Helen Grant's Schooldays

The evening service moved her still more deeply. And she went to sleep with the music of four lives floating through her brain:

"Yet in thy dark street shineth
The everlasting Light,
The hopes and fears of all the years,
Are met in thee to-night."

The children's Christmas tree was another pleasure. And when Helen returned there was a box that had been sent across the water with some pretty laces and a fine neck-chain and charm. It seemed to bring Paris much nearer. Her letter, too, was very enjoyable. Mrs. Van Dorn was glad to have her feel at home and study with energy. But she wanted her to go at French just as soon as she possibly could, and pay close attention to it. She, Mrs. Van Dorn, was going to start for Southern France the beginning of the year and would have a restful time after the jaunting about. Helen must write freely of herself and the friends she was making, as well as her progress in every study.

The week was a pleasant one to those who stayed at school. Miss Reid and Miss Bigelow both painted on snow scenes taken at different points. Miss Reid's had a gray sky with one streak of light down in the southwest that gave the somber picture a really beautiful effect; Miss Bigelow's was the sun shining through an opening in some trees and glistening on the frosted snow. Miss Craven kept on with her lessons, though she took several walks with Helen. Westchester put on quite a holiday attire. The Literary Society gave a reading from Dickens' "Christmas Stories," and there was a church tea and sociable, but no persuasion could induce Miss Craven to attend it, though Helen and a number of the girls accompanied Miss Aldred.

Mrs. Aldred was much engrossed looking over reports, and re-arranging classes, designating the girls who were to go at the French table, and making a few changes. For it sometimes seemed as if all the real work began after Christmas.

"There will be a vacancy at your table," she said to Helen, who had been consulting her on some studies. "I wonder if you have any choice as to who fills it?"

"Who is going away?" the girls asked.

"Miss Mays. She should have gone in September, but she begged off," and Mrs. Aldred gave a little smile.

"If the others would have no objection to Miss Craven——" hesitatingly.

"They would have no right to object," gravely.

"But would I have a right to make a selection for the others?" and a flush crept up to her forehead.

"Not a right," in a pleasant tone. "I offer it as a privilege."

"Then I do think Miss Craven would like it. We have been making friends," smiling and yet perplexed a little, desiring not to seem officious.

"I hoped you would choose her, for her own good. Yes, I have been noticing the sort of intimacy, the first preference she has evinced for anyone, though I think you must have kindly made the overtures."

Helen flushed brightly, but did not emphasize her claim.

"I have been much puzzled over the case. My daughter Grace and I have discussed it frequently, and in some ways I have felt very much discouraged. A friend besought me to take her, explaining that she was a simple-hearted country girl, who had had no advantages of education and was extremely anxious to be fitted for her position; that she was afraid she had fallen into the wrong hands, her guardian's wife being a rather pretentious woman of fashion. Miss Craven is a somewhat curious compound of qualities, and on several lines remarkably intelligent, but clearly she does not make the best use of that quality."

Mrs. Aldred had been watching the changes in Helen's face as she talked, wondering if this girl, not yet fifteen, could comprehend. And now she paused as if expecting some comment.

"She is so afraid of nearly everything, everybody," began Helen. "And yet I think it took real courage to try school life——" and she paused, glancing up with some hesitation.

"That was the point that commended her to me. Mrs. Davis was opposed to it and suggested private teachers. Mrs. Howard thought she desired to keep the whole control and supervision of the girl, and I, too, consider it a brave resolve on her part. I was very much interested in Mrs. Howard's account, though I had in my mind the ordinary country girl whose education had been neglected. And when she came I really was puzzled to know where to place her. She could not affiliate with the girls of her age, and it would be too mortifying to be put with those so much younger. So there was nothing but for her to find her own level, to choose or be chosen by some friendly disposed girl. She will make an excellent scholar in time. She is very modest. I could wish she had not quite so much humility. One would never suppose she was an heiress already, having a much larger income than she can spend now, and the certainty of being a rich woman five years hence. But she has a great fear of being tolerated for the money's sake. There are girls who would make it a strong point. So it seems as if in this friendship matter I had to let her quite alone, though I have thought of two or three girls who might take her up if they would. I have learned, however," and she smiled a little, "that you cannot control these matters. Girls' likes and dislikes are largely impulses of the present mood, and a belief in self-knowledge, which they outgrow, fortunately. So I have been much pleased to see you two drift together. Did she tell you her story?"

"Yes—at least she went briefly over it," returned Helen.

"She has not a girl's usual gift of elaboration, and that is a good quality to miss, though years and experience do mend it. It is unfortunate to begin life with the idea that you have had more trials or sorrows or struggles, or even more joys and prosperity than anyone else. Her life has been hard, but she has let it all drop behind her and wants to press on to the next best, to something a great deal better;" and an approving light shone in the elder woman's eyes. "She has a decided gift for music, for certain kinds of literature, poetry especially, though I do not think a casual observer would credit her with that. She has some concise business ideas and works hard at mathematics. Perhaps the shrewdness is one good quality she inherits from her grandfather. She is an excellent reader, and it is fortunate that school training can direct these tastes rather than the gossip and novels of fashionable life. Although I was absolutely discouraged at first, I feel now that after a year or two she will compare favorably with the average girl. Of course we are all fond of the superior girls who do credit to a school, but they are not very lavishly distributed."

"I am glad she is going to do so well," and Helen's face was bright with generous emotions. "Only, she keeps looking at girls of her age, and is rather discouraged because she is so far behind."

"And friendship, contact with other girls, is what she needs. I sometimes think if girls could only understand all they might do for each other in the little things of life, the comfort they might be in some sorrowful moment, the strength in some weak moment, they would hardly hold aloof in their best qualities and give out the trifles that are merely husks. I meant this to be a different kind of talk," and a sweet look pervaded the eyes and crossed the lips, lingering there. "I wanted to thank you for your interest in her. Of all the girls I had considered as a friend to her I had not thought of you, perhaps because you were so much younger. She ought not be much over fourteen either. And I must give you one word of—shall I call it counsel or advice?" studying the eager face. "Do not allow yourself to be laughed out of what I believe will be a good work, and do not get vexed or irritated because you cannot make others see Miss Craven with your eyes. She has given you her confidence, and withheld it from the others. I wish you success in your new undertaking, and I am much pleased with your industry."

