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CHAPTER XXVII.
MURIEL BEGINS HER STUDIES
A fortnight passed and during that time Miss Gordon and Faith had started Muriel’s development in several directions. In fact, the younger of her teachers soon triumphantly announced that not a pupil at High Cliff Seminary could make a more graceful curtsy than Muriel.
The day before the expected arrival of Miss Humphrey, who was to tutor the island girl, she confided to Faith that she just knew that she could make far greater headway with writing and reading if she might continue practicing them with her best friend than she could with a teacher, however learned, who was strange to her. It was evident to the three girls who were her closest comrades that Muriel dreaded the first hour that she was to spend with Miss Humphrey.
As usual, the island girl seemed almost to foreknow what was going to happen, and when the moment arrived Muriel retreated within herself so entirely that, at the close of a very trying hour, Miss Humphrey went down to the office of Miss Gordon and remarked: “I must confess that I am extremely disappointed in your prodigy. Her English is deplorable. To correct it will take indefinite patience and far more time than I can spare from my legitimate classwork. Is there not some one who could undertake her instruction during the fall term in the fundamentals?” If Miss Gordon was discouraged her voice did not betray it, when, after a thoughtful moment, she replied: “I am sorry that I asked you to undertake the tutoring of the island girl. I hoped that you would see in her the possibilities of an unusual nature that I still contend are there, but it will, as you say, require infinite patience to develop them. Perhaps I had better make some other arrangement, at least until Muriel has caught up with your Junior English class.”
There was real relief pictured on the face that was lined before its time. Rising, Miss Humphrey said: “I am indeed glad that we are agreed on this matter and if Muriel Storm is advanced enough at the midwinter term to enter the junior class I will do all that I can to aid her, but this dialect which she now speaks must be overcome, and that means tireless prompting on the part of some constant companion.”
Miss Gordon also arose and said, not unkindly: “Give Doctor Winslow’s protege no more thought until the midwinter term begins.” Then the principal added, with a brightened smile: “I’ll prophesy that Muriel will then be prepared to enter your sophomore class and not your junior.”
“Impossible!” Miss Humphrey declared with conviction.
“Wonders never cease!” laughed Miss Gordon, who now wished to end the interview.
“But who will tutor Muriel Storm that she is to make such phenomenal progress?” With her hand on the knob of the open door Miss Humphrey awaited the answer.
“I shall,” Miss Gordon replied.
Joy was in the heart of the island girl when she heard this wonderful news.
“Oh, I’m that glad, Miss Gordon,” she exclaimed the following evening when, just after dinner, she was summoned to the attractive little apartment in a remote wing of the school to which the principal retired when the tasks of the day were over.
The larger of the two rooms was a library and study in which there was a wide fireplace, and on either side long, vine-hung windows that overlooked the Hudson. Low shelves circled the walls and they were filled with book-friends, actually read and loved by their owner. Here and there were soft-toned copies of famous paintings and a few charming originals in water color. Too, there were ferns growing in the wicker window-boxes and a blossoming plant on a low wicker stand. The comfortable, inviting chairs of the same weave were cushioned with soft hues and a shade on the reading lamp harmonized. The little room just beyond, in which Miss Gordon slept, had disappearing windows on all sides, and at night, when these were opened, only the screens sheltered her from the out-of-doors she so loved. As the principal had prophesied, Muriel, in this congenial atmosphere, blossomed not only rapidly but also beautifully. No one but Faith guessed how her friend was advancing and she did not have to guess. She knew.
Miss Gordon had sent for Faith on the very day that Miss Humphrey had visited the office, and together they had divided the work and the joy of assisting Muriel.
In the beginning the principal had merely planned asking Faith’s advice; it had not been her desire to burden the girl, but at once Faith had said: “Oh, Miss Gordon, I have not told you that for the past two weeks I have been instructing Muriel in penmanship and also in reading and spelling. It is a great pleasure to me to aid her, and if you are willing I shall continue our little class.”
The principal’s sweet face brightened. “Thank you, Faith. If you will tutor Muriel in the fundamentals, I will gladly instruct her in the higher branches.”
Then she added, and there was a twinkle in the sweet grey-blue eyes: “Miss Humphrey would never be able to understand it, but I actually enjoy reading poetry to that island girl. She sits on a low stool at my feet and with those liquid hazel eyes she drinks into her very soul the beauty of the thought and the music of the rhythm.”
