The Girls of St. Wode's

“For I know you are a St. Wode’s girl,” she said.

“How could you possibly guess that?” replied Leslie, looking with admiration at Marjorie whose plain dress could never take away from the charm of her handsome face.

“There was really no mystery about it.” said Marjorie, after a pause. “I am not a magician; but I happened to see the name of St. Wode’s on that basket-trunk a minute or two ago. Will you come with us?”

“I shall be only too delighted,” was the reply. “I was feeling quite lost and strange. It would be nice to go to college in company. Is this your first term?” she added, as she seated herself in the cab.

“Yes, yes; we are all freshers,” replied Lettie. “We shall all have a most unenviable position, that I can foretell. There is a certain Miss Acheson, who resides in North Hall, who has told us of some of the discomforts, and, for my part, if I had not promised – ”

“Oh, hush, please, Lettie; don’t say any more,” said Eileen. “You need not begin by frightening Miss Gilroy. You look, Miss Gilroy, as if you intended to have a good time.”

Leslie did not reply, except with her eyes, which were smiling. She was looking her best, dressed neatly and suitably, with her white sailor hat making an effective contrast to the meshes of her bright golden hair.

“Well, I do wonder how everything will turn out,” said Eileen. “By the way, Miss Gilroy, you did not tell us which Hall you were going to?”

“I believe I am to share a room with another student at North Hall,” she answered. Then she continued, the smiles which she could not suppress now visiting her eyes, “Is not the whole scheme delightful? I do wonder what the other students will be like.”

“And what the tutors will be like,” continued Marjorie eagerly. “There are two resident tutors in each house, and also a vice-principal. Miss Lauderdale is, of course, the principal over the entire college. I expect I shall be somewhat afraid of her.”

“I don’t intend to be afraid of anyone,” said Eileen. “When one makes up one’s mind to lead a really useful life, surely small matters, such as little nervousnesses, ought not to count.”

Leslie gazed hard at Eileen, as if she would read her through.

Marjorie bent suddenly forward and laid her hand on Leslie’s knee.

“Will you tell me something?” she asked earnestly. “Are you coming to St. Wode’s to be a useful member of society, or a learned, or an ornamental one?”

“I have not thought of it in that light,” said Leslie. “I want to go in for learning, of course. As to being ornamental, I have no time to think about that; and useful – well, I hope that learned and useful will, in my case, go together. I have a great deal to do during the three years which are before me – a delightful three years I have no doubt they will prove. What special subjects do you mean to take up, Miss – ”

“Chetwynd is my name,” said Eileen; “but I hope you won’t call me it. I am sure we shall be friends, more particularly as we are to start our new life in the same hall. Oh, I shall have much to tell you by and by. Lettie, why is that frown between your brows?”

“I did not know that I was frowning,” answered Letitia, “I was only thinking of the ornamental part of life, and how I could carry it out most effectively.”

Letitia was dressed with special care, not unsuitably, for she had too good taste for that; but so daintily, so exquisitely, with such a careful eye to the smallest details that Marjorie and Eileen looked rough and gauche beside her. Their serge skirts had been made by a work-girl, as nothing would induce them to waste money on a dressmaker. The work-girl had been discovered by Eileen in Fox Buildings. She had a lame knee and a sick brother, and Eileen seized upon her at once as a suitable person for the job, as she expressed it. Finally, she was given most of the girls’ outfits to undertake.

She worked neatly, but had not the slightest idea of fitting. With numberless blouses, however, and a couple of serge skirts, and sailor hats, though cheap, at least looking clean, the girls passed muster, and were totally indifferent to their own appearance.

“When once we have plunged into our new work we shall be as happy as the day is long,” said Eileen. “I wonder if Belle arrived yesterday or to-day?”

“I sincerely trust she won’t come till to-morrow,” said Letitia, with a shudder. “I do not know for what sin I am doomed to reside under the same roof with that terrible girl.”

“A terrible girl? Who can she be?” asked Leslie.

“You will know for yourself before you have been many days at St. Wode’s,” was Lettie’s enigmatical reply. “Oh, and here we are, turning in at the gates! My heart does go pit-a-pat.”

Leslie’s face also became suffused with pink as the cabman drew up at the large wooden gates, which were presently opened by a neatly dressed young woman who lived at the lodge just within.

The grounds were three-quarters of a mile in length, and the four halls, built round a quadrangle, stood in the middle. There was a wide and smoothly kept grass lawn in front of the halls, and a gravel sweep going right round them. The cab presently delivered up its four occupants, and Eileen, Marjorie, and Leslie found themselves in a small waiting room inside West Hall, where they were to remain until the housekeeper could arrive to take them to their several rooms. They had not to wait long. A cheery young woman of about seven-and-twenty presently made her appearance, asked them their names, told them that their trunks would be brought to their rooms as soon as ever they arrived, and then requested them to follow her.

