CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NEW PUPIL
The Sunny Seven met under the elm tree in the school-yard the following Monday, when a strange girl appeared with her books under her arm. She was elaborately dressed, and each black curl hung in its prim and proper place.
“That new girl knows that we’re watching her,” Betty Burd exclaimed, “and she’s trying to put on airs. Who is she, anyway?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, and I don’t want to,” Rosamond Wright declared.
“I know who she is,” Doris Drexel said. “Her father was an inn-keeper out west until a few months ago. He owned a mine that never had amounted to much, so he told dad. Then one morning he woke up and found himself rich. After that his wife wanted to come east and live like folks, so they came. They have mints of money, dad says, and they have bought that beautiful Restwell estate out on the Lake Road. Father was asked there to dinner last night. Mother was, also, of course, but she declined, but dad is their banker and so he had to go. He said that the house is luxuriously furnished, but in very poor taste. Dad likes Mr. Green, but the wife boasts all the time of their great wealth, and tells what everything cost.”
“What is the girl’s name?” Adele asked.
Doris smiled. “Her name used to be plain Susie Green, but since they became rich, the mother thought Susie too common, and so they call her Susetta.”
“How ridiculous!” Bertha exclaimed. “I suppose if my father gets rich, I will have to be called Berthetta.”
“Well, then, let us hope that he never will,” Doris replied. “Dad said that poor Mr. Green acted like a fish out of water all the time. He hardly ate a mouthful at dinner, and afterward, when the two men were alone, Mr. Green said that he did wish they were out west again, where he could breathe. He said he felt smothered, with so much velvet around. Father was real sorry for him.”
“Poor little Susie!” Adele said, as the last school-bell began to ring. “So much money will probably spoil her, but we must be kind to her and make her feel that she is welcome to our school.”
“Oh, Adele, if that isn’t just like you!” exclaimed Rosamond Wright. “For my part, I shall leave the snippy little thing quite alone.”
At the recreation hour the girls trooped again into the school-yard, some romping about, and others sauntering in chattering groups. Susie Green, with a book in her hand, sat alone on the bench under the elm-tree.
Adele, leaving the six, walked over to the girl and said pleasantly, “Good morning, Susie. I know that you are a stranger, so, if you wish, I will introduce you to my friends.”
Susie tossed her head as she replied rather ungraciously, “My ma—I mean my mother—doesn’t wish me to make up with any children at this public school until I know what families they come from. She says I may meet Doris Drexel, because she is our banker’s daughter. My ma—I mean my mother—wanted to send me to a private school, but there ain’t,—I mean there isn’t,—any around here.”
Adele arose. “I am sorry that you feel that way, Susie,” she said kindly. “Our schoolmates are all nice, and I am afraid that you will be lonely alone.”
“Poor girl!” Adele said, as she rejoined her friends.
“Such airs!” Rosamond Wright declared with a toss of her pretty head. “An inn-keeper’s daughter, and she doesn’t want to meet us, whose ancestors have been gentry for hundreds of years.”
“Well,” exclaimed Bertha Angel, “let’s proceed to forget her.” But they were not allowed to forget the new pupil, as you shall hear.
About a week later the Sunny Seven met under the elm-tree early one morning, and Betty Burd held up a pink envelope, as she exclaimed, “Who else had the honor to receive one of these?”
“Honor, do you call it?” Rosamond asked languidly, as she displayed a pink envelope. “I have one, but I shall not accept.”
Adele and Gertrude and Doris also had them, but Bertha and Peggy had none. The pink envelopes contained invitations to a very select party to be given by Susetta Green on the following Saturday.
“I wasn’t select enough, because my father owns a grocery store, I suppose,” Bertha Angel declared.
“And my dad is also a tradesman, and so I am left out,” Peggy Pierce added with twinkling eyes. “But you other girls go, and then you can tell us all about the party.”
“Go!” Doris Drexel exclaimed. “Indeed we will not go! I told Susie Green myself that we seven always went to places together, or we didn’t go at all. Do you suppose for one second, Peggy Pierce, that I would go to a party if you and Bertha were left out?”
And so it happened that Susetta Green received five notes of refusal to her party. She took them to her mother with tears in her eyes, as she said, “I told you, ma, that they wouldn’t none of them come unless you asked them all.”
Mrs. Green bristled indignantly. “Ask the daughters of tradespeople to a select party? Well, I should say not! With all our money, we ought to associate with earls and dukes.”
“But ma,” Susie dolefully replied, “there ain’t any earls and dukes, and I’m so lonely I’d just as soon play with the gardener’s children.”
Her mother looked at her scornfully. “Well,” she said, “it’s mighty queer those girls refused to come to your party. I looked up all their families and they’re the best around, but your pa—that is, your father—has more money than all of them put together. Just you remember that when you go back to school, and hold your head high. What’s more, I intend hiring a girl to be a maid for you, and then, when you’re older, you shall have a French maid.”
That very afternoon Mrs. Melissa Green, with Susetta at her side, drove in their handsome carriage down the country road. There was a coachman and a footman dressed in green livery, with brass buttons, sitting stiffly on the high front seat, and Mrs. Melissa Green, elaborately dressed in purple satin, felt that they must be making a very grand appearance.
“Where are we going, ma?” Susie asked.
“I do wish you wouldn’t say ‘ma’ any more, nor ‘pa,’ neither,” Mrs. Green said irritably. “’Tain’t stylish! Say ‘father’ and ‘mother.’ We’re going to visit the orphan asylum. Folks with money, like us, ought to be doing something for charity. That’s the way to get a start in society, so I’ve heard tell.”
