CHAPTER I—Welcome to Hilltop

“I always believe in separating sisters,” Miss Hull made this astonishing announcement with a gentle smile.

Janet and Phyllis looked at each other, consternation written large on their faces.

“But Miss Hull——” Janet began.

It was Phyllis who spoke with grown-up assurance.

“We couldn’t think of being separated, Miss Hull,” she said, with one of her winning smiles. “You see, we found each other only a little over a year ago, and we’ve such a lot of time to make up.”

“But if you were separated you’d get to know the girls so much better,” Miss Hull’s soft Southern drawl protested. “I’ve planned for each of you to room with an old girl. I’m sure it’s the better way.”

Miss Hull was an imperious woman, statuesque in figure, a smooth level brow, flashing dark eyes and a mass of wavy gray hair, piled high on her head. When she said a thing she expected instant submission. She was surprised when Phyllis, still with her charming smile, but with a note of firmness in her voice, replied:

“But you see, Miss Hull, we should both be very unhappy. We’re twins, you know, and that makes a difference.”

Miss Hull could not deny the note of decision in her voice, and like all broad-minded and imperious people, she admired anyone who had those same qualities in common with her.

She did not speak down to Phyllis, but rather as to an equal, when she replied:

“Very well, you will room together. I suppose being twins does make a difference,” she added laughingly.

Phyllis thanked her, and with a maid to guide them, they went upstairs to a big room, with long French windows, one of which opened onto a tiny balcony. They sat down in comfortable wicker chairs and stared at each other.

“Oh, Phyl, you are magnificent!” Janet exclaimed. “I never was so petrified in my life. Miss Hull is such a masterful sort of person that she silenced me with a glance.”

Phyllis tossed her head.

“The person never lived that could silence me,” she said vaingloriously. “But I don’t think it was very nice of her to wait until Auntie Mogs left and then try to separate us.”

“We should have let Auntie Mogs stay at the hotel for a day or two as she wanted to,” Janet remarked thoughtfully.

“No; that would have been a kiddish thing to do; and after all, Jan., Miss Hull was really doing what she thought was right. As soon as I explained to her she was very nice about it. I like her tremendously,” she said.

“Well, I don’t,” Janet announced firmly. “She tried to separate us.”

“But she didn’t, dearest. It would take more than Miss Hull to do that.” Phyllis laughed into Janet’s serious eyes.

The Page twins after a summer in Arizona with their brother Tom, had come to Hilltop school. Their aunt, Miss Carter, had brought them from New York to the Virginia hills, but had returned almost at once, for they had arrived early that morning, and she had taken the afternoon train for home. It was six o’clock now, and from their window they could see the twilight creeping closer to the great old trees that grew in a thick protecting border around the school.

Hilltop was indeed well named. The white colonial building crowned the hill, and a roadway, straight as an arrow, and lined on either side with tall interlacing elms, ran down the gentle slope for a mile and a half until it joined the highway in the valley.

It had been a wonderful mansion in its day. Now a new wing had been added on, and many of the rooms had been divided and cut up into smaller ones, but the outside of the house had lost nothing of its old-world dignity and charm.

Janet and Phyllis stood in the little balcony and watched the shadows lengthen on the green below. They had each other so they were not unhappy, but the suggestion of a lump in their throats made them think a little forlornly of Auntie Mogs and the cheerful rooms of their New York house.

“I wish Sally would come,” Janet exclaimed. “I simply can’t wait to see her.”

“Neither can I,” Phyllis agreed. “Just think, we haven’t seen her since last Christmas.”

“It was a shame Daphne couldn’t come down with us, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, in a way; but we’ll be acquainted by the time she gets here, and that will be nice, too.”

“Still, it would have been fun to have her on the train with us.”

Sally Ladd and Daphne Hillis were old friends of the twins. They had known them in New York, and at Miss Harding’s school they had been known as The Quartette. Sally had come to Hiltop for the second term the year before, and it was because of her glowing accounts of boarding-school life that the other three girls had decided to come this year.

Sally had not come from New York with the twins, as they had planned, because at the last minute she had decided to visit a friend of hers in Ohio. Her train was due at eight o’clock.

A knock at the door brought the twins in from the balcony.

“Come in,” Janet called, and a tall, heavily-built girl with red hair and spectacles entered the room.

