_THE NEW SCHOLAR._

“WE have got a new boarder, girls,” said Emma Hausen, joining a group
of her companions, under a great tree on the lawn. “She has just come
up from the boat with Uncle Hausen. I believe he went to the Bridge to
meet her.”

“What is she like?” asked Tilly Mansfield. “Does she look nice?”

“I didn’t see her face—she had a thick crape veil over it; but she is
in deep mourning which looks quite new, and she is lame. She walks with
a crutch.”

“Poor thing!” said Eva Church. “How old should thee think she was,
Emma?”

“How can I tell, child, when I didn’t see her face at all? She is about
as tall as I am, but larger. She was very nicely dressed, and has two
large trunks; and, as I told you, she walks with a crutch. So there
‘you have the sum of the facts which have come under my immediate
observation,’ as Professor Ashhurst says.”

“Poor thing!” said Percy Dunham.

“Why poor thing?” asked Tilly. “Do you know her, Percy?”

“No; I never saw or heard of her; but I know it cannot be very nice to
be lame, and Emma says she is dressed in new deep mourning; so she must
have lost some near friend—her mother, perhaps.”

“Lame people are not always unhappy,” remarked Tilly. “There is old
Uncle Jacob; he is lame, and poor too, and I don’t believe any person
in Round Springs is happier than he is; and only just look at Bab!”

“I think Bab’s tail rather preys on his mind, though, when he compares
it with Molly’s,” observed Percy, seriously.

“What nonsense you do talk about those cats!” said Rebecca Stiney, who
always took everything literally. “I should think you would be ashamed.”

“What is there to be ashamed of?”

“Talking as if a cat could have a mind of his own.”

“You just try to make Molly do something she doesn’t like, and see
if she hasn’t a mind of her own,” said Percy. “But here comes Florry
Lester. Florry, have you seen the new girl?”

Flora nodded.

“What is she like?”

“Well, she is odd-looking, but I dare say she was tired out, poor
thing. She has been travelling all night, I heard Mr. Hausen say,
and it must have been hard, for she does not look as if she could be
strong. She is very lame, for one thing, and it is a curious kind of
lameness, which makes her rather awkward, and she is pale and dark, and
looks as if she might be cross.”

“I dare say she is only tired,” said Percy. “Once, in New York, I
went shopping all one horridly cold, wet morning with a cousin of
Aunt Ackerman’s and Cousin Margaret. Now aunt’s cousin was absurdly
particular and perfectly sure that everybody meant to cheat her, and I
thought we never should be done with running about from store to store;
and, after all, she went back and took the very first thing she looked
at.

“Well, we went into a store where there were beautiful mirrors set flat
in the walls. I saw, as I thought, a girl of my own age standing at the
end of the counter, and I said to myself, ‘How cross that girl looks!’

“And when I looked again, I saw it was myself I was criticising. But I
did not feel cross at all, only tired with standing about so long. It
has always been a lesson to me, and when I see such a kind of face, I
always say to myself, ‘I dare say she is tired or has the face-ache, or
perhaps she has on new shoes and they hurt her, as mine did that day, I
remember.'”

“Does any one know this poor girl’s name?” asked Tilly.

“Yes; I heard Uncle Hausen tell Mrs. Richardson: it is Claribel
Woodworth.”

“She ought to be nice with such a pretty name,” said Tilly. “I do think
we are the greatest people for fine names in this school—Claribel,
and Blandina, and Eva, and Matilda, and Amabel: it sounds like an
old-fashioned novel.”

“Don’t forget my romantic name—Perseverance,” said Percy, laughing. “I
think it ought to outweigh any number of Claribels and Amabels. Anyhow,
girls, we ought to take pains to make things pleasant for this new
scholar. If she is sick and lonely, she will have a hard time enough.”

“That’s so,” said Fanny Morey, emphatically. “Most of you don’t know
anything about that, because you have never been to any school but
this, which isn’t one bit like a school. But I remember how I felt when
I was first turned loose in the primary department of Eaton College.
There were two hundred girls of all ages, all strange, and I, a poor
little mite of twelve, just as shy as a young fox, and knowing nothing
of school life, was left to make my own way among them. Oh how homesick
I was! I really used to think I should die. Then the lessons were so
hard, and there were so many of them, and the teachers never had time
to explain anything. If a girl was strong and bright, she got on well
enough, but if she were lazy, as a great many were, or dull and not
very strong, as I was, she might go to the wall. There was no help for
her.”

“But didn’t the girls help each other?” asked Percy. “Didn’t the older
girls help the little ones? I am sure I don’t know how I should have
got on here when I first came if Blandina hadn’t taken me up.”

“They never had any time, child; it was all they could do to learn
their own lessons. As I said, the lazy girls shirked and did nothing,
but I really did want to improve very much, for I knew it was hard for
father to keep me at school, any way, and I nearly killed myself the
first term. I used to be doing lessons all night when I was not being
buried alive, or chased by wild beasts, or something else as pleasant.
I don’t believe I should have lived through the year if I had stayed
there.”

“And how did you get away?” asked one of the girls.

“Oh, I went to spend my spring holidays with Doctor Gregory, my
mother’s brother, in Yonkers, because, of course, I wouldn’t go all the
way home to Texas for so short a time. Aunt Emily found out that I did
not sleep, and told my uncle; and when he heard all the story, he would
not let me go back, but wrote to father about me. I stayed with them
all summer, and didn’t do anything much, only take some music-lessons
and lie on a sofa put out on the verandah or under a tree, for my back
was weak and ached all the time. Then in the fall, uncle sent me here,
and oh, wasn’t I glad? I’ll tell you what: you Hausen girls don’t know
half your privileges. When I hear some of the grumblers, I say to
myself, ‘I just wish you were at Eaton College a while.'”

“I’m sure I wish I was,” said Rebecca, taking the remark to herself; “I
think there would be a great deal more chance for fun where there was
so many girls. Here one can’t do a thing but everybody knows it.”

“Yes, very nice fun, flirting out of the windows and running away down
town and getting into all sorts of scrapes.”

“What kind of fun does thee want that thee don’t care to have people
know about?” asked Eva. “For my part, I thought we had plenty of fun.”

Rebecca looked rather abashed, and walked away without answering.

“Becky said rather more than she meant to that time,” observed Fanny.
“I think she would like just that kind of a school. She does love to
make mysteries. I believe she would rather eat a brown cracker slyly
than a piece of plum-cake at the table.”

“She ought to be more careful, or she will be in trouble,” said Emma;
“Uncle Hausen does hate secrets and mysteries, and especially anything
like deceit. But, girls, what can we do for this new-comer to make it
pleasant for her when she comes down?”

“She won’t be down this evening,” answered Flora Lester. “I heard Mrs.
Richardson tell her that she had better put on her wrapper and rest,
and that she should have her supper up stairs, because she was so
tired.”

“Then I’ll tell you what we will do,” said Tilly; “you know papa said I
might have all the fruit and flowers I wanted from our garden. I mean
to get some of those early pears, and two or three nice peaches, and a
bunch of grapes from the grape-house, if I can find James to unlock the
door. And I will get some pretty flowers, and Flora shall arrange them
all in a basket, because she has the best taste, and we will carry them
up to her before tea. Won’t that be nice?”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Fanny. “And while you and Flora are getting the
garden things, Emma and I will go up among the rocks and gather some
ferns to line the baskets. Mrs. Richardson will give us leave, and we
shall have plenty of time.”