“Miss Gordon,” Faith said, “don’t let us tell anyone of Muriel’s progress. Let’s keep it a secret until the midwinter term. I would like to surprise Miss Humphrey – and – and others.” Faith was thinking of Marianne, whom she knew wished to humiliate Muriel.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A LESSON IN TENNIS
Faith and Muriel were studying together the next morning, which chanced to be Saturday, when they heard a hurrying of feet in the corridor and then a merry banging on the door.
“Come in,” Muriel called. The door was flung open and in bounced Gladys Goodsell and Catherine Lambert, wearing tennis shoes and carrying their racquets and balls.
“Top o’ the morning to you,” Gladys sang out.
“The coast is clear!” Catherine announced almost at the same time.
The two, who were seated at a small table strewn with papers and books, looked up inquiringly.
“What coast and how clear?” Faith inquired.
Gladys threw herself down upon the window seat while Catherine perched on the foot of the bed.
“Marianne Carnot and Adelaine Stuart have gone to the city for the day. Think of that! They left on the mail boat at nine o’clock sharp, chaperoned by Miss Widdemere, and are to return at six-thirty P. M. Were we ever in greater luck?”
Still the listeners were puzzled.
“Faith Morley, put on your thinking bonnet! Don’t you know that we have been just pining to have an opportunity to instruct Muriel in the beginnings of tennis without being spied upon by our arch-enemy, whatever that may mean. Anyway, it sounds much grander than just enemy.”
“That is true,” Faith replied, “but this morning Muriel and I were planning to study. Can’t we play this afternoon?”
Faith had not told the others that in reality she was trying to instruct the island girl in spelling the simplest words, but Muriel was quite willing that these two dear friends might know, and so she said: “Teacher Faith, I think I’m gettin’ a notion of what you mean about the lesson, and if you’d like to be teachin’ me tennis, I’d love to be learnin’ it.”
“Very well,” Faith said as she arose, glad indeed to join in the outdoor game they all so enjoyed. “I haven’t a thing to do until my violin lesson at three o’clock, although I think I had better practice for an hour before Herr Professor arrives on the scene today. Last Saturday he said, ‘Mees Morley, the practice is less of late, why for?’” Then she added: “Into your sport skirt, Muriel, and if you haven’t tennis shoes I’ll loan you a pair. Fare-thee-well. I’ll be back in a twinkling.”
Faith skipped away to her room to change her dress. Catherine and Gladys announced that they would go ahead to the court and practice until the others joined them.
Ten minutes later Faith reappeared, holding a pair of tennis shoes. She found Muriel studying the primer. Rilla looked up with laughter in her hazel eyes. “D-e-a-r,” she announced. “It’s the beginning of a letter. I wonder how long ’twill be before I can be writin’ one that a person could be readin’?”
She was putting a burnt orange tam atop of her red-brown hair as she spoke, and then she slipped on a sweater of the same becoming hue.
“Who are you so eager to write to, anyway?” Faith was curious.
“Oh, it’s several friends I have that I’d like to be writin’ to,” Muriel began; then, chancing to glance at the chart made for her by Faith to aid in correcting the mistakes she so frequently made, she repeated, very slowly and thoughtfully: “I have several friends to whom I wish to write.”
“That’s great!” Faith exclaimed, her face glowing with pleasure. “Think ahead of each word that you say for a few weeks, dear, and soon you will find that it will be hard for you to speak incorrectly.” Then, slipping her arm within that of her friend, she added: “The champion tennis players will now descend to the court.”
Faith chatted gaily as they went down the wide stairs, out through the basement door, crossed the garden, where few flowers were blossoming, as the nights were frosty, and toward the tennis courts.
Muriel, however, was silent. She was wondering how long it would be before she could write a letter to Gene unaided.
“Greetings!” Gladys called as Muriel and Faith approached. She waved her racket and then, as the ball, sent with a smash by Catherine, landed in the court just back of her, she whirled with a sudden swift movement, caught it on the first bound and sent it flying back over the net. The island girl stared at her in amazement.
“Why, Gladys, it’s like a top you’re whirling!” she exclaimed. “Is it me that’s expected to learn such antics?”
The other three laughed, and Catherine, catching the ball, walked around the net to join the group.
“We don’t expect you to do such expert playing as that for this tournament,” Faith assured her. “In fact, we do not expect you to take part in any of the actual contest games until next spring, but you might as well begin your training. It’s jolly good fun, if nothing more.”
Muriel sighed audibly and Faith laughed. “Rilla,” she said, and the island girl heard her grand-dad’s pet name for her for the first time since she had arrived at High Cliffs, “have you been worrying for fear we did expect you to play against Marianne Carnot on that fateful day? Indeed not! Catherine Lambert is the only pupil in this school who can even approach Marianne in skill and dexterity. You know the English are great for outdoor sports of all kinds.”
