THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

CHAPTER I OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

“Secret societies! Whew! I’m glad they don’t have them at our school.”

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, perched himself upon the porch railing, and swung his legs contentedly, as if he had uttered the last word on the subject.

The two girls to whom the remark was addressed listened eagerly. Ruth Henry, the small, dark-haired one, who was obviously no relation of the boy, leaned forward. Challenging him with her eyes, she asked quickly:

“What makes you say that, Jack? Have you any grounds?”

The other girl, whose fair hair and straight nose resembled the boy strongly enough to identify her as his sister, looked impatient.

4 “He doesn’t know a thing about them,” she said.

“Now, listen, Marj,” remonstrated Jack in the tone one might use to a child, although his sister was only two years his junior, “haven’t you ever heard dad tell about the awful things some of those secret societies did when he was at college? They had a house without a single window, and with only one door—made of iron—and nobody ever knew what went on inside. But dad said one poor freshman, who was to be initiated, got rebellious and wouldn’t do the stunts; and they blindfolded him and threw him into the creek. It was cold, and he got pneumonia and died!”

“Oh, Jack, you’re exaggerating!” exclaimed Marjorie scornfully. “You read about that in a book—you must have forgotten. Anyway, girls’ societies wouldn’t do anything like that.”

But Ruth’s dark eyes were sparkling at the idea of adventure and danger. If the truth were told, it was because of these very secret societies, or sororities, as the girls called them, that she had persuaded her mother to let her register among the freshmen at Miss Allen’s Boarding School for the coming fall. And Marjorie Wilkinson, a more timid girl, desired to go simply that she might be with Ruth. Both families had at last consented, but too late to give the girls a chance to secure a5 room together. The idea of a strange room-mate filled Marjorie with dismay; but to Ruth it meant new opportunities for friendship—and a new chance to make one of the secret societies.

A week after the foregoing conversation, the girls were on their way to the school. They had been satisfied to sit quietly during most of the journey, contenting themselves with looking out of the window, and dreaming of future popularity and happiness. It was only after they were seated in the school hack that Marjorie was seized with a sudden pang of homesickness.

“If we only could have roomed together!” she sighed, clasping Ruth’s hand, and looking away from the gathering darkness. “Promise me, Ruth,” she said ardently, “whoever your room-mate is, you won’t like her better than me!”

“Jealous!” teased Ruth. “How do I know who I’m going to like?” Then, seriously, “Marj, do you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority?”

“Maybe you will, but I never would,” answered Marjorie. “I can’t make friends quickly enough.”

At this moment the hack stopped in front of the school door. Miss Allen’s Boarding School originally started in a beautiful old house which had been in her family for generations. She began with about fifteen pupils, and only one teacher besides herself.6 Each year she was forced to add a little more to the buildings, until now her school accommodated almost a hundred girls. The lovely big trees, wide porches, and large grounds made the spot an ideal one for a boarding school. At one end of the estate there was a small pond where the girls went skating in winter, and there were also wonderful little groves which could be used for picnics whenever the Principal’s permission could be obtained. The swimming pool, the gymnasium, and the hockey field supplied ample facilities for the athletic girl to indulge her desire for more strenuous sport.

As Ruth and Marjorie approached, and saw the bright lights through the windows, and heard the happy girls’ laughter, they felt, indeed, that they had reached the place of their dreams. Marjorie’s feeling of homesickness vanished as Miss Landis, the English teacher, came to greet them.

“How do you do, girls?” she said cordially. “I’m Miss Landis. Will you tell me your names?”

“I am Ruth Henry, and this is Marjorie Wilkinson,” replied Ruth. “We’re so glad to be here,” she added, “after our long ride.”

“I will take you to your rooms,” said Miss Landis, leading the way.

Marjorie was charmed by Miss Landis’s manner, which seemed so cordial and pleasant that she decided7 if everyone at school were like her, it surely would be a delightful place. But Ruth’s thoughts had taken an entirely different direction.

“Who are our room-mates?” she asked, as they ascended the stairs.

“Let me think,” said Miss Landis. “It’s hard to remember with so many girls, but I helped Miss Allen with the lists.” She stopped as they reached the second floor. “Oh, yes,” she continued, “you room with Ethel Todd—a sophomore. She’s a splendid girl—very popular. You’re lucky! And your room-mate,” she turned to Marjorie—“hasn’t come yet. She’s a freshman, named Lily Andrews.”

