Читать книгу Adele Doring at Boarding School - Grace May North - Страница 9

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Three days after the departure of Carol Lorens for Linden, Adele Doring received a letter bearing that postmark.

“O goodie!” she cried, in little-girl fashion. “Thank you, Mr. Drakely. I have been ever so eager to receive this letter.”

The postman smiled down at her and was surprised to see her thrust the envelope, unopened, into the pocket of her rose-colored sweater coat.

“Why, Adele, aren’t you going to read it?” the mail-carrier, who had known her from babyhood, asked. “I thought you were so anxious to get it.”

“I suppose it does look queer,” Adele laughingly replied, “but I’m on my way to school, you see, and I don’t want to read it until we girls are all together. It’s for them as much as it is for me.”

Then away she skipped, and, as usual, she found the Sunny Six waiting for her under the elm-tree.

“It’s come!” she cried, joyfully waving the letter over her head.

“Oh, good! Is it a letter from Carol Lorens?” Betty Burd inquired.

“I’m glad that we are all early,” Doris Drexel declared. “Let’s sit down on the bench while Adele reads it to us.”

The envelope was torn open and Adele began:

“Dear Sunnysiders: I am having the most wonderful experiences one right after another, and how I do wish that you were here to share them with me. I’m going to keep a-wishing and A-WISHING until you do come; so you might as well begin to pack your satchels.

“This is the most beautiful old house, with wings added for dormitories when it became a school. There is a glorious view from every window, but I am not going to tell you about that. I am so very sure that you will all see it with your own eyes some day soon.

“Well, to begin at the beginning, when we arrived, Evelyn took me to the office of the nicest woman—next to Mother—whom I have ever met. Madame Deriby is tall and stately with soft, silvery hair, a beautiful face and the kindest, gentlest manner imaginable. I knew at once that I was going to adore her, and oh, girls, Evelyn is so nice, I am sure that you will all love her.

“The room that we are to have together is the prettiest. It is decorated in yellow and looks as though it were flooded with sunlight, even when it is cloudy. There are two small beds and Evelyn has her things on one side of the room and I have mine on the other.

“I haven’t met any of the other pupils as yet, but there are forty of all ages, Evelyn tells me.

“The ‘get-ready-for-dinner’ bell has just rung, so I will say good-bye for now. I’ll write to you often, but oh, girls, do beg and beseech your nice mothers to let you come to Linden Hall boarding-school soon.

“Your newest Sunnysider,

“Carol Lorens.”

“How I do wish that we could go!” Doris Drexel sighed. “It must be a wonderful place, so high on a hill.”

“I couldn’t go if the rest of you did,” Betty Burd declared, “and I’d be so lonely with all of you away.”

Adele slipped an arm about the little girl as she said merrily, “But Bettykins, we aren’t any of us going. Mother wishes me to finish out this term with Miss Donovan. There’s the last bell. Forward! March!”

Little did the girls dream of the unexpected news that they were about to hear.

When they entered the schoolhouse, they were surprised to find the door of the eighth grade closed and locked. On it a note was pinned, which Adele wonderingly read aloud:

“Pupils of 8A please report at Mr. Dickerson’s office.”

The girls looked at each other in amazement. Surely something must have happened to their beloved Miss Donovan. They found the principal in his office looking very grave. He smiled when he saw their solemn, almost frightened faces.

“Young ladies,” he said, “it is not so dreadful as all that, though I must confess I am very much troubled to know just what I ought to do.”

Then he explained that Miss Donovan had been called to her home in a neighboring town and that she had wired back that her elderly mother needed her care, and therefore would be unable to return that term.

The girls were truly grieved to hear this, and impulsive Betty Burd exclaimed, “Why, Mr. Dickerson, how can we get on without Miss Donovan?”

“We will not decide yet,” the principal said kindly. “I have sent to the city to see if another competent eighth-grade teacher can be procured, but it is late, and the classes everywhere are started. However, it is possible that one may be found. Report here to-morrow morning and I shall then be able to tell you what we will do.”