“Aren’t you the Page twins?” she inquired heartily.

“Yes, we are,” Phyllis and Janet answered.

“Well, Sally Ladd has talked so much about you that I feel as if I’d known you all my life. I’m Gwendolyn Matthews, otherwise known as Gwen.” She held out a large hand covered with golden freckles, and the twins shook it gratefully.

“Come along downstairs and be shown off. The girls are dying to see you, for of course Sally has told us the thrilling way you discovered each other last year.”

Phyllis and Janet followed her down the wide red-carpeted hall to the floor below. They could see the lights coming from a big room a little way beyond, and hear a hubbub of voices.

Janet had a sudden and overwhelming desire to run, but Phyllis hurried forward eagerly. Gwen pushed them both before her, and they found themselves in an immense room, brightly lighted by two crystal chandeliers. The ceiling was painted with white clouds against a blue sky, and fat little cupids danced or plied their art with miniature bows and arrows. It was the old ballroom untouched and still beautiful after these long years.

They had barely time to look about them before Gwen held up an impressive hand and announced in strident tones:

“The Page Twins.”

There was an instant hush of voices and the girls looked at them curiously. A dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, dressed in fluffy white, left the group she had been talking to and came towards them with outstretched hands.

“I declare, Gwen, you are just a dreadful tease.” Her delightful Southern drawl was lazily good-natured.

“How do you do? We’re mighty glad to welcome you to Hilltop,” she said cordially.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Phyllis smiled winningly.

“Thanks,” Janet mumbled.

“My name is Hillory Lee, and I’m a Senior,” she went on; but a rippling laugh interrupted her.

“A Senior, just one day old. Come now, Poppy, don’t put on airs. You’re not old enough.”

“A dear little, new little, Senior, all filled up with dignity,” another voice teased.

Poppy—Hillory Lee was always called Poppy—led the laugh that followed, and then suddenly the girls gathered around the twins, introducing themselves and talking with a fine disregard of one another.

The dinner gong silenced them, and out of the confusion a double line formed down the length of the room. Phyllis and Janet were shown their places along with the rest of the new girls.

Poppy, as the president of the senior class, stood on the top of the steps that led to a small stage at the end of the room.

“You all must come to order, and please go down very quietly to the hall,” she said a little shyly; but no one attempted to tease her. She represented Hilltop as she stood on the stage, and they one and all gave her instant obedience.

The dining hall was under the ballroom of the first floor. Deer heads decorated the wall, with other trophies of the chase. A huge fireplace ran along the side of one wall. The mantel was filled with big silver loving cups.

Janet and Phyllis were to learn their importance in the life of the school as the year progressed. Just at present they could not take in details. They were too busy trying to sort their first impressions.

There were four long tables with twenty girls and two teachers at each. The twelve seniors, with Miss Hull, sat apart in state on a dais at the end of the room. The tables were all narrow and the high-backed oak chairs gave the room the look of an old monastery.

There was lots of talking at dinner. The twins did not try to remember all of the girls’ names, but three of them stood out as special friends of Sally’s. One was Gladys Manners, a rough-and-tumble sort of girl with mischievous blue eyes, dark hair and a contagious giggle.

“Do you know Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot?” she asked at the beginning of the meal, and the twins loved her at once.

Prudence Standish—called Prue for brevity’s sake—sat beside Janet, and she was so attentive and thoughtful during the meal and so careful to explain what the girls meant by their many illusions of places and things that had happened in the past, that the twins’ gratitude ripened into a sincere liking before the meal was over.

The third girl sat just across from Phyllis. Her name was Ann Lourie. She hardly spoke through the meal, but her quiet smile and the humor that lay at the back of her hazel eyes gave the twins the impression of a personality worth cultivating.

The teachers at the table were Miss Remsted and Miss Jenks. They were both young and full of fun, and the twins contrasted them with the teachers at Miss Harding’s, to the latter’s disadvantage.

When dinner was over Miss Hull stood up.

“You have nothing to do tonight, girls, but get acquainted; and I want you to do that thoroughly. Remember, every new girl must be made to feel at home at Hilltop.”

The bell tinkled, the lines formed, and the girls marched back to the ballroom.

CHAPTER II—School Chatter

It was not long after they had returned to the ballroom until the twins found themselves in the center of a group of laughing girls.