She tripped up some wide stone stairs, destitute of carpets, and then down a corridor, slippery with parquetry work. The next moment she had flung open a door, and revealed a good-sized room, which was occupied by another girl at the farther end, who wore a shock of red hair rather untidily put up in a loose knot at the back of her head.

“Miss Colchester, I see you have arrived,” said Miss Payne the housekeeper. “This is your room-fellow; may I introduce you to Miss Leslie Gilroy?”

“Pray come in, Miss Gilroy; you are heartily welcome,” said Miss Colchester, jumping up, coming forward, and gazing hard at Leslie. She then extended an awkward hand.

“I am glad to see you,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind the room being in disorder. I have only just begun to unpack, and everything is helter-skelter. I was never tidy – no, never! I begin to think I like things helter-skelter.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, of course!” answered Leslie; but her heart sank. In her mother’s small house the motto impressed upon each child was the old-fashioned one: “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”

“I suppose I shall have one side of the room to myself?” she continued.

Marjorie and Eileen had been left on the landing. They overheard Leslie’s last somewhat despairing words, glanced at one another, and smiled. They were then conducted to their rooms at the farther end of the corridor.

“This is your room, Miss Eileen,” said Miss Payne. “Miss Marjorie has an exact counterpart at the other side of the corridor. Behind this screen you will keep your washhand-stand. This sofa forms your bed at night. This chest of drawers is for your linen and the bodice of your dresses. Behind this curtain you will hang your skirts. Here is your writing-table. It remains with yourself to make your room pretty and neat, or the reverse. You may buy any ornaments in the way of pictures, or anything else you fancy. When you touch this handle you turn on the electric light. Would you care for a fire? Here are coal and wood for the purpose, and I will send in a servant to light it at once, if you wish.”

“No, thank you; it is quite a warm evening,” replied Eileen. “Is Marjorie’s room just the same?”

“Precisely; but I think you have the prettier view.”

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Eileen. “Do look, Marjorie; there is that great park in the distance, and the river down there. Oh, please – ” She turned to speak to Miss Payne, but Miss Payne had already vanished.

“Well, we are landed at last!” she said, clasping her sister’s hand. “Does it not seem almost too delightful?”

“Splendid!” cried Marjorie. “Do you know, Eileen, I have taken a fancy to that pretty Miss Gilroy?”

“So have I,” answered Marjorie. “But I expect she will have a bad time, poor dear, with Miss Colchester. Anyone can see Miss Gilroy is of the orderly sort. Now, I don’t care a bit about having things in perfect order.”

“But, Marjorie,” said Eileen, “I have been reading up about that lately, and I think you and I ought to cultivate order very assiduously if we mean to be really useful women. Oh, by the way! our hair is beginning to grow; we must find a barber to-morrow in order to reduce our crops to the right length.”

“An inch and a half being the length permitted,” said Marjorie, with a smile. “I am curious to see poor old Belle. Lettie will have awful tales to tell of her. Well, this life is interesting, is it not, Eileen?”

CHAPTER XII – INKY ANNIE

Meanwhile, Miss Colchester and Leslie Gilroy, standing in the middle of their room, gazed one at the other. Miss Colchester put up her hand to ruffle her red locks. Presently she uttered a short, sharp sigh.

“I see by the build of your head and your figure that you are painfully tidy,” she said. “I had hoped that it might have been the will of Providence to allow a congenial spirit to share this room with me; but, evidently, that is not to be my lot. How much space do you require?”

“Half the room, I suppose,” said Leslie.

“Half! My dear, good creature, impossible! Don’t you see that my things are everywhere? You will notice, too, that I am absorbed in study. I am working hard for mathematical honors, and I have only this term in which to prepare.”

“Surely a long time?” said Leslie.

“No time at all, I assure you. Come here; I will show you the list of books I have to get through. Oh, I declare, here comes your trunk – two trunks. What do you want two trunks for? How perfectly fearful! Put them down, please, porter – there, near the door. Now then, we had better settle this matter at once. You must promise that you will on no account encroach on my half of the room. I take this side with the bay window; you have the back, with the little side window. I require light for my work. I give you permission to keep your part, just there in the corner, as tidy as you please. Do you understand?”

“I shall certainly keep my part of the room tidy,” said Leslie with some spirit. “And may I ask what this screen is for?”