The next morning at nine the girls were again waiting in Mr. Dickerson’s office, and a few moments later he appeared.

“Well, young ladies,” he said, “I have been unsuccessful, and so the Board has suggested that you go to Dorchester to finish this term’s work. You would have to go there next term, anyway, so perhaps that is the best solution of our difficulty.”

As soon as the girls were again under the elm-tree, Adele faced them with glowing eyes. “Of course I am very sorry to lose our Miss Donovan,” she said. “We all love her dearly, but since we can’t have her, I am really glad that everything turned out just as it has, because, instead of going to Dorchester, perhaps we may all be able to go—guess where?”

“To the Linden Hall boarding-school!” Rosamond Wright joyfully responded.

“Oh, how I do wish that we could!” Peggy Pierce exclaimed.

“Let’s go home this very minute and ask our fathers and mothers if we may go,” Adele suggested, “and then this afternoon, let’s meet at our Secret Sanctum and discuss our plans.”

That afternoon at three, the seven maidens met at the log cabin in the meadows that were now purple and gold with bright autumn flowers.

“Girls, let’s begin this meeting at once,” Adele exclaimed. “We’re all here, and I’m just wild to tell you my great and glorious news.”

“Meeting is called to order,” said Bertha Angel, who was now the chairman, and so the girls sat tailor-wise upon the floor.

“Madame President,” Bertha began, but Adele interrupted, “Oh, Burdie, don’t let’s be formal to-day. Let’s each say just whatever we wish. I am wild to know who can go to boarding-school besides myself.”

“I, for one!” Rosamond Wright drawled. “My mamma dear will be glad to be rid of me, I am sure.”

“Father thinks that it will be an excellent plan for me to go if there is a college preparatory course at Linden Hall,” Bertha Angel told them quite calmly. The practical Bertha was never wildly hilarious, whatever happened.

“That’s splendid,” Adele exclaimed joyfully, “and I know by her beaming expression that Peggy Pierce can go, and as for Doris Drexel, her devoted daddy always lets her do whatever she wishes. How about you, Bettykins?” she asked, turning to the youngest member, who was looking so dismal that they all knew at once that she could not go.

“I told Mother about it,” Betty began, “and she said that she was sorry, but she couldn’t think of asking Uncle George to spend another penny for me. You know when Papa died, Uncle George asked us to come right up here and live with him, and Mother says that it costs him ever so much to have us. Of course I’d love to go, but I—I just can’t.”

Poor little Betty found the disappointment harder than she could bear bravely, and tears splashed down her cheeks.

“You won’t be left alone, Bettykins,” Gertrude Willis said as she slipped an arm about their youngest member, “for I am not going, either.”

“Gertrude, aren’t you going?” came a chorus of protesting voices.

“Well, we simply can’t go without you, or Bettykins either,” Doris Drexel declared.

“Yes, you can,” Gertrude replied brightly, “and Betty and I shall expect long letters from you every week telling all about the good times that you are having.”

“But what will you do, Trudie, about going to school?” Bertha inquired. These two girls were always at the head of their classes and Bertha well knew that her friend did not want to have her studies interrupted.

“Father is going to teach me some of the subjects and Mother the others,” Gertrude replied. “Mother was a high school teacher before she married, and Father was graduated from the theological seminary with highest honors.”

Then, turning to the little one who was trying hard not to cry, she said kindly, “Bettykins, you may study with me, if you wish.”

“Oh, Gertrude, that would help me so much!” Betty replied gratefully, smiling through the tears that would come.

“Girls,” Adele declared brightly, “‘My bones are very good prophets,’ as Grandpa Dally used to say, and I just feel sure that before very many moons, we shall all seven of us be at Linden Hall Seminary for Young Ladies.”

Whether or no Adele was a true prophet, you shall hear.