“But it’s French Marianne is, I thought.”
“Her father is a Frenchman, but he is connected with English and American shipping interests. It’s a huge concern, I don’t know just what, but I have heard Marianne say that their ships circle the globe. Because of this, Monsieur Carnot resides in England, where his daughter attended a school, and she takes every opportunity to assure us it was really intended only for the daughters of the lesser nobility, if you know what or who they may be.”
“I plead total ignorance,” Gladys declared. “I’m glad that I’m an American. My dad made every penny that he possesses, and honestly, too. Grand-dad happened to own vast farmlands which the City of New York wished to possess, and for which it paid a fabulous price, hence the grand-daughter of a farmer is attending High Cliffs with the daughters of the lesser nobility, if any happen to be here.”
Catherine Lambert laughed. “Well, since we four are not guilty, let’s cease chatting and go to batting.”
“Cathy, I believe you are trying to be a poet,” Faith remonstrated. “Don’t, dear, we’d hate to have our best tennis player take to day-dreaming.”
“No danger of that! I simply couldn’t write a poem if my life depended upon it. Now, let’s explain the game. Muriel, here is a racket for you.”
Catherine looked over at Faith, who smilingly nodded, and said: “Keep up the good work, Cathy. If you leave out any leading points Gladys and I will supply them.”
“Very well, if I am appointed instructress, I will proceed to instruct,” Catherine said. Then she added in a tone of mock seriousness: “Miss Storm, before you is a tennis court, the boundaries of which are outlined in white. A net, you will perceive, is stretched across the center, and the opponents stand two on either side. Comprenez vous?” Then, noting the pupil’s puzzled expression, she translated: “Do I make it clear?” Muriel nodded.
Catherine continued: “The first player to serve the ball is selected and the game begins. Now, the object of the server is to send the ball over the net in such a manner that it will be difficult for the opponent to reach it before it bounds twice. It may be returned after the first bounce, but not after the second.” Then, turning to the others: “Now, shall we begin? Muriel will learn more by actual practice than by any amount of explanation. I will take her for my partner.”
“Oh, Catherine, you’ll be sorry if you do,” Muriel laughingly protested.
“No, she won’t,” Faith returned. “Catherine could win the game singly against any two girls in this school if Marianne were not an opponent.”
Then the game began. Gladys served and the ball fell easily within Muriel’s reach, but she stood and gazed at it. For a fraction of a second Catherine waited, then realizing that Muriel did not understand that she was expected to return the ball, she leaped to the other side and, zip, it went flying gracefully back over the net. After that it was kept in the air, one volley shot following another in quick succession until Faith had the misfortune to throw it into the net, then they all paused for a breathing spell.
Muriel shook her head. “You might’s well give up the notion of teachin’ me. Such spinnin’ around I never could do.”
Faith laughed. “Don’t be discouraged. We all felt just that way in the beginning. Now, Gladys, let’s sit beneath this juniper tree and let Muriel get some actual practice.”
This they did, and during the next half hour Muriel did some leaping and running that made the observers decide that, when she understood the rules of the game, she would play at least as well as the majority.
“The luncheon bell is ringing,” Faith sang out at last. The players stopped and the others, gazing at Muriel, suddenly realized she was truly beautiful. Her loosened hair clustered in moist ringlets about her flushed face, her orange colored tam was jauntily askew, and her eyes were glowing. “That was great fun,” she said, when the garden door was reached. “Thank you all for tryin’ to teach me.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
JOY KIERSEY
That had been the first of many hours of practice on the tennis courts. Running races with Shags and rowing had been the only two outdoor sports Muriel had known. For that reason, perhaps, she thoroughly enjoyed tennis, and how her friends did enjoy watching her.
Every afternoon from four to five o’clock they had the court to themselves, that being the hour when Marianne Carnot was practicing her vocal lessons on the other side of the school. These three friends did not wish Marianne to even suspect that Muriel was being drilled. Not that they had any hope of winning the game, which was but a fortnight away. In fact, it would be unwise to permit so new a player as Muriel to even take part, they decided. Joy Kiersey, who usually played with Catherine Lambert, had been ill, and was not yet strong enough to practice, although she assured the girls that she would not fail them on the day of the tournament.
“We have a strong team,” Faith told Muriel one noon at lunch, “when Joy is with us, but not so strong when she isn’t.”
“I haven’t met Joy Kiersey as yet, have I?” Rilla said this slowly, thoughtfully, and hence more correctly.
Faith was pleased, but made no comment. “No,” she replied. “Joy did not return at the beginning of the term, and although she has been in High Cliffs for a week now, she remains in her room most of the time. We thought that we would call upon her this afternoon during the free period, and I planned asking you to accompany us.”