They walked down the corridor and stopped at the room which was to be Ruth’s. In answer to Miss Landis’s knock, a pretty girl about sixteen years old opened the door, disclosing an attractive interior with three large windows. Miss Landis introduced the girls.

Ethel apologized for the appearance of the room.

“You see I am just hanging the pictures and putting up the curtains,” she said. Turning to Ruth, she added, “It will be lovely to have you to help me!”

Ruth’s eyes danced; already she was fascinated by Ethel.

“Now I’ll show you to your room,” said Miss8 Landis to Marjorie. “I’m sorry there will be no room-mate there to welcome you, but then you can do that for her when she comes.”

As they went up another flight of stairs, Marjorie asked:

“Does she—does Ruth’s room-mate—belong to any of the sororities?”

“Yes, she belongs to the sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “There’s only one, but we teachers wish there weren’t any; for it takes the girls’ minds from their lessons and their athletics, and besides, it causes a good deal of unhappiness.”

“Unhappiness!” repeated Marjorie in astonishment. “Why, I should think it would be all fun.”

“It is—for those who belong. But you see only sixteen girls—four out of each class—are chosen; and most of the other girls in the school are miserable because they aren’t asked to join. We’d like to abolish it; but some of the prominent Alumnæ who are members of the Board belong, and as long as the girls want it, they won’t hear of doing away with it.”

Miss Landis stopped before a door at the back of the building. “Here is your room,” she said.

As the teacher threw open the door, Marjorie experienced a chill of disappointment. In contrast to Ruth’s attractive room, hers was dark and small,9 with only one window, and the slanting roof extended down over part of the wall. And it was very bare—only the bed seemed ready for use.

“I’m sorry you’ll be alone,” said Miss Landis, “but I’ll come and take you over to Ruth’s room to go down to supper with her. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

It was all Marjorie could do to keep from crying. Mechanically she began to take off her hat and coat.

“I feel just like poor little Paul Dombey who was sent to that dreary school of Doctor Blimber’s—in Dickens,” thought Marjorie. “Only, I guess everything will be all right when I see Ruth again, and meet my room-mate.”

The bell for supper had already rung; in a few minutes Miss Landis returned, and they started off together for Ruth’s room. There was no answer to Miss Landis’s knock at the door.

“She must have gone down with her room-mate,” said Miss Landis. “Never mind; you can come with me. I’ll find you a place.”

The dining-room was brilliantly lighted. Seven long tables were placed in various parts of the room. The girls, most of them in light summer dresses, were crowding in and sitting down anywhere, as10 the regular seats were not yet assigned. Marjorie noticed that one teacher sat at each table.

“Where would you like to sit?” asked Miss Landis.

Just then Marjorie spied Ruth sitting beside Ethel Todd, at the farthest table under the window.

“I want to sit over there, near the window, with Ruth!”

“I am sorry,” said Miss Landis, “but I wouldn’t advise you to sit there without an invitation. All those girls belong to ΦΑΒ,—(Phi Alpha Beta)—the sorority—except the freshmen who have been invited there by them; and you wouldn’t want to sit there without an invitation.”

At that moment Marjorie felt all the bitterness of the outcast. “Ruth will make the sorority, and I won’t,” she thought. But she gave her attention to Miss Landis, who introduced her to some other freshmen.

When supper was over, Marjorie asked some of her new friends to her room. They did visit her for a few minutes; but they were all tired, and left early. Marjorie went to bed without even bothering to unpack, or to make any attempt to see Ruth.

“Never run after the sorority girls,” Miss Landis had advised, and Marjorie intended to profit by the advice.

CHAPTER II MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

When Marjorie awoke in her bare little room the next morning, a feeling of happy anticipation came over her. What was it? Oh, yes, she was away at school, and she was to meet her new room-mate to-day.

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, so that she had time to take a stroll in the garden before the breakfast bell rang. She met several of the girls she had sat with at supper the night before, and they asked her to join their group.

“Why, there goes Ruth!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Funny she didn’t see me!”

“Ruth who?” asked Ada Mearns, a sophomore.

“Ruth Henry—my best friend from home. She’s with some girls I don’t know.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ada, following the direction of Marjorie’s gaze, “those are all ΦΑΒ girls with her. I guess your young friend’s made a hit. Probably she’ll be one of the lucky four.”

