“It’s an awful long ways to that Hospital, and I’ve got five cents left. We can go in anywhere and I can ’phone for myself. No need to bother any doctors or nurses.”

Opposition to her wishes dried her tears.

“Well, I am going to Dr. Winston’s hospital. I’d like you to go with me and show me the way but if you won’t the policemen I meet will do it. I’m going right now.”

That conquered this small Canadian gentleman, and he answered:

“All right. I’ll show you. Only don’t you dare to be crying when you get there.”

She wasn’t. It proved a long walk but help loomed at the end of it and the youngsters scarcely felt fatigue in the prospect of this. Also, the help proved to be just what they most desired. For there was Dr. Winston himself, making his night visit to a very ill patient and almost ready to depart in his car which stood waiting at the door.

Dorothy remembered how little gentlewomen should conduct themselves when paying visits; so after inquiring of the white-clad orderly who admitted her if Dr. Winston was there, and being told that he was, she took her empty purse from her pocket and sent up her card. She would have written Robin’s name below hers if she had had a pencil or – had thought about it.

The tiny card was placed upon a little silver salver and borne away with all the dignity possible; but there was more amazement than dignity in the good doctor’s reception of it. Another moment he was below, buttoning his top-coat as he came and demanding with a smile that was rather anxious:

“To what am I indebted for the pleasure of this visit, Miss Dorothy Calvert?”

But the tears were still too near the girl’s eyes for her to meet jest with jest. She could only hold out her arms, like the lonely, frightened child she was and he promptly clasped her in his own.

Then “tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,” ran a little bell in the Oak Knowe library and over the telephone wire rang the doctor’s hearty voice.

“Be at rest, Miss Muriel. Your runaways are found and I’ll motor them home in a jiffy!”

This was so joyful a message that Lady Jane and the Lady Principal promptly fell upon one another’s neck and wept a few womanly tears. Then Miss Tross-Kingdon released herself, exclaiming:

“Oh! those dreadful police. Why did I violate the privacy of Oak Knowe by setting them to search? I must recall the order right away – if I can!”

Self-blame doesn’t tend toward anybody’s good nature and the head of Oak Knowe School for Young Ladies had been sorely tried. Also, her offense had come from the very girl she trusted most and was, therefore, the more difficult to forgive. So clothing herself in all her dignity, she was simply the Lady Principal and nothing more, when for a second time the quiet of her domain was broken by the honk-honk of an automobile, the door opened and Dorothy and Robin walked in. The doctor had laughingly declared that he couldn’t enter with them – he was afraid! But though it was really only lack of time that prevented him so doing, their own spirits were now so low that they caught the infection of his remark – if not his spirit – and visibly trembled.

This was a sign of guilt and caught Miss Muriel’s eye at once.

“What is the explanation of this, Dorothy? Robin?”

Dorothy had been pondering that explanation on the swift ride home. Dr. Winston had called them the Good Samaritans and seemed pleased with them. Maybe Miss Muriel would think so, too.

“We stayed to see – we had to be what he said. Good little Samaritans – ”

“Humph! If that is some new game you have invented, please never to play it again. Your duty – ”

“Why, Lady Principal, you wouldn’t have us ‘pass by on the other side,’ would you? To-morrow’s lesson – ”

But there was no softening in Miss Muriel’s eye, and indignant Robin flashed out:

“Well – well – you needn’t blame her. You needn’t blame a girl– when it was all my fault! I coaxed her or she wouldn’t ha’ done it!”

This was such a manly, loyal reversion of the old story of Adam and Eve that Lady Jane laughed and would have clapped her hands in pride of her small compatriot. But she refrained and chose the wiser course of slipping away unseen.

“Robin! you forget yourself! I have given you a home here but I have not given you license to be insolent or disobedient. You have been both. Your mother is somewhere on the road to town, looking for you.”

But it happened she was not. Dr. Winston had espied a lone woman dragging herself citywards and had stopped to give her a lift. Then, learning who she was and her errand, had promptly turned about and conveyed her also home; so she was back in their own rooms almost as soon as her boy was and able to soothe his wrath as only mothers can.

But upon poor Dorothy fell the full force of her teacher’s indignation.

“Dorothy, I would not have believed it possible for you so willfully to disappoint me. Go to your dormitory and to bed at once. You cannot go off bounds again till Easter holidays. Good night.”