Muriel shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. Then twinkles appeared in her clear hazel eyes. “I dunno how to make a call. We haven’t had that yet in politeness.”
Faith, however, did not smile. “This afternoon, dear, you follow me and do just what I do and then, at least, you will be as correct a guest as I am.”
“Miss Gordon said that we might go,” Gladys leaned forward to remark, “and Joy is eager to have a real visit with us.”
“We haven’t had an opportunity since she came to confer about the game.” This from Catherine.
“Maybe she’d ruther I didn’t come.”
Faith looked reproachfully at her friend, then said softly that no one else might hear: “Rilla, you are forgetting our new rule. Think a sentence before you say it.”
Muriel flashed a bright smile at the speaker, thought a moment, then repeated: “Perhaps your friend, Joy Kiersey, would rather that I did not come.”
“Not so, Rilla.” Faith was glad to be able to add truly: “Joy asked especially about you. She was watching us yesterday as we returned from the court and she inquired who you were, and what do you suppose she said?”
“I can’t guess. Something dreadful, like’s not – I mean – I suppose.”
“Not a bit of it! Joy asked who the girl was who carried herself as though she were a princess.”
Muriel looked blank. “Who was she talking about? If ’twas me, then she was just makin’ fun.”
“No, dear. Joy wouldn’t do that. You don’t realize it, of course, but there are times when you carry yourself, shall I say proudly? Or – ” Faith hesitated, groping for a word, then laughingly confessed, “I don’t know just how to express it.”
“As though she had a family tree like Adelaine Stuart,” Gladys put in.
Muriel laughed; then said earnestly: “I come from a long line of good, honest New England seafaring folk and I’m proud of it. My grand-dad stood erect, the way I suppose you mean that I do. Summer folk often spoke of it. I remember one man visitin’ the light said grand-dad was like a Viking. Queer how I remembered that word all this time. I suppose because I wondered what it meant.”
“Oh, I know all about Vikings,” Gladys boasted. “Listen and you shall hear. Between the eighth and eleventh centuries the coasts of the British Isles were visited by the Norsemen, called Vikings, or sea-rovers, who contributed much to the romantic history of medieval Europe.”
“My! What a lot we know,” Catherine Lambert teased as she beamed across the table, and Gladys merrily retorted: “Well, why shouldn’t I know it today, since I only learned it yesterday. But don’t ask me anything about it next week.”
Then, as the signal was given, the girls arose and left the dining hall.
Little did Muriel guess that these dear friends had planned the call upon Joy that she might have an actual experience that would fit her for the dreaded class in politeness.
The afternoon tea was a delightful affair. Joy, who seemed to Muriel to be the embodiment of loveliness, welcomed them to her sunny, flower-filled room with a graciousness which at once won the heart of the island girl.
“Miss Joy Kiersey, may I present my friend Miss Muriel Storm?” was the form of introduction chosen.
“I am indeed glad to make the acquaintance of so dear a friend of our Faith,” was the sincere response as Joy extended her hand and clasped that of the new member of their little clan. “Now, everybody find a place to curl up somewhere and let’s chat for half an hour while the kettle boils. Dear Miss Gordon granted a special dispensation today and yonder on the tea table is seen the flame of my alcohol lamp that will soon persuade the tiny teakettle to start its song.”
“Oh, what an adorable teakettle that is! I love copper things, don’t you, Muriel?” Gladys exclaimed, forgetting for the moment that the island girl might not be familiar with things antique. Faith replied for her friend, then added: “Joy’s latest hobby, it is quite evident, is collecting baskets. You have a dozen new ones, I do believe.”
Their hostess nodded, and pointing to a large, round and nearly flat basket lying near the hearth: “I found that in Nevada last summer when we were visiting Lake Tahoe. It was made by the Washoe Indians and I think that I prize it most of all, and yet that Washoe water bottle on the mantel is interesting as a curiosity.”
After the bottle-shaped basket had been admired Gladys asked: “Did you find people different in the West?”
“I like the real Westerner,” Joy replied, “but there was one thing that was always like a discord to me, and that was the manner of introduction used by many of them. They say, ‘Meet my friend.’ It is so harsh and so abrupt. If they would say, ‘I would like you to meet my friend,’ it would seem more gracious.”
Muriel, listening, resolved that she would never use that crude form of introduction.
“Hark!” Catherine Lambert said softly. “I hear a voice calling to us.”
Joy uncurled from the big chair which the girls had insisted that she occupy. “Oh, the little copper teakettle is singing.” Then to Faith, “Will you pour today, Miss Morley?”
