggy."
"We certainly are," was Peggy's sympathetic reply, and for a moment there
was silence in the moonlit room as the girls' thoughts flew back to
Annapolis. Then Peggy asked: "What do you think of the girls? You've been
to school all your life, but it is all new to me."
Polly laughed a low, little laugh, then replied:
"They are about like most school-girls, I reckon. Let's see, which have we
had most to do with since we came here twenty-four hours ago? There's
Rosalie Breeze. She's named all right, sure enough, and if she doesn't turn
out a hurricane we'll be lucky. We had one just like her up at High. And Lily
Pearl Montgomery. My gracious, what a name to give a girl! She needs
stirring up. She's just like a big, fat, spoiled baby. I feel like saying 'Goo-
goo' to her."
"Don't you think Juno Gibson is handsome?" asked Peggy.
"Just as handsome as she can be, but I wish she didn't look so discontented
all the time. Why, she hasn't smiled once since we came."
"I wonder why not?" commented Peggy.
"Maybe we'll find out after we've been here a while. But I tell you one
thing, I like her better without any smiles than that silly Helen Gwendolyn
Doolittle with her everlasting affected giggling at nothing. She is the kind to
do some silly thing and make us all ashamed of her."
"How about Stella Drummond?"
"She is a puzzle to me. Doesn't she seem an awful lot older than the rest of
us? Rosalie says she is eighteen and that's not so much older, but she seems
about twenty-five. I wonder why?"
"Maybe she has lived in cities all her life and gone out a lot. You know most
of the girls we met up at New London seemed so much older too, yet they
really were not. They looked upon us as children, though the Little Mother
said we were years older in common sense while they were years older in
worldly experience,—I wonder what she meant?"

"Tanta meant that we had stayed young girls and could enjoy fun and frolic
as much as ever, but those girls were not satisfied with anything but dances
and theatres and all sorts of grown-up things. We have our fun with our
horses, dogs and the nonsense with the boys up home. We want our skirts
short and our hair flying and to romp when we feel like it."
"Picture Helen or Lily Pearl romping," and Peggy dove under the covers to
smother her laughter at the thought of the fat, pudgy Lily Pearl attempting
anything of the sort. Polly snickered in sympathy and then said in her
emphatic way:
"I tell you, Peggy, which girls I do like and I think they will like us:
Marjorie Terry and Natalie Vincent. Marjorie is awfully sober and quiet, I
know, but I believe she's sort of lonely, or homesick or something. Natalie
seems more like our own kind than any girl in the school and I'll wager my
tennis racquet she'll be lots of fun if she is the Principal's daughter. But we'd
better go to sleep this minute. We've made a sort of hash of seven girls, and
if we try to size up the whole school this way it will be broad daylight
before we finish. Good-night. It's sort of nice to be here after all, and nicer
still to have you for a room-mate, old Peggoty."
An appreciative little laugh was the only answer to this and five minutes
later the moon was looking in upon a picture hard to duplicate in this great
world: Two sweet, unspoiled, beautiful girls in the first flush of untroubled
slumber.
The following morning being Saturday and Peggy's and Polly's belongings
having arrived, the girls set about arranging their room, half a dozen others
having volunteered assistance. For convenience in reaching "up aloft"
Peggy and Polly had slipped off their waists and were arrayed in kimonos
which aroused the envy of their companions. Captain Stewart had given
them to his "twins" as he now called the girls. Peggy's was the richest shade
of crimson embroidered in all manner of golden gods and dragons; Polly's
pale blue with silver chrysanthemums.
"Oh, where did they come from?" cried Natalie.
"Daddy Neil brought them to us," answered Peggy, as she stepped toward
the door to take an armful of pictures and pillows from old Jess who had
followed his young mistress to Washington to care for Shashai and Silver

Star, the horses having been sent on also, for Columbia Heights School had
large stables for the accommodation of riding or driving horses for the use
of its pupils, or they could bring their own if they preferred. So Shashai and
Silver Star had been ridden down by Jess, taking the journey in short, easy
stages, and arriving the previous evening. Tzaritza, to her astonishment had
not been allowed to accompany them, and Roy was inconsolable for days.
Peggy's departure from Severndale had left many a grieving heart behind.
"What I gwine do wid all dis hyer truck, Missie-honey?" asked Jess, coming
in from the corridor with a second armful: riding-crops, silver bits, a fox's
brush, books and what not.
"Just plump it down anywhere, Jess. We'll get round to it all in due time,"
laughed Peggy from her perch upon a small step-ladder where she was
fastening up some hat-bands of the Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Olympia
and the ships which had comprised the summer practice squadron, the girls
all gathered about her asking forty questions to the minute and wild with
curiosity and excitement. Never before had two "really, truly Navy girls"
been inmates of Columbia Heights and it sent a wild flutter through many
hearts. What possibilities might lie at the Annapolis end of the W. B. & A.
Railroad!
Jess's white woolly head was bent down over the armful of books he was
placing upon the floor; Peggy had returned to her decorating; Polly had
draped her flag upon the wall and was standing her beloved bugle and a
long row of photographs upon book-shelves beneath it, several girls
following her with little squeals of rapture, when a pandemonium of shrieks
and screams arose down the corridor and the next second a huge creature
bounded into the room, tipping Jess and his burden heels over head, and
flinging itself upon Peggy. Down came ladder, Peggy, and the white mass in
a heap, the girls scattering in a shrieking panic to whatever shelter seemed
to offer, confident that nothing less than a wolf had invaded the fold.
But Tzaritza was no wolf even if her beautiful snowy coat was mud-
bedraggled and stuck full of burrs, nor was Peggy being "devoured alive,"
as Lily Pearl, who had actually run for once in her life, was hysterically
sobbing into Mrs. Vincent's arms.
No, Peggy, rather promiscuous as to ladder, hammer, hat-bands and general
paraphernalia, was lying flat upon her back, her arms around Tzaritza, half-

sobbing, half-laughing her joy into the beautiful creature's silky neck, while
Tzaritza whimpered and whined for joy and licked and dabbed her mistress
with a moist tongue.
"It is a wolf! A wolf!" shrieked Lily Pearl, who had returned to the scene,
"and he is killing her."
"It is a horrid, dirty dog! Why doesn't that man drive him out?" demanded
Miss Sturgis, who had followed Tzaritza hot foot, having been in the main
hall when the great hound went tearing through and up the stairs, nose and
ears having given her the clue to her mistress' whereabouts.
"No, it's only a wolfhound!" laughed Polly, dropping her pictures to fly
across the room and fall upon Tzaritza.
Then explanations followed. Tzaritza had been left in Shelby's care, but
finding it impossible to restrain her when Jess was about to leave with the
horses, he had tied her in the barn. The rope was bitten through as clean as a
thread and Tzaritza's coat told of the long journey on the horses' trail.
After her wild demonstrations of joy had calmed down, Tzaritza stood
panting in the middle of the wreck which her cyclonic entrance had brought
about, her great eyes pleading eloquently for restored favor.
Polly still clasped her arms about the big shaggy neck, while Miss Sturgis
alternately protested and commanded Jess to "remove that dirty creature at
once." Happily, Mrs. Vincent entered the room at this juncture and it must
have been the god of animals, of which Kipling tells us, which inspired
Tzaritza's act at that moment. Or was it something in the fine, strong face
which children and animals in common all trust with subtle intuition? At all
events, Tzaritza looked at Mrs. Vincent just one moment and then greeted
her exactly as at home she would have greeted Dr. Llewellyn or Captain
Stewart; by rising upon her hind legs, placing her forepaws upon Mrs.
Vincent's shoulders and nestling her magnificent head into the amazed
woman's neck as confidingly as a child would have done. A less self-
contained woman would have been frightened half to death. Miss Sturgis
came near swooning but Mrs. Vincent just gathered the great dog into her
arms as she would have gathered one of her girls and said:
"Without the power of human speech you plead your cause most eloquently,
you beautiful creature. Peggy, has she ever been separated from you before,

dear?"
"Never, Mrs. Vincent. She has slept at my door since she was a wee puppy."
"She shall be appointed guardian of the West Wing of Columbia Heights,
and may turn out a guardian for us all. Now, Jess, take her to the stables and
make her presentable to polite society. Poor Tzaritza, your journey must
have been a long, hard, dusty one, for your silken fringes have collected
many souvenirs of it."

CHAPTER VIII

A RIDING LESSON

In spite of the Sturgeon's protests that "it was most impolitic to establish a
precedent in the school," Tzaritza became a duly enrolled member of the
establishment, and from that moment slept at Peggy's door, a welcome
inmate of Columbia Heights. Welcome at least, to all but one person. Miss
Sturgis loathed all animals.
In the ensuing weeks Peggy and Polly slipped very naturally into their
places. In her own class and in the West Wing Natalie Vincent had always
been the acknowledged leader, for, even though the daughter of the
Principal, not the slightest partiality was ever shown her and she was
obliged to conform as strictly to the rules as any girl in the school. She was
full of fun, eternally in harmless mischief, and, of course, eternally being
taken to task for her misdeeds.
By the usual order of the attraction of opposites Marjorie Terry and Natalie
had formed a warm friendship. Marjorie the quiet, reserved, rather
shrinking girl from Seattle. She never joined in any of Natalie's wild pranks,
but on the other hand was a safe confidant, and if she could not follow her
more spontaneous friend's lead, she certainly never balked or betrayed her.
The other girls had christened them Positive and Negative and they
certainly lived up to their names.
The girls whom Peggy and Polly had discussed so frankly the night after
their arrival all roomed in the West Wing. Stella in her own large, handsome
room, for her father was manager of an immense railroad system in the
middle West. Rosalie Breeze and oh "cursed spite!" Isabel Boylston—"Is-a-

bel," as she pronounced it,—roomed together and squabbled incessantly. At
least, Rosalie did the squabbling, Is-a-bel affected the superior, self-
righteous air which acted upon Rosalie's peppery temper as a red rag upon a
bull. It was Miss Sturgis, of course, who had advised placing them together.
Isabel was a great favorite of Miss Sturgis, and Rosalie was the reverse.
Mrs. Vincent had not entirely approved the arrangement, but the school was
unusually crowded this year and two of the girls' parents had insisted upon
single rooms for their daughters. Juno Gibson, from New York, had
announced very positively that unless she could have a room to herself in
Columbia Heights School she would pack her three trunks and go
elsewhere, and Papa Gibson was not in the habit of disputing his daughter's
will or wishes unless they conflicted with his own. In this matter he didn't
care a straw, so Miss Juno was not compelled to have "a dozen girls
eternally under foot and ruining my clothes by crowding the closets full of
theirs."
Lily Pearl, "Tootsy-wootsy," as her companions had dubbed her, roomed
with Helen Gwendolyn Doolittle, "Cutie," and a sweet, sentimental pair
they made, though Helen spent every possible moment with the latest object
of her adoration, Stella Drummond, for whom she had instantly conceived
an overwhelming infatuation; a pronounced school-girl "crush."
Of the other girls in the school only a passing glimpse need be given.
Saturday afternoons were always perfectly free at Columbia Heights, and
the girls could do practically as they chose. There was one rule, or rather the
absence of it, which had appealed very strongly to Mrs. Harold and gone a
long way toward biasing her choice in favor of the school. If the girls
wished to go into the city—that is, the girls in the Sophomore, Junior and
Senior grades—to do shopping or make calls, they were entirely at liberty
to do so unattended by a teacher, though Mrs. Vincent must, of course,
know where they were going. With very rare exceptions this rule had
always worked to perfection. The very fact that they might do as they
chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the reputation and dignity
of the school, usually acted as an incentive to them to do so, whereas the
eternal surveillance and suspicion of the average school acts as a mighty
inspiration to circumvent all regulations.

Another pleasant feature of Saturday afternoons were the long riding
excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom
accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding mistress.
Besides Peggy and Polly, Stella was the only girl who had her own horse at
Columbia Heights, the others riding those provided by the school. They
were good horses and the riding-master, Albert Dawson, was supposed to
be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. He was conventional to
a degree. He taught the English seat, the English rise, the English gait, and
his horses were all docked and hogged in the English fashion. Dawson
would doubtless have taught them to drop their H's as he himself did, had
he been able to do so.
When Shashai and Silver Star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks
long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and flowing
free, poor Dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he was
forced to admit that the Columbia Heights stables held no horseflesh to
compare with these thoroughbreds.
"But oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. They lopes
along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used to 'ave bout
in Hindia when I was in 'is Lordship's service. They'd ruin my reputation if
they was to be seen in the Row," he deplored to Jess, who was grooming his
pets as carefully as old Mammy would have brushed Peggy's hair.
Jess gave a derisive snort. He had lived a good many more years than
Dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one.
"Well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese hyer
horses. Dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo' fergit dat
fac'. Yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and Jess nodded toward
the stalls, "but dey's just de onery class, not de quality. No-siree. Now,
honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none cause I'se praisin' yo' to yo'
face. Tain't good manners fer ter take notice when yo's praised. Yo' mistiss
'll tell yo' dat," admonished Jess, as Shashai reached forward and plucked
his cap from his head. "Yo' gimme dat cap, yo' hyer me!"
But Shashai's teeth held it firmly as he tossed it playfully up and down, to
Jess' secret delight in his pet's cleverness, though he outwardly affected
strong disapproval, after the manner of his race.

The horses were like playful, fearless children with him, and Jess was
bursting with pride at the result of his handiwork. And certainly, it was
worth looking upon, for no finer specimens of faultlessly groomed
horseflesh could have been found in the land.
"Yes, but think of the figure I'll be cutting when I take my young ladies for
a turn in the park or on the havenue," protested Dawson. "Couldn't ye just
knot hup them tails a bit, and mebbe braid that fly-away mane down along
the crest? If I'm bordered to take my young ladies into the park or the city
this hafternoon, I swear I'll hexpire of mortification with them 'orses."
But this was too much for Jess. Dawson had at last touched the match, and
he caught the full force of Jess's wrath:
"Sp-sp-spire ob—ob mortification! Shamed ob dese hyer hosses! Frettin'
cause yo's gotter 'scort a pair of animals what's got pedigrees dat reach back
ter Noah's Ark eanemost! Why, dey blood kin make you-all's look lak
mullen sap, an' dey manners, even if dey ain' nothin' but hosses, jist
natchelly mak' yo' light clean outer sight. Sho'! Go long, chile! Yo' gotter
live some. Dar, it done struck five bells—dat mean ten-thirty, unerstan'—an'
you's gotter git half-a-dozen ob yo' bob-tailed nags ready fo' de ridin'
lessons yo' tells me yo' gives de yo'ng ladies at six bells,—dat's eleben
o'clock,—Sattidy mawnin's. I's pintedly cur'us fer ter see dem lessons, I is.
Lak 'nough befo' de mawnin's ober yo'll take a lesson yo'-self," and Jess
ended his tirade by throwing an arm across each silky neck and saying to
his charges:
"Now, come 'long wid ole Jess, honeys. Yo's gwine enter high sassiety
presen'ly, and yo's gotter do Severndale credit. Yo' hyer me?"
Poor Dawson was decidedly perturbed in his mind. Hitherto he had been the
autocrat of "form and fashion," the absolute dictator of the proper style.
Under his ordering, horses had been bought for the school, cropped, docked
and trimmed on the most approved lines, until nothing but a hopeless,
forlorn stubble indicated that they had once boasted manes or forelocks, and
poor little affairs like whisk-brooms served for tails, or rather did not serve,
especially in fly-time. But that was a minor consideration. Fashion's dictates
were obeyed.

With the aid of his grooms Dawson soon had five horses saddled and
bridled, curbs rattling and saddles creaking. There were only two cross
saddles. Then he turned to Jess.
"Ye'd better be gettin' them hanimals ready, for I dare say I've to give the
young ladies their lessons too."
"Hi-ya!" exploded Jess. Then added: "Come 'long, babies, an' git dressed
up. Yo' all's gwine git yo' summons up yonder presen'ly."
Shashai and Star obediently walked over to the bar upon which their light
headstalls hung, sniffed at them with long audible breaths, then each
selecting his own carried it to Jess in his teeth.
"Well, Hi'll be blowed!" murmured Dawson.
Jess pretended not to notice, but saying unconcernedly: "Dat's all right.
Now put 'em on lak gentlemen," he held one in each hand toward his pets.
They took the bits in their mouths, slipped their heads into the headstalls
and then waited for Jess to buckle the throat-latches, for that was a trifle
beyond them. "Now fotch yo' saddles," ordered Jess, pleased to the point of
foolishness. The horses went to the saddle blocks, selected their saddles,
lifted them by the little pommel and carried them to Jess like obedient
children.
No mother was ever more gratified than Jess. "Now honeys, yo' stan' right
whar yo's at twell yo' summons come from over yander. Yo's gwine hyar it
all right," and with this parting admonition to good behavior, Jess went
unconcernedly about his business of putting away the articles of his pets'
toilets.
"They'll be a-boltin' and raisin' the very mischief if you leave them alone,"
warned Dawson.
"What dat yo' say? I reckons yo' ain' got yo' horses trained like we-all back
yonder got ours. Paht ob dey eddications must a-been neglected ef dey
gotter be tied up ter keep 'em whar yo' wants 'em fer ter stay at. Yo' need'n
worry 'bout Shashai and Star. Dey's got sense."
Dawson vouchsafed no reply. One must be tolerant with garrulous old
niggers, but he'd keep an "hey on them 'orses" all the same.

The riding school used in stormy weather and the circle for fine, were not
far from the house. At five minutes before eleven the girls who were to have
their Saturday morning lessons prior to the ride in the afternoon, went over
to the school and an electric bell notified Dawson that his young ladies
awaited their mounts. With due decorum and self-importance he and Henry,
the groom, led the horses from the stable, Dawson calling over his shoulder:
"You'd better come on with your Harabs, I can't be waitin' with my lessons."
"We-all'll come 'long when we's bid," was Jess' cryptic retort.
Dawson scorned to reply, but mounted on his big dapple-gray horse, Duke,
body bent forward and elbows out, creaked away. When he reached the big
circle where a group of girls stood upon the platform for mounting, Peggy
and Polly, in their trim little divided skirts, looked inquiringly for Shashai
and Silver Star. Peggy asked:
"Are our horses ready, Dawson?"
"Yes, Miss, I believe so, Miss, but your man seemed to think I'd best let you
ring, or do—well, I don't rightly know what 'ee hexpected you to do, Miss.
But 'ee didn't let me bring the 'orses, beggin' your pardon, Miss."
"Oh, that's all right, Dawson; Jess is just silly about the horses and us. You
mustn't mind his little ways. It's only because he loves us all so dearly.
Besides it isn't necessary for anyone to bring them. I'll call them," and
placing a little silver bo's'n's whistle to her lips Peggy "piped to quarters." It
was instantly answered by two loud neighs and the thud of rapid hoofbeats
as Shashai and Silver Star came sweeping up the broad driveway from the
stables, heads tossing, manes waving and tails floating out like streamers.
The girls with Peggy and Polly clapped their hands and shrieked with
delight.
"One bell, Shashai! Halt, Star!" cried Peggy and Polly in a breath.
The splendid animals came straight to them, stopped instantly, dropped to
their knees and touched the ground with their soft muzzles in sign of
obeisance. The girls all scrambled off the platform as one individual, riding
lesson and everything else utterly forgotten; here was a new order of things
hitherto utterly undreamed of in the school. It had been a case of "pigs is
pigs" or "horses is horses" with them. That the animals they were learning

to ride à la mode might be something more than mere delightful machines
of transportation had never entered their heads.
"Oh, how did you make them do it? Will you show us? Will any horse come
if you know how to call him? Can they all do that? Didn't it take you
forever and ever to teach them? Aren't they beauties! What are they trying
to do now?" were the questions rattling like hail about Peggy's and Polly's
ears.
For answer Peggy opened a little linen bag which she carried, handing to
Polly three lumps of sugar and taking three out for her own pet. The horses
crunched them with a relish, their light snaffle bits acting as only slight
impediments to their mastication.
"Do you always give them sugar? Oh, please give us some for our horses,"
begged the girls.
"Young ladies, I don't 'old with givin' the 'orses nothin' while in 'arness and
a-mussin' them up. They'll be a-slobberin' themselves a sight," expostulated
Dawson.
"But Miss Stewart's and Miss Howland's horses are not slobbered up,"
argued Natalie.
"They've not got curb bits. Just them snaffles which is as good as none
whatever," was Dawson's scornful criticism.
"Well, why must ours have curbs if theirs don't," argued Juno Gibson,
whose habitual frown seemed to have somewhat lessened during the past
five minutes. If Juno had a single soft spot in her heart it was touched by
animals. She did not have a horse of her own, though she insisted upon
always having the same mount, to Dawson's opposition, for he contended
that to become expert horsewomen his pupils must change their mounts and
become accustomed to different horses. In the long run the argument was a
good one, but Miss Juno did not yield readily to arguments. Therefore she
invariably rode Lady Belle, a light-footed little filly, with a tender mouth
and nervous as a witch. Her big gentle eyes held a constant look of appeal,
she was chafed incessantly by the heavy chain curb, and if anyone
approached her suddenly she started back, jerking up her head as though in
terror of a blow. But with Juno she was tractable as a lamb, and the pretty
creature's whole expression changed when the girl was riding her. Juno had

a light, firm hand upon the bit and in spite of Dawson's emphatic orders to
"'old 'er curb well in 'and perpetual," she rarely used it, and Lady Belle
obeyed her lightest touch.
"Our 'orses are 'arnessed as they had orter be, Miss Gibson, and as the
Queen 'erself rides them in the hold country. 'Hi'm doing my best to teach
you young ladies proper, and I can't 'old with some of these loose
Hamerican 'abits. They wouldn't be 'eld with for a minute in the Row."
"Oh, a fig for your old Row, Dawson! We're all American girls and there's
more snap-to in us in one of your 'minutes' than in all the English girls I've
ever seen in my life, and I've seen a good many—too many for my peace of
mind. I lived there two years," broke in Rosalie Breeze. "I'll bet Miss
Howland and Miss Stewart can show you some stunts in riding which
would make your old queen's eyes pop out. Why don't you quote Helen Taft
to us instead of Queen Mary? We don't care a whoop for the queen of
England, but Helen Taft is just a Yankee girl like ourselves and we can see
her ride almost any day if we want to. She is big enough for us to see,
goodness knows. But come on, girls. Let's do our stunts," and Rosalie
scrambled upon the platform once more, ready to mount Jack-o'-Lantern,
the horse she was to ride.
Meanwhile Lady Bell sniffing something eatable, had drawn near Peggy,
half doubtful, half trustful. At that instant Peggy turned rather quickly,
entirely unaware of the filly's approach. With a frightened snort the pretty
creature started back. Peggy grasped the situation instantly. She made a step
forward, raised her arm, drew the silky neck within her embrace, whispered
a few words into the nervously alert ear, and the hour was won. Lady Belle
nestled to her like a sensitive, frightened child.
"'Ave a care, Miss Stewart! 'Ave a care! She's a snappy one," warned
Dawson with bristling importance as he turned from settling Is-a-bel
Boylston upon a big, white, heavy-footed horse, where she managed to
keep her place with all the grace of outline and poise of a meal sack.
Now Peggy had been sizing things up pretty thoroughly during the past
fifteen minutes, and her conclusions were not flattering to Dawson. There
was a cut upon Lady Belle's sensitive nostril which told its little story to
her. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs were varnished most beautifully, but when he
lifted them one glimpse told Peggy the condition of the frogs. The silver

mounting upon "The Senator's," Isabel's horse's harness were shining, but
his bit was rusty and untidy. A dozen little trifles testified to Dawson's
superficiality, and Peggy had been mistress of a big paddock too long to let
this popinjay lord it over one whom he sized up as "nothin' but a school
girl." Consequently, her reply to his warning slightly upset his equanimity.
"You need not be alarmed, Dawson, but if Lady Belle turns fractious I'll
abide the consequences."
"Yes, Miss, yes, Miss, but 'Hi'm responsible, you understand."
"What for? The horse's well-being or mine? I'll relieve you of mine, and
give you more time to care for the horses. Lady Belle's muzzle seems to
have suffered slightly. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs need your attention, and at
Severndale a bit like the Senator's would mean a bad quarter of an hour for
somebody. So, you'd have a hard time 'holding down your job' there. That's
pure American slang. Do you understand it?" and shrugging her shoulders
slightly, Peggy cried: "Come on, girls! We're wasting loads of time.
Attention, Shashai! Right dress! Right step! Front! Steady!"
As Peggy spoke, Shashai and Silver Star sprang side by side, then stood like
statues. At "right dress" they turned their heads toward the group of horses.
At "right step," they closed up until they stood in perfect line beside them.
At "front," "steady" they stood facing the two girls, waiting the next
command.
"Come up to the platform. Come up and be ready to mount, young ladies,"
ordered Dawson.
"We'll mount when you give the word," answered Polly, her hand, like
Peggy's, upon her horse's withers.
"You'll never be able to from the ground, Miss."
A ringing laugh from the girls, sudden springs and they were in their
saddles. "Four bells!" they cried and swept away around the ring, their gay
laughter flung behind them to where their companion's horses were
fidgeting and chafing under Dawson's highly conventional restraint, while
that disconcerted man whose veneer had so promptly been penetrated by
Peggy's keen vision, forgot himself so far as to mutter under his breath:

"These Hamerican girls are the limit, and I'm in for a —— of a time if I
don't mind my hey. And she Miss Stewart of Severndale, and I not hon to
that before! 'Ere's a go and no mistake."