"And I am very happy," returned Helen with a glowing face and luminous eyes, as she made a pretty inclination of the head.

Mrs. Aldred fell into musing when she was gone.

"If one knew just what Mrs. Van Dorn meant to do with the girl, whether to educate her for some purpose, or merely to have her fitted for an agreeable companion; but it would seem a positive sin to tie such a mind to an old woman's whims and pleasures. However, here are the two years in which one may work."

On Saturday the whole place was astir with the returning girls, and the merry chatter pervaded every corner and room. There were stories to tell of the "perfectly lovely" time one and another had had, of the gifts and gayeties, and rather wry faces over the changes.

"And I have to go to the French table, and I just know I shall starve," moaned Roxy Mays. "There's Miss Law to keep me company, but she declares she will talk straight ahead right or wrong. And is it possible that you have that wooden head next to your elbow, Helen Grant? I would have protested."

"I am here to obey the rules and usages of the school," answered Helen gravely.

"Are you going to call her grandmother or great-aunt, or mother-in-law?"

"By her rightful name, Miss Craven."

"Well, I wish you joy of her. It almost compensates me for having to ask in French for every mouthful I eat, and inquire if the day is fair, if the door is locked, and if you have found the book of my friend. She will not even venture upon that. And what have you been doing the whole poky week?"

"It hasn't seemed a bit poky. I have practiced scales and fingerings, and gone into the early stages of French," answered Helen gayly.

"Aha! Well, I've just put in all the fun I could. Two very young people's parties, a grand concert, and to a euchre club that was delightful with the most charming partner with whom I established telegraphic communication. And just a lovely flirtation. What do you think? He asked if we might not correspond?"

Helen flushed, remembering her innocent attempt.

"Oh, you needn't look so indignant over it; and I am pretty sure one of my sisters is engaged. Perhaps I won't need to stay at school more than next year."

"I should be glad to stay five years," cried Helen enthusiastically.

Daisy Bell was on the other side of Helen, and she looked rather askance at the newcomer, making the least cool little bow.

"I've really wanted to get back to you," she began when they had gone to their room. "They laughed at me at home, and my brother said there must always be someone for a schoolgirl to adore, and that he thought I would pass the dangerous period safely, but that it had broken out with virulence," and she laughed with light-hearted amusement.

"Did you care as much about me as all that?" and Helen glanced out of tender eyes.

"Amend your tense, or tack present and future to it. I didn't know how much until I left you behind. And you've had a horrid dull time, I know," with charming solicitude in her voice.

"No, it has been rather gay, and the days flew by so rapidly."

"Oh, they always do in vacation. Next week will be as long as any two. I am glad we won't have any change this term, and I do hope we will keep together next year. Helen, I love you, love you!"

She clasped her arms about Helen's neck and kissed her rapturously, and the girl was deeply moved. Miss Mays made a patronizing half-love, you could not tell whether she was in earnest or not. But this clasp was so endearing, so full of fervor, and these kisses seemed to have the first rare sweetness in them that had come into her life. People had liked her she felt. Mrs. Dayton had been really affectionate, but this was different.

"Oh, Daisy!" she sighed from her full heart.

"You haven't positively loved any girl in school, I know. I think you are the kind of girl who doesn't love easily, but after I liked you I was awfully afraid you would go down to Roxy Mays. I ought to confess that I did last term. She is fascinating, but after a while you don't feel altogether sure of her. You are so strong and upright. And I don't want you to love anyone else quite as well; promise me."

"I am not likely to. No one else will want me to, I guess," rather tremulously, as another thought seemed to pierce through to her heart.

"Oh, they will, they will! You're so young, and you have something—I can't tell what it is, but you will find as you grow older people will lean on you and love you, too. I just want you to say—Daisy Bell, I love you the best of anybody I know."

"I can say that easily, but I don't know a great many people," Helen returned gravely.

"And that I shall always love you the best of anybody."

"Oh, Daisy, that is a sort of sacred thing to say. How can anyone tell——"

"I don't mean lovers or husbands, and you haven't any parents or sisters. Just here in the school—you will love me the best because I love you so. That is the highest claim."

"I will love you the best," Helen said almost solemnly.

Then a strange awesome feeling thrilled through Helen, and she wondered if it was right to promise away one's freedom, even in so simple a matter as loving a schoolmate.

"Oh, you dear, dear girl! Go to sleep and dream of me."

CHAPTER XIV

Then there were all the other classes. A conscientious girl was kept pretty busy. Helen was in the sketching class, Daisy was painting and did it well. Miss Craven began also, and evinced a decided genius for it. She was still quiet and reserved. She made no especial demands upon Helen, but the younger girl found many little ways to assure her of an interest. Just a clasp of the hand, a glance of the eye, a smile, and Miss Craven was comforted for hours.

She tried to draw her into general conversation at the table, she said nice things to other girls about her and endeavored to interest them. Oh, if Miss Craven only would come out of her shell and say some of the really bright things she did when they were alone! It was hard work Helen found; a sort of weight at times affected her own spontaneity.

With all the study there was a good deal of fun, sometimes almost fighting when arguments ran high, or when one's favorite writer or poem or story was assailed. Some of the girls insisted that Miss Reid had the most genius for painting, and others were on Miss Bigelow's side. Miss Gertrude Aldred would not be trapped into a decision, though many a plot was laid for her.

Helen thought now and then of Mr. Warfield. She did so want to write to him. She could not, at least she did not say to Mrs. Dayton the many things she felt puzzled over, that even Mrs. Aldred could not have understood, for Mrs. Aldred had never seen her home and knew so little about her past life.

And, oh, the planning that went on, the different pursuits that were discussed, the aims and hopes, yet it is true that most of them turned on marriage. Nearly every girl was confident that this would be her portion.