Dorothy obeyed in silence. She could think of many things to say but she could not say them. Even to anxious Dawkins who would have welcomed her warmly and ministered loving comfort she could only say:

“Good night. It’s such a mixed up world. It was good to help Jack, the doctor said; and it was wrong, Miss Tross-Kingdon said; and – and – I’m so tired! Oh! if I could only see Aunt Betty!”

With that last homesick cry, she laid her head on her pillow, and being a perfectly healthy girl – fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER XVII
COMMENCEMENT; AND CONCLUSION

Dorothy in disgrace! That seemed an incredible thing to her schoolmates, who had hitherto believed “Dixie” to be the one great favorite of all.

However, she could never speak of the matter to anybody, except the Bishop when he came home from his southern journey and the news he had to bring her was so far more important and saddening that a short confinement “on bounds” seemed actually trivial. For Uncle Seth was dead. The dear guardian and wise counselor would greet her no more. At first her grief seemed unbearable; but the good Bishop took her into his own home for a little time and she came back to Oak Knowe somewhat comforted for her loss.

Besides she had had a little talk with Miss Tross-Kingdon, and there was again sweet peace and confidence between them. Miss Muriel now helped the girl in her work, inciting her ambition and keeping her so well employed that she had little time to sit and grieve.

Indeed, the spirit of ambition was in everyone’s heart. Easter holidays were past, spring exams proved fairly satisfactory with much yet to be accomplished before Commencement came. So the weeks fairly flew, the outdoor recreations changing with the seasons, and Dorothy learning the games of cricket and golf, which were new to her and which she described in her letters home as “adorably fascinating and English.” Tennis and basket-ball were not so new. She had played these at the Rhinelander Academy, the first private school she had ever attended; but for even these familiar sports she spared little time.

“It does seem as if the minutes weren’t half as long as they were in the winter, Winifred! There’s so much, so much I want to finish and the time so short. Why, it’s the middle of June already, and Commencement on the twenty-first. Only six days for us to be together, dear!” cried Dorothy in the music room with her violin on her lap, and her friend whirling about on the piano stool.

They were “programmed” for a duet, the most difficult they had ever undertaken, and were resting for the moment from their practicing while Dorothy’s thoughts ran back over the year that was past.

“Such a lot of things have happened. So many bad ones that have turned out good. Maybe, the best of all was Jack-boot-boy’s running away and our finding him. It gave Robin and me a rather unhappy time, but it’s turned out fine for him, because as he says: ‘It’s knocked the nonsense out of me.’”

“The Dame will let no more creep in. Old John told me how it was. Soon as Dr. Winston told him where Jack was, at that hospital, he said to his wife: ‘I’m going to see him.’ Then that ‘rare silent woman’ spoke her mind. ‘Husband, that’ll do. I’ll ride yon, on the cart, to fetch him home here to our cottage. The doctor says he’s well enough to leave that place. I’ll get him bound out to me till he’s twenty-one. Then I’ll let him go to ‘seek’ that ‘fortune’ he yearns for, with a new suit of clothes on his back and a hundred dollars in his pocket. That’s the law and I’ve took him in hand.”

“So he’s settled and done for, for a long time to come. It’s just fine for him, they’ll treat him like a son – Baal can live his days out in a pen – and Jack will grow up better fitted for his own station in life, as you Canadians say. Down in the States we believe that folks make their own ‘stations’; don’t find them hanging around their necks when they are born. Why I know a boy who was – ”

“There, Dolly Doodles! Don’t get started on that subject. I know him by heart. One remarkable creature named James Barlow, who couldn’t spell till you taught him and now has aspirations toward a college professorship. By the letters he writes, I should judge him to be a horrible prig. I wish I could see him once. I’d make him bow his lofty head; you’d find out!”

Dorothy pulled a letter from her pocket and tossed it into her friend’s hands.

“You’ll soon have a chance. Read that.”

“Oh! may I?”

But the reading was brief and an expression of great disappointment came to Winifred’s face.

“Oh, Dorothy! How horrid!”

“Yes, dear. I felt so, too, at first. Now all I feel is a wish to be through so I can hurry home to dear Aunt Betty who must need me dreadfully, or she’d never disappoint us like this.”