CHAPTER IX

COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE

As has no doubt already been suspected, Alfred Dawson, Riding Master at
the Columbia Heights School, was such a complete impostor that he
actually imposed upon himself. He is by no means the only one on record.
Oddly enough we are all more or less impostors, blind to our own pet
foibles, deluded as to our own little weaknesses. Dawson's methods with his
charges, both two-footed and four, were the methods of thousands of others,
whether they have the directing of young people, or the training of animal's
entrusted to them. Like grains of corn—pour them into a hopper and they
come out at the other end meal—of some sort—good—bad or indifferent as
it happens—that was not his concern; his job was to pour in the grains and
he knew of but one way to pour—just as someone else had poured before
him. That he might devise new and better methods of pouring never entered
his square-shaped head. It was left for a fifteen-year-old girl, and an old
darky, whom in his secret heart he regarded as no better than the dirt
beneath his feet, to start volcanic eruptions destined to shake the very
foundations of his self-complacence. Hitherto he had simply been lord of
his realm. He had come to Columbia Heights highly recommended by the
father of one of its pupils and had assumed undisputed control. Mrs.
Vincent, like hundreds of other women who own horses, but who know
about as much concerning their care and well-being as they know of what is
needful for a Rajah's herd of elephants, judged wholly by the outward
evidences. The horses came to the house in seemingly faultless condition:
their coats shone, their harness seemed immaculate; they behaved in a most
exemplary manner. Nor had anything ever happened to the young ladies
while they were in Dawson's care. What more could a conscientious school

Principal ask of her riding master? It had never occurred to her to appear in
the stables when least expected; to examine harness, saddles, stalls, feed
mangers, bedding; to study the expressions of her horses' faces as she would
have studied her girls. How many women ever think of doing so? It never
entered her head to argue that there was more reason for it. Few of her girls
would have hesitated to express their minds had any one misused them, or
to insist upon comfortable conditions should uncomfortable ones exist for
them.
Yet Mrs. Vincent, sweet, strong, kind, and just to everyone, was as blind as
a babe to the impositions practiced by the oily-tongued, deferential
Dawson. True, he did 'get upon her nerves' now and again, but she secretly
reproached herself for what she felt to be her American prejudices, and by
way of self-discipline overlooked in Dawson many little aggravating
peculiarities which she would have felt it her duty to instantly correct in the
other servants.
And no doubt things would have gone on in exactly the same way
indefinitely had not a little lassie who loved horses and animals as she loved
human beings, and whose understanding of them and their understanding of
her was almost uncanny, chosen Columbia Heights School for her Alma
Mater.
That was a red letter hour for Dawson. He had a vague feeling that some
influence, perhaps his evil genius, was bestirring itself. At all events, he was
ill at ease, something of his accustomed self-conceit was lacking and he
was, as the result, somewhat irritable, though he dared not manifest open
resentment.
Now it need hardly be stated that Peggy had no premeditated intention of
antagonizing the man. He meant no more to her than dozens of other
grooms, for after all he was merely an upper servant, but her quick eyes had
instantly made some discoveries which hurt her as a physical needle prick
would have hurt her. Peggy had employed too many men at Severndale
under Shelby's wonderful judgment and experience of both men and
animals, not to judge pretty accurately, and most intuitively, the type of man
mounted upon big, gray "Duke." Duke's very ears and eyes told Peggy and
Polly a little story which would have made Dawson's pale blue eyes open
wider than usual could he have translated it.

As Peggy and Polly went cavorting away across the ring, Dawson called
rather peremptorily:
"Young ladies, you will be good enough to come back and take your places
beside the others. This is a riding lesson, not a circus show, hif you please."
Polly shot a quick glance at Peggy. There was the slightest possible pressure
of their knees and Shashai and Silver Star glided back to their places beside
the other four horses.
"Now you will please 'old your reins and your bodies as the other young
ladies do," commanded Dawson.
"Never could do it in this world, Dawson. I'd have a crick in my back in two
minutes. Besides, we're not out here for lessons, Miss Stewart and I, but just
as spectators. We'll look on and see the other girls learn the proper caper,"
laughed Polly.
"Then I can't for the life of me hunderstand why you came hout at all. Hit's
just a-stirrin' hup and a-fidgeting the other 'orses. They're not used to the
goin's hon of 'alf broke hanimals."
"Half broken! It seems to me, Dawson, that most horses are wholly broken
but very few wholly trained. If we disturb the others, however, we'll go off
for a spin by ourselves. Come, Polly. Full speed, Tzaritza! Four bells,
Shashai!" and away sped the trio, Tzaritza, like the obedient creature she
was, bounding from the platform where Peggy had bidden her "charge," lest
she startle the horses.
"I'll hopen the gate for you, Miss," Dawson hastened to call, a trifle
doubtful as to whether he had not been just a little too dictatorial.
"No need. This gate is nothing," called Peggy and as one, they skimmed
over the four-foot iron gate as though it were four inches, hands waving,
eyes alight, lips parted in gay laughter. Tzaritza's joyful bark mingling with
their voices as she rushed away.
The girls' cries of admiration or amazement drowned Dawson's:
"Well, 'Hi'll be blowed! Hi couldn't a done hit like that to save me 'ead,"
which was quite true, for very few could ride as these young girls rode.

Meanwhile back in the circle two of Dawson's pupils were expressing
themselves without reserve.
"I mean to learn to ride like that," announced Rosalie Breeze. "The idea of
bouncing up and down in a stupid old side-saddle when we could just as
well sit as Polly and Peggy do. Why, I never saw anything as graceful as
those two girls in my life. Can't you show me how, Dawson? If you can't
you can just make up your mind I am going to find someone who can. Jack-
o'-Lantern's sure enough disgusted with this show-down, and I believe that's
the reason he has no more spirit than a bossy-cow."
"I'm going to speak to Mrs. Vincent," announced Juno. "This may be all
very conventional and correct, but all I can do is rise and fall in a trot; I'm
petrified if Lady Belle breaks into a canter, and if she were to leap over that
fence, I'd break my neck. Yet did you ever see anything so graceful as those
two girls and that magnificent dog when they went over? I tell you, girls,
we've got something worth while in this school now, believe me. And just
you wait!" and with this cryptic ending Juno jockeyed ahead of her
companions.
"I wish mother could have seen and heard it all," whispered Natalie.
"Then why don't you tell her, and ask her to come out and see those girls
ride," demanded Rosalie.
"That's exactly what I mean to do," replied Natalie, with an emphatic little
nod. "I'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know about
the stables."
"I should imagine that Mrs. Vincent would be a far better judge of what was
proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who have
been brought up on a Southern ranch or something. I call them perfect
hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the Back Bay,"
was Isabel's superior opinion.
"A Southern ranch?" echoed Rosalie, "You're mixed in your geography,
Isabel. They have plantations and estates in the South, but the ranches are
out West. But I don't wonder you prefer bumping along as you do on the old
Senator. You match him all right, all right. But just you wait until we leave
you behind when we've learned to ride like Peggy and Polly, for we're going
to do it, you can just bet your best hat."

"Thank you, I never indulge in betting or slang. Both are vulgar in the
extreme. And as to riding like a circus performer, I have higher aims in
life."
"Going in for the trapeze? They say it's fine to reduce embonpoint."
No reply was made to Rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual
uneventful manner. Meanwhile Peggy and Polly were having a glorious
game of tag, for the Columbia Heights grounds were very extensive, and
drives led in every direction. When pursued and pursuer were in a perfect
gale of merriment, and Tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a
sudden turn brought them upon Mrs. Vincent. She was seated upon a rustic
bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and Tzaritza, bounding
ahead, was the first to see her, and Tzaritza never forgot a kindness. The
next second she had dropped upon the ground at Mrs. Vincent's feet, her
nose buried in her forepaws—Tzaritza's way of manifesting her allegiance
and affection. Then up she rose, rested her feet upon the bench and for the
second time laid her head upon Mrs. Vincent's shoulder. Before that
gratified lady had time to do more than place an arm about the big dog's
neck, Peggy's and Polly's chargers had come to a halt in front of her and at
word of command stood as still as statues. The girls slipped from the horses'
backs, as bonny a pair as ever thrilled an older woman's soul.
"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, we've had such a race!" cried Polly, smiling into Mrs.
Vincent's face with her irresistible smile.
"Isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?" smiled Peggy, turning to her as
she would have turned to Mrs. Harold, her face alight. Aunt Katherine had
been Peggy's only "wet blanket" and, it had not been wrapped about her
long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in grown-ups. Perhaps Miss
Sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in the future.
"And to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals
beside you," answered Mrs. Vincent, stroking Tzaritza and nodding toward
the horses.
"Yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? Who could help loving them?"
"Will they stand like that without being tied?"
"Oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. I wish you could see Roy
and the others. Some day you must come out to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent,

and see my four-footed children. I've such a lot of them."
"Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very well
acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning."
It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated
beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at Severndale,
Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which Mrs. Vincent was
quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how they emphasized
Peggy's picture of her home.
"And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen
their equal."
"But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs. Vincent!
Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has learned to
understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he loves her as
well as he loves me and obeys her as well."
For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.
"Understand" a horse? To be "loved" by one? Did she "understand" those in
her stable? Did they "love" her? She almost smiled. It was such a new
viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly entirely
dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she ever given
that fact a serious thought?
Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:
"What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little fifteen-year
old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience."
Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:
"I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby would
have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their
bits as dirty as the Senator's."
"Oh, Polly, please don't!" begged Peggy. But it was too late. "What is this?"
asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.
"Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do, but
Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused."

"Are ours abused, Polly?"
"I don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were. Most
everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's because
people don't stop to think a thing about it. My goodness, I didn't till Peggy
made me. A horse was just a horse to me—any old horse—if he could pull a
wagon or hold somebody on his back. That he could actually talk to me
never entered my head. Have you ever seen one do it?" asked Polly, full of
eager enthusiasm.
"I can't say that I ever have," smiled Mrs. Vincent, and Polly quickly
retorted, though there was no trace of disrespect in her words:
"Now you are laughing at us. I knew you would. Well, no wonder, most
people would think us crazy for saying such a thing. But truly, Mrs.
Vincent, we're not. Peggy, make Shashai and Star talk to you. I'd do it, only
I'd sort of feel as though I were taking the wind out of your sails. You are
the teacher and I'm only your pupil."
"Do you really wish me to show you something of their intelligence, Mrs.
Vincent? I feel sort of foolish—as though I were trying to show off, you
know."
"Well, you are not, and I've an idea that for a few moments we can
exchange places to good advantage. It looks as though I had spent a vast
deal of my time acquiring a knowledge of higher mathematics and modern
languages, at the expense of some understanding of natural history and now
I'll take a lesson, please."
"Of course I don't mean to say that every animal can be taught all the things
our horses have learned any more than all children, can be equally taught.
You don't expect as much of the child who has been, misused and neglected
as you do of the one who has been raised properly and always loved. It
depends a whole lot on that. Our horses have never known fear and so we
can do almost anything with them. Shashai, Star, come and make love to
Missie."
As one the two beautiful creatures came to the seat and laid their soft
muzzles upon Peggy's shoulders. Then raising their heads ran their velvety
lips over her cheeks with as gentle, caressing a touch as a little child's
fingers could have given, all the time voicing the soft, bubbling whinney of

a trustful, happy horse. Peggy reached an arm about each satiny head. After
a moment she said:
"Attention!"
Back started both horses to stand as rigid as statues.
"Salute Mrs. Vincent."
Up went each splendid head and a clear, joyous neigh was trumpeted from
the delicate nostrils.
"Call Shelby!"
What an alert expression filled the splendid eyes as the horses, actually a-
quiver with excitement, neighed again, and again for the friend whom they
loved, and looked inquiringly at Peggy when he failed to appear.
"Where's Jess?"
Eager, impatient snorts replied.
Peggy rose to her feet and carefully knotting, the reins upon the saddles'
pommels to safeguard accidents, said:
"Go fetch him!"
Tzaritza was alert in an instant. "No, not you, Tzaritza. Charge. Four bells,
Shashai,—Star!" and away swept the horses.
"Do you mean to say they understand and will really bring Jess here?"
asked Mrs. Vincent incredulously.
"Oh, yes, indeed. They have done so dozens of times at home."
"Well, they are wonders!"
The rapid hoofbeats were now dying away in the distance. Perhaps ten
minutes elapsed when their rhythmic beat was again audible, each second
growing more distinct, then down the linden-bordered avenue came Shashai
and Star, Jess riding Shashai. The horses moved as swiftly as birds fly. As
they caught sight of Peggy they neighed loudly as though asking her
approbation. A lump of sugar awaited each obedient animal, and Jess asked:
"What yo' wantin' ob Jess, baby-honey?"

"Just to prove to Mrs. Vincent that the horses would bring you here if I told
them to."
"Co'se dey bring me if Miss Peggy bidden 'em to," answered Jess as though
surprised that she should ask such a needless question.
"But how did you know she wished you?"
"How'd I know, Mist'ss? Why dem hawses done tol' me she want me. Yas'm
dey did. Dey done come t'arin' back yonder ter de stable an' dey cotch holt
ob my sleefs wid dey teefs, and dey yank and tug me 'long outen de do'.
Den dis hyer Shashai, he stan' lak a statyer twell I hike me up on his back,
den he kite away like de bery debbil—axes yo' pardon, ma'am!—an' hyer
we-all is. Dat's all de how dar is ob it. Dey knows what folks 'specs ob 'em.
Dey's eddicated hawses. Dey's been raised right."
"I think they have been. Peggy, I want to walk back to the stables with you
and Polly. I'd like to see with my own eyes some of the things you have
spoken about."
"O Mrs. Vincent, I am so afraid it will make a whole lot of trouble! Dawson
knows I criticised him—indeed, I lost my temper and said he couldn't 'hold
down a job' at Severndale. Excuse the slang, please, but he rubbed me the
wrong way with all his fuss, when he really doesn't know, or doesn't want to
know—I don't know which—one thing about horses."
Mrs. Vincent paused a moment. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "At all
events, your sense of justice seems to be one of your strong points. Go back
to the house and let Jess take your 'children' to the stables. A little
diplomacy can do no harm. And Jess, you need not mention seeing me with
the young ladies. Your little mistress has begun my horse education. I
haven't been very wise about them, I fear, but now I am going to make
amends."
"Yas'm. Amens does help we-all a powerful lot when we's wrastlin' wid we-
all's sperrits. I hopes dey fotch yo' froo yo' doubtin's. I'se done had ter say
many an amen in ma day."
Jess' face was full of solicitude. He had not the remotest idea of the source
of Mrs. Vincent's turmoil of spirit, but if she found it necessary to say
"amen," Jess instantly concluded that his sympathies were demanded. At all
events he was now a part of Columbia Heights and all within it's precincts

came within his kindly solicitude. Tradition was strong in old Jessekiah.
Mrs. Vincent had much ado to keep her countenance. She had come to
Washington from a Western city and had but slight understanding of the real
devotion of the old-time negro to his "white folks." Alas! few of the old-
time ones are left. It was with a sense of still having considerable to learn
that she parted from the girls and Jess and made her way toward the stables,
reaching there some time after Jess had unsaddled his horses and was
performing their toilets with as much care as a French maid would bestow
upon her mistress, though no French maid would ever have kept up the
incessant flow of affectionate talk to the object of her attentions that Jess
was maintaining. He took no notice of Mrs. Vincent, but she did not miss
one shadow or shade of the absolute understanding existing between Jess
and his "babies," as he called them.
"Dar now, honeys," he said, as he carefully blanketed them. "Run 'long back
yander to yo' boxes. Yo' dinner's all a-ready an' a-waitin', lak de hymn
chune say, an' yo's ready fo' it. Dem children ain' never gwine send yo' back
to de stable, so het up, yo' cyant eat er drink fo' an hour. No siree! Not
dem."
At that moment Dawson and his assistant appeared with the horses the girls
had ridden. Notwithstanding the cool crispness of the morning, Lady Belle
was in a lather where her harness rested. The Senator was blowing like a
grampus; Jack-o'-Lantern's bit was foam-flecked and Natalie's pretty little
"Madam Goldie" looked fagged.
Mrs. Vincent instantly contrasted the condition of Shashai and Star with the
others. Yet Peggy and Polly had been riding like Valkyrie.
As Dawson espied the lady of the manor his face underwent a change which
would have been amusing had it not been entirely too significant. Mrs.
Vincent made no comments whatever concerning the horses but a veil had
certainly fallen from her eyes. She asked Dawson how his young ladies
were coming on with their riding lessons, how many had arranged to ride in
the park that afternoon, and one or two trivial questions. Then she returned
to the house a much wiser woman than she had left it an hour earlier.

CHAPTER X

TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN

Several days had passed since the riding lesson. It was Saturday evening
and study period, which began at five and lasted until six-thirty, was ended.
Dinner was served at seven on Saturdays and from eight until ten o'clock
the girls were perfectly free. A group was gathered in Stella Drummond's
big room and preparations for a fudge party, after the hearty dinner had
"somewhat shaken down," were under way. Stella's chafing dish was the
most up-to-date one in the school, and Stella's larder more bountifully
supplied than the other girls. Indeed, Stella never lacked for anything so far
as the others could discover and had a more liberal supply of pocket money
than is generally allowed. Mrs. Vincent had expressed doubts as to the
wisdom of it when Stella's father mentioned the sum she was to have, but he
had laughed and answered:
"Oh, nonsense, my dear Madam! At home she would have double if she
wished it. She knows how to use it, and remember she is all I have to spend
my income upon. Don't let that little matter worry you. Just give all your
attention to polishing her up a bit and teaching her the newest fol-de-rols.
Living all over the country is not the best thing for a young lady, I have
found out. It may be conducive to physical development, but it leaves
something to be desired in educational lines."
So Stella, though eighteen, and supposed to be a senior, was really taking a
special course in which junior work predominated. She had selected her
own room, it had been furnished exactly as she wished, and it certainly
resembled a bridal apartment more than a school-girl's bed-room. A large
alcove and private bath opened from it, and a balcony which commanded a

beautiful view of Stony Brook Park made it luxurious to a degree. In this
room, lighted by softly shaded electric drop lights, a cheery log fire blazing
upon the shining brass andirons, the girls had gathered. Stella was arranging
her electric chafing dish upon its little marble stand. Peggy was opening a
box of shelled pecan nuts, Polly measuring out the chocolate, and the other
girls were supplying all needful, or needless, advice concerning the modus
operandi. Tzaritza, now a most privileged creature indeed, had stretched her
huge length before the hearth, looking for all the world like a superb white
rug, and Rosalie Breeze was flat upon her stomach, her arms around the
dog's neck, her face nestled in the silky hair. Juno Gibson reclined
gracefully in a luxurious wicker chair, its gorgeous pink satin cushions a
perfect background for her dark loveliness—which no one understood
better than Juno herself. Helen Doolittle (most aptly named) was gazing in
simpering adoration upon Stella from a pillow-laden couch, and now
commented:
"Oh, Stella, what adorable hands you have. How do you keep them so
ravishingly white and your nails so absolutely faultless? I could cover them
with kisses, sweetheart."
Stella's laugh held wholesome ridicule of this rhapsody and she replied:
"Don't waste your emotion upon my hands. Just save it until somebody
comes along who wished to cover your hands with kisses—I mean some
one in masculine attire. For my part, I don't think I'd care to have a girl try
that experiment with me."
"Have you ever had a boy cover your hands with kisses?" asked Helen
eagerly, starting from her position.
Stella, raised her head, looked at the simple, inconsequent, little doll-faced
blonde and with an odd smile said:
"Well, I could hardly have called him a boy."
"Oh, was he a man? A real man? Did he wear a moustache? Just think, girls,
of having a man's moustache brush the back of your hand as he covered it
with kisses. Oh, how terribly thrilling. Do tell us all about it, Stella! I knew
the moment I met you you must have had a romantic history. Did your
father find it out, and what did he say?"