Daisy Bell owned Helen now. She was her chum, her comrade. They could not always be together, of course, and Daisy was a great favorite with other girls. Indeed, sometimes Helen wondered why she should have chosen her so exclusively when there was a little world of adorers to pick from. She could not have understood in her broad-minded nature that occasionally Daisy longed to make her jealous by a show of fondness for someone else.

Miss Craven would not come to her room unless it was the afternoon of Miss Bell's music lessons. She was one of Mr. Griffin's pupils.

"But I am alone here and you can come to me. I am so glad to be alone. I don't see how I could stand a girl about!" declared Miss Craven. "Unless," smiling a little, which she did quite often now, to Helen, "unless it was you."

"And I am not the most charming girl in the school," Helen replied in her eager, wholehearted fashion. "If you only would let yourself be friendly with them."

"I'm satisfied with you and Miss Aldred. I like her very much, and most, I think, because she is beyond twenty. You see I am not young, and that makes the difference."

"Miss Reid will be nineteen in June, about the time she graduates, and several of the girls are nearly eighteen or over."

"But they will have finished their education. I have only just begun mine," protestingly.

"Then there will be the more years to study," with a bright joyous emphasis. "It's like a climb up a mountain, perhaps the Alps or the Andes, when you have to come back and try over the next day, and a good many days, only it grows easier all the time."

"Do you know what I heard one of the girls call me?" and Miss Craven flushed so deep a red it was almost brown.

Helen flushed, too, but she asked nonchalantly, "What?"

"An old maid! And she said she didn't know what I wanted to come to school for. I would never know enough to teach. Do you suppose she would dare call Miss Aldred an old maid?"

"Oh, the girls do call each other that, and they don't mean anything," said Helen lightly.

"They were talking about me, not to me. It doesn't make me a day older, I know, but it keeps me from being friendly and at home, don't you see? My way is paid as well as theirs—it costs me more, for I have private lessons. I have as good right to the school as anybody, whether I want to teach or not."

Helen looked at her in amazement. She had never seen so much spirit in her face. If she could be roused, not by anger merely, but some potent power. Happiness and love might do it.

"Oh, now I have offended you——"

"No, you have not offended me at all. You looked so spirited that I could not help admiring you. It is a very mean thing for girls to make ill-natured comments on each other. I wish they did not. I do not see why they cannot pick out the nice things instead and say them over."

Helen had made several protests about this matter. She corrected the subject of Miss Craven's age with spirit.

"You will never make me believe that," Miss Mays had exclaimed with unnecessary vigor.

"Mrs. Aldred has the register, ask her."

"Oh, Miss Craven may have said that was her age. And who knows anything about her? She keeps to herself as if there was something not quite——" ending with a disagreeable emphasis.

"Girls," began another, "we all know if there was anything wrong or discreditable she would not be here. I do not call her an attractive girl, but if we do not like her we can let her alone. She lets us alone. We can't say she has forced herself in our society."

"A vote of thanks from one for speaking up for her," said Helen gayly. "And, of course, Mrs. Aldred knows."

"And Miss Grant, the baby of the school, has been taken into confidence. Pray do enlighten us. Did she come from India or the Fiji Islands, where education is sadly neglected?"

"For all information on the subject, I refer you to Mrs. Aldred."

Helen was angry, but she kept her temper. The ridiculous side of it all occurred to her, and another thought—What if Uncle Jason should come striding into the hall when half the girls were standing around? What would they say about her? How could girls be so mean and ungenerous?

This had happened some days before the talk. And now, after a moment or two of silence, Helen said to Miss Craven, "There is a verse in Proverbs, I think I heard it read in church one Sunday, 'He that would have friends must show himself friendly.'"

"I don't want any friend but you."

There was a great tremble in Miss Craven's voice and she began to cry.

"And you will not let me advise you about the little things that make so much difference with girls."

How did she know? Helen flushed at her own assumption, and yet she did understand. She pitied Juliet Craven profoundly, too.

"Oh, don't cry. Can't I comfort you with some word? See here, I really love you. You are so brave, so persevering, you have had such a hard, lonely life, and I would like to make it brighter."

"Oh, Helen! Oh, Miss Grant."

"No; keep to the Helen," the younger girl interrupted.

"To have you love me! But I might have known so much care and kindness could only spring from love. Oh, I think I shall not mind the other girls now. I've been longing so for real love. Are you quite sure? It seems too good when I have been making myself content with a simple liking."

She pressed Helen's hands to her hot cheeks, wet with tears. Helen kissed her on the forehead, but the elder drew her face down and returned the kiss many times.

"The dinner bell will ring in a few moments," Helen declared presently, "and we must both make ourselves fit to be seen, not of men, but between thirty and forty feminines. I wish your gowns were not quite so grave, but spring is on the way and we will take to light raiment and look like a flock of birds. Good-by for five minutes," and she flashed away.

Daisy had a blue ribbon tied in her hair and a pretty chiffon neckgear, and was really an attractive girl.

"Why didn't you stay all night with that woman of grays and browns and general dismalness, and lose your dinner! There, you have almost. If she had any beauty or charm about her I should be jealous, for you belong to me, you know."

Helen slipped into a light shirtwaist and was ready in a trice. Miss Craven did not come down. When the maid went to inquire, she said she had a headache, and wanted only a cup of tea.

There was the bit of social life, the study period, and Helen seemed so discomposed that she used up every moment of it until they were dismissed. Daisy put her arm about Helen, another girl took the other side, and three or four of them came into the room.

How they stayed! Helen summoned courage presently.

"Excuse me a moment," and she flashed out of the room, tapping at Miss Craven's door.

It was open just an inch or two.

"I came to ask about your headache and say good-night," in a low tone.

"Oh, you dear, sweet friend! It did ache, but I think it was a kind of joy throbbing. I didn't want any dinner though. I just laid here and thought—happy thoughts."

The half-past nine bell pealed and everyone ran to her own room. Daisy stood in the middle of the floor upbraidingly, if one's attitude can express so much.

"I believe that girl has cast an evil eye on you," she began when Helen kept silence, busying herself with preparations. "There are evil charms as well as delightful ones, and spells that wile away love. And you have promised not to love anyone but me."