“Oh! you can use it or not as you please. It is supposed to hide the washhand-stand: most unnecessary in my opinion. Some of the students here even go the length of turning the chest of drawers, so that the drawers may face the wall; then they put an ornamental sort of piano-sheet over the back of the drawers, and make it look like a piece of ornamental furniture, ornamental instead of useful. Ridiculous! Does not one want to bang open a drawer, stuff in one’s things, shut it again as quickly as possible, and then not give another thought to the matter? Surely there are untidy girls in the college: why was it my lot to have you sent to share my room – you who are the very pink of neatness?”

“I see you are very sorry to have me, and, of course, I am sorry, too, that you should be put out,” said Leslie, who thought it best to take the bull by the horns. “But suppose, Miss Colchester – suppose I, who may not have quite so much work to do at present as you have – ”

“Of course you won’t, you silly girl; I am working for honors, I told you.”

“Well, well; do let me finish. Suppose I undertake the tidying of the whole room?”

“But, my dear, good creature, I like it untidy. I hate to have everything in its place. When things are in their right places they can never be found; that’s my opinion. Do you see my study table? I know exactly where I have put my things; but, if anybody attempts to tidy them, woe betide my comfort in the future! Well, I see you are good-natured, and I don’t want to be disagreeable. You have a nice face, too, and I dare say we shall pull together all right. If you wish to tidy just round my table, you may. For instance, if you see my stockings on the floor, you can roll them up and pop them into my drawer, any drawer, it doesn’t matter which; and, if I do forget to put my boots outside at night, you may gather them up with your own and fling them on the landing. Oh, dear, dear, it is such a worry even to speak about it! But what I was about to say,” continued Miss Colchester, “is this: You may tidy for me if you please; but there is one point on which I am resolved. This table is never to be touched. The housemaid knows it, and now I warn you. Think what it means to me – I may make a note, through my brain may be evolved an idea, which a careless housemaid may throw into the waste-paper basket. Just think what it would mean! How do you suppose I am to work in a place like this if I think of small, petty things which occupy home-girls? You are a home-girl: have you a tidy mother? Of course you have.”

“Yes,” said Leslie, “and a very hard-working and clever mother, too. She spends a great deal of her time out, but she has trained my sisters and myself – ”

“I do believe you are going to quote that awful proverb about a place for everything,” said Miss Colchester. “Don’t, I beg of you.”

“I was thinking of it. I did not mean to quote it,” said Leslie.

“Well, I must not waste any more time talking. I suppose you must have your way. I am afraid your bedstead is a little uncomfortable. The spring is broken; but you don’t mind, do you?”

“I do mind,” answered Leslie. “I shall ask to have the spring mended to-morrow. There is no good in having an uncomfortable bed; but for to-night it does not matter.”

“Oh, I see you are going to be good-natured! That is your screen – you can take the best of the two, because I never open mine. You can paste any pictures you like on it if you are given that way; but I hope to goodness you are not. The screen is to put round your washhand-stand. That is your table, and that is your chest of drawers. Now, for goodness’ sake, like a dear, good creature, put your things in order, and don’t speak to me again. I must go on with my calculus of finite differences.”

“What do you mean?” asked Leslie.

“Do you wish for an explanation? If so, pray sit down opposite to me and don’t expect to stir for a week; it will take me at least as long to explain the matter. Oh, don’t say any more just now, and do move as softly as you can! Do just consider that my winning honors in mathematics is a little more important than that your drawers should be in immaculate order. Do you comprehend?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, don’t say another word.”

The red-haired maiden returned to her desk, stuffed both her hands through her fiery locks, which stuck out now like great wings on each side of her head, and began murmuring slowly to herself.

Leslie stood still for a moment with a sense of dismay stealing over her.

“What is to be done?” she thought. “Miss Colchester is a very peculiar girl. What does a calculus of finite differences mean? I almost wish dear old Lew had been mathematical, then perhaps I should have known. Well, never mind; I won’t disturb that poor, dear scholarly girl; but unpack my things I simply must.”

Thanks to her mother’s excellent training, Leslie was a proficient in the art of stowing away things in small spaces; and before the gong for dinner sounded she had put all her belongings away, had arranged the screen round her washhand-stand, and had even brought out much-loved photographs of her mother and her brother Llewellyn to ornament the top of her chest of drawers. These gave a home look to the room, and she glanced at them with satisfaction. Her bedstead, turned into a sofa by day by means of a crimson rug, was now tidy and in order, and Leslie sat down on the edge of it waiting for Annie Colchester to stir.

The second gong pealed through the house, and Annie suddenly started to her feet.

“Good gracious! Oh, I forgot all about you. What is your name?”

“Leslie Gilroy.”

“Leslie Gilroy, please tell me if that is the first or second gong?”

“The second,” replied Leslie.