Susetta Green thought that was a queer reason for doing good, but, wisely, she said nothing about it. What she did say, after a few moments of thoughtful silence, was: “Ma—I mean mother—I almost wish that we had never made any money. I’d heaps rather be riding bareback on my cow-pony out west than be sitting here so stiff in this grand carriage.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Green scornfully, “if I had any such common wishes, I’d keep them to myself. Land sakes, don’t let the servants hear you talk that way.”
Soon the elegant equipage stopped in front of the orphanage. The footman sprang to open the carriage-door, and Mrs. Green stepped down, with what she believed to be a queenly air. Susie, looking anything but happy, followed her up the gravelly walk.
Eva and Amanda, standing at the sewing-room window, saw them, and Amanda said, “Some rich woman, I guess, who is coming to offer a home to one of the orphans.”
“Maybe so,” Eva replied, giving the matter little thought, but she was to give it very serious thought before another hour had passed.
When Mrs. Melissa Green, with Susetta at her side, entered the orphanage, the kindly matron, Mrs. Friend, welcomed them pleasantly and led them to her office. The visitor at once began to state her errand, while Susetta watched her and listened with wide, wondering eyes.
“I am Mrs. Cyrus Green of the Restwell estate,” the newcomer began in a condescending manner, which she deemed proper for the very rich to use toward persons who were working for pay. Mrs. Green tried to forget that a very few months before she herself had been serving guests in her husband’s tavern, and she sincerely hoped that no one else knew about it. Unfortunately for her, every one in town did know about it, because simple Mr. Green often mentioned the tavern which he used to keep, and the men liked him all the better for it.
“I am glad to meet you, Mrs. Green,” the matron said pleasantly, not at all impressed by the grand airs. “I had heard that a Western family had purchased the Restwell estate. That fine old house has been closed for so long that we are indeed glad to have it opened again. The former owner, the elderly Mr. Restwell, was greatly loved in the village and gave generously to all of the charities.”
Mrs. Cyrus Green cared nothing about the former owners, the present owner occupying all of her thoughts. “Well,” she said pompously, “I do feel that we people who have great wealth ought to do something for the folks who ’ain’t got it, and that is why I came here this morning. I want to hire one of your older orphans to be a sort of companion for Susetta here. I understand that you hire them out after they’re twelve.”
“No, Mrs. Green,” the matron replied. “We do not permit our girls to work for wages until they are fourteen, but we are glad to find pleasant homes for them at any age,—homes in which they will be kindly treated, and where they will receive greater advantages than we can afford to give them.”
Mrs. Green did not look pleased. “Well,” she replied stiffly, “I wasn’t planning to adopt a common orphan to share equal with my Susetta, but I will take one for a time, if I find one that’s suitable.”
Mrs. Friend arose as she said, “I will call together our older girls, and you may make their acquaintance.”
Stepping into the hall, she rang three times on the gong. In the sewing-room Eva looked up from the hem which she was stitching, and aloud she counted, “One! Two! Three!” Then, rising and folding her work, she said, “Come, Mandy; three bells means that we older girls are to go to the study-hall. I wonder why.”
“It’s just what I told you,” Amanda declared. “That rich woman has come to adopt an orphan. I’m so ugly-looking that I’m sure she won’t choose me, and if she takes you, Eva, I’ll just die of lonesomeness.”
Twelve orphan girls gathered in the study, and together they curtsied to the strangers when the matron introduced them. Then Mrs. Green lifted a lorgnette to her eyes, though she could see perfectly well without glasses, and, walking down the line, she examined each girl as a man might a horse or a dog which he was about to purchase.
Eva blushed as crimson as a poppy while she was being scrutinized, and unconsciously drew herself up proudly and held her head high.
As soon as possible Mrs. Friend dismissed the girls, and the trio returned to the office.
“Well,” said Mrs. Green, “there’s no use settin’ down again. I’ve made my choice. I pick the slender one with yellow hair. She looks rather uncommon. Eva, I think you called her. I don’t want no orphan who had common parents to live with my Susetta.”
Mrs. Friend was about to protest that she could not possibly spare Eva, but just in time she remembered that the orphanage was greatly in need of funds, and she knew that it would not do to offend this rich woman who might contribute largely in the future, and so, with a sad heart, Mrs. Friend said, “Eva Dearman is a very lovely girl and comes of a fine old family. I am sorry indeed to part with her, but I am sure that you will do much to make her happy.”
Making the orphan happy had not been a part of Mrs. Green’s scheme. She merely wanted a maid and companion for Susetta, and so she replied rather coldly, “I guess any girl would consider it an honor to live in an elegant house like ours after this here orphanage. I will send for her to-morrow.” Then the woman was gone, Susetta meekly following her.
Mrs. Friend watched them go with a heavy heart. How she dreaded telling poor Eva! Then suddenly her face brightened. That very afternoon there was to be a meeting of the directors of the orphanage. Perhaps they would decide that Eva need not go after all. At least, she would not tell the little girl whom she so dearly loved, until the matter was definitely settled.
Meanwhile, Eva and Amanda, hand in hand, had wandered over to the woods. “It’s such a lovely day,” Eva declared, “I feel as though I wanted to dance and sing, don’t you, Amanda?”
The other girl shook her head. “No, I don’t!” she said. “I feel just as though some terrible thing was going to happen. It’s that dreadful woman makes me feel that way, I guess.”
Eva laughed gayly. “Well, Mandy,” she replied merrily, “if a dreadful calamity does come, you and I must try to look on the sunny side of it.”
Whether or not the calamity came, you shall soon know.