"Yes, I told him all about it and he laughed at me," and again Stella laughed
her mystifying laugh.
"Oh, I'd just adore having such a ravishing experience as that," said Lily
Pearl Montgomery from the window seat, "but how can one have any
thrilling experiences in a stupid old school! Now there are Polly and Peggy;
think of all they could tell us if they only would. You girls must be fairly
bursting with the most wonderful stories if you'd only come down off your
pedestals and tell us. I think you're both too tight for words. And all those
darling cadets' photographs in your room. You needn't try to make me
believe that 'Faithfully yours, Bubbles' and 'Your chum, Ralph,' and 'For my
Pilot, Captain Polly, Wheedles,' and 'For Peggy Stewart, Chatelaine, Happy,'
don't mean a whole lot more."
"What's that?" asked Peggy, catching her name and looking up from her
occupation. She caught Polly's eyes which had begun to snap. Polly had
also been too busy to pay much attention at first, but she had heard the
concluding sentences. She turned and looked at Lily with exactly the
expression upon her sixteen-year-old face which had overspread it years
before when the thirteen-year-old Polly had surprised the sentimental
"Thusan Thwingle" exchanging osculatory favors with "one of thothe horrid
boyths" in the basement of the high school at Montgentian. Then she said
with repressed vehemence:
"I only wish our boys could have heard you say that. If you wouldn't come
in for the running of your life my name's not Polly Howland. You'd suit
some of the boys back yonder, but not our bunch. Of all the hot air! Stella,
is your chafing-dish ready?"
Peggy had colored a rosy pink. She lacked Polly's experience with other
girls.
Piqued by Polly's superior rebuff, Helen came to the inane Lily Pearl's
support in a manner she knew would hit loyal Polly's most vulnerable spot:
"Look at Peggy's face! Look at Peggy's face! Which is the particular He,
Peggy? Polly may be able to put up a big bluff, but your face is a dead
giveaway."
"I don't think you would be able to understand if I told you. Middie's Haven
and the 'bunch' are just a degree too high up for you to reach, I'm afraid, and

there's no elevator in Wilmot Hall," answered Peggy quietly.
Polly laid down the things she was holding for Stella, dusted her hands of
chocolate crumbs by lightly rubbing her fingers together, and walked
quietly over to the couch. Helen looked somewhat alarmed and drew back
among her pillows.
Polly, never uttering one word, bent over, swooped up Helen, pillows and
all and holding her burden as she would have held a struggling baby,
walked straight out of the room and down, the corridor to her own room,
the shouts, screams and laughs of the girls following her. Helen was
absolutely speechless at the audacity of the act. Bumping her door together
by the only available means left her, since both arms were occupied, Polly
then plumped Helen, now almost ready to resort to hysterical tears, upon a
wooden shirt-waist box and placing herself in front of her, struck the
attitude of a little red-headed goddess of vengeance as she said:
"Helen Doolittle, you may run me all you've a mind to—it doesn't mean a
thing to me; I'm used to it; I've been teased all my life and I'm bomb-proof.
But Peggy Stewart's made of different stuff. She hasn't been with girls very
much, and never with a silly one before. Give her time and she'll understand
them a good sight better than they'll ever understand her. And the boys she
has known are not the kind who are ever likely to want to know you. So
there's not much use wasting time explaining things. But I tell you just this,
I won't stand for Peggy being run even a little bit, and you can circulate that
bit of information broadcast. She's the finest ever, and the girl who can call
her friend is in luck up to her ears. So understand: let her alone or reckon
with me."
"Do you think we are a lot of crazy schoolboys and expect to settle our
disagreements with a regular fist-a-cuff bout? You must come from a very
queer place."
"Where I come from doesn't matter in the least. Peggy is the one under
discussion and you know where she comes from and who she is. What she
is you'll never know."
"I don't see why she should be so very hard to understand."
"She isn't—for people with enough sense. Now just take one good look at
those pictures. Is there a weak face among them? One of two things will

happen to you if you ever happen to meet the originals: they'll either make
you feel like a silly little kid or they won't take a bit of notice of you. It will
depend upon how you happen to strike them."
"Oh, are they such, wonders as all that?"
"If you ever get an invitation down to Annapolis you'll have a chance to
find out. Peggy and I have about made up our minds to have a house party
during the holidays, but we haven't quite made up our minds which girls we
are going to like well enough to ask to it. Tanta suggested it. She is anxious
to know our friends, and we are anxious to have her. She sizes people up
pretty quickly and we are always mighty glad to have her opinion."
Polly spoke rapidly and the effect upon Helen was peculiar. From the
pugnacious attitude of an outraged canary, ready to do battle, she was
transformed into the sweetest, meekest love-bird imaginable. A veritable
little preening, posing, oh-do-admire-me creature, and at Polly's last words
she jumped from the box and clasping her hands, cried:
"A house-party! You are planning a house-party? Oh, how perfectly
adorable. Oh, which girls are you going to invite? Oh, I'll never, never tease
Peggy again as long as I live. I'll be perfectly lovely to her and I'll make the
other girls be nice too. To think of going up there and meeting all those
darling boys. Oh please tell me all about it! The girls will be just crazy
when I tell them. Which of these fellows will be there?"
Helen had rushed over to Polly's dresser upon which in pretty silver frames
were photographs of Ralph, Happy and Wheedles. On Peggy's dresser
Shorty and Durand looked from their frames straight into her eyes, while
several others not yet framed looked down from the top of the bookshelf.
Silly little Helen was in an ecstasy. Her mamma had never believed in
companions of the opposite sex for her "sweet little daughter" but had kept
her in a figurative preserve jar which bore the label "you may look but you
must not touch." Mamma's instructions to Mrs. Vincent upon placing Helen
in the school had been an absolute ban upon any masculine visitors, or
visits upon Helen's part where such undesirable, though often unavoidable,
members of society might congregate. "She is so very innocent and
unsophisticated, you know, and so very young," added mamma sweetly.
Mrs. Vincent smiled indulgently, but made no comments: She had
encountered such mammas and such sweetly unsophisticated daughters

before and she then and there resolved to keep an extra watchful eye upon
this innocent one. Thus far, however, nothing alarming had occurred, but
Mrs. Vincent knew her material and was prepared for almost anything. She
also knew Lily Pearl and felt pretty sure that if an upheaval ever took place
it would turn out that Lily Pearl or Helen had touched off the mine. The
foregoing scene gives some hint of the viewpoints of the young ladies in
question.
During this digression Helen had caught up Wheedle's picture and was
pressing it rapturously to her fluttering bosom and exclaiming:
"You're a perfect darling! If I could have just one dance with you I'd be
willing to die! Polly, how old is he!"
But Polly had left the room and was on her way back to Stella's. As she
reached it she came face to face with the Sturgeon and the Sturgeon's eyes
held no "lovelight" for her.
"Miss Howland, what was the cause of the wild shrieks which disturbed me
a moment since? Miss Montgomery says you can tell if you will and since
none of your companions seem inclined to do so, I will hear your
explanation. I was on my way to inform Miss Stewart that Mrs. Vincent
wished to see her in her study at once when this hideous uproar assailed my
ears."
Polly glanced quickly about the room. Sure enough, Peggy had left it. Some
of the girls looked concerned, others quite calm; among the latter were
Stella and Juno. Rosalie, with Tzaritza's head in her lap, looked defiant. She
hated Miss Sturgis.
Polly turned and looked squarely into Miss Sturgis' eyes.
"The girls were screaming because I carried Helen out of the room," she
answered quietly.
"It seems to me you must be somewhat in need of exercise. I would advise
you to go to the gymnasium to work off your superfluous energy. Why did
you carry Helen from the room? Has she become incapable of voluntary
locomotion?"
"Not yet," answered Polly, a twinkle coming into a corner of the gray eyes.

"Not yet?" emphasized Miss Sturgis. "Are you apprehensive of her
becoming so?"
"She needs more exercise than she gets," answered Polly, half smiling.
That smile acted as salt upon a wound. Miss Sturgis' temper rose.
"Please bear in mind that it does not devolve upon you to decide that
question."
"I did not try to settle that question, Miss Sturgis. If you wish to know why
I carried Helen out of the room I did it because she was running—"
"Doing what? I don't think I understand your boyish slang."
"Well, teasing Peggy, and I won't have Peggy teased by anybody if I can
stop it. She doesn't understand girls' ways as well as I do because she hasn't
been thrown with them. So when Helen teased her I picked her up and
carried her down to our room and I don't reckon she will tease her any
more."
"So you have come into the school to set its standards and correct its
shortcomings, have you? Are you so very superior to your companions—
you and your protégée?"
Polly looked straight into the narrow eyes looking at her, but made no reply.
"Answer me, instantly."
"I have never considered myself superior to anyone, but I do consider
Peggy Stewart superior to any girl I have ever known, and I think you will
agree with me when you know her better," asserted Polly loyally.
"You are insolent."
"I do not mean to be. Any one who knows her will tell you the same thing."
"I repeat you are insolent and you may go to your room."
Polly made no reply, but started to leave the room. Tzaritza sprang to her
side. Miss Sturgis interposed.
"Leave that dog where she is. Go back, you horrible beast," and she raised
her hand menacingly. Tzaritza was not quite sure whether the menace was
intended for Polly or herself. In either case it was cause for resentment and
a low growl warned against further liberties.

"Be careful, Miss Sturgis. Tzaritza thinks you are threatening me," said
Polly. It was said wholly in the interest of the teacher.
Miss Sturgis' early training and forebears had not been of an order to
develop either great dignity, or self-control. Her ability to teach
mathematics was undisputed. Hence her position in Mrs. Vincent's school,
though that good lady had more than once had reason to question the
wisdom of retaining her, owing to the influence which she exerted over her
charges. The grain beneath did not lend itself to a permanent, or high polish,
and it took only the slightest scratch to mar it. Polly's words seemed to
destroy her last remnant of self-control and she turned upon her in a fury of
rage. As she seized her by the arm and cried, "Silence!" Polly whirled from
her like a flash crying, "Charge, Tzaritza!"
But it was too late, the 'hound had sprung to Polly's defense, only it was
Polly's protecting arm into which Tzaritza's teeth sank. The girl turned
white with pain. Instantly the beautiful dog relinquished her hold and
whining and whimpering like a heartbroken thing began to lick the bruised
arm. Then arose a hubbub compared to which the screams of which Miss
Sturgis had complained had been infantile plaints. Lily Pearl promptly went
into hysterics. Juno shrieked aloud and even the self-contained Stella cried
out as she ran to catch Polly in her arms, for the girl seemed about to faint.
But Miss Sturgis, now thoroughly terrified at the crisis she had brought to
pass, called madly for help. Helen's screams mingled in the pandemonium,
for Helen had been brought hack from her romantic air castle with a rush.
Notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. Vincent's study was down one flight of
stairs and at the other end of the building, she became aware of the uproar
and her conversation with Peggy came to an abrupt pause. Then both
hurried into the hall to see the tails of Horatio Hannibal Harrison's coat
vanishing up the broad stairway and to hear Fräulein Hedwig wailing, "Oh
ze house iss burning up and down I am sure!"
Meanwhile upon the scene of action Polly had been the first to recover her
wits. The skin had not been broken, for Tzaritza had instantly perceived her
error and released her grip almost as soon as it was taken. But Miss Sturgis
would not have escaped so easily, as well she knew, and her hatred for
Tzaritza increased tenfold. When Mrs. Vincent and the others arrived upon

the scene she broke into a perfect torrent of invective against the dog, but
was brought to her senses by the Principal's quiet:
"Miss Sturgis, you seem to be a good deal overwrought. I will excuse you.
You may retire to your room until you feel calmer."
"Let me explain! Let me tell you what a horrible thing has happened!" cried
Miss Sturgis.
"When you are less excited I shall be glad to listen. Fräulein, kindly
accompany Miss Sturgis to her room and call the housekeeper. Now, Polly,
what is it?" asked Mrs. Vincent, for Polly was the center of the group of
excited girls, though calmer than any of them.
"Tzaritza made a mistake and caught my arm in her teeth, that is all, Mrs.
Vincent. But she has done no harm. It doesn't hurt much now; she did not
mean to do it any way."
"What!" cried Peggy, aghast, "Tzaritza attacked you, Polly?"
Polly nodded her head in quick negative, striving to keep Peggy from
saying more. But Tzaritza had crawled to Peggy's feet and was literally
grovelling there in abject misery.
"Charge, Tzaritza!"
The splendid creature lay motionless. "Polly, what happened?' demanded
Peggy, once more the Peggy of Severndale and entirely forgetful of her
present surroundings. Mrs. Vincent smiled and laying her hand gently upon
Peggy's arm said:
"Don't embarrass Polly, dear. Leave it to me."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vincent. I forgot," answered Peggy, blushing
deeply. Mrs. Vincent nodded forgiveness, then turning to Stella, asked:
"Were you here all the time, Stella?"
"Yes, Mrs. Vincent."
"Then please tell me exactly what happened."
Stella told the story clearly and quietly. When she ended there was a
moment's hush, broken by Rosalie Breeze crying:

"And Tzaritza never, never would have done a single thing if Miss Sturgis
hadn't lost her temper. She is forever scolding us about losing ours, but
she'd just better watch out herself. I wish Tzaritza had bitten her!"
"Rosalie!"
"Well, I do, Mrs. Vincent. It was every bit her own fault. She hates Tzaritza,
and I love her," was Rosalie's vehement if perplexing conclusion as she cast
herself upon the big dog. Tzaritza welcomed her with a grateful whine and
crept closer, though she never raised her head. She was waiting the word of
forgiveness from the one she loved best of all, but Peggy was awaiting
Tzaritza's exoneration. Mrs. Vincent, who had sent for the resident trained
nurse, was examining Polly's arm and now said:
"It is all very distressing, but I am glad no more serious for Polly. The arm
is badly bruised and will be very painful for some time, but I can't discover
a scratch. Miss Allen, will you please look after this little girl," she asked,
as the sweet-faced trained nurse entered the room, her white uniform snowy
and immaculate, her face a benediction in its sweet, calm repose.
"Go with Miss Allen, dear, and have your arm dressed." Polly paused only
long enough to stoop down and kiss Tzaritza's head, the caress being
acknowledged by a pathetic whine, then followed the nurse from the room.
Peggy was terribly distressed.
"Do you think I would better send her back to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent?"
she asked.
"Has she ever attacked anyone before, Peggy?"
"Never in all her life."
"I hardly think she will again. She may remain. Come here, Tzaritza."
Tzaritza did not stir.
"Up, Tzaritza," commanded Peggy, and the affectionate creature's feet were
upon her shoulders as she begged forgiveness with almost human
eloquence.
"Oh, my bonny one, how could you?" asked Peggy as she caressed the silky
head. Tzaritza's whimpers reduced some of the girls to tears. "Now go to

Mrs. Vincent," ordered Peggy, and the hound obediently crossed the room
to lay her head in that lady's lap.
"Poor Tzaritza, you did what you believed to be your duty, didn't you? None
of us can do more. I wish some of my other problems were as easy to solve
as the motives of your act. Go on with your fudge party, girls. It will prove
a diversion. I must look to other matters now," and Mrs. Vincent sighed at
the prospect of the coming interview with Miss Sturgis. It was not her first
experience by any means.

CHAPTER XI

BEHIND SCENES

The girls were hardly in a mood to return to their fudge-making, so Stella
produced a box of Whitman's chocolates and the group settled down to eat
them and discuss the events of the past exciting half hour. Polly squatted
upon the rug and with her uninjured arm hauled about half of Tzaritza upon
her lap. Tzaritza was positively foolish in her ecstatic joy at being restored
to favor.
"Poor Tzaritza, you got into trouble because I lost my temper, didn't you? It
was a heap more my fault than yours after all."
"Oh, there's nothing wrong with Tzaritza. It's the Sturgeon. Hateful old
thing! I just hope Mrs. Vincent gives her bally-hack," stormed Rosalie.
"Suppose we did shout and screech? It's Saturday night and we have a right
to if we like. But what under the sun did Mrs. Vincent want of you, Peggy?"
"Oh, nothing very serious," answered Peggy, smiling in a way which set
Rosalie's curiosity a-galloping.
"Yes, what did she want?" demanded Polly, turning to look up at Peggy.
"Can't tell anybody now. You'll all know after Thanksgiving," answered
Peggy, wagging her head in the negative.
"Oh, please tell us! Ah, do! We won't breathe a living, single word!" cried
the chorus.
"Uh-mh!" murmured Peggy in such perfect imitation of old Mammy that
Polly laughed outright.

"Aren't you even going to tell Polly?" asked Rosalie, who had arrived at
some very definite conclusion regarding these friends, for Rosalie was far
from slow if at times rather more self-assertive than the average young lady
is supposed to be.
For answer Peggy broke into a little air from a popular comic opera running
just then in Washington and to which Captain Stewart had taken his little
party only a few weeks before:
"And what is right for Tweedle-dum is wrong for Tweedle-dee," sang Peggy
in her sweet contralto voice, Polly following in her bird-like whistle.
The little ruse worked to perfection. The girls forgot all about Peggy's "call
down," as a summons to Mrs. Vincent's study was banned, and had a
rapture over Polly's whistling and Peggy's singing, nor were they satisfied
until a dozen airs had been given in the girl's very best style. Then came the
story of the concerts at home, and Polly's whistling at the Masquerader's
Show when Wharton Van Nostrand fell ill, and a dozen other vivid little
glimpses of the life back in Severndale and up in "Middie's Haven" until
their listeners were nearly wild with excitement.
"And they are to have a house party there during the holidays, girls. Think
of that!" cried Helen.
"Honest?" cried Lily Pearl, leaning forward with clasped hands, while even
Juno, the superior, became animated and remarked:
"Really! I dare say you will choose your guests with extreme care as to their
appeal to the model young men they are likely to meet at Annapolis, for I
don't doubt your aunt, Mrs. Harold, is a most punctilious chaperon."
"Juno's been eating hunks of the new Webster's Dictionary, girls. That's how
she happens to have all those long words so near the top. They got stuck
going down so they come up easy," interjected Rosalie.
Juno merely tossed her head, but vouchsafed no answer. Rosalie's Western
gaucherie was beneath her notice. Juno's home was at the Hotel Astor in
New York City. At least as much of "home" as she knew. Her mother had
lived abroad for the past five years, and was now the Princess Somebody-
or-other. Her father kept his suite at the Astor but lived almost anywhere
else, his only daughter seeing him when he had less enticing
companionship. A "chaperon" did duty at the Astor when Juno was in the

city, which was not often. Consequently, Juno's ideas of domestic felicity
were not wholly edifying; her conception of anything pertaining to home
life about as hazy as the nebula.
"Perhaps if you ever know Tanta you'll be able to form your own opinion,"
answered Polly quietly, looking steadily at Juno with those wonderfully
penetrating gray eyes until the girl shrugged and colored.
Stella laughed a low, odd little laugh and came over to drop upon the rug
beside Polly, saying as she slipped her arm around her and good-naturedly
dragged her down upon her lap:
"You are one funny, old-fashioned little kid, do you know that? Some times
I feel as though I were about twenty years your senior, and then when I
catch that size-me-up, read-me-through, look in your eyes, I make up my
mind I'm the infant—not you. Where did you and Peggy catch and bottle up
all your worldly wisdom?"
"Didn't know I had so much," laughed Polly, "but Peggy was born with
hers, I reckon. If I have any it has been bumped into my head partly by
mother, partly by Aunt Janet, and the job finished by the boys Juno has been
referring to. It doesn't do to try any nonsense with that bunch; they see
through you and call your bluff as quick as a flash. We were pretty good
chums and I miss them more than I could ever miss a lot of girls, I believe.
Certainly, more than I missed the Montgentian girls when I left them."
"Nothing like being entirely frank, I'm sure," was Juno's superior remark:
"That's another thing the boys taught us," replied Polly imperturbably. Just
then the bell rang for "rooms."
"There's Tattoo!" cried Polly. "If I get settled down at Taps tonight I'll be
doing wonders. Miss Allen has bandaged up my arm as though Tzaritza had
bitten half of it off. Come on, 'Ritza. Peggy, you'll have to get me out of my
dudds tonight. Good-night, girls. Sorry we didn't get our fudge made.
Maybe if I'd let Helen alone you would have had it," and with a merry laugh
Polly ran from the room, all animosity forgotten.
"What did she mean by 'Tattoo' and 'Taps,'" asked Natalie of Peggy.
"The warning call sounded on the bugle for the midshipmen to go to their
rooms, and the lights out call which follows. Have you never heard them?