“It would be a regular game,” Gladys Manners announced.

“What would?” Phyllis demanded.

“Guessing which was which,” Gladys told her.

“Oh, let’s try it,” half-a-dozen voices exclaimed.

They put the twins side by side, and then the girls took turns guessing. Between turns the twins would change places, or remain where they were.

“Oh, this is too much!” Prue exclaimed, after she had stared at them for a full minute. “I’m dizzy with looking from one to the other of you, but I’m blessed if I know which one I sat next to at dinner.”

“This is going to be too complicated. I vote that we do something about it.” Ann Lourie spoke with a Southern intonation, but it was different from Miss Hull’s speech and Poppy’s lazy drawl. She came from New Orleans, which accounted for the difference.

“What are you all doing?” Poppy, with her arm around Gwen’s broad shoulders, joined them.

“We’re playing a new game,” Gladys announced. “It’s called ‘Guessing the Twins.’”

“You’re it, Poppy,” Prue laughed. “See if you can do it.”

Poppy tried. The twins looked up at her provokingly. Their soft brown hair waved back from their forehead with almost identical curls. Their heads, exactly the same oval shape, were pressed close together. Their red lips each smiled a twisted smile, and their golden-brown eyes, so like the color of autumn leaves, danced mischievously.

“I declare to goodness there isn’t anybody on earth that can tell you two apart,” Poppy laughed.

“Oh, but there are!” Phyllis told them. “Sally never gets us mixed up.”

“Oh, that’s easy to understand,” Gwen remarked. “Sally just asks Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot which is which, and that bird, you know, can tell her anything.”

“Just the same, it’s going to be complicating,” Ann repeated, “and I suggest that we make one of them wear something to distinguish her from the other. It need only be something tiny, just big enough for our select group,” her eyes travelled from Prue to Gladys and to Poppy and Gwen.

“That’s a mighty good idea of yours, Ann, and as representatives of the senior class”—Gwen was captain of sports—“we endorse it.”

“The question is, what shall it be?” Prue inquired.

“I know.” Gladys unpinned a tiny little gold pin that she was wearing. It was the shape of the crescent moon, and was no bigger than a good sized pea.

“It’s an old class pin I had years ago when I went to day school. I don’t know what possessed me to put it on yesterday when I left home——”

“I do,” Prue interrupted. “You had a snapper off, and you thought that would show less than an ordinary pin.”

“Untidy little wretch you are,” Ann agreed.

The rest looked at Gladys’ cuff and, sure enough, there was a snapper off. Gladys, under their laughing scrutiny, was no whit embarrassed.

“Course I’m untidy,” she agreed; “that’s because I’m an artist, and it’s being done this year. You couldn’t expect me to be as neat as Prue, the immaculate.”

Prue laughed good-naturedly. “Meaning I am not an artist,” she remarked. “Well, nobody will dispute that with you, least of all Miss Remsted.”

The rest of the old girls laughed as at some well known joke and the twins smiled in sympathy.

“Prue tried to have a crush on Miss Remsted last year,” Poppy explained. “We don’t encourage them—crushes, I mean—at Hilltop, but Prue is stubborn—comes from New England, you know, where the word was coined—and she would have a crush in spite of the fact that she had been here two years and knew that we would have to take drastic steps to cure her.”

“You did and I’m cured; can’t we spare them the harrowing details?” Prue protested.

“No; it may be a lesson they’ll need, and besides, Poppy loves to point a moral,” Gwen remarked. “Go on, Poppy; let’s hear the awful end.”

“It’s coming; just you listen.” Poppy directed her story to the twins. “Prue suddenly decided, about the middle of the term, that she was a budding young artist and that all she needed was a little special instruction, so she went to Miss Hull and got permission to take special art. Then she went to Miss Remsted——.” Poppy paused to chuckle in anticipation.

“Miss Remsted told her to bring her her best sketch,” she continued. “Now, Prue had never made a sketch in her life, but she reckoned it would be easy enough.”

“Prue’s a futurist,” Gwen interrupted.

“So she about made up her mind to draw an animal. What made you choose something that was living, Prue? I never did understand.”

“Then you never will, because I’m not going to tell you,” Prue replied airily.