“It was such a beautiful plan. We should have had such a lovely time. Ah! here comes Gwen. Girl, what do you think? Mrs. Calvert isn’t well enough to come to Canada, after all, and Dorothy has got to go home. When it’s all fixed, too. Father’s freed himself from business for three delightful months, and we three, with her were to go jaunting about all over the country in his private car, and Dorothy to learn that Canada beats the States all to pieces.”

Gwendolyn shared the disappointment. That trio had been dubbed by their mates as the “Inseparables” and the love between them all was now deep and sincere.

“Read it aloud, Gwen. Maybe there’s a chance yet, that I overlooked. I was so mad I couldn’t half see that upstart’s writing – not after the first few words. He doesn’t mince matters, does he?”

The letter ran thus:

“Dear Dorothy:

“Mrs. Calvert will not be able to come to Canada to meet you. She is not ill in bed but she needs you here. Dinah is taking care of her now, and Ephraim and I have decided that it is best for us two to come to Oak Knowe to fetch you home. Of course, you could come alone, as you went, but I’m at leisure now, and have laid aside enough from my year’s earnings to pay the expenses of us all; and Ephraim wants to go for you. He says ‘it ain’ fitten fo’ no young lady lak my li’l Miss to go trabbelin’ erbout de country widout her own serbant-boy to take care ob her. Mah Miss Betty was clean bewitchted, erlowin’ hit in de fust place, but she’s laid up an’ ole Eph, he ain’ gwine hab no mo’ such foolishness.’

“Those are his own words and lately – Well, I don’t like to go against that old man’s wishes. So he and I will be on hand by the twenty-first of June and I expect can get put up somewhere, though I’m ignorant as to what they do with negroes in Canada.

“Faithfully,
“Jim.”

“Negroes! Negroes? Why, is that Ephraim a negro?”

“Yes, indeed. As black as ink, almost, with the finest white head – of wool! Not quite so thick and curly as your ‘barristers’ wear, but handsome, I think. It represents so many, many years of faithful service. That dear old man has taken care of Aunt Betty ever since she was a child, and does so still. Nobody knows his real age, but it’s one proof of his devotion to her that he’ll take this long journey just because he remembers what’s ‘fitten,’ even if she has grown careless about it. You see, it’s Uncle Seth’s death that must have changed her so,” said Dorothy, musingly, with her eyes on the floor.

The other two exchanged pitying glances, and it rose to Winifred’s lips to say:

“But she let you come alone in the fall and he wasn’t dead then;” but she refrained. She knew, for Dolly had told her, that all that winter Dorothy’s home letters had not seemed quite the same as they had used, during other separations from her aunt; and that many of them had been written for Mrs. Calvert by various friends of the old lady’s, “just to oblige.” Never before had the sprightly Mrs. Betty shrunk from writing her own letters; and, indeed, had done so often enough during the early winter to prevent Dorothy’s suspicion of anything amiss.

“Auntie dear, is so old, you know girls, that of course she does need me. Besides she’s been all over the world and seen everything, so there’s really ‘nothing new under the sun’ for her. That’s why this junketing around we’d planned so finely, doesn’t appeal to her as it does to us,” said Dorothy, at last, lifting her violin to her shoulder and rising to her feet. “Shall we try it again, Win? And, Gwen, dear, have you finished your picture yet for the exhibition?”

“Just finished, Dolly. And I forgot my errand here. Miss Muriel sent me to tell you girls that the dressmaker was in the sewing-room, giving last fittings to our frocks. She wants us to go there right after practice hour, for we must not lose our turn. I wanted to wear that beautiful one Mamma sent me from Paris but ‘No’ was the word. ‘There will be no change in our custom. Each girl will wear a plain white lawn Commencement frock, untrimmed, and with no decoration except a sash of each Form’s colors.’ So there we are, same old six-pences, and dowds I think, every one of us.”

But when those few days intervening had passed and great Oak Knowe was alight with its hundreds of daintily robed girls, there was not a single “dowd” among them; nor one, whether unknown “charity” scholar or otherwise who felt envy of any difference between themselves or others.