"Have I?" Helen's voice was unsteady.

"Yes, you have, and you think promises ought to be kept faithfully. You must keep yours. I said I wouldn't love any other girl, and I haven't. I've seen her look at you with a strange light in her eyes, and they are horrid eyes——"

"Don't let us talk about Miss Craven, but read our verses and say our prayers," and now Helen's voice had decision enough in it.

"You are changing every day, I can see it," complained Daisy.

"Then let us pray that I may get back to the point," with grave peremptoriness.

Daisy was a little awed at this solemn way of taking it up, and acquiesced.

Helen lay and wondered at herself. Had she made Daisy such a sweeping promise? And how easy it had been to say those few words to Miss Craven. What joy it had given her. She did not love Daisy Bell any less—how many people could you love? Must one true affection shut out the others?

She did really love Daisy Bell. She had a rather petite figure and face; the face fair and full of soft curves changing with every emotion, and a rose tint that came and went, that seemed playing hide and seek with two seductive dimples, one in her chin, the other in her cheek. Her hair was a light brown that had a tint of gold, and her eyes were a soft dark brown that could look at you with the utmost pathos or deepen with fun and fire, and her rose-red lips had a dewy, tremulous fashion of shaping themselves to any mood.

Another charm for Helen was her love of order and neatness, without being at all fussy, her wonderful blending of colors, the little touches that gave an air to the plainest surroundings. Then she was generally helpful. Helen had been indebted to her for many small aids along the difficult paths of learning that were quite unknown in Hope Center.

Daisy had made the first advances. She was more experienced in school ways, older, richer, and a favorite with the class. Helen felt honored by her preference. If she had been less lovable it might have savored of patronage and that Helen would have declined. It sometimes seemed as if she was the stronger, the leading spirit, as in some respects Daisy yielded unhesitatingly to her.

It was Helen's first girl friendship, and it possessed something of the marvel to her that Mrs. Dayton's kindliness had, since neither were in anywise compelled to take her up. But why had she ever promised to love Daisy only?

And did she really love Juliet Craven? This night was the first time Miss Craven had ever used her Christian name. She would hardly dream of being intimate with any of the young ladies in the senior class, though several of them were very cordial and she had been asked to sing for them and with them. Helen made a funny distinction about this, it was due to her voice and not her personality. She was too wholesome to feel aggrieved about such a thing and she had very little vanity. Being brought up by Aunt Jane would have taken the vanity out of any girl.

But there did not seem so much difference between her age and Miss Craven's as the years confessed. Helen knew a great deal more about the real world. She was likely to make a good logician. Her short experience at Mrs. Dayton's had given her the key to the larger world. Those women with their different qualities were reproduced here in the school, here in Westchester, and were no doubt repeated elsewhere. But Miss Craven knew nothing and was afraid to judge, to have decided opinions, to compare one with another. Her solitary life had taken her into the very heart of nature, of a certain kind of dreaming, and longing for knowledge, but that was widely different from the every day knowledge of general living. Helen had not been lonely, her mind was too active, and there had always been people about her. She wanted her knowledge to enable her to go out in the world and conquer it; girls of fourteen and older do have such dreams. Miss Craven wanted hers largely for herself alone.

Helen had pitied her, been very sympathetic, assisted her over rough places, and really advised. Was not this some of the work preached about on Sunday in the churches, helping the weaker brethren? She had hardly thought of religion up to this period of her life as having any duties in a practical sense, but Mrs. Aldred gave the school that tone, and Miss Grace was interested in the broader Christian life, not merely church-going.

So Miss Craven, curiously enough, had looked like a duty to Helen. She and Daisy did their brief reading every night, but since Christmas so many verses had pointed to the weaker brother. The stronger, wiser girls in school did not want anything of her, at least she thought she had nothing to give them, since they did not ask, and the word was "everyone that asketh." Miss Craven had asked by a glance of the eye, a pressure of the hand, a quiver of the wordless lips that hesitated to frame the desire into speech. Yes, she did love her if charity and kindliness were love, and—oh, there was something deeper, wider, higher.

She had not settled the question when she fell asleep, rather late for her and so she did not wake until Daisy touched her. Daisy Bell had half a mind to let her oversleep and lose a mark, then she really did love her too well.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Helen ruefully. "And I wanted to finish my Latin translation this morning."

There could be no thought of anything but hurrying downstairs. Miss Craven was in her place and glanced up with a certain eagerness in her eyes. All through breakfast time Daisy made herself uncomfortable, watching.

"So you have a rival in your sweetheart's affections," Miss Mays whispered mischievously, linking her arm in that of Daisy's as they sauntered through the hall. "The glances are something wonderful, beseeching. If the eyes hadn't that dull, leady look they might prove dangerous in years to come, but I doubt if young men will be drawn near enough to experience their fascination. But she gains a little every day, and you will soon lose your Helen of Troy."

"Helen of Troy is a free agent. She can make friends wherever she will," was the rather curt answer.

"But 'life is thorny and love is vain,'" quoted Roxy. "I do wonder at Helen Grant's taste."

There were lessons and exercises and Helen found her mind wandering, having to bring it back by sharp turns. Daisy was very distant. "Oh, how foolish girls can be!" Helen thought.

When they went in to luncheon a surprise greeted most of the girls. Helen Grant saw the vacant seat beside her. One of the girls opposite touched elbows with the other and both glanced at the end of the room.

Helen let her eyes wander down leisurely. Next to Mrs. Aldred sat a stranger, next to her Miss Craven, more timid than ever.

The stranger was elegant and airy. Her cloth gown was of the newest shade of green, the small bolero covered with iridescent embroidery, the satin bosom a few shades lighter, sown here and there with beads in colors that sparkled like gems. A very pretty, stylish-looking woman of five and thirty perhaps. She wore two magnificent diamond rings and a small star at her throat. The most critical taste could not pronounce her loud.

Helen thought rapidly. Was that Mrs. Howard? She felt rather disappointed.