They are so pretty. Polly and I love them so, and you can't think how we
miss them here. Polly always sounded them on her bugle at home. You've
no idea how sweetly she can do it," answered Peggy as she walked toward
her room beside Natalie.
"Oh, I wish I could hear them. I wonder if mother knows anything about
them," cried Natalie enthusiastically. "Do you know, I think you and Polly
are perfectly wonderful, you have so many original ideas. I am just crazy to
know what mother wanted of you tonight. I'm going to ask her. Do you
think she will tell me?"
"Why not? The only reason I did not tell was because I felt I had no right to.
If Mrs. Vincent wants the others to know she will tell them, but you are
different. I reckon mothers can't keep anything from their own daughters. At
least Polly and her mother seem to share everything and I know Mrs.
Harold is just like a mother to me."
The girls separated and Peggy and Polly were soon behind closed doors
discussing Mrs. Vincent's private interview with the former.
The following Tuesday was Hallow E'en and where is your school-girl who
does not revel in its privileges? Mrs. Vincent, contrary to Miss Sturgis'
preconceived ideas of what was possible and proper for a girls' school,
though the latter never failed to quote the rigid discipline of the school
which had profited by her valuable services prior to her engagement at
Columbia Heights, was given to some departures which often came near
reducing Miss Sturgis to tears of vexation.
One of these rules, or rather the lack of them, was the arrangement of the
tables in the two dining-rooms. In the dining-room for the little girls under
twelve a teacher presided at each table as a matter of course, but in the main
dining-hall covers were laid for six at each table, one of the girls presiding
as hostess, her tenure of office depending wholly upon her standing in the
school, her deportment, ability and general average of work. At the further
end of the room Mrs. Vincent's own table was placed, and the staff of eight
resident teachers sat with her. It was a far happier arrangement than the
usual one of placing a teacher at each table and having her, whether
consciously or unconsciously, arrogate the entire conversation, interests and
viewpoint to herself. Of course, there are some teachers who can still recall
with sufficient vividness their own school-girl life to feel keenly the

undercurrent of restraint which an older person almost invariably starts
when thrown with a group of younger ones, and who possesses the power
and tact to overcome it and enter the girl-world. But these are the
exceptions rather than the rule, and none knew this better than Mrs.
Vincent. Consequently, she chose her own way of removing all possible
danger of impaired digestion, believing that the best possible aid to healthy
appetites and perfectly assimilated food were untrammeled spirits and
hearty laughs. So she and her staff sat at their own table where they were
free to discuss the entire school if they chose to do so, and the girls—for,
surely, "turn-about-is-fairplay"—could discuss them. It worked pretty well,
too, in spite of Miss Sturgis' inclination to keep one eye and one ear
"batted" toward the other tables, often to Mrs. Vincent's intense, though
carefully concealed amusement.
And now came Hallow E'en, and with small regard for Miss Sturgis'
prejudices, plump in the middle of the school week! At the end of the last
recitation period that afternoon when the whole school of one hundred fifty
girls, big and little, had gathered in the chapel, for the working day
invariably ended with a few kindly helpful words spoken by Mrs. Vincent
and the reading of the thirty-fourth Psalm and singing Shelley's beautiful
hymn of praise, Mrs. Vincent paused for a moment before dismissing her
pupils. Many of the older girls knew what to expect, but the newer ones
began to wonder if their sins had found them out. Nevertheless, Mrs.
Vincent's expression was not alarming as she moved a step toward them and
asked:
"Which of my girls will be willing to give up her afternoon recreation
period and devote that time to the preparation of tomorrow's work!"
The effect was amusing. Some of the girls gave little gasps of surprise,
others, ohs! of protest, others distinct negatives, while a good many seemed
delighted at the prospect. These had known Mrs. Vincent longest.
"Those of you who are ready to return to the main hall at four o'clock and
work until five-thirty may be released from all further obligations for the
evening, and the attic, laundry and gymnasium will be placed at your
disposal for a Hallow E'en frolic and—"
But she got no further. Rosalie Breeze, sans ceremony, made one wild leap
from her chair and rushed toward the platform. Miss Sturgis made a

peremptory motion and stepped toward her, but Mrs. Vincent raised her
hand. The next second Rosalie had flung herself bodily into Mrs. Vincent's
arms, crying:
"Oh, if every schoolmarm was just exactly like you I'd never, never do one
single bad thing to plague 'em and I'll let you use me for your doormat if
you want to!"
A less self-contained woman would have been staggered by the sudden
onslaught and felt her rule and dignity jeopardized. Mrs. Vincent was of
different fibre. She gathered the little madcap into her arms for one second,
then taking the witch-like face in both hands kissed each flushed cheek as
she said:
"I sometimes think you claim kinship with the pixies,—you are half a
witch. So you accept the bargain? Good! Have all the fun you wish but
don't burn the house down."
By this time the whole school had gathered around her, asking questions
forty to the minute.
Mrs. Vincent looked like a fly-away girl herself in her sympathetic
excitement, for her soft, curly chestnut hair had somewhat escaped its
combs and pins, and her cheeks were as rosy as the girls. Mrs. Vincent was
only forty, and now looked about half her age.
Polly and Peggy crowded close to her, Natalie shared her arms with
Rosalie, quiet, undemonstrative Marjorie's face glowed with affection,
while even Juno condescended to unbend, and Lily Pearl and Helen gave
vent to their emotions by embracing each other. Stella, tall, stately and such
a contrast to the others, beamed upon the group.
But Isabel put the finishing stroke by remarking with, a most superior
smile:
"O Mrs. Vincent, what a perfect darling you are! Don't you perfectly dote
on her girls? I fell in love with her years ago when I first met her and I've
simply worshiped at her shrine ever since."
"Rats!" broke out Rosalie, and Mrs. Vincent had just about all she could
manage for a moment. Her emotions were sadly at odds. Polly's laugh saved
the day and deflected Isabel's scorn.

"I really do not see what is amusing you, Miss Howland; I am sure I am
only expressing the sentiments of my better poised schoolmates."
"Oh, we all agree with you—every single one of us—though we are
choosing different ways of showing it, you see. If Peggy and I had been
down home we'd probably have given the Four-N yell. That's our way of
expressing our approbation. The boys taught us, and we think its a pretty
good way. It works off a whole lot of pent-up steam."
"What is it, Polly?" asked Mrs. Vincent.
"I'm afraid you would have to hear the boys give it to quite understand it,
Mrs. Vincent, but I tell you it makes one tingle right down to one's very toes
—that yell!"
"Can't you and Peggy give it to us on a small scale? Just as a sample of
what we may hear some day? Perhaps if the girls hear it they can fall in. I'd
like to hear it myself."
Polly paused a moment, looking doubtfully at Peggy. That old Naval
Academy Yell meant a good deal to these two girls. They had heard it under
so many thrilling circumstances.
"We will give it if you wish it, Mrs. Vincent, though it will sound funny I'm
afraid from just Polly and me. Maybe though, the girls will try it too after
we have given it."
With more volume and enthusiasm than would have seemed possible from
just two throats, Peggy and Polly began:
"N—n—n—n!
A—a—a—a!
V—v—v—v!
Y—y—y—y!
Navy! Navy! Navy! Navy!
Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent!"
the ending being entirely in the nature of a surprise to that lady who blushed
and laughed like a girl. But before she could escape, Polly had sprung to the
platform and as a cheer leader who would have put Wheedler of old to
shame was crying: "Come on!"

The girls caught the spirit and swing with a will and the room rang to their
voices.
Clapping her hands and laughing happily Mrs. Vincent ran toward the door
only pausing long enough to say:
"Four P. M. sharp! Then from seven to ten 'the goblins will get you if you
don't watch out!'"
"Let Polly sound 'Assembly' at four. Please do, Mrs. Vincent. It will make
us come double time," begged Peggy, running after her and detaining her by
slipping her arm about her waist.
"Assembly? I don't believe I quite understand."
"On her bugle, you know. It's so pretty, and we did that way at home if we
wanted to bring the bunch together in a hurry."
"Well, I'm learning something new every minute, I believe. Yes, sound your
bugle call, Polly, and be sure I shall be on the qui vive to hear it. Before we
know it we shall have a girls' military school."
"Oh, wouldn't it be perfectly splendid if we only could and all wear brass
buttons!" cried Rosalie.
"I think some of the discipline would be splendid for all of us, and
especially the spirit of the thing," answered Stella. "The trouble with most
girls lies in the fact that they don't know how to work together. There isn't
much class spirit, or coöperation. Maybe if we tried some of the methods
Peggy and Polly seem to know so much about we'd come closer together."
"Team work, I guess you mean," said Polly quickly. "It means a whole lot."
Sharply at four the staccato notes of "Assembly" rang across the terrace as
Polly sounded the call upon her bugle. The girls came hurrying from every
direction and the ensuing hour and a half, usually free for recreation, was
cheerfully given over to study. Dinner was served at six and at seven-thirty
the revels began.
At Peggy's suggestion a part of the afternoon had been devoted to devising
costumes out of anything at hand, for a fancy dress party had been hastily
decided upon. As a result of this some unique and original Hallow E'en

sprites, nymphs, dryads or witches foregathered in the big laundry, "cleared
for action," Polly said, and two or three aroused little cries of admiration.
Peggy was a dryad. She had rushed away to the woods on Shashai to return
with her mount buried from sight in autumn leaves. The dark, rich reds of
the oaks, the deep yellow of the beeches, the dogwood's and maple's
gorgeous variations and the sweet-gums blood red mingled in a bewildering
confusion of color. Stripping the leaves from the twigs she proceeded to
sew them upon a plain linen gown, and the result was exquisite, for not a
vestige of the fabric remained visible, and Peggy's piquant, rich coloring
peeped from a garment of living, burning color. She herself was the only
one who did not fully appreciate the picture she presented.
Polly's costume was a character from one of the children's pages in a
Sunday newspaper. The entire costume was made of newspapers, with "The
Yellow Kid" much in evidence, Polly's tawny hair lending itself well to the
color scheme.
Natalie, who was fair as a lily, had chosen "sunlight," and was a bonny little
sun goddess. Lily Pearl, after a great deal of fuss and fidgeting had elected
to go as Titania, and Helen essayed Oberon. Juno, who was very musical,
made quite a stately Sappho. Little, sedate Marjorie was an Alaskan-Indian
Princess, and Rosalie rigged up a Puck costume which made her irresistible.
Isabel chose to be Portia, though that erudite lady seemed somewhat out of
place among the mythological characters. But Stella was a startling Sibyl,
with book, staff, and a little crystal globe (removed from her paper-weight)
in which to read horoscopes. The others went in all sorts of guises or
disguises.
In the laundry they found all properties provided. To tell of all which took
place would crowd out too much which must follow. Of course apples were
bobbed for, a hat pin was run through them to prod the seeds for the true
lover's heart, and they were hung upon strings to be caught in one's teeth
(the apples, not the hearts) if luckily one did not get one's nose bumped as
they swung back. Melted lead was poured through a key into cold water to
take the mysterious form which would reveal the occupation, or profession,
of the future He, and Lily Pearl was thrown into an ecstasy by having her
sputtering metal take very distinctly the form of a ship. And that house
party "bid" not even hinted at yet!

They walked downstairs backward, looking into a mirror to discover the
particular masculine face which would fill their live's mirrors, though,
unhappily some of the potency of the charm was lost because it could not
be done upon the witching stroke of midnight.
Dumb cakes were made, his initials pricked in the dough, while in perfect
silence the cakes were baked on the laundry steam dryer, joy and rapture
descending upon the fortunate she if the initials did not vanish in the
baking. A ball of twine was thrown out of the kitchen window, but when the
thrower hurried out to find the ardent one who had so promptly snatched it
up and fled, she discovered Horatio Hannibal Harrison beating a hasty
retreat. He had been playing "Peeping Tom" and the ball had caught him
squarely upon his woolly crown. A doubtful conscience did the rest.
A dozen other tests followed until the girls' occult knowledge reached the
limit. Then they danced in the Gym to music furnished by Mrs. Vincent,
who ended the prancing by sending in a huge "fate cake," a big basket of
nuts, a jug of sweet cider and some of Aunt Hippy's cookies.
Cutting the fate cake ended the Hallow E'en frolic. Lily Pearl was thrown
into a flutter by finding the ring in her slice. Juno turned scornful when a
plump raisin fell to her share, Helen drew a tiny key from her piece, and the
coin dropped into Rosalie's lap.
"Rubbish! I don't want riches. I want a handsome husband," she cried with
refreshing frankness.
"I hardly think I would noise that fact abroad," was Isabel's superior
criticism.
"No, I wouldn't if I were you, it would be so perfectly preposterous,"
retorted Rosalie.
Isabel made no reply, but took care that no one else discovered who had
found the thimble.

CHAPTER XII

CHRISTMAS AT SEVERNDALE

By a lucky chance Christmas this year fell upon Monday, thus giving the
midshipmen either liberty, or leave, according to their classes, or conduct
grade, from Saturday at twelve-thirty to Monday at five-thirty, when those
enjoying the latter rare privilege had to report for duty in Bancroft Hall.
Christmas leave for the first class was an innovation, which only those on
first conduct grade might hope to enjoy. That there was the ghost of a
chance of any member of the lower classes coming in for such a rare treat
not even the most sanguine dreamed. But, and that BUT was written in
italics and capitals, when Captain Stewart made up his mind to do a certain
thing it required considerable force of will, stress of circumstances, and
concerted opposition to divert him. But the outcome lies in the near future.
The excitement incident to the rescue of Columbine had barely subsided
when a telegram brought Peggy the joyful news that Captain Stewart's ship,
which had met with some slight accident to her machinery, was to be dry-
docked at Norfolk and her father was to have two weeks' leave. The Rhode
Island was to be in port at the New York Navy Yard, and this meant the
forgathering of all who were nearest and dearest to Peggy and Polly; a rare
joy at the holiday season for those connected with the Navy.
Consequently, this year's Yuletide was to be a red letter one in every sense,
for Mrs. Howland and Gail, who had spent Thanksgiving in New York,
would return to Annapolis for Christmas and, joy of joys! Constance, Snap,
and Mr. Harold would come with them.

The telegraph and telephone wires between New York, Norfolk,
Washington and Annapolis were in a fair way to become fused.
As many of the girls lived at great distances from Washington, the
Christmas Recess began on the twenty-second. Captain Stewart had 'phoned
to his party "Heavy marching orders, three P. M., Friday, Dec. 22, 19—." A
wild flutter ensued.
The Thanksgiving holiday at Mrs. Harold's had been widely discussed at
Columbia Heights and had stirred all sorts of emotions to their very centers.
At Captain Stewart's request, Mrs. Harold had sent unique invitations to
each of the girls soon after their return to school. They were couched in the
formal wording of an official invitation from a battle ship of the fleet and
created a sensation.
Natalie, Stella, Nelly, Rosalie, Juno and Marjorie were invited. Lily Pearl's
and Helen's attentions to Peggy and Polly having proved abortive, they
contrived ways and means of their own to reach the Land o' Heart's Desire.
Helen's old bachelor uncle, a queer, dull old gentleman, whose mind was
certainly not active, and whom Helen could, figuratively speaking, turn and
twist about her little finger, was persuaded to pass the holidays at Wilmot
Hall. He knew a number of people in Annapolis, so the path to a certain
extent was cleared for Lily Pearl and Helen, though they would have given
up all the uncles in Christendom to have been included in that house party.
But half a loaf is certainly better than no bread, and once at Annapolis they
meant to make the most of that half. So it was with no small degree of
triumph that they announced the fact that they, too, would be at the
Christmas hop. Just how they intended to manage it they did not disclose.
Sufficient unto the hour was to be the triumph thereof.
Captain Stewart arrived on Friday morning in time for luncheon and,
guileless man that he has already shown himself to be, promptly offered to
"convoy the two little cruisers to Annapolis." His offer was accepted with
so many gushing responses that the poor man looked about as bewildered as
a great St. Bernard which has inadvertently upset a cage of humming birds,
and finds them fluttering all about him. Lily and Helen were of a different
type from the girls he knew best, but he accepted the situation gracefully
and enjoyed himself hugely with the others, even Marjorie blossoming out
wonderfully under his genial kindliness.

Isabel amused him immensely. Isabel was to spend her holiday in Boston,
of course, but was to meet a friend in Baltimore who would chaperone the
shrinking damsel safely to Mamma's protecting arms. Captain Stewart
would escort her to the Naval Academy Junction, from which point it
seemed perfectly safe to let her pursue the remaining half hour's journey to
Baltimore unattended. In the course of the journey from Washington to the
Junction Isabel elected to make some delayed notes in her diary, greatly to
the secret amusement of Captain Stewart, who happened to be sitting just
behind her.
"Making a list of all your dances and Christmas frolicings, little-er-ahem—,
Miss?"
"Boylston, Captain Stewart. Oh, no, I rarely attend dances; there is so much
that is instructive to be enjoyed while at home. I am making some notes in
my diary."
"Don't say so. Find the outlook inspiring?" Captain Stewart laughed as he
looked out upon the dreary landscape, for the afternoon was lowery, and
certainly, the cheerless flat landscape between Washington and the Junction
was far from thrilling.
"Oh, I am not depending upon my visual sight for my inspiration, Captain
Stewart. Don't you think the study of one's fellow beings intensely
interesting?'
"Yes, it's a heap cheerier inside the car than outside on this confoundedly
soggy day," answered Captain Stewart, preparing to withdraw from an even
more depressing atmosphere than that beyond the car windows, by turning
to Rosalie, whose eyes were commencing to dance. But Isabel had no idea
of foregoing an opportunity to make an impression, little guessing the sort
of one she was in reality making.
"Yes, it is exceedingly damp today, but do you think we ought to allow
externals to affect us?" she asked.
"Eh? What? I'm afraid you're getting beyond my bearings. Lead won't touch
bottom."
Isabel smiled indulgently: One must be tolerant with a person forced to
spend his life within the limited bounds of a ship.

"Miss Sturgis, our instructor in sociology, advises us to be very observing
and to take notes of everything unusual. You know we shall graduate next
year and time passes so swiftly. It seems only yesterday that I entered
Columbia Heights School, and here Christmas is upon us. I have so little
time left in which to accomplish all I feel I should, and I could not graduate
after I'd passed seventeen. I'd die of mortification. And, oh, that fact holds a
suggestion. Pardon me if I make a note of it, and—and—how do you spell
accomplished, Captain Stewart? I really have so little time to give to
etymology."
For one second Captain Stewart looked at the girl as though he thought she
might possibly be running him. He was more accustomed to the fun-loving,
joking girl than to this "cellar-grown turnip" as he mentally stigmatized her.
Then the little imps in Rosalie's eyes proved his undoing:
"I'm afraid I'm no good as an English prof. Reckon I'd spell it akomplish.
Sounds as good as any other way. You'll know what it means when you
overhaul it anyhow. But here we are at the Junction. Pipe overside, bo's'n,"
he cried to Peggy.
Good-bys were hastily spoken and Captain Stewart soon had his party
hurrying across the platform to the Annapolis car. As he settled Rosalie in
her seat he asked:
"How many Miss Boylstons have you got at Columbia Heights?"
"Only one, thank the powers!" answered Rosalie fervently.
It was nearly six when the electric cars rolled up to the rear of Wilmot Hall
and the girls saw Mrs. Harold, and a number of the midshipmen of the first
class lined up and eagerly watching for the particular "she" who would
spend the holidays in Annapolis.
A mob of squabbling boys made a mad rush for the car steps in the hope of
securing suitcases to carry into the hotel, and had not the midshipmen swept
them aside, further progress for the car's passengers would have been
barred. The hoodlums of the town seem to spring from the very ground
upon the arrival of a car at Wilmot and certainly make life a burden for
travelers trying to descend the car steps.
There was only time for general greetings just then, as all hurried into
Wilmot to meet old friends and new ones, Mrs. Howland, Constance, Snap,

Gail and Mr. Harold having already arrived.
Pending the departure for Severndale, Mrs. Harold had, at Captain Stewart's
request, engaged three extra rooms, thus practically preempting her entire
corridor for her guests, and a jollier party it would have been hard to find
than the one escorted down to the big dining-room that evening by "The
Executive Officer," as Captain Stewart called Mrs. Harold, who was acting
as chaperone for his party.
Directly dinner ended Captain Stewart and Commander Harold left upon
some mysterious mission which threw the girls into a wild flutter of
curiosity.
"Oh, what is it all about?" demanded Rosalie.
"Can't tell one single thing until Daddy Neil says I may," laughed Peggy.
"Does Polly know?" asked Natalie.
Peggy nodded.
"You'll have to bottle up your impatience for an hour or two. Go to your
rooms and shake out your pretties for tomorrow night's frolic, for I am
going to 'pipe down' early tonight. When you have finished stowing your
lockers come back to the sitting-room and we'll have a quiet, cozy time
until our commanding officers return. Constance, Gail and Snap must make
a call this evening, but I'm not going to let anyone claim my time. It all
belongs to my girls," said Mrs. Harold gaily, as she and Mrs. Howland
seated themselves before the open fire.
The girls hurried away to do her bidding, for it had been decided to remain
at Wilmot until after the Christmas hop, all going out to Severndale by a
special car when the dance was over, Harrison, Mammy and Jerome, under
Mrs. Harold's tactful generalship, having made all preparations for the big
house party.
In a few moments the girls returned from unpacking their suitcases.
The Thanksgiving visit had removed all sense of reserve or strangeness
with Mrs. Harold, but they did not know Mrs. Howland, and for a moment
there seemed an ominous lull. Then Peggy crying:

"I want my old place, Little Mother," nestled softly upon the arm of the big
morris-chair in which Mrs. Harold sat, and rested her head against Mrs.
Harold. The other girls had dropped upon chairs, but Mrs. Harold was
minded to have her charges pro tem at closer range, so releasing herself
from Peggy's circling arm for a moment, she reached for two plump
cushions upon the couch near at hand and flopping them down, one at either
knee said: "Juno on this one, Rosalie on the other; Marjorie beside me and
Natalie, Stella and Nelly with Polly," for Polly had already cuddled down
upon her mother's chair.
Before the words had well left her lips, Rosalie had sprung to her coign of
vantage crying:
"Oh, Mrs. Harold, you are the dearest chappie I ever knew, and it's already
been ten times lovelier than Polly and Peggy ever could describe it."
With a happy little laugh, Natalie promptly seated herself upon the arm of
Mrs. Howland's chair, but Juno hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully at
the cushion. Juno was a very up-to-date young lady as to raiment. How
could she flop down as Rosalie had done while wearing a skirt which
measured no more than a yard around at the hem, and geared up in an
undergarment which defied all laws of anatomy by precluding the
possibility of bending at the waist line? She looked at Mrs. Harold and she
looked at the cushion. As her boys would have expressed it "the Little
Mother was not slow in catching on." She now laughed outright. Juno did
not know whether to resent it or join in the laugh too. There was something
about the older woman, however, which aroused in girls a sense of
camaraderie rather than reserve, though Juno had never quite been able to
analyze it. She smiled, and by some form of contortion of which necessity
and long practice had made her a passed mistress, contrived to get herself
settled upon the cushion.
"Honey," said Mrs. Harold, patting her shoulder, "if you want to live up to
your name you'll discard your coat of mail. Your namesake would have
scorned its limitations, and your young figure will be far lovelier and more
graceful, to say nothing of the benefit to yourself and future generations, if
you heave your armor plate overboard."
It was all said half-jestingly, half-seriously, but Juno gave her head a
superior little toss as she answered:

"And go looking like a meal sack? To say nothing of flinging away twenty
perfectly good dollars just paid to Madam Malone."
"I'm afraid I'm a very old-fashioned old lady, but I have no notion of letting
any Madam Malone, or any other French lady from Erin dictate my
fashions, or curtail the development and use of my muscles; I have too
much use for them. Do Peggy and Polly resemble 'meal sacks?' Yet no
Madam Malone has ever had the handling of their floating-ribs, let me tell
you. Watch out, little girl, for a nervous, semi-invalid womanhood is a high
price to pay for a pair of corsets at seventeen. There, my lecture is over and
now let's talk of earthquakes."
At her aunt's question regarding Peggy and herself resembling "meal
sacks," Polly laughed aloud and being in a position to practically
demonstrate the freedom which a sensibly full skirt afforded, cried:
"If I couldn't run when I felt like it I'd die. I tell you, when I strike heavy
weather I want my rigging ship-shape. I'd hate to scud under bare poles."
The subject was changed but the words were not forgotten. The other girls
had all gathered about the blazing logs upon cushions or hassocks, and a
pretty group they formed as they talked eagerly of the coming hop, and
tried to guess what Captain Stewart was planning, Mrs. Harold and Mrs.
Howland joining enthusiastically in it all.
"Tanta," asked Polly, "do you know that Lily Pearl Montgomery and Helen
Doolittle are here at Wilmot with Helen's uncle? We have christened him
'Foxy Grandpa.' Just wait till you see him. He looks the character exactly."
"Are they to go to the hop?" asked Mrs. Harold, instantly interested, for
even though she had heard amusing tales of the two girls, they were still
young girls, and she was concerned for their happiness and pleasure.
"We don't know and we didn't like to seem inquisitive," replied Polly.
"Yes, they are going, Little Mother. Helen told me so. Foxy Grandpa knows
somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the boys who are to take
them, but they didn't tell us their names. I wonder if we know them," was
Peggy's laughing explanation.
"I hope they will have a happy time," said Mrs. Howland gently as she
stroked back Polly's silky curls.