“What a glorious day! What crowds are here and coming. Assembly and all the rooms near it will be packed closer than ever! Oh! I’m so happy I can’t keep still! No more lessons, no more early-to-bed-and-rise business for three delightful months! There’s father! There he is – right in the front row of guests’ seats. Right amongst the ‘Peers,’ where he belongs by right!” cried Winifred, turning Dorothy’s head around that she might see the object of her own great excitement. “See, see! He’s looking our way. He’s discovered us! And he’s awfully disappointed about you. He never forgave Miss Tross-Kingdon that she wouldn’t let you take that Ice Palace trip with us, just because you’d broken a few rules. But never you mind, darling. Though this is the end of Oak Knowe for us together, it isn’t the end of the world – nor time. Father shall bring me to you, he shall, indeed! Just think how it would help my education to visit the States! But, hark! The bugle is blowing – fall into line!”

From their peep-hole in the hall Dorothy, also, could see the guests taking seats; and clutching Winifred’s sleeve, whispered:

“Look! Look! Away there at the back of Assembly, close to the door – that’s Jim! That’s Ephy! Oh! isn’t it good to see them? For no matter now, I’m not without my own home folks any more than the rest of you. After banquet I’ll introduce you if I get a chance.”

Then they fell into the line of white clad girls, and to the strains of a march played by the Seventh Form graduates, three hundred bright faced maidens – large and small – filed to their places in Assembly for their last appearance all together.

It was a Commencement like multitudes of others; with the usual eager interest in guessing who’d be prize winners. The most highly valued prize of each year at Oak Knowe was the gold medal for improvement in conduct. Who would get it? Looking back the “Inseparables” could think of nobody who’d shown marked advance along that line; Winifred remarking, complacently:

“I think we’re all about as good as can be, anyway. ’Cause we’re not allowed to be anything else.”

“I know who’s improved most, though. I hope – Oh! I hope she’ll get it!”

And when the announcement was made she did! Said the Bishop, who conferred the diplomas and prizes:

“The Improvement Gold Medal, the highest honor our faculty can bestow, is this year awarded to – ” Here the speaker paused just long enough to whet the curiosity of those eager girls – “To the Honorable Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard. Will she kindly advance and receive it?”

Never was “honor girl” more deeply moved, surprised, and grateful than this once so haughty “Peer,” now humble at heart as the meekest “Charity” present, and never such deafening cheers and hand-claps greeted the recipient of that coveted prize.

Other lesser prizes followed: to Winifred’s surprise, she had gained “Distinction” in physical culture; Florita in mathematics; and a new “Distinction” was announced for that year – “To Miss Dorothy Calvert for uniform courtesy,” and one that she valued less: a gold star for advancement in music.

“Two prizes, Dolly Doodles! You ought to should give poor Gracie one, you should. ’Tis not nice for one girl to have two, but my Auntie Prin, she couldn’t help it. She told the Bishop you’d always been a beautiful behaver, an’ she must. Now, it’s all over, and I’m glad. I’m so tired and hungry. Come to banquet.”

After all it was the same as most Commencements the world over, with its joys and its anticipations. What of the latter’s realization? In Dorothy’s case at least the telling thereof is not for this time or place; but all is duly related in a new story and a new volume which tells of But there was that year one innovation at the banquet, that farewell feast of all the school together. For the company was but just seated when there stalked majestically into the great hall an old negro in livery.

Pulling his forelock respectfully toward the Bishop, bowing and scraping his foot as his Miss Betty had long ago taught him, he marched straight to his Miss Dorothy’s chair and took his stand behind it. He took no notice when turning her head she flashed a rather frightened smile in his direction, nor did either of them speak. But she glanced over to the head of the table and received an approving nod from her beloved Bishop; whose own heart felt a thrill of happy memory as he beheld this scene. So, away back in boyhood’s days, in the dining-room at beautiful Bellevieu, had this same white-headed “boy” served those he had loved and lost.

To him it was pathetic; to other observers, a novelty and curiosity; but to Dorothy and Ephraim themselves, after that first minute, a mere matter of course. Looking over that great table, the girl’s face grew thoughtful. She had come among all these a stranger; she was leaving them a friend with everyone. The days that were coming might be happy, might be sorry; yet she was not alone. Old Ephraim stood behind her, faithful to the end; and out in the hall waited James Barlow, also faithful and full of the courage of young life and great ambition. No, she was not alone, whatever came or had come; and, after all, it was sweet to be going back to the familiar places and the familiar friends. So, the banquet at its end, by a nod from the Bishop, she drew her violin from under the table and rising in her place played sweetly and joyfully that forever well loved melody of “Home, Sweet Home.”

One by one, or in groups, the company melted away. Each to her new life of joy or sorrow or as general, both intermingled.