Everybody went on with the luncheon and when it was through, Mrs. Aldred, the guest, and Miss Bigelow retired to the drawing room. What did it all mean? They heard presently. The lady was Mrs. Davis, the wife of Miss Craven's guardian. Just as Morris had answered the door, Miss Bigelow crossed the hall and recognized a lady she had seen a good deal of in the summer.

"Why this is delightful to meet a familiar face," declared the stranger. "Is this where you are at school? We have a protégée here, at least Mr. Davis is guardian and trustee of a young woman and no end of money, Miss Craven, do you know her?"

Morris was trying to usher the guest into the reception room.

"Yes, she is here," and Miss Bigelow did the honors; begged Mrs. Davis to be seated. Morris came back with the word that Mrs. Aldred would be at liberty in a few moments.

"Do tell me what kind of a school it is? The girl's grandfather died; he was a queer old fellow, and the business was in a sort of muddle, but, as I said, there is no end of money. I wanted her to go to a convent; I was good enough to take her in and see what could be done in the way of polishing, for you see she must go in society. She didn't take kindly to the Roman Catholic aspect, but you know they never interfere with anyone's religion. I had a friend come to stay with me while I was giving a house party, a Mrs. Howard, who took a fancy to her; she had scarcely been out of the woods, though I found she had come of a very good family—Revolutionary people and a great-uncle, a judge in Maryland, and several men of note. The Baltimore relatives are among some of the best in society. If there had been no family back of her I really couldn't have undertaken her. Mrs. Howard knew of this school; I think she had a niece educated here. So she wrote, and the matter somehow settled itself. I was engaged for Lenox, and two or three house parties, and Washington, Charleston, and Florida. I do seem to keep on the go most of the time. And this is really the first opportunity I have had to look after her, though I knew I could trust Mrs. Howard."

"Miss Craven is in excellent hands here. Of course I am among the Seniors and graduate in June, and am very busy, so I see but little of the Juniors."

"Why, it is quite college-like." Mrs. Davis had taken in a fresh supply of breath. Her voice was soft and well trained, though she rather swept along as she talked.

"Girls are prepared for college, or for any position in life," Miss Bigelow replied with a smile.

"That is what Mrs. Howard said. I can't understand how the grandfather could become such a queer old hermit when the family was an excellent one. It might have been the loss of his son, this girl's father. Mr. Davis thinks he was a man of education and shrewd about business. He had to go over all the papers, you know, and there were marriage certificates, his parents and his own, and various family affairs. I was glad for her sake that everything was right. A family stigma always keeps cropping up."

Mrs. Aldred entered at this juncture, and Miss Bigelow left the two ladies to their conference. Mrs. Davis went over the ground again, more at length, and stated her wishes definitely. She wanted Miss Craven trained to make a good impression on society, accomplished if she could be.

"She has a great talent for music and will make a fine player. It is a pity she could not have begun her general education sooner," replied Mrs. Aldred. "It will take time to reach any standard."

"Oh, a thousand pities. But it doesn't seem really necessary for her to go into the abstruse subjects, for every year counts. It is an excellent thing that girls do not marry as young as they used to. I was married before I was quite eighteen, but I had been three years at a first-class boarding school. She will be twenty in the summer. She certainly can finish in another year?" tentatively.

"She can do a good deal, but hardly that. This year it will be principally ground-work. She has had private lessons, and she does love study, is eager to learn. Next year she will go into regular classes and get accustomed to girls. She is painfully shy."

"I hope you can give her some style. After all, money does make amends for a great deal, and I have known some really ignorant girls to marry well, but now everyone who makes a bow to society is expected to have some training, and get the air of nouveaux riches rubbed off. That is detestable."

"I do not think that will be one of her faults;" and Mrs. Aldred smiled a little, wondering how long it had been since Mrs. Davis had cast comparative poverty behind her.

"French and all that she can pick up abroad. I should like her to know some Italian songs. I wish I could take her next year. You hardly consider it possible?"

"Oh, no. I should certainly wait. She has improved. I will send for her. And as it will soon be luncheon time may I not have the pleasure of making you a guest? You will see our school in every-day trim, and meet some of our teachers. We have also a day school for larger girls."

Mrs. Davis accepted graciously. Miss Craven was summoned, and entered with self-possession.

The girl had been very happy all the morning. The consciousness that someone loved her, albeit a girl so much younger, had been like red wine to her blood, and kept her pulses throbbing, given her eyes a subtle glow. The bluish tint should never have been in such eyes, golden or the translucent green that sometimes sets hazel eyes ashine would have made a great change in her face. But they had lightened up curiously, and her cheeks rounded out, her complexion cleared up since she was no longer exposed to sun and wind, and had a more hygienic training. She had tied a pink ribbon around her neck. Helen Grant liked it so much.

Altogether, she looked improved from last summer. And she certainly had learned to smile. Her teeth were white, even, and pretty.

She was very much surprised, and could not dismiss her distrust of Mrs. Davis at once. Indeed, what reason had she for distrusting her? Mrs. Aldred led the conversation until the girl's first embarrassment was over, and then gracefully withdrew to plan for a change at the table.

Soon after luncheon Mrs. Davis took her leave, quite convinced that Mrs. Aldred would do as well for her husband's ward as anyone. She would have liked the prestige of the convent better.

By dinner time most of the girls knew that Miss Juliet Craven was really an heiress, and that her guardian was the great banker and lawyer as well, and who was occasionally called upon to disentangle some very intricate points, Mr. James Elliot Davis.

CHAPTER XV

"And then I came back to you with a heart full of love, and she had crept in. Why didn't you tell me——"

Daisy's voice trembled and she loosened one hand to wipe her eyes. Helen was much moved.

"There really was nothing to tell. We had made no vows, exchanged no promises, broken no rings," with a scornful little laugh. "I set her straight on two or three points, I scolded her a little, yes, I just did, and I wanted her to mix with, and be more like other girls. I don't believe you, with joyous homes and brothers and sisters, can understand the lonely life she has led."

"As you can," with a touch of girlish sarcasm.

