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Page 5
Madam Chartley, long accustomed to reading girls, knew that it was not
vanity or egotism which prompted these confessions, only a girlish
eagerness to be measured by her highest ideals and not by appearances.
She saw at a glance the possibilities of the material that lay here at
her hand. Out of it might be wrought a strong, helpful character such as
the world always needs, and such as she longed to send out with every
graduate who passed through her doors. Many things were awaiting her
attention elsewhere, but she lingered to extend their acquaintance a
trifle further.
"You know Lloyd Sherman well, I believe," she said. "I remember that you
gave Mrs. Sherman as one of your references when you applied for
admission to the school, and I had a highly satisfactory letter from her
about you in reply to my inquiry. Now that we speak of it I am reminded
that Lloyd added a most enthusiastic post-script concerning you."
Mary's face flushed with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
"Oh, did she?" she cried eagerly. "We've been friends always, even with
half a continent between us. Our mothers were school-mates. Lloyd was
more Joyce's friend than mine at first, because they are nearer of an
age. (Joyce is my sister. She's an artist now in New York City, and we
think she's going to be famous some day. She does such beautiful
designing.) Lloyd has been my model ever since I was eleven years old.
I'd rather be like her than anybody I ever knew or read of, so I don't
mind Jack calling me a copy-cat for trying. One of the reasons I wanted
to come to Warwick Hall was that she had been here. Would you believe
it?" she rattled on, "Last night on the sleeping-car I counted up
forty-two good reasons for wanting to come here to school."
It had been many a moon since Mary's remarks had met with such
flattering attention. Not realizing she was being studied she felt that
Madam was genuinely interested. It encouraged her to go on.
"Jack gave me my choice of all the schools in the United States, and I
chose this without hesitating an instant. Jack is paying my expenses you
know. I couldn't have come a step if it hadn't been for him, and there
wouldn't have been the faintest shadow of a hope of coming if he hadn't
been promoted to the position of assistant manager at the mines. Oh,
Madam Chartley, I _wish_ you knew Jack! He's just the dearest brother
that ever lived! So unselfish and so ambitious for us all"--
She stopped abruptly, feeling that she was letting her enthusiasm run
away with her tongue. But Madam, noting the quick leap of light to her
eyes and the eager clasping of her hands as she spoke of him wanted to
hear more. She was sure that in these na�ve confessions she would find
the key-note to Mary's character. So with a few well chosen questions
she encouraged her to go on, till she had gathered a very accurate idea
of the conditions which had produced this wholesome enthusiastic little
creature, almost a woman in some respects, the veriest child in others.
Mary had had an uneventful life, she judged, limited to the narrow
bounds of a Kansas village, and later to the still narrower circle of
experiences in the lonely little home they had made on the edge of the
desert, when Mrs. Ware's quest of health led them to Arizona. But it was
a life that had been lifted out of the ordinary by the brave spirit
which made a jest of poverty, and held on to the refining influences
even while battling back the wolf from the door. It had made a family of
philosophers of them, able to extract pleasure from trifles, and to
find it where most people would never dream of looking.
As she listened, Madam began to feel warmly drawn to the entire family
who had taken the good old Vicar of Wakefield for an example, and
adopted one of his sayings as a rule of life: "Let us be inflexible and
fortune will at last turn in our favour."
Mary had no intention of revealing so much personal history, but she had
to quote the motto to show how triumphantly it had worked out in their
case and what a grand turn fortune had taken in their favour after so
many years of struggle to keep inflexible in the face of repeated
disappointments and troubles. It had turned for all of them. Joyce,
after several years of work and worry with her bees, had realized enough
from them to start on her career as an artist. Holland was at Annapolis
in training for the navy. Within the last six weeks Jack's promotion had
made possible his heart's desire, to send Mary to school and to bring
his mother and thirteen year old brother to Lone-Rock, the little mining
town where he had been boarding, ever since Mr. Sherman gave him his
first position there, several years before.
Mary was so bubbling over with the pleasure these things gave her that
it was impossible not to feel some share of it when one looked at her.
As Madam Chartley led the way to the office she felt a desire to add
still more to her pleasure. It was refreshing to see some one who could
enjoy even little things so thoroughly. She bent over the ledger a
moment, scanning the page containing the list of Freshmen who had passed
the strict entrance requirements.
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