“What lucky four?” asked another freshman.

12 “One of the lucky four freshmen to be asked to join the sorority!”

Marjorie bit her lip. “I’m not going to be miserable and jealous,” she thought, “only I don’t see why Ruth has to drop me for her new friends.”

“My word!” exclaimed Ada suddenly. “Look at this funny package coming up the walk!”

The girls all looked in the direction Ada indicated and saw the strangest-looking girl trudging up the path, carrying a suitcase and a hatbox. She was short and very fat, and vulgarly overdressed in clothes far too old for a girl of her years—a velvet coat, gray suede shoes and stockings, and a large hat trimmed with ostrich plumes. She seemed hot and out of breath.

When she came abreast of the girls she stopped.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but will you tell me where to go? I’m the new girl who was coming to-day.”

“The new girl?” laughed Ada. “Don’t you know there are several other freshmen—thirty-five to be exact?”

The stout girl looked as if she were not listening. “My name’s Lily Andrews—I’m from New York. Don’t you—any of you know where my room is?”

Marjorie’s face fell. So this was her room-mate! This ill-mannered, over-dressed, unattractive young lady, whose whole bearing stamped her as “newly13 rich!” Why should she, Marjorie, have the bad luck to draw something like this, when Ruth had fallen in with one of the most popular and influential girls of the school?

However, she answered, “Yes, I know where your room is, Miss Andrews, for I’m the freshman who is to room with you. I’ll take you to it. There’s just time before the second bell rings.”

Marjorie took Lily’s suitcase and the two girls walked off together.

“Poor Marjorie!” sighed Ada, “I hope she has the good sense to drop her.”

Lily talked all the way upstairs about the clothes she had brought. When they arrived at the room, and Marjorie opened the door, she uttered an exclamation of disgust.

“What!” she exclaimed, “me, Lily Andrews, have to live in a room like this, when my father’s rich enough to buy me a suite at the McAlpin?”

Marjorie tried to explain. “You see the older girls choose their rooms, and the freshmen are assigned the ones that are left. It’ll only be for one year, then we get our chance to choose.”

“I’ll never live here for a year! I couldn’t stand it!”

Marjorie’s hopes rose.

14 “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Go back home?”

“No, indeed!” said Lily. “And miss all the fun I’ve read so much about? No, I’ll just go tell Miss Allen I’ll pay more, and she’ll give me a better room. Besides, I want to room with an upper classman who already belongs to the secret society, so as I’ll be asked to join!”

Marjorie remembered the attractive girls who sat under the window the previous night, who were members of ΦΑΒ, and she smiled to herself. Poor Lily! She didn’t know what was in store for her.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. The rooms are all assigned now, and I don’t believe Miss Allen would make any changes. Hurry up! there’s the last bell for breakfast!”

They went into the dining-room together, and both girls were conscious of the fact that all eyes were turned upon them. Lily thought it was because of her expensive clothing; but Marjorie knew better, and blushed.

After classes that afternoon, when Lily and Marjorie were unpacking their trunks and doing their best to arrange their homely little room to make it look attractive, Ruth knocked at the door. Marjorie experienced a joyful surprise as her old friend appeared.

15 “I’m so glad to see you, Ruth!” she exclaimed. “I want you to meet my room-mate, Miss Andrews. This is Miss Henry, Lily.”

Ruth bowed, and Lily murmured, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Well, how do you like it all by this time?” asked Marjorie. “Are you the least bit homesick?”

“No, indeed!” answered Ruth, enthusiastically. “I never was so happy. I’m crazy about my room-mate!”

“She does seem nice,” observed Marjorie. “What do you think of the teachers?”

“Teachers!—I don’t give them a thought. They’re necessary evils!”

“I think Miss Landis is lovely,” said Marjorie. “I like teachers when they’re nice, and not prim old maids.”

Lily was all the while busily unpacking her trunk. Suddenly she produced an enormous box, wrapped in white paper, and tied with pink ribbon.

“Father gave me five pounds of chocolates,” she remarked, as she untied it, “and he promised to send me more when I want them.”

She passed the candy to the girls.

“Thank you,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t believe I’ll take any. I want to make the hockey team, and my brother always said one of the most important16 things about doing well in athletics is to eat the right things.”

“The girls’ll think you’re a prig,” said Ruth, nibbling a chocolate. “You won’t get invited to things!”

“I don’t care!” said Marjorie, “if I only make the team!”