"Yes, as I can. I have a kindly uncle and aunt, who have cared for me since father died, and a lot of cousins growing up into commonplace men and women. There are dozens of tender ties, but no real sympathy with my desires. Aunt thought I knew quite enough, and so I would for some lives. The longing and desire for other things, better things, helps me to understand her. But it was only a week or ten days ago—some strictures of the girls made her very unhappy——"

"She shouldn't have listened. The old adage is a good one," with a scornful laugh.

"She could not help it. I think some of the girls have not treated her kindly, they have even been rude. And it was mean to try to set her age so much farther on, and to call her an old maid."

"She doesn't look young."

"She will have a guardian for almost two years longer. I suppose in law you have to give your exact age. Some of the people I love best are very far from young."

"I suppose you love a great many!" with an emphasis as bitter as her tender voice could make. She could put anger in it, but bitterness never could be part and parcel of it.

"I love a few. I am not very rich in friends. But I know I am capable of loving a good many people for different qualities."

Helen stood up very straight. She was growing tall rapidly. There was firmness and character in every line of her face, and in her tone as well.

"I don't care for the thousandth part of anyone's love. And you said you would love me the best of anybody——"

"And so I did and do when you are not"—foolish, she was going to say, but she paused. "Oh, Daisy, can't you see it is the individuality, the qualities in a person that you love. And no two are alike. You are very dear and sweet. But I dare say you loved girls last year when I was not here, and when I am gone you will love someone else. I don't ask you to love me best of all, for there are, no doubt, more charming girls and Miss Craven did not demand that of me. It was because she seemed so glad of a little crumb, and I knew no one loved her——"

Helen's voice had a break in it. She went on taking down her hair, putting away her necktie and handkerchief, then hung her skirt in the wardrobe. Would she ask Daisy to read with her? "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." But she wasn't even angry, only indignant at what looked to her like injustice.

"Daisy," she began presently, "if someone told you a story, incidents out of her life that you knew were given in a burst of confidence, under the impression that you would not repeat it, should you feel duty bound to rehearse it to your friend. I did not promise, but I felt it was her business. Mrs. Aldred knew it; Miss Grace, too, I dare say, but they did not explain it to the school."

"It was nothing disgraceful. And the girls surmised—why, I think it would have been better explained," and Daisy roused up a little.

"What right had any girl to surmise? It was admitted that Mrs. Aldred would not have taken in anyone with dishonorable antecedents. And if my father had been a criminal of any sort, could I have helped it? But Mrs. Aldred knew there was nothing except a neglected girlhood which she has been trying in the kindliest manner to remedy. When a girl surmised anything, she was willing to give color to what she did not know was true. It seems to me that is very near a falsehood."

Daisy had heard more sneers than Helen. Her face burned with a pained consciousness. She really felt ashamed that she should have half believed the positive untruths. Gossip and ill-nature without any foundation—how despicable it looked. How could they have been amused over it?

"I don't see why she shouldn't have been willing to let us all know she was so rich," Daisy said in a sort of extenuation for the girls.

"I think it was because she wanted to do her hardest work unnoticed, for one thing, and she doesn't seem at all proud of the money though it is honorably obtained. She is very timid because she realizes her own deficiencies. I can't help feeling things would have been better with her if that Mrs. Howard had been her guardian's wife. Think, she's nineteen years old and no one has ever given her a bit of love, until——"

The great clock in the hall rolled out ten in its ponderous tones.

"Oh, good gracious!" Daisy jumped lightly from her bed. Helen put out the light and went on with her undressing. There could be no reading. She did not say a word, but knelt down presently.

It was hard to know just what was right and best. She had a feeling that she ought to go over to Daisy, since she had given the offense—it was not an offense on her part—but she could say, "I am sorry we quarreled when we meant to be such dear friends." She repeated "Our Father, who art in heaven," and then she remembered the man who prayed for wisdom, and who chose wisdom.

Two soft arms were around her neck and a tear-wet cheek was pressed against hers.

"I've been a horrid, miserable, selfish little wretch! I do wonder if you can ever love me any more? But I want you too, even if you must love her some. I'm sorry——"

Helen kissed her a dozen times. "You little darling, I love you a hundred times better than before, if such a thing were possible. And I'm glad not to have any break. Run to bed, little midget, or we shall have to confess to talking out of time."

Then they said good-night again, and so the first difference was made up, but Daisy's jealous heart was not quite comforted.

There was a difference in the demeanor of most of the girls toward Miss Craven, though few would have admitted the money had anything to do with it. Miss Bigelow simply repeated Mrs. Davis's remark, that the girl would be very rich. No one could say that she was loud or presuming, or that her retiring manner was an evidence of pride. She went her way as quietly as before. She acknowledged all the little politenesses in a shy sort of way, but she was hard to get on with. She would only talk in monosyllables, except to Helen Grant.

"She has the key to unlock her tongue," Miss Mays said. "Helen is the sort of girl who will always be looking for fresh fields and pastures new. I like her immensely, but I couldn't help feeling as if I was only one of the many to her."

Such little speeches with the utmost apparent good nature fell heavily on Daisy Bell's heart.

There were many things to attend to beside school-girl differences, which were always happening among pupils. Easter was late, and then every day counted to those who expected promotion as well as the graduates.

Still there were some splendid rambles over on the other side of the river, some rowing parties, delightful lessons in out-of-door botany, and, oh, the plans for summer! There would be eight graduates among the boarders, seven from the day scholars. Miss Reid was going abroad for a year at painting, Miss Downs to study music at Leipsic, Miss Bigelow to enter an art school in New York, three to go to college, one to be married. Most of the Senior B would step into the A division, and every class would be pushed up.