"You trust them to have the time of their lives, Mumsey. But oh, isn't it
good to be here!" and Polly favored her mother with an ecstatic hug.
"What time are we to go to Severndale tomorrow, Little Mother?" asked
Peggy.
"Not until after the hop, dear. It will be very late, I know, but Christmas is a
special day of days. That is the reason I'm going to send you all off early
tonight. Nine-thirty gunfire will see you started for the Land o' Nod."
"Aren't we to wait until Daddy Neil comes back?"
"Not unless he gets back before three bells and it looks doubtful, two have
already struck. But you'll learn the news the first thing in the morning."
But at that moment Captain Stewart came breezing into the room. Peggy
and Polly flew to him crying:
"Did he say yes? Did he say yes? Oh, answer, quick! Do!" they begged,
each clasping arms about him.
"If I answer quick you'll both cast loose but the longer I keep you in
suspense the longer you'll lay hold," was his quizzical retort.
"We won't stir. We won't budge. Tell us."
For answer Captain Stewart drew an official-looking document from his
blouse pocket and waved it high above the girls' heads. A series of ecstatic
squeals arose from them. Opening the carefully folded paper he read its
stereotyped phrasing, all of which is too serious to be herein repeated.
Suffice it to say that it secured for
Durand Leroux, Second Class
Herbert Taylor, Second Class
Ralph Wilber, Third Class
Jean Paul Nichols, Third Class
Gordon Powers, Third Class
Douglas Porter, Third Class
leave of absence under Captain Neil Stewart's orders from 6:30 P. M.,
December 23rd, to 6 P. M., December 25th, 19—.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided, Captain Stewart said:

"Now that I'm sure of it, I must go 'phone out to Severndale or Jerome and
Harrison will be throwing fits. We'll have to quarter that bunch in the old
wing, but Lord bless my soul, I reckon they'd be willing to go out to the
paddock. But mind, you girls, not one whisper of it to those boys, until I
give the word, or it will be the brig for every mother's daughter of you," and
with this terrifying threat he strode off down the corridor.
Just then three bells struck in the tower and at the second stroke the nine-
thirty gun boomed out its welcome "Release."
As the sound died away Mrs. Harold walked over to the big window calling
to the girls to join her.
"Stand here a moment," she said, then going over to the electric switch
turned off all the lights.
"Why? What?" cried all the girls excepting Peggy and Polly.
"Look at the windows on the third deck of Bancroft, southwest corner," she
said, unhooking a drop light from above her desk and crossing the room to
the puzzled girls. "Those are Durand's and Bert's rooms. Next to them are
Gordon's and Doug's. Watch closely."
Presently from two of the windows lights were flashed three times in rapid
succession. Then absolute darkness.
Instantly Mrs. Harold turned the reflector of her drop light toward the
academy in such a way that the light would be cast out across the night,
then by turning the key on and off quickly she flashed its rays three times,
paused a moment, then repeated the signal.
Instantly from the rooms mentioned came the answering flashes, which
after a brief interval were repeated, Mrs. Harold again giving her reply.
"Oh, who does it? What is it for? What do they mean?" asked her visitors.
"Just our usual good-night message to each other. My boys are all dear to
me, but Durand and Gordon peculiarly so. Those rooms are theirs. Shall I
tell you the message the flashes carry? It is just a little honor code. I want
the boys to stand well this term, but, like most boys they are always ready
for skylarking, and the work from seven-thirty to nine-thirty is easily side-
tracked. So we have agreed to exchange a message at gunfire if 'all is well.'

If they have been boning tomorrow's work my flash light is answered; if not
—well, I see no answering flash."
"Do you think they always live up to the agreement?" asked Rosalie.
"I have faith to believe they do. Isn't it always better to believe a person
honest until we prove him a thief, than to go the other way about it?
Besides, they carry the Talisman."
"What is it—Little Mother?" asked Juno, to the surprise of the others,
slipping to Mrs. Harold's side and placing her arm about her.
"Would you really like to know, dear? Suppose we throw on a fresh log and
leave the lights turned off. Then we'll have a confidential ten minutes before
you go to bed. You can all cuddle down in a pile on the big bearskin."
A moment later the flames formed a brilliant background to a pretty picture,
and Mrs. Harold was repeating softly, as the upspringing flames filled the
room with, their light and rested lovingly upon the young faces upturned to
here:
"Each night when three bells strike the hour
Up in the old clock's lofty tower,
A flashing beam, a darting ray
Their message of good faith convey.

"Those wavering, clear, electric beams,
Who'll guess how much their message means?
Or dream the wondrous tale they tell?
'Dear Little Mother, all is well.'

"Yes, out across the peaceful night,
By moon and stars made silvery bright,
This message comes in gleaming light:
We've kept the faith; Good-night! Good-night!

"Our token of a duty done,
An effort made, a victory won;
The bond on which we claim the right
To flash our message, our 'Good-night.'

"Dear Little Mother. Precious name!
None sweeter may a woman claim,
No greater honor hope to gain
Than this which three short words contain.

"To win and hold a love so pure,
A faith so stanch, so strong, so sure—
To gain a confidence so rare—
What honors can with these compare?

"No wonder as I flash my ray
Across the night's dividing way,
In deepest reverence I say:
God keep you true, dear lads, alway."
The girls' good-nights were spoken very tenderly. The message of the lights
had carried one to them as well.

CHAPTER XIII

YULETIDE

"We are one real old-timey family, sure enough," said Captain Stewart
heartily, as he gathered his girls about him in Mrs. Harold's sitting-room
Saturday morning. "But, my-oh, my! I wish I were that Indian-Chinese-Jap
god, what's his name? who has about a dozen, arms. Two are just no
account," he added laughingly as he held Peggy in one and Polly in the
other, while all the other girls, Gail included, crowded around him, all
talking and laughing at once, all demanding to know what would be the
very first thing on the day's program.
Mr. and Mrs. Harold, Mrs. Howland, Constance and Snap were seated
about the room, highly amused by the group in the center, for the girls had
gathered about Captain Stewart as honeybees gather about a jar of sweets.
"Come close! Come close, and I'll tell you. Can't talk at long range,"
rumbled the kindly man, flopping his arms over Peggy's and Polly's
shoulders like an amiable sea lion.
Rosalie flew to snuggle beside Polly. Natalie by Peggy, the other girls
drawing as close as possible, Stella excepted, who laughed, blushed prettily
and said:
"I think Captain Stewart has more than his arms full now, so I'll hover on
the outskirts."
"I used to be scared to death of him," confessed Gail, "but those weeks up
in New London scared away my scare."
"Well, what is it to be this morning?" asked Peggy.

"Suppose we all go over and take a look around the yard. It may be rather
slow with just two old fogies like Harold and me for escorts, but we'll leave
the matrons at home and take Snap. That ensign's stripe on his sleeve makes
him seem a gay young bachelor even if he is a staid old Benedic, and
Constance can lend him to you girls for a little while, anyway."
"I'm game! No telling which one will be responsible for an elopement,
Connie," cried Snap, bending over his pretty young wife to rest his dark
hair against hers for a second.
She laughed a happy little laugh as she answered:
"Go along, Sir Heartbreaker. People down here have not forgotten auld lang
syne and I dare say the rocking chair fleet will at once begin to commiserate
me. But you girls had better watch out; he is a hopeless flirt. So beware!"
Nevertheless, the light in her eyes as she raised them to the handsome man
whose hand rested upon her shoulders held little of apprehension.
Ten minutes later the merry group had set forth. Mrs. Harold, Mrs. Howland
and Constance were only too glad to have their lively charges out of the
way for an hour or two, for a good bit must be attended to before they could
leave for Severndale that evening. Captain Stewart and the girls would not
return until twelve o'clock and the boys—who had been invited out for
luncheon rather than to dine, former experiences having taught Mrs. Harold
the folly of inviting dinner guests on a hop night—would arrive
immediately after formation.
At twelve o'clock the girls returned from the Yard, and when one bell struck
were watching in undisguised eagerness for their luncheon guests. From
Mrs. Harold's windows they could see the steady stream of men rushing
from Bancroft toward the main gate, and in less time than seemed possible,
footsteps were audible—yes, a trifle more than audible—as "the bunch"
came piling up Wilmot's stairway; for the promptitude with which "the
Little Mother's boys" responded to "a bid" to Middies' Haven was an
unending source of wonder to most people and certainly to her school-girl
guests.
Eight midshipmen, came tramping up the stairs, eager to welcome old
friends and ready to meet new ones upon the old ones' recommendations.

To Peggy, Polly and Nelly the happy, laughing, joking lot of lads were an
old story, but the influx came near turning some of the other girls' heads.
Juno was sorely divided between Douglas Porter's splendid figure and
Durand's irresistible charm, until Miss Juno began to absorb the full
significance of "class rates" and gold lace. The "five-striper" or head of the
entire brigade was a well set-up chap and rather good looking, though
suffering somewhat from a bad attack of "stripitis," as it was termed in
Bancroft Hall. He was fairly efficient, a "good enough fellow" but not
above "greasing," that is, cultivating the officers' favor, or that of their
wives and daughters, if thereby ultimate benefits accrued to himself.
The three-striper of Ralph's, Jean's and Durand's company whom Mrs.
Harold had asked to escort Stella, was an all-round popular man, and a great
favorite of Mrs. Harold's for his irreproachable character, sunny, lovable
disposition and unfailing kindness to the underclassmen.
The others who crowded the room are old friends.
Jean Paul and Rosalie chattered like a pair of magpies. Natalie was the
happiest thing imaginable as she and Bert Taylor, who had found the little
golden-head most enticing, laughed and ran each other like old chums.
Peggy was everywhere, and although Durand strove to break away from
Juno in order to "get in a few" with Peggy, he was held prisoner with "big
Doug" until Guy Bennett the five-striper arrived and promptly appropriated
her. Then Durand got away.
Gordon Powers devoted himself to Nelly, while Ralph hovered over Polly,
for they had endless interests in common.
"And you made the crew, Ralph!" cried Polly. "Maybe I wasn't tickled
nearly to death when you wrote me about it. And you're out for basketball
too? How did you come out in Math and Mech? And who's taken
Gumshoe's place this year? And you never wrote me a word about Class
President Election, though I guess I've asked you in every letter. What
makes you so tight with your news, any way? I write you every little thing
about Columbia Heights. Come across with it."
Ralph turned crimson. Polly looked first baffled then suddenly growing
wise, jumped at him and shook him by the shoulders just as she used to do
in the old days as she cried:

"It's you! And you never told me! You good-for-nothing boy."
"Hi! Watch out! The Captain's clearing for action," cried Jean Paul. "Told
you you'd catch it when she found out."
"Well, Tanta might have told me, anyhow," protested Polly.
"Ralph wouldn't let me. Kept me honor bound not to. But if you are all
ready for your luncheon, come down at once. There are—how many of us?
Twenty-four? Merciful powers!"
"No, Tanta, only twenty-three. Poor Gail's minus an escort," cried Polly, a
shade of regret in her eyes, for Gail meant a great deal to this little sister.
"Why, so she is. Now that's too bad of me," but something in her aunt's
voice made Polly look at her keenly. A moment later she understood.
As the merry, laughing, chattering group reached the last landing of the
stairs leading down to the Assembly Hall, a tall, broad-shouldered man who
stood at the foot looked eagerly upward. Polly gave one wild screech and
nearly fell down the remaining steps, to fling herself into the arms
outstretched to save her, as a deep voice said:
"One bell, Captain Polly! You'll carry away your landing stage if you come
head on at full speed."
"Oh, Shortie! Shortie! Where did you come from?" cried Polly, nearly
pumping his arm from its socket, while all the others crowded around to
welcome the big fellow whom all had loved or esteemed during his
undergraduate days.
"Ask the Little Mother. She's responsible, and Gail needs looking after
among all this bunch, I know. Come along, young lady. I've got to see you
fed and cared for."
And Gail seemed perfectly willing to "come along."
With such an addition to her family, Mrs. Harold had made arrangements to
have two large round tables reserved for her in the smaller of the two
dining-rooms, the older people at one, with Gail, Stella, Juno, Shortie, Allyn
and Guy to make the circle, the younger people with Peggy and Polly as
hostesses at the adjoining table. In addition to her own regular waiter, the
second head waiter and two assistants had been detailed to serve, but with

the Christmas rush and the number of people at Wilmot for the holidays
there was more or less delay between courses.
"Where is John?" she demanded, as they were waiting for the salad.
"Over yonder. Shall I hail him?" asked Durand, from the next table,
promptly putting his fingers to his mouth as though to give one of the ear-
splitting whistles which seem to carry for miles.
"If you dare, you scape-grace, right here in this dining-room!" she warned.
"Oh, do it!" cried Polly. "I want to learn how. Show me."
"All right; stick out your tongue," directed Durand and Polly promptly fell
into the trap, though unluckily she happened to be looking straight past
Durand at the moment, and what proved more embarrassing, right at a table
occupied by Foxy Grandpa, Helen and Lily Pearl, whom Mrs. Harold had
not yet met, so, of course, did not recognize. (Helen and Lily did not mean
to lose sight of Peggy and Polly if they could help it.)
There are some situations where explanations only make matters worse.
This was one of them. Polly was in everlasting disgrace and everyone at the
table in shouts of laughter, as well as those at other tables near at hand,
whose occupants could not have helped hearing and seeing if they would.
But at that moment Rosalie diverted attention from Polly by trying to clap
her hands regardless of the piece of luncheon roll she held, thus promptly
launching it over her shoulder, where it went merrily bounding across the
polished floor to be gravely rescued by the irreproachable John. But Rosalie
was in the realms of the gods and far above such mundane matters as a
luncheon roll's eccentricities.
Mrs. Harold was no whit behind her girls in their fun, and was so well
known to every guest in the hotel that her table was invariably looked upon
as a source of amusement for most of the others, and the fun which flowed
like an electric current came very near making them forget the good things
before them, and the big dining-room full of people found themselves
sympathetically affected, each gay bit of laughter, each enthusiastic
comment finding an answering smile at some table.
As nearly every member of the first class had gone on Christmas leave, the
few who happened to be in Annapolis having remained as the guests of

friends, there was a very perceptible thinning out of ranks over in Bancroft
that afternoon. Nevertheless, Mrs. Harold had announced an informal tea
from four to six and "general liberty" enabled all who chose to do so to
attend it. And many chose! But in the interval between luncheon and four o
'clock Mrs. Harold "barred out the masculine population" and carried her
girls upstairs to change their gowns for her tea. It was during the "prinking
process" that some very characteristic comments were made upon the
masculine guests now enjoying their post-prandial cigars, or cigarettes, in
the smoking-room, below stairs.
Mrs. Harold was in her element listening to the girls' frank comments.
"Oh, I know I 'm going to have the very time of my life, Mrs. Harold,"
exclaimed Natalie, giving a little bounce of rapture.
"Mr. Porter is certainly a remarkably handsome man," was Juno's
complacent comment. "But, Mrs. Harold, aren't first classmen really—well
—don't they come in for greater privileges? Rate more? Is that what you say
down here?"
"Of course. Especially a five-striper, Juno. You'd better cultivate Guy
Bennett. It's a great distinction to profit by a five-striper's favors. There are
three girls in Annapolis who have reduced that sort of cultivation to a
science and if you manage to rival them you will have scored a point, sure
enough."
"How many five-stripers are there?" asked Stella.
"Only one, happily, or the girls to whom I allude would have nervous
prostration. But the four and three-stripers save the day for them. Nothing
below is worth cultivating."
"Don't Polly and Peggy 'cultivate' the stripers!" asked Rosalie.
"That depends," was Mrs. Harold's cryptic answer as an odd smile caused
her lips to twitch. "Last year's five-striper and a good many other stripers,
were with us constantly, and I miss them more than I like to dwell upon.
This year's? Well—I shall endeavor to survive their departure."
"Oh, but don't you just love them all!" cried Rosalie.
"Which, the midshipmen or the stripes?" asked Polly.

"Why, the midshipmen, of course!"
"I think a whole lot of some of the boys—yes, of a good many, but there are
some whom I wouldn't miss much, I reckon."
"Oh, I think you are perfectly heartless, Polly. They are just the darlingest
men I ever met."
With what unction the word "men" rolled from Rosalie's tongue. "Men" had
not figured very largely in Rosalie's world, and Mrs. Harold chuckled
inwardly at the thought of classing Rosalie's particular little Jean Paul, in
the category of grown-ups; anything more essentially boyish, and full to the
brim of madcap pranks, than the eighteen-year-old Jean Paul, it would have
been hard to picture.
Mrs. Harold had dispatched notes to Helen and Lily Pearl asking them in
Peggy's and Polly's name to be present at her little tea that afternoon, to
meet several of the midshipmen, and, if they cared to do so, to bring with
them the men who were taking them to the hop. She did not know who
these men were.
Shortly after four Helen and Lily Pearl arrived in a flutter. Mrs. Harold had
not felt it incumbent upon her to include Foxy Grandpa, concluding that he
could find diversion for an hour or two while his charges were with their
school-chums. When Helen and Lily arrived upon the scene, Mrs. Harold's
face was a study. Foxy Grandpa was evidently too dull to be critical and
Columbia Heights was at a safe distance.
Both Lily Pearl and Helen were gotten up regardless. Each wore
extravagant gowns, each had done up her hair and supplemented it by
wonderful creations of false puffs. Each wore dangling ear-rings and the
complexion of each girl had been "assisted."
Poor Mrs. Harold felt as though a couple of chorus girls had invaded her
little sanctum, and Peggy and Polly were furious. But it was too late then to
retreat and a few moments later the midshipmen began to pour into the
sitting-room, the two who were to take Helen and Lily being men whom
Mrs. Harold had always avoided, feeling that they were no companions for
the frank, unaffected girls she loved so dearly. She resolved to keep her eye
piped.

It was a merry afternoon. Rosalie scintillated, and her scintillation proved
infectious for Jean Paul, upon whom she had made a deep impression at
Thanksgiving; he instantly appropriated her, greatly to Mrs. Harold's
amusement, for she was never too fully occupied to notice significant signs.
Quiet, dignified Bert Taylor had promptly taken bonny Natalie under his
serene protection. And Juno! Well she was sorely divided between Doug's
towering seventy-four inches and Gordon's sixty-nine, though she strove to
conceal the exaltation which her uniformed gallants stirred in her soul by
bringing to bear upon them all the superlative superiority which she had
studied as the acme of success in the habitues of the Hotel Astor. With
Douglas it worked to a charm. He rose to the corresponding rôle as a trout
to a fly, but poor Gordon was only too thankful when the companionship
and conversation became more general. The superior young lady from the
metropolis was beyond his ken. Little Nelly Bolivar's sweetness and quaint
humor filled his ideals to far greater satisfaction. He had met Nelly first at
Severndale and several times since with Mrs. Harold, who had often invited
her to spend the weekend at Wilmot, where she had looked to the young
girl's welfare, knowing how much she must miss Peggy this winter.
Nelly was simply dressed in a gown which had once been Peggy's, for most
of Peggy's garments went to Nelly, but were given so sweetly and with such
evident love, that not even the most sensitive nature could have been
wounded, and they were a real blessing to her. No one ever commented
upon the fact and before going to Columbia Heights, Nelly had spent many
a busy hour with Mrs. Harold remodeling and working like a little beaver
under that good friend's guidance, for Nelly was a skilful little
needlewoman. As a result, no girl in the school was more suitably gowned.
The only girls who had eyed her critically were Lily Pearl, Helen and Juno.
The first because she was too shallow to do aught but follow Helen's lead,
and Juno from a naturally critical disposition. Juno meant to hold her favor
somewhat in reserve. She intended first to see what Nelly's standing at
Severndale proved. She might be Polly's and Peggy's friend—well and good
—but who was she? Would she find a welcome among the Delacys, the
Vanderstacks, the Dryers and heaven knows which-or-whats of New York's
glitterers?
Juno was hardly in a position to gauge her standards by those who
represented the big city's finest and best. She saw the patrons of the great

hotels and moved among them, but of New York's sterling worth, she was
as ignorant as a babe. Its superficial glamour and glitter, as well as its less
desirable contingent, which she was not sufficiently experienced in the
world's ways to fully understand, made the strongest appeal to her. Poor
little Nelly Bolivar would have been a modest, sleek little Junco compared
with the birds of paradise (?), cockatoos, and pheasants of Juno's world, but
of all this Nelly was quite unaware and too happy in her present
surroundings to care.
It was a merry afternoon for all, but a diversion was created by Polly,
shortly before it ended.
She was at the tea-table pouring, and talking to Ralph like a phonograph,
when Mrs. Harold became aware of a horrible odor, and cried:
"What under the sun smells so abominably? Why, Polly Howland, look at
my perfectly good teakettle! It is red hot, and—horrors—there isn't one
drop of water in it!"
True enough, absorbed in her conversation with Ralph, Polly had
completely overlooked the trifling detail of keeping her kettle filled, though
the alcohol lamp beneath it was doing its duty most lampfully.
Damages repaired and the kettle at length filled and singing merrily, the gay
little gathering took slight note of time, but soon after four bells struck in
the tower clock, Mrs. Harold began to "round up" her masculine guests, for
she had no notion of their being late for formation.
"Take your places in the 'firing line!'" she ordered.
"Oh, there's loads of time, Little Mother!" came in protest from Jean Paul.
"Time to burn," from Dick Allyn, who found Stella mighty entertaining.
"Now, Little Mother, you're not going to be so hard-hearted as to turn us out
early tonight! Why, it's weeks since we've had the girls here," wheedled
Durand.
"Can't help it. Out you all go! There's too much at stake just now to risk any
demerits."
"At stake? What's at stake, Little Mother?" were the eager questions.