“I’d much rather make the sorority,” sighed Lily. “Have you met any of the sorority girls, Miss Henry?”

“Yes,” answered Ruth. “I room with one, and she has introduced me to quite a number. They’re awfully nice.”

“I should guess so,” said Lily. “I suppose they’re the richest crowd at Miss Allen’s. I’d like to invite them all out to my father’s place on Long Island, so they can see where I get off!”

Ruth laughed. “You better not try it,” she said. “Let them do the inviting.”

“What are you going to wear to the Sophomore reception?” asked Marjorie suddenly.

“My pink organdie. What are you?”

“My white embroidered voile, I guess.”

“Will they be fancy enough?” asked Lily. “I expect to wear a blue net and spangled dress—it’s quite the thing in New York!”

At this moment, there was a knock at the door, and in answer to Marjorie’s “Come,” three freshmen,17 accompanied by Ada Mearns, a sophomore, entered.

“These girls were looking for Miss Henry,” said Ada, “and I thought she might be in here.”

Ruth jumped up joyfully. “Hulloa!” she exclaimed. “Girls, I want you to meet Marjorie Wilkinson, and Lily Andrews—Doris Sands, Evelyn Hopkins, and Mae VanHorn.”

The girls acknowledged the introduction, and Marjorie invited them to sit down.

“No, we simply can’t,” said Doris. “Ruth’s room-mate—Ethel Todd—wants to take our picture; but we wouldn’t consent to having it without Ruth!”

“I’m going, too,” said Lily. “I want some fresh air.”

“Oh, but you’re not dressed,” interposed Ruth, “and we can’t keep Ethel waiting. I’m sorry—some other time!”

The four freshmen linked arms, and went out together.

“Those four girls,” said Ada, lowering her voice, “are the ones everyone thinks will be invited to join ΦΑΒ.”

“How can they tell so soon?” asked Lily, with resentment in her voice. “It isn’t fair! I think everybody ought to have a chance! I haven’t even met any sorority girls.”

18 “Everybody will have a chance, don’t worry. They don’t choose their candidates till six weeks are over, so they’ll be pretty sure to know everybody. And, of course, they may change their minds, and drop one or all of those girls.’”

“I’d love to make it,” sighed Lily.

“I’m not going to bother about it,” said Marjorie. “I’m going out for the hockey team.”

“Good work!” said Ada. “That’s the spirit!”

But Ada could not tell from Marjorie’s words how bravely she was struggling to hide her feelings.

“We get our regular places at tables in the dining-room to-night,” said Ada. “Fortunately, they don’t allow any sorority stuff there. The girls are chosen by lot from each class—four girls from each, and a teacher besides. Then, after Christmas, we draw all over again.”

“I do hope I get with some nice girls,” said Lily.

“Oh, everybody here is nice,” said Ada. “I never met lovelier girls.” She got up from the bed, where she had been sitting. “I must go,” she said. “Good-bye—I’ll see you both at the reception to-morrow night, if not before.”

She hurried out, and Marjorie and Lily resumed their unpacking.

CHAPTER III THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

When the four freshmen left Marjorie’s room, and walked out of the dormitory to the campus where Ethel Todd and Marian Guard, another sophomore members of ΦΑΒ, were waiting with the camera, their whole bearing expressed pride, as if they wanted to say to the rest of the school, “We have been singled out by the sorority as the four most eligible freshmen!”

Before they reached Ethel and Marian, the former called out, “Hurry up, girls! We can’t wait all day!” Then, turning to Marian, she said in a low voice, “Those girls are entirely too sure of themselves.” As they came closer, she said aloud, “I always photograph a group of girls from each class to send to mother. But I wish we could get some more girls into this picture.”

Ethel looked away for a minute, as if she were thinking. She turned to her room-mate. “Ruth,” she said, “who was that girl I met you with yesterday?”

20 “Oh—Marjorie Wilkinson?”

“Was she tall and pretty?”

“Yes, she’s tall, and I suppose you might call her pretty: she has light hair and brown eyes!”

“That’s the girl I mean! Couldn’t you go get her, if I wait a couple of minutes?”

“I don’t believe so; I don’t think she’s dressed.”

“All right,” said Ethel, “I guess you will make a good picture of freshness!”

“Are we so very green?” asked Doris, nevertheless highly flattered to be teased by so important a person as Ethel Todd.