Helen could have gone in the higher division at Easter. She had studied not only with a will, but an eager interest in so many things that she wondered how girls could dawdle along. Still, if they had no aim, if it was merely to get through these intervening years, looking forward to pleasure, society, and marriage, perhaps it might be sufficient. Her future was rather doubtful, even to herself. There were suggestions about the more weighty studies from Mrs. Van Dorn, as if Helen would hardly need them. But she did it because she liked them. She wanted to go to the foundation, to know on just what her structure stood, there was nothing negative about her. One day Miss Grace said:

"Miss Grant, you would make a most excellent teacher. You are so direct and so simple, you waste no time, and you evince so much interest in the branches you like. I see your influence on two pupils, Miss Bell, who is a sweet, bright girl, but not in love with study, and mother and I feel really indebted to you for your interest in Miss Craven. When she can once venture out of her shell with the consciousness that she is not so different from the others, the Rubicon will be passed. I do believe she will do it. I am counting a good deal on next year."

"I am glad if I help ever so little," returned Helen with shining eyes, as a soft color transfused her fair face. "And since one and another has been very good to me, I ought to pass the kindness on to someone else."

"'Freely ye have received, freely give.' I am glad that purpose has taken root. There are so many things we can give that only cost us a little trouble, and do more good than the bestowal of money. It is one of the greatest lessons of life."

Miss Aldred smiled upon her pupil, and a warm glow sped through Helen's frame.

"Then I have my mind quite set upon teaching some day. Perhaps I take that from my father, who was a teacher. I saw so little of him, but this year I've wondered a good deal what he really was like, and if we should not have been splendid friends on these lines. I believe he was disappointed about my not being a boy, and it's funny"—with a bright merry laugh. "I've never wanted to be a boy at all. I think girls are nicer."

"The loveliest being to me is a fine, broad, sweet-minded, cultured woman, and I am very glad she is beginning to be thought of as the ideal woman. You have many years before you reach real womanhood, which comes later and is richer than it was twenty years ago. But you are taking some excellent steps along the way."

"Oh, thank you for the praise," said Helen pressing her hand.

If the steps were not in Latin and French she could go bounding along, she thought. In that respect she did not inherit her father's facility nor his love for the abstruse and difficult.

"I suppose I am superficial," she said to herself ruefully. "But why shouldn't one delight in the things one loves best?"

That was one charm about Miss Craven to her. She reveled in poetry. The other girls were full of nonsense chatter in the spare half hours, but they two often slipped away under some tree and read and discussed. There was a fund of romance in each one, though temperament and surroundings had been so different, the one so afraid to express her inmost thought, the other so fearless, not even minding being laughed at.

Every day seemed more crowded with all things.

"I'm glad I don't have to think about a graduation gown, or any gown," laughed Helen. "My clothes come ready-made, and all I have to do is to put them on."

"But wouldn't you like to choose sometimes?" asked one of the girls. "I shall choose my graduation gown and my wedding gown."

"Oh, no you won't. Graduation gowns have to be pretty much alike, and wedding gowns must be in the prevailing fashion. In fact, I think there is very little you do choose in this life. There's someone just in front always who lays down the law, and though you may think you will get your own way you find oftener it is the way of someone else."

"If I had my way I wouldn't come back to school."

"If I had my way I would come back to school ten years," exclaimed Helen.

"You are enough to tire anyone to death with your everlasting study plans. Thank heaven for vacation, say I."

There were some plans, indeed a great deal of planning about that. Each girl had a different desire.

Helen had written her monthly letter regularly. Sometimes she had nice chatty replies from Mrs. Van Dorn; at others, Miss Gage had written. They had been spending a month at Paris, now they were going to London, and then to some country houses. And early in June came a letter disposing of Helen's summer. She would return to Hope and spend the time between Mrs. Dayton and her uncle. "We do not know what may happen another year," she wrote; "and you are too young to be going about anywhere else."

Of course that was what she had expected to do, would be glad to do. She did want to see all her old friends again. Uncle Jason's letters had been rather queer and formal, Jenny had written twice all about herself and Joe.

Daisy came in bright and smiling. She, too, had a letter.

"I've been telling mamma such lots about you, and I asked her to let me invite you to spend a fortnight with me, and here it is. Just listen."

A very delightful invitation to be sure. Helen's heart beat high for a moment.

"Well—are you struck speechless?" a gay light dancing in her eyes.

"You are very good, just lovely, but I do not know as I can accept, I am to go home——"

"Only two weeks out of nine! Surely you can spare that!"

Helen considered. "I will consult Mrs. Aldred before I decide," with gentle gravity.

"I really do not see what she has to do with it. Your aunt and uncle would be the ones to decide. Don't you want to do it—to see what sort of a home I have? It would be just a splendid time. Mamma is half in love with you. I am almost jealous again."

"Oh, I can't think of anything more delightful," Helen cried eagerly, and Daisy did not need to doubt the pleasure illumining her face. "But Mrs. Van Dorn has planned——"

"Oh, write to her and tell her how much you want to come," beseechingly.

"There would hardly be time."

"It would be nicer to take you home with me, but you could come afterward."

"Why yes. However, I will see what Mrs. Aldred thinks."

"Oh, go at once. I want to write back," exclaimed Daisy impatiently.

Mrs. Aldred looked up from the pile of reports on her table, and said in a pleasantly inquiring tone, "Well?" then listened, but there was a tint of perplexity in her face.

"I had a note from Mrs. Van Dorn by the last steamer also. She seems very well satisfied with your progress, only she is rather exigent about the French, and I wish you would do all you can at it during vacation. But she is very explicit about the summer. I think she prefers that you should spend it in Hope."

She had been rather more than explicit, and said she did not approve of such young girls visiting about. Mr. Castles would send a trusty person for Helen and see her safely on the train for Hope.

"Do you not think I might write to her about it for a visit later on?"

"Yes, you could. But Mrs. Van Dorn is certain of her own wishes in any matter, and generally has good reasons. I do not imagine a visit like this would do you any harm, but you are young, and I do suppose you owe your own people some respect. I think I should accept the fiat."

Helen felt bitterly disappointed. She did not dream her girlish enthusiasm about Daisy Bell had been one of the factors in this command, as it really was, that Mrs. Van Dorn did not want any girl to gain a strong influence over Helen, but she need not have felt suspicious, as the influence was all the other way.

It had come like a sudden vision, and now it was quenched in bitter regret, with the unappeased want back of it.