"Can't tell you a single thing now. I'm tongue-tied until Captain Stewart
passes the word."
"Oh, what is it? Please come across with it, Little Mother. When may we
know," begged Ralph.
"At formation tonight perhaps. No use teasing! Join the firing line!" and
with the command of a general Mrs. Harold shooed her brood out into the
corridor, where overcoats and caps hung. They were used to these sudden
dismissals, and so were Polly and Peggy, who were too familiar with all that
which must be crowded into a limited amount of time not to appreciate
what it meant to have "the decks cleared" when necessary. But Rosalie,
Natalie, Juno, Marjorie, Stella and the other girls accepted the new order of
things with divers emotions. Rosalie giggled, Natalie's face expressed
wonder. Juno's was just a shade critical, Marjorie and Stella smiled.
"Gee, if we obeyed all orders with as good grace as we obey the Little
Mother's what models we'd be," was Jean Paul's jerky comment as he
struggled into an overcoat, his eyes still fixed upon Rosalie's winsome face.
Meanwhile, Doug Porter was clawing about among the coats to find his
own, but happening to glance at Jean Paul, shouted:
"Well, I'll be hanged! Say, how is it to get out of my coat, Bantam?"
True enough, the garment into which the wee man was wriggling trailed
upon the carpet, but Jean Paul was in a realm where overcoats 'never were
or e'er had been.'
At six-fifteen the lingering good-byes had been said and Mrs. Harold had
dismissed those who constituted the "firing line," the name having been
bestowed by Wheedles when he first witnessed the promptitude with which
Mrs. Harold sent her boys to the right-about in order to avoid demerits for
tardiness.
"Why must they rush back on the very minute?" asked Rosalie, when all
were gone, half inclined to resent an order of things which deprived her of
her gallant Jean sans ceremony.
"Discipline! Discipline! Little lady," laughed Mrs. Harold, coming up
behind Rosalie and turning the piquant face up to hers.

"I should think they'd feel like a lot of school boys to be ordered about so,"
was Juno's rather petulant comment.
"Better feel 'like a lot of schoolboys' here, than like a lot of simpletons
when they 'hit the tree,'" was Mrs. Harold's merry reply. "You've a whole lot
to learn about regulations, my bonny lassie."
It was all said so kindly and so merrily that Juno could not resent it.
"But when will they learn about their leave? And if they are to go out to
Severndale tonight how will they manage?" asked Rosalie eagerly.
"Trust Daddy Neil to manage that. When they get back they'll be called to
the office and the officer in charge will notify them of what has taken place
and give them their orders."
"Oh, I don't think I can possibly wait to hear what they'll say!" cried Polly.
"I never, never knew such a lovely thing to happen before."

CHAPTER XIV

AT SEVERNDALE

"My goodness!" cried Rosalie, "I thought I knew Peggy Stewart, but the
Peggy Stewart we know at Columbia Heights, and the Peggy Stewart we
saw at Wilmot, and the Peggy Stewart we've found here are three different
people!"
"And if you stay here long enough you'll know still another Peggy Stewart,"
nodded Polly sagely.
"She is a wonder no matter where you find her," said Nelly quietly, "and she
grows to be more and more of a wonder the longer you know her."
"How long have you been observing this wonderful wonder?" asked Juno.
"I think Peggy Stewart has held my interest from the first moment we came
to live at Severndale," was Nelly's perfectly truthful, though not wholly
enlightening, answer. Juno thought the evasion intentional and looked at her
rather sharply. She was more than curious to see Nelly's home and father,
and wondered if the party would be invited there.
The Christmas hop, which had been a paradise within flag-draped walls for
Captain Stewart's guests, was numbered among delights passed, but so
many more were in store and the grand climax of the year, the New Year's
eve hop, though, alack! it had to be given on the night of December thirtieth
instead of the thirty-first, was looked forward to with eagerness.
The party had come out to Severndale by a special car at twelve-thirty, and
a "madder, merrier" group of young people it would have been hard to find.

Upon their return to Bancroft Hall after Mrs. Harold's summary dismissal
from "Middie's Haven" the previous Saturday night, Ralph, Jean Paul,
Durand, Bert, Gordon and Doug had been ordered to report at the office and
had it not been for the hint given at the tea, would have gone in trepidation
of spirit. But it so happened that the officer in charge was possessed of a
flickering memory of his own midshipman days, and his twinkling eyes and
cheerful grin were reassuring. The boys all openly adored him, and even
though they had dubbed him Hercules Hugh, would have formed a door
mat of their bodies had he hinted a desire for it.
When the lucky six finally grasped the fact that Captain Stewart had
actually obtained forty-eight hours liberty for them, and they were to go out
to Severndale with the house-party, some startling things came very near
taking place right in the O C's office. Luckily the favored ones restrained
themselves until they reached Durand's room on the third deck, where a
vent promptly presented itself, and is too good a story to leave untold.
Naturally at Christmas, innumerable boxes of "eats" are shipped to the
midshipmen from all over the United States, their contents usually governed
by the section of the world from which they are forwarded. New England
invariably sends its quota of mince pies, roast turkeys and the viands which
furnish forth a New England table at Yuletide. The South and West send
their special dishes.
Durand's Aunt Belle never failed him. Each holiday found a box at Bancroft
addressed to the lad who was so dear to her, and it was always regarded as
public property by Durand's friends, who never hesitated to open it and
regale themselves, sure that the generous owner of the "eats" would be only
too glad to share with them everything he owned. But like most generous
souls, Durand was often imposed upon, and this year the imposition went to
the very limit. While Durand and his friends were over in Wilmot Hall his
box was rifled, but it could hardly have been said to have been done by his
friends, several men who had counted upon "Bubbles being a good old
scout" having made way with practically everything the box contained.
When he returned to his room the turkey carcass, picked clean as though
buzzards had fallen upon it, rested forlornly upon its back in the middle of
his study table. It was well for him that the midshipman on duty in his
corridor had been one of the marauders, otherwise he would have been
speedily reported for that which followed.

When the yelling, shouting bunch rushed into Durand's room they stopped
short and a few expletives expressed their opinions of the pirates. But
Durand's wits worked quickly. Catching up the denuded bird by its greasy
neck and giving the yell of a Comanche, he rushed out into the corridor
waving his weapon over his head like a war club. The man on duty at the
table at the end of the corridor saw him coming and needed no further hint
that his Nemesis was upon him. Regardless of duty or anything else, he
bounded from his chair and fled around the corner of the corridor, the
turkey carcass speeding after him with unerring aim.
Had he remained within range he would have received all and more than his
share of the bird. Unluckily, a divisional officer had chosen that moment to
turn into the corridor, and the turkey whizzed over his head, for he was one
very tiny man. Durand did not wait to make inquiries. He had not removed
cap or overcoat, a window was close at hand, the window of the adjoining
room was accessible to one as agile as Durand, and the next second he was
out of one and through the other, leaving his friends to make explanations.
Why it did not result in Durand and all the others losing those precious
forty-eight hours of liberty, only their special guardian spirits were in a
position to explain, but they kept discreetly silent. The men in Durand's
room could truthfully declare that they had not had a thing to do with the
launching of that extraordinary projectile and also that Durand was not in
his room. It was not necessary to be too explicit, they felt, and twenty
minutes later all were over at Middie's Haven, Guy Bennett and Richard
Allyn, to Juno's secret disgust, having shifted into civilian clothes as was
the privilege of the first classmen "on leave," the difference between
"leave" and "liberty" being very great indeed. Stella, although admiring the
uniforms, was tantalizingly uncritical. The girls could never quite
understand Stella's lack of enthusiasm over the midshipmen.
And so had passed that joyful evening of the Christmas hop, the biggest
surprise of all awaiting them up at Round Bay upon the arrival of the car at
that station.
Nearly every horse and vehicle at Severndale had been pressed into service
to carry its guests from the station, and mounted on Shashai and Star, Jess
having brought them home for the holidays, were Happy and Wheedles.

They had been unable to leave their ships as soon as Shorty, so taking a
later train had gone directly to Severndale. Their welcome by Peggy and
Polly was a royal one. When the party arrived at Severndale another
surprise greeted it as a very fat, very much-at-home Boston bull-terrier
came tumbling down the steps to greet them. To all but Polly he was an
alien and a stranger. Polly paused just one second, then cried as she
gathered the little beast into her arms, regardless of the evening wrap she
was wearing:
"Oh, Rhody! Rhody! who brought you?"
As though to answer her question, Rhody rolled his pop-eyes toward
Wheedles.
Of the happy Sunday and happier Christmas day space is too limited to tell.
At five P. M. Durand, Ralph, Jean Paul, Bert, Gordon and Doug were
obliged to bid their hostesses adieu and return to Annapolis, but each day of
Christmas week held its afternoon informal dance at the auditorium, to
which Mrs. Harold escorted her party, the mornings being given over to
work by the midshipmen, and to all manner of frolicing out at Severndale
by Happy, Wheedles, and Shortie, who seemed to have returned to their
fun-loving, care-free undergraduate days.
Yet how the boys had changed in their seven months as passed-
midshipmen. Although full of their fun and pranks, running Peggy and
Polly unmercifully, showing many little courtesies to Nelly whom all had
grown to love during the old days, and playing the gay gallants to the other
girls, there was a marked change from the happy-go-lucky Wheedles, the
madcap Happy, and the quaint, odd Shortie of Bancroft days.
But Shortie's interest was unquestionably centered on one golden-haired
little lady, and many a long ride did they take through the lovely country
about Severndale. Captain Stewart watched proceedings with a wise smile.
Gail and Shortie were prime favorites of his.
Happy and Wheedles had to do duty for many during the morning hours,
but the girls' especial escorts were punctual to the minute when the launch
from Severndale ran up to the Maryland Avenue float at three-forty-five
each afternoon, and they had no cause to complain of a lack of attention, for
many beside those who had been invited to Severndale were eager for

dances with little gypsy Rosalie, tall, stately Stella, winsome Natalie, shy
Marjorie or the scornful Juno, whose superiority was considered a big joke.
During their week in Annapolis Helen and Lily Pearl had made tremendous
strides in a certain way. Foxy Grandpa had met a gushing, gracious widow,
who made Wilmot her home. That the lady's hair was of a shade rarely
produced by nature, and her complexion as unusual as her innumerable
puffs and curls, Foxy Grandpa was too dull of sight and mind to perceive.
He had gone through life somewhat side-tracked by more brilliant,
interesting people, and to find someone who flattered him and fluttered
about him with the coyness of eighteen years, when three times eighteen
would hardly have sufficed to number her milestones, went to the old
gentleman's head like wine, and he became Mrs. Ring's slave to the vast
amusement of everyone in Wilmot.
And Mrs. Ring promptly took Helen and Lily Pearl under her chaperonage,
introduced her son, a midshipman, to them, who in turn introduced his
room-mate, and a charming sextet was promptly formed. Poor Mrs. Vincent
was likely to have some lively experiences as the result of that Christmas
holiday, for Paul Ring and Charles Purdy were one rare pair of susceptible
simpletons, if nothing worse.
And so passed the week at Severndale for Mrs. Harold's party, Peggy once
more the gracious little chatelaine, sure of herself and entertaining her
guests like a little queen, a perfect wonder to the other girls. Polly was
happy as a grig, and all the others equally so. The older people rejoiced in
this rare reunion, and Captain Stewart each day grew more devoted to his
"Howland bunch" as he called them. The three girls openly adored him, and
dainty, quiet little Mrs. Howland beamed upon everyone, little guessing
how often the good Captain's eyes rested upon her when she was unaware
of it, or how he was learning to esteem the mother of the three young girls
whom he pronounced "jewels of the purest water."
But that lies in the future. It is once more Saturday morning and once more
a big dance is pending to which all are going.
This time Shortie was taking Gail, Wheedles had asked Stella, Happy was
looking after Juno, Polly would go with Ralph, Peggy with Durand, Rosalie
would have cried her eyes out had any one save Jean Paul been her gay

gallant, Natalie was Bert's charge, Marjorie and big Doug had become good
chums, and, of course, Gordon Powers had made sure of Nelly's company.
As this was to be the most magnificent affair of the holiday season, it had
been decided to drive into Annapolis directly after luncheon, attend a
matinee to be given at the one funny little theatre the town boasted, and for
which Mrs. Harold had secured three stalls in order to include "the bunch,"
then to go to Wilmot to dine and dress, Mammy, Harrison and Jerome
having been intrusted with the transportation of the suitcases containing the
evening finery.
All went merry as a marriage bell. When the matinee ended the boys were
sent to the right about and the girls hurried to their rooms to make their
toilets, for a six-thirty dinner had been ordered and everybody would be
present.
As the girls, excepting Stella and Gail, were all under seventeen, and still to
make their formal bows to the big social world, their gowns were all of
short, dancing length, Juno's excepted. Juno was a good deal of a law unto
herself in the matter of raiment. Her father supplied her with all the
spending money she asked for, and charge accounts at several of the large
New York shops and at a fashionable modiste's, completed her latitude.
There would be very little left for Juno to arrive at when she made her
début.
There was no time for comment or correction when the girls emerged from
their rooms to accompany the older people to the dining-room, but at sight
of Juno's gown Mrs. Harold's color grew deeper, and for a moment her teeth
pressed her lower lip as though striving to hold back her words. Juno and
Rosalie shared one room but Rosalie had known nothing of the contents of
Juno's suitcase until it came time for them to dress, then her black eyes had
nearly popped out of their sockets, for certainly Juno's gown was a startling
creation for a school-girl.
Needless to add, the one which she was supposed to have taken to
Annapolis had been replaced by the present one at the last moment, and
Mrs. Vincent was not even aware that Juno possessed such a gown as the
one she was then wearing.

It was a beautiful pearl white charmeuse, cut low in front and with a V in
the back which clearly testified to the fact that the wearer was not afflicted
with spinal curvature. Its trimmings were of exquisite lace and crystals
sufficiently elaborate for a bride, and the skirt was one of the clinging,
narrow, beaver-tailed train affairs which render walking about as graceful as
the gait of a hobbled-horse, and dancing an utter impossibility unless the
gown is held up. It was a most advanced style, out-Parisianing the Parisian.
When Juno prepared to get into it, even Rosalie, charming beyond words in
a pink chiffon, had cried:
"Why, Juno Gibson, it's lucky for you Mrs. Vincent isn't here. You'd never
go to the hop in that dress."
"Well, she isn't here, so calm yourself."
But the climax came as they were crossing Wilmot's reception hall on their
way up from dinner. Mrs. Harold was walking just behind her flock, Peggy
with her, fully conscious of the tension matters had assumed, for modest
little Peggy had been too closely associated with Polly and Mrs. Harold not
to have stored away considerable rational worldly knowledge and some
very sane ideas.
As they were about to ascend the stairs Juno with well affected indifference
caught up her train, thereby revealing the latest idiosyncrasy of the feminine
toilet. She wore silver slippers and black silk tights and had quite dispensed
with petticoats. The stage and the Hotel Astor had developed Juno's
knowledge of la mode en règle at a galloping pace.
Some of the girls gave little gasps, and amused smiles flitted across the
faces of the people within range. Mrs. Harold colored to her forehead.
When they reached her corridor she said to Juno:
"Little girl, will you come into my room a moment?'
"Certainly, if you wish it, Mrs. Harold," was the reply in a tone which
meant that Juno had instantly donned her armor of repulsion
Seating herself upon a low chair, Mrs. Harold drew a hassock to her side,
motioning Juno to it. The seat might have been accepted with a better grace.
Mrs. Harold took the lovely, rebellious face in both her hands, pressed her
lips to the frowning forehead, and said gently:

"Honey, smoothe them out, please, and, remember that what I am about to
say to you is said because Peggy's and Polly's friends are mine and I love
them. Yes, and wish them to learn to love me if possible. Nothing is dearer
to me than my young people and I long to see all that is best and finest
developed in them. You have come to me as a guest, dear, but you have also
come to me as my foster-daughter pro tem, and as such, claim my
affectionate interest in your well-being. Mother and daughter are precious
names."
There was a slight pause, in which Juno gave an impatient toss of her
handsome head and asked in a bitterly ironical voice:
"Are they? I am afraid I'm not very well prepared to judge."
Mrs. Harold looked keenly at the girl, a light beginning to dawn upon her,
though she had heard little of Juno's history.
"Dear heart, forgive me if I wounded you. It was unintentional. I know
nothing of earlier experiences, you know. You are just Polly's friend to me.
Perhaps some day, if you can learn to love and trust me, you will let me
understand why I have wounded. That is for another time and season. Just
now we have but a few moments in which to 'get near' each other, as my
boys would say, and I am going to make a request which may displease
you. My little girl, will you accept some suggestions regarding your toilet?"
"I dare say you think it is too grown-up for me. I know I'm not supposed to
wear a low gown or a train."
"I'm afraid I should be tempted to say the gown had been sent to you before
it had grown-up enough," smiled Mrs. Harold. "And certainly some of its
accessories must have been overlooked or forgotten altogether."
"Why, nobody wears anything but tights under a ball gown nowadays. How
would it fit with skirts all bunched up under it? As to the neck, it is no lower
than one sees at the opera at home. I know a dozen people who wear gowns
made in exactly the same way, and Madam Marie would expire if I did not
follow her dictates—why, she would never do a bit more work for me."
"Then I beg of you, outrage the lady's ideas forthwith, for—" Mrs. Harold
laid her hand upon Juno's—"no dressmaker living should have the power to
place a refined, modest little girl in a false position, or lower her womanly
standards and ideals. Not only hers, dear, but what is vastly more far-

reaching, the ideals of the boys and men with whom she is thrown. You are
too young to fully appreciate this; you could hardly interpret some of the
comments which are sure to be made upon the ballroom floor from those
who are somewhat lacking in finer feeling; nor can you gauge the influence
a truly modest girl—I do not mean an ignorantly prudish one, for a limited
knowledge of the facts of life is a dangerous thing—has over such lads as
you meet."
"You have a beautiful hand, dear," continued Mrs. Harold, taking Juno's
tapering, perfectly manicured fingers in hers. "It is faultless. Make it as
strong as faultless, for remember—nothing has greater power figuratively.
You hold more in this pretty hand than equal franchise can ever confer upon
you. See that right now you help to make the world purer—your sisters who
would have the ballot are using this crying need as their strongest argument
—by avoiding in word or deed anything which can dethrone you in the
esteem of the other sex, whether young or mature, for you can never know
how far-reaching it will prove. You think I am too sweeping in my
assertion? That you never have and never could do anything to invite
criticism? Dear heart, not intentionally, I know, but in the very fact that you
are innocent of the influence which—say such a gown as you are now
wearing, for an illustration—may have, lies the harm you do. If you fully
understand you would sooner go to the hop tonight gowned in sackcloth; of
this I am certain."
For a moment Juno did not speak. This little human craft was battling with
conflicting currents and there seemed no pilot in sight. Then she turned
suddenly and placing her arms about Mrs. Harold, laid her head upon the
shoulder which had comforted so many and began to sob softly.
"My little girl! My dear, dear little girl, do not take it so deeply to heart. I
did not mean to wound you so cruelly. Forgive me, dear."
"You haven't wounded me. It isn't that. But I—I—don't seem to know
where I'm at. No one has ever spoken to me in this way. I'm often scolded
and lectured and stormed at, but no one cares enough to make me
understand. Please show me how. Please tell me. It seems like a glimpse
into a different world."
"First let me dry the tears I have been the cause of bringing to your eyes—if
my boys see traces of them I shall be brought to an account. Then we will

remedy what might have done harm."
As she spoke Mrs. Harold took a bit of absorbent cotton, soaked it in rose
water and bathed the lovely soft, brown eyes. Juno smiled up at her, then
nestled against her, again.
"My new little foster-daughter," said Mrs. Harold, kissing the velvety
cheeks.
"'It's beauty, truly blent, whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.'
Keep it so—it needs no aid—we shall learn to know each other better. You
will come again—yes, often—and where I can help, count upon me—
always? And now I'll play maid."
Ten minutes later when Juno entered the living-room, an exquisite bit of
Venetian lace filled in the V at the back of the bodice; the softest white
maline edged the front, and when, she raised her train a lace petticoat which
any girl would have pronounced "too sweet for words" floated like sea-
foam about her slender ankles.
No comments were made and all set forth for the hop. And was the
experiment a red letter one? Well!

CHAPTER XV

IN SPRING TERM

"Well, we all came back to earth with a thud, didn't we? But, was there ever
anything like it while it lasted," ended Natalie with a rapturous sigh.
"And do you suppose there can ever be anything like it again?" Rosalie's
tone suggested funeral wreaths and deep mourning, but she continued to
brush her hair with Peggy's pretty ivory-handled brush, and pose before
Peggy's mirror. The girls were not supposed to dress in each other's rooms
but suppositions frequently prove fallacies in a girl's school and these girls
had vast mutual interests past and pending.
Several weeks had passed since the Christmas holidays, but the joys of that
memorable house-party were still very vivid memories and recalled almost
daily.
It was the hour before dinner. The girls were expected to be ready promptly
at six-fifteen, but dressing hour might more properly have been termed
gossiping hour, since it was more often given over to general discussions,
Stella's pretty room, or Peggy's and Polly's, proving as a rule a rendezvous.
All of the Severndale house party were assembled at the moment, and two
or three others beside, among them Isabel, Helen and Lily Pearl.
"I hope there may be a good many times like it again," said Peggy warmly.
"It was just lovely to have you all down there and Daddy Neil was the
happiest thing I've ever seen. I wish we could have him at Easter, but he
will be far away when Easter comes."
"Shall you go home at Easter?" asked Helen, flickering hopes of an
invitation darting across her mind.