“Oh, but I am,” Ann smiled reminiscently. “The day before she did the sketch she came to me and asked me if a great many artists hadn’t made their start by drawing pictures of animals. I thought for a minute and then——”

“To show off the knowledge that you haven’t got”—Gladys took up the story—“you casually mentioned Rosa Bonheur, and Prue went straight to her desk and——” She turned to Poppy.

“Drew—I mean sketched—the gardener’s watch dog,” Poppy went on. “He was a nice dog, but not very sketchable. You all know how dogs will jump ’round, so you can’t blame Prue for what happened. She finished the sketch and took it to Miss Remsted.”

“I did not, I left it for her in the studio,” Prue corrected.

“Left it; excuse me, I stand corrected,” Poppy continued. “History does not repeat just what Miss Remsted said or did, but when Prue went to her desk next morning she found her dog with this little note pinned to his tail—not literally, you understand, but figuratively: ‘Prue, dear; it’s a very nice little rabbit, but it’s a pity he has the mumps.’”

The laugh that followed was led by Prue. The twins exchanged glances. They were both thinking how very differently some of the girls at Miss Harding’s would have taken such teasing.

Phyllis always liked and was liked by girls, so she gave the matter less consideration than Janet. Janet’s heart glowed; here were the kinds of girls that she had dreamed about. Their teasing stopped before it became unkind. Their laughter held no hint of derision; and, above all, she was conscious of the feeling of fellowship and understanding that existed between them. She found herself wishing that she could be the brunt of their teasing, for somehow, she felt that in that way only could she be admitted to the happy sisterhood.

“There’s a strong bond between sister classes at Hilltop,” Gladys was explaining. “That’s the reason that Gwen and Poppy prefer to talk to us, who are only Sophomores, instead of joining that group of important-looking Juniors over there.” She pointed to half-a-dozen girls a little older than the twins who were laughing and joking at the other side of the room.

“They’ll adopt the Freshmen and make them behave,” Prue exclaimed.

“While it is the Senior’s painful duty to see that our class keeps out of mischief,” Gladys laughed.

The twins smiled. They liked the way these girls finished each other’s sentences and interrupted each other without giving and taking offence.

Ann looked up at the clock—a grandfather one—which stood in the corner of the big room and chimed out the hours drowsily.

“’Most time for Sally to come,” she announced. “Let’s go and watch for her.”

CHAPTER III—Sally Arrives

“May we go to the senior’s retreat, Poppy?” Gladys asked. “Your balcony is such a dandy place to watch the road from.”

Once more the twins felt a little tremble of pleasure. Although the girls were the best of friends in spite of the difference in their ages, the Sophomores as a class never failed in their respect to the Seniors.

“Yes, come along; we’ll go with you,” Poppy replied.

“I’d like to get the first look at Sally myself,” Gwen added. “I hope she hasn’t forgotten to bring Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot.”

They left the ballroom and walked down the broad hall all arm-in-arm.

“Seniors all busy tonight, the lights are not lit,” Prue remarked as they entered a dark room. Gwen switched on the lights and the twins found themselves in what seemed to be a delightful chintz lined nook.

It was a small room directly over the front door. The two-story piazza, with its enormous pillars, enclosed the balcony that led from it through long French windows.

“This is the Seniors’ Sanctum Sanctorum,” Prue explained. “When the cares of school government grow too much for them they come in here to rest.”

“It is also the chamber of horrors on occasion,” Gladys added. “Just wait until you’ve done something bad, and Poppy calls you in to give you a racking over the coals.”

“Why, Gladys; what do you mean by talking like that?” Poppy protested mildly. “I just never could be severe, and I don’t expect to have to be either; especially,” she added seriously, “to any girl in my sister class.”

Prue and Gladys and Ann nodded approval.

“We’ll be good,” Ann said seriously. “We want to give you all the help possible.”

Once more the twins felt a little glow of thankfulness around their hearts.

The sound of carriage wheels took them all to the balcony.

“Sally!” Gladys exclaimed; and with one accord they rushed down the stairs and out to the front porch.

Long before the carriage reached the steps, Sally was out of it. She rumbled to the ground and ran towards them, her black bag knocking against her knees.

“Where are my twins?” she demanded breathlessly.

Janet and Phyllis almost smothered her in the warmth of their embrace.

“Oh, Sally, you old darling!” Phyllis exclaimed. “You look so wonderfully natural that I could eat you up for sheer joy.”