No one looked at Muriel, and as she did in all things as her friends did, the serving of tea and wafers passed without a mishap.
When the bell in the corridor announced the hour of five o’clock Faith rose. “Time to depart,” she said. Then to their hostess, “Joy, I am so glad that you are better. We have had a delightful time at your tea party and shall hope to see you soon in Pickle Pantry.”
This was the name that Faith jokingly gave the room that she shared with Gladys, for that maiden being extremely fond of sweet pickles, always had a bottle of them stowed away in most unexpected places.
“Girls,” Joy said remorsefully, “we haven’t made a single plan for the game. However, I’ll be at the court tomorrow at four.”
As Faith and Muriel ascended the stairs toward the cupola room, whither they were going for a half-hour review of spelling, the former asked: “Isn’t Joy a dear?”
“I love her,” Muriel said. Then she asked: “Are you sure she is real?”
Faith turned with puzzled eyes. “Real? Do you mean sincere?”
The island girl shook her head. “No, indeed, I know she is that! I mean that she looks like the gold and white fairy folk Uncle Barney used to tell about – and they always disappeared.”
Faith smiled. “Joy is our Dresden China girl, and, oh, Muriel, how I do hope she will grow strong. Her mother took her West last year believing the invigorating air of the Rockies would help her; but even now she hasn’t the strength that we who love her desire. The world has need of girls like our Joy,” she concluded.
Joy Kiersey, to the delight of her friends, appeared at the court next afternoon. Her soft, golden hair was like an aureole of sunshine about her head, for when she began to play she tossed her pale blue tam on a bench, where earlier she had flung her sweater-coat of the same color.
Joy and Catherine played singles for a while, the two being the experts of the team. Faith, Gladys and Muriel sat nearby watching with admiring eyes.
Time after time Joy was able to smash a ball over the net in such a manner that it fell dead before Catherine could return it.
“That’s our only hope,” Faith confided to Muriel, “that play of Joy’s! It’s a trick that her Harvard brother taught her and, watch as closely as we may, we cannot acquire it. Her brother, it seems, made Joy promise that she would not teach it to the other girls unless it might be in an emergency of some kind.”
“If Marianne Carnot and Adelaine Stuart are to play against Joy and Catherine,” Muriel said, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm, “they will have to be wonderful players to win.”
“You would think so,” Gladys chimed in, “but you have never seen Marianne run. She seems to be everywhere at once. It doesn’t matter on what part of the court we place a ball, there that French girl is, ready to return it, often with a volley, and her aim is true. However, Joy does excel in the smash stroke, and so, if she is strong enough to play, we may win.”
Soon Joy declared that she wanted to rest and watch while the others played.
Faith buttoned the girl who had been ill into her blue sweater-coat and then wrapped a soft golden scarf about her, although Joy declared that she did not need it. “You’re warm now,” Faith told her, “but there’s a decided nip in the air today, and we must be careful of our champion.”
At first Muriel was self-conscious, for she knew that Joy’s sweet blue eyes were watching her, not critically but with interest.
Suddenly, however, her attention was attracted by the falling of the ball on the extreme opposite side of the court. Of course Catherine would run for it, Muriel thought, but when she saw that maiden slip, Muriel ran as though her feet were shod with the wings of the wind. Over the net the ball went and Catherine was ready to volley it back when Gladys returned it.
Joy wanted to shout her delight. How she longed to sing out: “Girls, Marianne may be able to run, but Muriel flies!” But, instead she kept very quiet. She saw that the island girl was beginning to forget herself, and she did not wish to say anything that would cause her self-consciousness to return.
Soon Joy realized that she had over-estimated her own strength, for a sense of weariness was creeping over her. She rose, meaning to tell the girls that she had better go to her room, but she fell back on the bench, her face pale. Joy had fainted. Faith, rebuking herself for having permitted the frail girl to play at all, was quickly at her side, as were the others.
Joy soon opened her eyes and found her head resting on Faith’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she said. Then with a sigh she concluded: “I guess I’ll have to give up trying to play in the tournament.”
“Never mind, Joy dear. We would far rather have you regain your strength slowly than win all of the tennis honors that could come to us,” Faith assured her.
With the assistance of loving arms, Joy returned to the school and was soon made comfortable in her padded blue silk kimono. Muriel and Gladys brought wood and made a fire on the hearth, while Catherine went kitchenward to fill the copper teakettle with boiling water.
The next day Joy felt as well as she had before, but the girls were unanimous in declaring that she must not play tennis again until spring. Then it was that Joy made a resolution.