"I hardly think so. You see it is only two weeks off and the Little Mother
has not said anything about it, has she, Polly?"
"No, in her last letter she said she thought she'd come down to Washington
for Easter week and stop at the Willard, but it is not settled yet. I'd rather be
in Annapolis at Easter and go for some of our long rides. Wasn't it fun to
have Shashai and Silver Star back there during our visit! I believe they and
Tzaritza and Jess had the very time of their young—and old—lives. And
wasn't Tzaritza regal with Rhody?"
"It was the funniest thing I've ever seen," laughed Stella. "That dog acted
exactly like a royal princess entertaining a happy-go-lucky jackie. Rhody's
life on board the Rhode Island since you and Ralph rescued him seems to
have been one gay and festive experience for a Boston bull pup."
"It surely has," concurred Polly. "Snap says he's just wise to everything, and
did you ever see anything so absurd as those clown tricks the jackies taught
him?"
"I think you are all perfectly wonderful people, dogs and horses included,"
was Rosalie's climax of eulogy, if rather peculiar and comprehensive.
"Well, we had one royal good time and we are not likely to forget it either.
Peggy, weren't you petrified when you struck 'eight bells' at the hop, for the
death of the old year? Goodness, when those lights began to go out, and
everybody stopped dancing I felt so queer. And when 'taps' sounded little
shivery creeps went all up and down my spine, and you struck eight bells so
beautifully! But reveille drove me almost crazy. When the lights flashed on
again I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry I was so nervous," was
Natalie's reminiscence.
"It was the most solemn thing I ever heard and the most beautiful," said
Marjorie softly. "It made me homesick, and yet home doesn't mean
anything to me; this is the only one I have known since I was eight years
old."
"Eight years in one place and a school at that!" cried Juno. "Why, I should
have done something desperate long before four had passed. Girls, think of
being in a school eight years." Juno's tone implied the horrors of the Bastile.
"If you had no other, what could you do?" Marjorie's question was asked
with a smile which was sadder than tears could have been.

Juno shrugged her shoulders, but Polly slipped over to Marjorie's side and
with one of Polly's irresistible little mannerisms, laid her arm across her
shoulder, as hundreds of times the boys in Bancroft demonstrate their good
fellowship for each other. Another girl would probably have kissed her.
Polly was not given to kisses. Then she asked:
"Won't your father come East this spring for commencement? You said you
hoped he would.
"I've hoped so every spring, but when he writes he says it takes four whole
months to reach Washington from that awful place in the Klondyke. I wish
he had never heard of it."
"I'm so glad you went to Severndale with us. We must never let her be
lonely or homesick again, Peggy."
"Not while Severndale has a spare hammock," nodded Peggy.
Marjorie was more or less of a mystery to most of the girls, but the greatest
of all to Mrs. Vincent to whom she had come the year the school was
opened. Mrs. Vincent had more than once said to herself: "Well, I certainly
have four oddities to deal with: Who is Marjorie? She is one of the sweetest,
most lovable girls I've ever met, but I don't really know a single thing about
her. She has come to me from the home of a perfectly reliable
Congregational minister, but even he confesses that he knows nothing
beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost to civilization in the
remotest regions of the Klondyke. He says he believes her mother is dead.
Heigho! And Juno? What is likely to become of her, poor child? What does
become of all the children of divorced parents in this land of divorces? Oh,
why can't the parents think of the children they have brought into the world
but who did not ask to come?
"And Rosalie? What is to become of that little pepper pot with all her
loving impulses and self-will? I believe her father has visited her for about
one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and I also believe his
visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child so. Of course,
it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to correct it? And this year
comes Stella, the biggest puzzle of all. Her father? Well, I dare say it is all
right, but he sometimes acts more like—" but at this point Mrs. Vincent
invariably had paused abruptly and turned her attention to other matters.

"Can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?" asked Lily Pearl. "I
think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that horrid place
year in and year out for four years with only four months to call their own
in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!"
"Lily's been doing the multiplication table," cried Rosalie.
"Well, I counted and I think it's awful—simply awful!" lamented Lily. "I'd
give anything to see Charlie Purdy and have another of those ravishing
dances. I can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he snuggles your
head up against him and nestles his face down in your hair—m—m—m!
Why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke! I can smell it yet!"
A howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but Helen, who bridled
and protested:
"Oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the eyes of
a half dozen chaperones every minute. Lily and I got acquainted with our
friends."
"Well, I hope we did have a chaperone or two," was Polly's retort. She had
vivid memories of some of the scenes upon which she and Ralph had
inadvertently blundered during the afternoon informals of Christmas week.
The auditorium in the academic building where informals are held, has
many secluded nooks. Upon one occasion she had run upon Helen and Paul
Ring, the former languishing in the latter's arms. Perhaps mamma would
not have been so ready to intrust her dear little daughter to Foxy Grandpa's
protection had she dreamed of the existence of Mamma Ring and dear Paul.
At all this sentimental enthusiasm Stella had looked on indulgently and now
laughed outright, "What silly kids you two are," she said.
"Well, I don't see that you had such a ravishing time, anyway," cried Helen.
"Why, I'm sure Mr. Allyn was as attentive as anyone could be. He was on
hand every minute to take me wherever I wanted to go." Stella's expression
was quizzical and made Helen furious.
"Oh, a paid guide could have done as much I don't doubt."
"Father is a little fussy at times, so perhaps it is just as well. You see I
should not have been at Severndale at all if he had not been called to
Mexico on business. So I'd better be thankful for what fun I did get. But

there goes the first bell. Better get down toward the dining-room, girls,"
laughed Stella good-naturedly, and set the example. A moment later the
room was deserted by all but Helen who lingered at the mirror. When the
others were on their way down stairs she slipped to Nelly's room and took
from her desk a sheet of the monogram paper and an envelope, which Mrs.
Harold had given her at Christmas. As she passed her own room she hid
them in her desk for future use. After dinner when the evening mail was
delivered, Helen received a letter bearing the Annapolis postmark. Nelly
had one from her father. As she read it her face wore a peculiar expression.
The letter stated that her father was coming to Washington to consult with
Shelby concerning a matter of business connected with Severndale's
paddock. As Nelly ceased reading she glanced up from her letter to find
Peggy watching her narrowly. Peggy had also received a letter from Dr.
Llewellyn in which he mentioned the fact that Bolivar felt it advisable to
run down to Washington. In an instant the whole situation flashed across
Peggy's quick comprehension.
During the girl's visit at Severndale Jim Bolivar had never come to the
house. Nelly had many times slipped away for quiet little talks with her
father in their own cottage and had asked him more than once why he did
not come up to the big house to see her, and his reply had invariably been:
"Honey, I don't belong there. No, 'tain't no use to argue,—I don't. Your
mother would have; she come of quality stock, and what in the Lord's name
she ever saw in me I've been, a-guessin' an' a-guessin' for the last eighteen
year."
"But Dad, Peggy Stewart has never, never made either you or me feel the
least shade of difference in our stations. Neither has Polly Howland. They
couldn't be lovelier to me, though I know you have never been at
Severndale as guests have been there. But it has never seemed to strike me
until now. And down at the school the girls are awfully nice to me; at least,
most of them are. Those who are patronizing are that way because they are
so to everybody. But the really nice girls are lovely, and I am sure they'd
never think of being rude to you."
"Little girl, listen to your old Dad: There are some things in this world not
to be got around. I'm one of 'em. Peggy Stewart and Polly Howland are
thoroughbreds an' thoroughbreds ain't capable of no low-down

snobbishness. They know their places in the world and there's nothing open
to discussion. An' they're too fine-grained to scratch other folks the wrong
way. But, some of them girls up yonder are cross-breeds—oh, yes, I've been
a-watchin' 'em an' I know,—tain't no use to argue. They kin prance an'
cavort an' their coats are sleek an' shinin', but don't count on 'em too much
when it comes right down to disposition an' endurance, 'cause they'll
disappoint you. I ain't never told you honey, that your mother was a Bladen.
Well, she was. Some day I'm going to tell you how she fell in love with a
good-lookin' young skalawag by the name o' Jim Bolivar. He comes o'
pretty decent stock too, only he hadn't sense enough to stay at St. John's
where his dad put him, but had to go rampagin' all over the country till he'd
clean forgot any bringin'-up he'd ever had, and landed up as a sort o' bailiff,
as they call 'em over in the old country, on an estate down on the eastern
shore. Then he met Helen Bladen and 's sure's you live she 'changed the
name and not the letter and changed for a heap sight worse 'n the better'
when she eloped with me. Thank the Lord she didn't live long enough to see
the worst, and you hardly remember her at all. But that's my pretty history,
—a no-count, ne'er do well, and if it weren't for Peggy Stewart, God bless
her! you'd a been lyin' 'long side o' yo' ma out yonder this minute, for all I'd
ever a-done to keep you here, I reckon, much less give you the education
you're a-gettin' now. No, honey, I won't go up to the great house. If I'd a-
done right when I was a boy I'd be sittin' right up there with the rest o' that
bunch o' people this minute. But I was bound to have my fling, and sow my
wild oats and now I can have the pleasure of harvestin' my crop. It ought to
be thistles, for if ever there was a jackass that same was Jim Bolivar."
Nelly had listened to the pitiful tale without comment, but when it ended
she placed her arms about her father's neck and sobbed softly. She had
never mentioned this little talk to anyone, but it was seldom far from her
thoughts, and now her father was coming to Washington.
Peggy slipped her arm about her and asked:
"What makes you look so sober, Nellibus?"
"Because I'm a silly, over-sensitive goose, I dare say."
Peggy looked puzzled.

Nelly handed her her father's letter. Peggy read it, then turned to look
straight into Nelly's eyes, her own growing dark as she raised her head in
the proud little poise which made her so like her mother's portrait.
"When he comes I think matters will adjust themselves," was all she said.
The following Friday afternoon Jim Bolivar was ushered into the pretty
little reception room by Horatio Hannibal, who went in quest of Nelly. As
she had no idea of the hour her father would arrive, she was preparing to go
for a ride with a number of the girls, for the day was a heavenly one; a late
March spring day in Washington.
"Miss Bol'var, yo' pa in de 'ception room waitin' fo' to see yo', Miss,"
announced Horatio.
"I'll go right down. Sorry I can't go with you, girls."
"May we come and see him just a minute before we start!" asked Peggy
quickly, while Polly came eagerly to her side.
"Of course you may. Dad will love to see you," was Nelly's warm response.
"We won't keep you waiting long, girls," said Peggy, "we'll join you at the
porte cochere."
Arrayed in their habits, Peggy, Polly and Nelly hurried away.
"Wonder what he looks like," said Juno idly as she drew on her gauntlets.
"Bet he's nice if he's anything like Nelly," said Rosalie.
"Isn't it funny you girls never saw him while you were at Severndale?" said
Lily Pearl.
"Perhaps he's not the kind Nelly Bolivar cares to have seen," was Helen's
amiable remark, accompanied by a shrug and a knowing look.
"Why, what do you mean, Helen?" asked Natalie with some spirit.
"Just what I say. I believe Nelly Bolivar is as poor as Job's turkey and that
Peggy Stewart pays all 'her expenses here. And I know she wears Peggy's
cast-off clothes. I saw Peggy's name in one of her coats. You know Peggy
has her name and the maker's woven right into the linings. Just you wait and
see what her father looks like and then see if I'm far wrong."

"Why, she's nothing better than a charity pupil if that's true," sneered Lily
Pearl, who never failed to follow Helen's lead.
"If Mrs. Vincent opens her school to such girls I think it would be well for
our parents to investigate the matter," was Isabel's superior criticism.
"Yes, you'd better. Mother would be delighted to have an extra room or two;
she has so many applicants all the time," flashed Natalie, her cheeks
blazing.
"Children, children, don't grow excited. Wait until you find out what you're
fuming about," said Stella in the tone which always made them feel like
kids, Rosalie insisted. "And come on down. The horses have been waiting
twenty minutes already and Mrs. Vincent will have a word or two to say to
us if we don't watch out."
As they crossed the hall to the porte cochere, Peggy, Polly and Nelly came
from the reception room, Mr. Bolivar with them. The lively curiosity upon
the girls' faces was rather amusing. Juno favored him with a well-cultivated
Fifth Avenue stare. Helen's nose took a higher tilt if possible. Lily Pearl
giggled as usual. Stella smiled at the girls and said: "Glad you're coming
with us." Isabel murmured "Horrors!" under her breath and waddled with
what she believed to be dignity toward the door. Marjorie only smiled, but
Rosalie and Natalie stopped, the former crying impulsively:
"Introduce your father to us, Nelly; we want to know him."
The man the girls looked upon had changed a good deal from the
despondent Jim Bolivar whom Peggy had seen sitting upon the upturned
box in Market Square so long ago. Prosperity and resultant comforts had
done a good deal for the despairing man. There were still some traces of the
handsome Jim Bolivar with whom pretty, romantic Helen Bladen had
eloped, though the intermediate years of sorrow and misfortune had
changed that dapper young beau into a careless, hopeless pessimist. What
the end might have been but for Peggy is hard to guess, but the past two
years had made him think and think hard too. Though still slipshod of
speech as the result of associating with his humbler neighbors, he was
certainly making good, and few lapses occurred as he shook hands with
Nelly's friends and then went out to help them mount. In his dark gray suit,

Alpine hat and his gray gloves, something of the gentleman which was in
him became evident.
He helped each girl upon her horse, greeted Junius Augustus, patted
Shashai, Star and Tzaritza; deplored poor Columbine's shorn glories, smiled
an odd smile at Isabel's bulky figure upon the more bulky Senator, then
said:
"I'll see you when you come back, honey. I've got to have a talk with
Shelby. Some things is—are—bothering me back yonder. Have a fine
gallop. It's a prime day for it. Good-bye, young ladies," and raising his hat
with something of the gallantry of the old Bolivar he followed Junius
toward the stables.
That night Mrs. Vincent asked him to dine with her, but he declined on the
score of an engagement with a friend. He and Shelby dined in Washington
and during that meal he made just one allusion to Nelly and her
surroundings.
"It's all very well for a man to make a plumb fool of himself and waste his
life if he's a-mind to, but he ain't got any business to drag other folks along
with him. If I hadn't a-been a fool among fools I might a-been sittin' beside
my little girl this minute, and not be scared to either, Shelby. My dad used
to say something about 'man being his own star,' I don't recollect it all, but I
know it meant he could be one of the first magnet if he'd a mind to. I set out
to be a comet, I reckon, all hot air tail, and there isn't much of me left worth
looking at."
"How old are you!"
"Forty-four."
"Well, you've got twenty-five years to the good yet. Now get busy for the
little girl's sake."
"Shake," cried Jim Bolivar, extending his hand across the table.
Meanwhile back yonder at the school, Friday night being "home letters
night" the girls were all busily writing, but Helen kept the monogram upon
her paper carefully concealed.

CHAPTER XVI

A MIDNIGHT SENSATION

But two weeks remained of the spring term. School would close on May
twenty-eighth. Already Washington had become insufferably warm, and
even Columbia Heights School situated upon its hill, was very trying. The
girls were almost too inert to work and spent every possible moment out of
doors.
The moment school ended Peggy, Polly and Nelly would go back to
Annapolis and Rosalie was to go with, them as Peggy's guest for a month.
Mrs. Harold had invited Marjorie, Natalie, and Juno to be Polly's guests for
June week under the joint chaperonage of herself and Mrs. Howland, after
which plans were being laid for the entire party to go to Provincetown with
"all the Howland outfit," as Captain Stewart and Mr. Harold phrased it,
there to live in a bungalow as long as the Atlantic fleet made that jumping-
off place its rendezvous. It bid fair to be a tremendous house party, though
the lads whom the girls had grown to know best would not be there. The
practice squadron was going to Europe this summer. However, "the old
guard" as Happy, Wheedles and Shortie, as well as dozens of others from
earlier classes were called, would be there and things were sure to be lively.
But all this lies in the future.
Helen and Lily Pearl had been invited to Annapolis for June week, by Mrs.
Ring, and were to go to the June ball with dear Paul and Charles Purdy.
They had not been asked to dance the German since they had made no
special friends among the first classmen. Peggy and Polly were to dance it,
one with Dick Allyn, the other with his room-mate, Calhoun Byrd, who, in
Bancroft's vernacular "spooned on Ralph" and had always considered Polly

"a clipper." Juno was to go with Guy Bennett, Nelly, Rosalie, Marjorie and
Natalie had, alack! to look on from the gallery, escorted by second-
classmen.
But now of immediate happenings at Columbia Heights School.
It had been arranged that Shelby should take Shashai, Star and Tzaritza
back to Severndale on the twenty-second, as it was now far too warm to
ride in Washington. Moreover, Shelby's engagement with Mrs. Vincent
expired May fifteenth and he was anxious to get back to Severndale. Then
at the last moment, Mrs. Vincent decided to send all the saddle horses to
Severndale for the summer months and keep only the carriage horses and
the white groom at the school. So Shelby wrote Jim Bolivar that "he'd better
come along down and get on the job too." Consequently, about a week after
the girl's visit to Annapolis and Rosalie's escapade, Jim Bolivar arrived at
the school and took up his quarters in the pretty little cottage provided for
Shelby. He expected to spend about two days helping to get matters closed
up for the summer, then start on with Junius Augustus in charge of
Columbine, Lady Belle, the Senator, and Jack-o'-Lantern, Shelby following
a day later with Shashai, Star, Madame Goldie and Old Duke. So far so
good out in the stables. Within the school Nelly was learning the difference
between being the daughter of patrician blood come upon misfortune, and
cheerfully making the best of things, and some extremely plebeian blood
slopped unexpectedly into fortune, and trying to forget its origin. Had not
Nelly possessed such loyal old friends as Peggy and Polly, and made such
stanch new ones as Rosalie, Natalie, Stella and Marjorie, her position might
have been a very trying one. And now only eight days remained before
vacation would begin. Already the girls were in a flutter for June week at
Annapolis. Would it be fair? Would it be scorching hot? Would there be
moon-light nights?
"There'll be moon-light if the old lady has half a chance to show herself,"
said Polly's assured voice and nod.
"We had a new moon on the eighteenth," said Peggy. "That means brim-full
in June week, and, oh, girls, won't it be fairy land! How I wish, though, you
were all to dance the German. I can't help feeling selfish to leave you out of
that fun."

"You aren't leaving us out. We understand that even the Little Mother can't
ask her boys to take a girl to the German! But we aren't likely to pine away
with all the other fun afoot," cried Natalie gaily, doing a pirouette across the
room just by way of relieving pent-up anticipation.
"Helen said she might be invited to dance the German after all. Dear Paul's
Mamma has a grease with a first classman," laughed Rosalie.
"When I see her on the floor I'll believe it," said Juno.
"Where is Helen tonight?" asked Marjorie.
"Up in her room. Lily has a sick headache and she went up with her. Guess
that cousin of Helen's who came down from Baltimore, Foxy Grandpa's
daughter, or niece, or something, I believe, and spent this afternoon with
her, gave those girls too many chocolates. Wasn't she the limit? And big?
Well, I'll wager that woman was six feet tall, and she was made up perfectly
outrageously. Her skin was fair enough, and her color lovely and I never
saw such teeth, if they weren't store ones, but there was something about the
lower part of her face that looked queer. Did you notice it, girls?" asked
Polly.
"I did. There was such a funny dull tinge, like a man who had just been
shaved," commented Rosalie, with a puzzled frown.
"Her voice struck me funniest. Do you remember Fräulein Shultz who was
here the first year school opened, Marjorie?" asked Natalie.
"Yes, we used to call her Herr Shultz. Such a voice you never heard, girls!"
"Well, this cousin's was exactly like Herr Shultz."
"Her clothes were the climax with me. I believe she must have been on the
stage sometime. Oh, yes, they were up-to-date enough, but, so sort of—of
—tawdry," criticised Juno.
"Do you know, she reminded me of somebody I know but who it is I just
can't think," and Peggy puckered her forehead into wrinkles.
"Oh!" cried Nelly, then stopped short.
"What's the matter? Sat on a pin?" asked Rosalie, laughing.

"Something made me jump," answered Nelly, pulling her skirt as though in
search of the pin Rosalie had suggested. Then in a moment she said:
"Reckon I'll go in, girls, I've got to send a note home by father and he starts
pretty soon."
"Why do they start at night?" asked Juno.
"Cooler traveling for the horses. They leave here about eight, travel about
nine miles an hour, for two hours, stop at —— for the night, start again at
seven in the morning, and will reach Severndale by ten o'clock at latest. It
seems like a long trip, but that makes it an easy one. Shelby will start
tomorrow or next day. And won't all those horses have the time of their
lives! I am so glad that they're to be there," explained Peggy.
"So is mother, Peggy Stewart," cried Natalie.
Meanwhile Nelly had gone to her room. It was next Helen's and Lily's. On
beyond was Stella's sitting-room. Nelly roomed with a girl who had been
called home by illness in her family. Consequently Nelly now had the room
to herself. She wrote her note and then went to find Mrs. Vincent to ask
permission to run out to the stables to give it to her father.
As she passed Helen's and Lily's door she heard them whispering together
and also heard a deeper voice. Whose could it be? It was so unusual that she
paused a moment in the dimly lighted hall. She did not mean to be an
eavesdropper, but she thought all the girls from the west wing were down
on the terrace where she had left them that perfect May night. They had
gone out there immediately dinner ended, for study hour had lately been
held from five to seven on account of the warm evenings, Mrs. Vincent
objecting to the lights which made the house almost suffocating.
Presently the deep-voiced whisper was heard again. Nelly started as though
from an electric shock. Had Helen's cousin returned, but when? And that
whisper was a revelation. Then she went on her way. Consent was promptly
given and Nelly ran across the shadow-laden lawn to the stables. She found
her father, Shelby and the men just preparing to set forth. Her father was to
ride the Senator to set the pace. Junius rode Jack-o'-Lantern. Columbine and
Lady Belle were to be led.
As Nelly drew near, Columbine neighed a welcome.