"I do object to indiscriminate visiting for such young girls. If Mrs. Van Dorn were here and could see just the kind of girl Miss Daisy is, it would be different, but I suppose, if she thought at all, it was about the generality of girls, who sometimes are quite lawless in their own homes. Since you have accepted her direction for the next two years, it is best to do it cheerfully," advised Mrs. Aldred.

"Yes, I do owe her that much," returned Helen in a convinced tone, if the disappointment had not all gone out of it.

Then Daisy and she had an unpleasant disagreement about it, and Helen felt sorrier than ever.

Juliet Craven's happening was a comforting one for her. Mrs. Davis had gone abroad with a clear conscience. Her friend, Mrs. Howard, was to look after the ward who was neither woman or child.

Then came the rush of examinations, the excitement to know who had passed, and what the marks were, and the graduation exercises which began at three in the afternoon and were to end with a lawn party in the moonlight.

Some of the pupils were secretly mortified at not attaining a higher rate, a few really did not care, and they were not sufficiently above the ordinary to make a mark anywhere. Some others were a credit to the training and culture of Aldred House, and went their way with a grateful remembrance of their teacher friend and her admirable daughter.

Helen had a part in the singing, there was some excellent playing, recitations, and essays. The house was crowded, it was one of the summer events at Westchester. There were congratulations and good wishes, and an evening of unbounded delight, as many of the young people were invited, and for this evening the youthful masculines, among them a number of law students, were welcomed.

Was it only a year ago Helen Grant had recited Hervé Riel in the old schoolhouse at Hope Center? Oh, how many things had happened since then. Why, it was like a fairy story. She could hardly believe it herself.

She recited it again out on a corner of the lawn, and before she was half through her audience had doubled, and listened with flattering attention. The young son of Mr. Danforth, just home from college, was standing near.

"That's enough to inspire one," he said. "I shall take one line back with me and recall the very ring of your voice:

"Sirs, believe me, there's a way.'"

Helen flushed with pleasure. She had not given up her old hero, though there had been new candidates for her favor.

Then followed the partings the next morning. Some would be for life perhaps. Every graduate counted on coming back to Aldred House some day, but there were many chances and changes and more than one was never to see it again, only hold its happy times in remembrance.

"I am glad we are to keep together next year," exclaimed Daisy Bell. "And I do think I shall be a better student. The year following we shall graduate together. And all the rest of our lives I hope we shall be friends, even if we do have tiffs now and then."

Juliet Craven asked rather timidly if she might write to Helen.

"Oh, I should be disappointed if you did not. I count on it as one of my pleasures," Helen returned warmly. There were other promises, several of them not kept. And by twos and threes the group dwindled until at dinner all the remainder were invited to the table of state as guests.

The next morning a thin, rather somber-looking man came with a note from Mr. Castles. Helen's eyes were swimming in tears as she said good-by to Mrs. Aldred and Miss Grace.

It was an uneventful journey until they reached New York. They stopped at Mr. Castles' office, and he questioned Helen about her past year, took her out to lunch, and then put her aboard her own train with several papers and a magazine, and wished her a pleasant journey.

And pleasant it was, though she had a seat to herself. She could not read, hardly look at the tempting array of pictures, there were so many thoughts crowding in and through her mind. She had been very happy. Schooldays were delightful. She wanted years and years of them.

Some ten miles before they reached Hope the passengers had to leave the main line. She made her change without any difficulty, and saw that her trunk was safely bestowed. Then on and on past farms and a few straggling villages, when the train began to slow up and the conductor called out—"North Hope."

Half bewildered, as if it were a strange place, she felt the conductor take her arm. Then someone else grasped it, a rather tall figure with a familiar face, and a delighted voice at his side exclaimed:

"Why, Helen Grant! You have grown almost out of recollection!"

"Oh, Mrs. Dayton! Oh, Mr. Warfield!"

That was all she could say at first. Mr. Warfield looked after her trunk; Mrs. Dayton surveyed her from head to foot.

"You'll have to go in long dresses," she began in an amused tone.

"Oh, I don't want to grow up, Mrs. Dayton. I don't want to be a young lady. Girls have such a good time, and in my heart and all over me I am just a girl," she exclaimed vehemently.

"I am glad of that, too. Joanna wondered if you had forgotten how to dry glass and china, and would be clear spoiled at boarding school. You haven't changed a bit in looks, and your face isn't a day older, but you are almost as tall as I. Just now I haven't but two or three boarders, and I want all of you that I can have for the pure pleasure of the thing."

Mr. Warfield soon joined them. Here was the library in which she had taken such pleasure, the street with the stores, the window in which she had seen her Madonna, and now she knew so much about the old ones and their painters. A turn in this quiet street and here they were. She would not have been startled to see Mrs. Van Dorn on the porch. There were an old lady and an old gentleman, both silver-haired and placid, she in an almost quakerish garb, but looking very sweet.

"You are tired and dusty, I know, and want a bit of freshening up. Mr. Warfield is going to stay to dinner, and then you can have your talk. His school just closed yesterday, and he goes away to-morrow. We have almost quarreled about you; he hates girls' boarding schools and was sure you would come back a niminy, priminy Miss with high heels and trains and all that," laughing gayly.

"He doesn't know anything about Aldred House," Helen replied, amused.

"Here, you are to have a room to yourself, though I expect to-morrow Uncle Jason will whisk you off. That old couple downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. White, have Mrs. Van Dorn's room. And she's careering around Europe like any young thing! She does surprise me. Now when you are ready come down, for we are just dying to inspect you and see how much you have changed."

Helen recalled the fact that a year ago she thought this the most beautiful place imaginable. There was the tall, slim rowan-tree, full of green berries that would hang out beads of red flame in the autumn, the tamarack with its sprays of delicate leaves, the big, burly, black walnut on the corner, the wild clematis and Virginia creeper, the prim flower-beds.

"There will be plenty of time to look at them through the summer," she thought, so she bathed her face, brushed her hair, shook out the pretty plissé shirtwaist she had in her satchel, tied a blue ribbon round her neck and looked as fresh as a just opened flower.