"What's brought you down here, honey?" asked Bolivar. "I was going to
stop at the house to say good-bye."
"I wanted to see you alone a minute, daddy."
"Go 'long for a little private confab with her, Bolivar. All right, Nelly, no
hurry," said Shelby genially.
The thin sickle of the new moon cast very little light as Nelly and her father
walked a short distance down the path, Nelly, talking earnestly in a low
voice. When she ceased Bolivar said:
"Oh, you must be mistaken, Nelly, why, I never heard of such a fool stunt;
yet that kid's capable of most any, I understand. Of course, I'll take the hint
and watch out, but just like you say, it's better to keep it dark. It'd only stir
up a terrible talk and make Mrs. Vincent's school,—well; she don't want
that sort of thing happening. Run 'long back and keep your eyes open. Shall
I say anything to Shelby?"
"Not a word, daddy! Not one word! Just get him out of the way if you can."
"That's easy. He's going to ride into the city when I start and none of the
boys sleep in the stable. I kind of suspicion your plan but I won't ask no
more questions."
At eight-thirty the first "batch o' beasties" "shoved off." The girls ran down
the driveway to bid them good-bye and the horses seemed to understand it
all perfectly. Then Bolivar and his charges, accompanied by Shelby, set
forth upon their ways. It was a wonderful, star-sprinkled night, though the
moon had sunk below the horizon. When they had gone a little way Shelby
bade them good-bye and good-luck and turned into the broad boulevard
leading into Washington. Bolivar followed the quieter road on the outskirts
of the city. Presently he said to Junius:
"Land o' love, I'd as soon ride an elephant as this horse. His back's as broad.
Hold on a minute, I'm going to shift my saddle to Columbine. I know her
and she knows me, don't you, old girl?"
"She's de quality, sure," agreed Junius.
"This is something like," sighed Bolivar, falling easily into Columbine's
smooth fox-trot. They had gone perhaps a mile when Bolivar suddenly
clapped his hand to his breast-pocket and pulled up short.

"What done happen, Mr. Bol'var?" asked Junius.
"I'm seven kinds of a fool. Left my wallet in that old coat Shelby let me
wear round the stable! Now that's the limit, ain't it? I got to go back. Ain't
got a cent with me. You ride on slow and stop at the Pine Cliff Inn up the
road a-piece, and wait there till I come. Columbine's fresh as a daisy and the
three miles or so will be just a warm-up for her this night. Now wait there.
Don't budge a step till I come."
"I'll do like you say."
Jim Bolivar started back slowly, but once beyond Junius' sight gave
Columbine the rein and was soon within a quarter of a mile of Columbia
Heights School.
Meanwhile, in that usually well-ordered establishment some startling events
were taking place.
When Nelly left her father she stopped on the terrace to talk a few minutes
with the girls. It was then after nine o'clock but during these long, sultry
evenings Mrs. Vincent allowed the girls to remain upon the terrace until ten.
Examinations were over, there was no further academic work to be done
and most of the preparations for commencement were completed. Indeed,
most of the little girls had already left, and several of the older ones also. A
general exodus takes place from Washington early in May and the schools
close early.
"Whow, I'm sleepy tonight," laughed Nelly, suppressing a yawn. "Reckon
I'll go upstairs. Good-night, everybody."
"You'll smother and roast if you go to bed so early, Nell. Stay here with us,"
cried Polly, catching Nelly's skirt and trying to pull her down beside her.
"Can't. I'd drop asleep right on the terrace," and turning Nelly ran in-doors.
Once in her room she speedily shifted into her linen riding suit, then
slipping down the back stairs, sped across the dark lawn to the stables. They
were dark and silent. Not a soul was in Shelby's cottage where the stable
key was kept and a moment later Nelly had taken it from its hook and was
at the stable door. A bubble of nickers, or the soft munching of feeding
horses, fell upon her ears. Star knew her voice as well as Polly's and
Peggy's. Nelly went straight to Star's stall. In less time than it takes to tell it

she had him saddled, bridled and led softly out upon the lawn. Keeping
within the shadows of the trees she led him to a thick pine grove and taking
his velvety muzzle in her hands planted a kiss upon it as she whispered:
"Now stand stock still and don't make a sound. I may need you and I may
not. If I do it will be in a hurry and you will have to make time." Then she
slipped back into the house.
But we must go back to the invalid, Lily Pearl, and her devoted attendant in
the west wing. Also the cousin. Ten minutes after Nelly had left her room to
carry her note to her father, Helen went to Mrs. Vincent's study.
"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, cousin Pauline came back to see if she had left her
engagement ring in my room. She did not miss it until she got back to her
friends' house and then she was frightened nearly to death and came all the
way back here."
"Couldn't she have telephoned?
"I suppose so, but she never takes it off except to wash her hands. She left it
on my dresser. She is going back now. May I walk to the gate with her?"
"Yes, but come directly back, Helen. How is Lily?"
"She's just fallen asleep. Thank you, Mrs. Vincent."
A few moments later Helen and her cousin left the house but not by the
door giving upon the terrace. The side door answered far better. Then
slipping around the house they paused beneath Stella's balcony and the
cousin gave a low whistle. Instantly, Lily Pearl's head was bobbed up over
the railing and she whispered:
"Oh, take it quick! I hear Peggy's voice down in the hall!" and a suitcase
was lowered from the balcony, the cousin's strong right arm grasped it, as
the cousin's deep voice said:
"You're a dead game sport, Lil. You bet we'll remember this."
But Lil did not wait to hear more. She fled to her room pell mell, not aware
that in her flight she had overturned a tiny fairy night-lamp which Stella
always kept burning in her room at night. Quickly undressing, Lily dove
into bed and drawing the covers over her head was instantly sound asleep.

The voice which had alarmed her soon died away as Peggy rejoined her
friends upon the terrace.
Helen and the cousin had meanwhile reached the gate and also a cab which
waited there, and were soon bowling along toward Washington.
And what of Nelly? As she was returning to the house she caught sight of
the two figures hurrying toward the main gate. Back she sped to Star, and
mounting him, rode along the soft turf as silently as a shadow, until she saw
the two figures enter the cab.
For a moment she was baffled. What could she do alone? She knew it
would be worse than senseless to attempt to stop the runaways unaided. She
must have help. Yet if she lost sight of them what might not take place? She
had long since recognized Paul Ring in spite of his make-up. She had seen
him too many times in the Masquerader's Shows at Annapolis. For a short
time she flitted behind the cab like an avenging shadow. It would never do
to let Helen make such an idiot of herself, and bring notoriety upon the
school where Peggy and Polly were pupils, or so humiliate Mrs. Vincent
and Natalie. Nelly did some quick thinking. There was but one road for the
elopers to follow. Her father, to whom she had confided her suspicions and
begged him to aid her, must be on his way back by this time. Wheeling Star
she shot back as she had come, and making a wide detour around Columbia
Heights School, put Star to his best paces. Half a mile beyond the school
she met her father coming at a fairly good clip.
Ten words were enough.
"Thank the Lord we're riding Empress stock!" ejaculated Bolivar as he and
Peggy gave the two beautiful creatures their heads and they settled into the
long, low stride which seems never to tire, muscles working swiftly and
smoothly as the machinery of a battleship, heads thrust forward, nostrils
wide and breathing deep breaths to the rhythmic heart-throbs. But the
runaways had a good start.
Presently Bolivar said:
"If Shelby has ridden easy he's somewheres ahead on that selfsame road."
"Oh, dad, if he only is!"
"Well, by the god Billiken he is! Look yonder."

A more dumbfounded man than Shelby it would have been hard to
overtake.
"Had he seen the cab?"
"Certain. It was hiking along ahead. Passed him just a little time before, the
horse a-lather. Wondered who the fools were."
"Well, you know now. How far ahead do you reckon they are?"
"Quarter mile beyond that turn if the horse ain't fell dead. Let me break
away, overhaul them and then you two come in at the death," he laughed.
Shelby was riding Shashai, and at his word a black streak passed out of
sight around the bend of the boulevard. Star and Columbine chafed to
follow, but their riders held them back for a time.
True enough, as Shelby had said, the cab was still pounding along toward
Washington, though the poor horse was nearly done up.
Shelby came abreast the poor panting beast, leaned quietly over, caught the
bridle and cried, "Whoa!" The horse was only too delighted to oblige him.
Not so "Cabby."
With wrath and ire he rose to mete out justice to this highwayman. Had the
butt of his whip hit Shelby he would have seen more stars than twinkled
overhead. But it didn't. It was caught in one hand, given a dexterous twist
and sent flying into the road as Shelby said in his quiet drawl:
"Don't get excited. At least, don't let me excite you. I ain't got nothing
against you, but you can't take those 'slopers no further this night."
"'Lopers nothin'! Me fares is two ladies on their ways to the Willard. 'Tis a
niece and aunt they are."
"Say, you're easy. I thought you fellows wise to most any game. Niece and
aunt! Shucks! Come 'long out aunt, or Cousin Pauline, or whatever you are,
and you, Miss Doolittle, just don't do nothin' but live up to that name you've
got. Lord, whoever named you knew his or her business all right, all right!
Here come Bolivar and his daughter to bear a hand. Now don't set out to
screech and carry on, 'cause if you do you'll make more trouble and it looks
like you'd made a-plenty a-ready. And you shut up!" cried Shelby, now
thoroughly roused, as Paul Ring, his disguise removed and stowed in his

suitcase blustered from the cab. "Quit! or I'll crack you're addle-pated head
for you, you young fool. Do you know what it will mean if I report you at
Annapolis? Well, unless you make tracks for Bancroft P. D. Q.—that means
pretty decidedly quick, Nelly,—you're going to get all that is comin' to you
with compound interest. Beat it while your shoes are good. We'll escort
your girl back to home and friends. Nelly, get into that cab. Cabby, these are
two school girls and this man is this one's father. Now go about and head
for the home port. No rowing. Yes, you'll get paid all right, all right. I'll
stand for the damage and so will Bolivar here. But are you going to dust?"
the last words were addressed to Paul Ring to whom Helen was clinging
and imploring him not to leave her. But, alas! It was four to one, for cabby's
wrath was now centered upon "that hully show of a bloomin' auntie."
Amidst violent protests upon Helen's part, Nelly entered the cab. She would
"not go back!" And she would "go with dear Paul!" Her heart was breaking.
Nelly Bolivar was "a good-for-nothing, common tattle-tale and the whole
school probably knew all about her elopement already," etc., etc.
Nelly tried to assure her that no one suspected a thing. Mr. Bolivar
corroborated that statement, but Helen continued to sob and berate Nelly till
finally Shelby's deep voice cried:
"Halt, cabby!" Then dismounting he opened the cab door, took Helen by the
arm and shook her soundly, then thundered:
"If you was a boy I'd yank you out o' that cab and whale you well, for that's
what you rate. Since you're a fool-girl I can't. Now stop that hullabaloo
instanter. We'll get you back to the school and nobody'll know a thing if you
keep your senses. Nelly here ain't anxious to have that school and her
friends figurin' in the newspapers. Now you mind what I'm tellin' you. I've
stood for all the nonsense I'm going to, and I promise to get you home
without you're being missed, but if you let out another peep I'll march you
straight to the Admiral's office, and don't you doubt my word for a single
minute." Then Shelby remounted Shashai, and leading Star, the odd
procession started back, Shelby cudgeling his brain to devise a way of
getting the romantic maiden in as secretly as he had promised. He need not
have worried about that. The inmates of Columbia Heights were meantime
having lively experiences of their own.

CHAPTER XVII

A SEND-OFF WITH FIREWORKS

When Lily Pearl fled from Stella's room leaving the overturned fairy lamp
to bring about the climax of that evening, her one thought was to get to bed,
and hardly had she tumbled into it than sleep brought oblivion of all else.
Lily Pearl was a somnolent soul in many senses.
Mrs. Vincent was busy in her study at the other end of the house. Miss
Sturgis was dining with friends. Fräulein, who was a romantic creature, was
seated under a huge copper beech tree entertaining a Herr Professor straight
from the Vaterland. The other teachers were either out or in their rooms in
other parts of the building, and the servants had drifted out through the rear
grounds. Consequently, the fairy lamp had things pretty much its own way
and it embraced its opportunity.
What prompted Polly to go upstairs just at that crisis she could never have
told, but she did, and a second later Peggy followed her. The moment the
girls reached their corridor the odor of smoke assailed their nostrils. For an
instant they stopped and looked at each other, then Peggy cried:
"Polly, something's afire. Quick, the bugle call!" Polly bounded forward
and, as upon another occasion back in Montgentian she had roused the
neighborhood and saved the situation, now she sounded her bugle call, but
this time it was "fire call," not "warning." Clear, high and sharp the notes
rang through the house. Mrs. Vincent down in her study sprang to her feet.
The teachers rushed to their posts, the girls ran in from the terrace. Well for
Columbia Heights School that Polly had taught them the different calls and

that she and Peggy had begged Mrs. Vincent to let the girls learn the fire
drill as the boys in Bancroft did it.
Not far off was a fire engine house and the members of the company had
more than once come to see the two girls put their schoolmates through
their drill. It was all a grand frolic then, for none believed it would ever be
put to practical use. But the fire chief had nodded wisely and said to Mrs.
Vincent:
"Those two young girls have long heads. It may all be a pretty show-down
now, but some day you may find it come in handy."
It came in very handy this time. In two minutes an alarm was turned in and
the engines were tearing toward Columbia Heights. The girls had rushed to
their rooms, scrambled what they could into blankets, and ran downstairs
with their burdens. At least many of them had. All the fire drills in the world
will not keep some people's heads upon their shoulders in a crisis.
Roused from sleep by the bugle, Lily Pearl, uttering shriek upon shriek,
plunged her feet into a pair of pink satin slippers newly bought for
commencement, caught up and pinned upon her head the new hat, of which
Rosalie had said: "Well, of all the lids! Lily, did the milliner put the
trimming on the box and forget to send home the hat?" Then grabbing her
fur coat from the closet she ran screaming down to the lawn, certainly
somewhat promiscuous as to raiment, for her nightie was an airy affair and
she carried her coat over her arm.
But the stately Juno was one of the most amusing objects. She carefully put
on a pair of evening gloves and took a lace pocket handkerchief from her
bureau drawer. That was all she even attempted to save.
It was well for the school that Polly and Peggy had kept their wits. All were
soon out of the building and the firemen battling bravely to confine the fire
to the west wing, but poor Stella's room was surely doomed, for what
smoke and flames might possibly spare water would certainly ruin.
In the midst of the uproar Shelby, Bolivar, Nelly and Helen came upon the
scene.
"Good Lord Almighty! Look out for the girls, Bolivar. Guess they'll have no
trouble gettin' in unnoticed now," cried Shelby, and sent Shashai speeding
to the stables.

Bolivar paused only long enough to hand cabby a ten-dollar bill and cry:
"Clear out quick and keep your mouth shut too!" Then he hurried the
terrified girls to the lawn where dozens of other girls were huddled, and
nobody asked any questions about the suitcase. Nor did anyone think to ask
how Bolivar and Shelby happened to be there when they were supposed to
be miles away. Many details were quite overlooked that night, which was a
fortunate circumstance for Miss Helen Doolittle, and her hard-hit
midshipman, who had "frenched" out of Bancroft not only with mamma's
knowledge, but with her coöperation. To have formed an alliance with Foxy
Grandpa's niece and clinched that end of the scheme of things would have
been one step in the direction of securing an ample income, and once that
lover's knot was tied, Helen was to be whisked back to the school and the
secret kept. Mamma was at the Willard waiting for "those darling children"
to come, and when, much later than he was expected, "dear Paul" arrived
alone and in a greatly perturbed state of mind, mother and son had
considerable food for thought until the midnight car carried them back to
Annapolis, where Paul "clomb" the wall at the water's edge and "snoke"
into quarters (in Bancroft's vernacular) in the wee, sma' hours, a weary,
disgusted and unamiable youth. Perhaps had he suspected what was
happening back at Columbia Heights his prompt oblivion in slumber would
not have taken place, though Paul was a philosopher in his way. Helen was
with friends and "she'd knock off crying when she found she had to; all girls
did." Selah!
But during all this time things had not been moving so tranquilly at
Columbia Heights. Given over a hundred girls, and a seething furnace of a
building in which the belongings of a good many of them were being
rapidly reduced to ashes, for the whole west wing was certainly doomed,
and one is likely to witness some stirring scenes. The firemen worked like
gnomes in the murk and smoke, and Shelby and Bolivar seemed to be
everywhere, saving everything possible to save, with many willing hands
from the neighborhood to help them. And some funny enough rescues were
made. Sofa pillows were carried tenderly down two flights of stairs and
deposited in places of safety upon the lawn by some conscientious mortal,
while his co-worker heaved valuable cut glass from a third-story window,
or pitched one of the girls' writing desks into the upstretched arms of a
twelve-year-old boy who happened to stand beneath.

Mrs. Vincent was everywhere at once, keeping her girls from harm's way,
and the other teachers kept their heads and coöperated with her. At least all
but one did, and she was the one upon whom Mrs. Vincent would have
counted most surely. When the fire was raging most fiercely Miss Sturgis
returned from her visit and a moment later rushed away from the group of
girls supposed to be under her especial charge, and disappeared within the
house in spite of the firemen's orders that all should stand clear. The girls
screamed and called after her but their voices were drowned in the uproar,
and none knew that the incentive which spurred the half-frantic woman on
was the photograph of the professor with whom she had gone automobiling
the day of the fly-paper episode. Poor Miss Sturgis. Her first and only hint
of a romance came pretty near proving her last.
Straight to her room in the west wing she rushed, stumbling over hose lines,
battling against the stifling clouds of smoke which rolled down the corridor.
The room was gained, the picture secured, and she turned to make good her
escape, all other valuables forgotten. But even in that brief moment the
smoke had become overpowering. Her room was dense. For a moment she
sought for the door, growing more and more confused and stifled, then with
a despairing moan she fell senseless. Luckily the flames were eating their
relentless way in the other direction, the firemen fighting them inch by inch
until they felt that they were winning the battle.
Meantime, down upon the lawn, the girls had found Mrs. Vincent and told
her of Miss Sturgis' folly. She was beside herself with alarm. Men were sent
in every direction to find her, but none for a moment suspected her of the
utter fool-hardiness of returning to her own room in the blazing wing. But
there was one person who did think of that possibility and she quickly
imparted her fears to one other.
"She never would," cried Polly.
"She had something there she wanted to save. I don't know what, but she
was so excited that she acted just like a crazy person, wringing her hands
and crying just before she ran back; I saw her go. Wait! Tzaritza, find Miss
Sturgis," said Peggy into the ears of the splendid hound who had never for a
single moment left her side, and who had more than once caught hold of her
skirts to draw her backward when a sudden volume of smoke or sparks shot
upward.

For a moment the noble beast hesitated. Little had Miss Sturgis ever done to
win Tzaritza's love and in her dog mind duty lay here. But the dear mistress'
voice repeated the order and with a low bark of intelligence Tzaritza tore
away into the burning building.
"Oh, call her back! Call her back! She will be burned to death" cried a
dozen voices. Polly dropped upon the lawn and began to sob as though her
heart would break. Peggy never moved, but with hands clinched, lips set
and the look in her eyes of one who has sacrificed something inexpressibly
dear she stood listening and waiting. When she felt most deeply Peggy
became absolutely dumb.
Those minutes seemed like hours, then through an upper window giving on
the piazza roof scrambled a singed, smoke-begrimed, and uncanny figure,
dragging, tugging, and hauling with her a limp, unconscious woman. She
made the sill, hauled her burden over to safety, then lifting it bodily carried
it to the roof's edge, where putting it carefully beyond the volume of smoke
now pouring from the window, she threw up her head and emitted howl
upon howl for aid.
It was Shelby who heard and recognized that deep bay, who rushed with a
ladder to the spot, and scrambling up like a monkey, caught up Miss Sturgis'
seemingly lifeless form and carried her down the ladder, where a dozen
willing hands waited to receive her, while Tzaritza's barks testified to her
joy. Then back Shelby fled for the faithful creature, but just as he reached
the roof a sheet of flame darted out of the window and enveloped her. In a
second the exquisite silky coat was a-blaze, and poor Tzaritza's joyous
barks became cries of agony.
"Quick, somebody down there hand me one of those blankets!" shouted
Shelby.
Ere the words had left his lips a little figure scrambled up the ladder, a
blanket in her arms. Polly had seen all and had not waited for orders. Gym
work back in Annapolis stood in good stead at that moment. Shelby flung
the blanket about Tzaritza's sizzling fur, smothered out the flame, then by
some herculean mustering of strength, caught the huge dog in his arms and
crawled step by step down the ladder from which Polly had quickly
scrambled. A dozen hands lent aid and poor burned Tzaritza was carried to
the stables, Peggy and Polly close beside her. Others could now care for

Miss Sturgis, who, indeed, was little the worse for her folly, while Tzaritza,
the lovely coat quite gone, was moaning from her burns.
"Hear, Jim, you stay here and don't you leave Miss Peggy or that dog for a
minute. Now mind what I tell you," he ordered.
Peggy knew exactly what to do. It was the Peggy Stewart of Severndale
who worked over the suffering dog, bandaging, bathing, soothing, and
Tzaritza's eyes spoke her gratitude.
Several of the girls ran out to offer help or sympathy, and their tears
testified to their love for Tzaritza.
It was dawn before the excitement subsided, and the firemen had
withdrawn, leaving one on guard against the possibility of a fresh outbreak.
And that west wing and its contents? Well, let us draw a curtain, heavier
even than the smoke which, so lately poured from it. Some things were
saved—yes—but the commencement gowns, essays, and all which figures
in Commencement Day were fluttering about in little black flakes. There
would be no Commencement for Columbia Heights School this year!
A telephone message brought Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland upon the
scene before many hours, as well as a good many other interested parents.
True, a large insurance covered most of the valuables and the building also,
but a house after such a catastrophe is hardly prepared to hold a function, so
it was unanimously agreed that the girls should all go quietly away as
quickly as those whose belongings had been saved could pack them.
Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland remained over night and on the twenty-
fourth instead of the twenty-eighth escorted a nondescript sort of party up to
Severndale, for wearing apparel had to be indiscriminately borrowed and
lent.
Helen's anxious mamma took her to Philadelphia, where June week's joys
were not. Lily Pearl's parents wired her to come home at once, and Lily
departed for the south-land, June week's joys lamented also. Stella's father
came in instant response to her telegram and though the one to suffer the
heaviest losses, made light of them and asked Stella if she couldn't tear
herself from Columbia Heights without such an expensive celebration.
Is-a-bel, who had really lost very little, was inconsolable because her
"essay," to be read at Commencement, had been burned up, and departed

for the Hub, still lugubrious.
Mrs. Vincent asked Shelby to remain a few days longer, which he willingly
did. Bolivar had gone on to look up Junius and his charges as soon as he
could leave the school.
Peggy insisted upon Mrs. Vincent coming to Severndale for the month
when it was finally agreed that the earlier plans should hold, Juno and
Natalie extending their visit. So back went the merry party to Annapolis to
participate in all the delights of June week, and all which can crowd into it.
So ho! for Severndale! Tzaritza conveyed there an interesting, though shorn
convalescent, the horses seeming to sniff Round Bay from afar, Polly wild
to see her old friends, and Peggy eager to greet those who were so much a
part of her life in her lovely home. And Nelly? Well, no one has ever
learned of her night ride, though Helen's peace of mind is not quite
complete.

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