“And who are you?” continued Annie Colchester, gazing in a sort of vacant way at her roomfellow.

“The girl who has come to share your room.”

“And you have put all your things away and made no noise? Excellent! Did you say that that was the second gong, Miss – ”

“Leslie Gilroy is my name.”

“Is that the second gong?”

“The second gong sounded two or three minutes ago.”

“Then we must fly. Oh, never mind our hands. Ink? Yes, I have ink on my hands and on my face and on my hair; but never mind, never mind; they know me now. I am called ‘Inky Annie.’ I rather glory in the name.”

“But I should have thought that a mathematical scholar would have been the essence of order,” said Leslie. “Surely mathematics ought to conduce to order of mind and body.”

“You know nothing whatever about it,” said Annie, casting a withering glance at Leslie. “I wonder if you are clever or what you have come here for. Girls who are merely orderly have no niche at St. Wode’s. But you will learn doubtless; and if you are good-natured I will stick up for you of course. Come along now; you are a fresher, you know, this term, and will be treated accordingly.”

“But how are freshers treated, and why must I be given that unpleasant name?” asked Leslie.

“Custom, my dear – custom. We always call the new girls freshers; you’ll get used to it. No one is unkind to a fresher unless she makes herself disagreeable, which I rather guess you won’t.” Here Annie smiled brightly into Leslie’s face.

“Well, I hope we shall be good friends, and that I won’t inconvenience you,” said the other girl.

“You won’t if you are silent and keep to your side of the room. Now then, let’s join hands and fly downstairs.”

“Oh, yes, we are fearfully late, and the others have gone into the dining hall.”

“Well, come this way,” said Annie. “I’ll squeeze you into a seat by me, if you like, for this evening, Leslie Gilroy.”

CHAPTER XIII – A COCOA PARTY

Nearly one hundred girls were in the great dining hall. They were all seated at the different tables when Annie Colchester and Leslie Gilroy appeared. Annie went straight up to her own table, bowed somewhat awkwardly to Miss Frere the tutor, who was at the head, and then, seeing that the teacher’s eyes were fixed on Leslie, said in an abrupt voice:

“This is my roomfellow, Miss Leslie Gilroy, Miss Frere.”

“How do you do, Miss Gilroy?” said Miss Frere in a pleasant voice. “I think you will find a seat next to Miss Colchester. Move down a little, please, Jane,” she continued, turning to another girl with a rosy face and dark eyes. “Yes, there is plenty of room now. I will have a talk with you after dinner, if you like, Miss Gilroy.”

“Thank you, I shall be very glad,” replied Leslie. Her bright eyes and lovely face, her whole manner and pleasant expression, made many of the girls turn and glance at her; but nobody stared in at all an unpleasant manner.

The girl called Jane began to talk to Leslie, and told her some of the rules of the place. Leslie was glad to learn what she could; but her eyes anxiously glanced from table to table in the hope of once more seeing her two companions of the cab. Presently she observed Marjorie and Eileen seated at a table at the other end of the room. They were together, looking already quite at home and perfectly contented. They talked to one another; when they caught Leslie’s eyes they nodded to her in a pleasant, hail-fellow-well-met manner.

“Who are those two girls?” said Jane Heriot suddenly. “They are freshers like yourself, are they not?”

“I do not know much about them,” replied Leslie. “Yes; they have just come to St. Wode’s – their names are Marjorie and Eileen Chetwynd. They were kind enough to share a cab with me coming from the station, and seem to be very nice girls indeed.”

“I like their faces,” said Miss Heriot; “but what a funny way they do their hair. I don’t care for that short hair; do you?”

“Not personally,” replied Leslie; “but they seem nice girls and have handsome faces.”

“Yes, I am sure they are charming, and also out of the common. I only trust they won’t join the oddities. We have a few oddities here, of course. I am so glad you are not going to be one.”

As Jane spoke she glanced toward Annie Colchester, who looked back at her and nodded.

“I overheard you, Jane,” she said; “and you are perfectly welcome to speak of me as the oddity of all oddities. Miss Leslie Gilroy has found out that fact for herself already; have you not, Miss Gilroy?”

“I have found you quite willing to put up with the discomfort of having me in your room,” answered Leslie, coloring as she spoke.

“You are sure to have a room to yourself after this term,” said Jane Heriot. “This is always our most crowded term; but if Annie takes honors, which she is very likely to do, she will be leaving St. Wode’s, and then the governors will give you another room.”

The dinner proceeded. Leslie asked a few more questions of Jane, who always replied in a pleasant, intelligent manner; and, when the meal had come to an end, she asked Leslie if she would like to come with her to her own room.

“This is our debate evening,” she said. “I will bring you down to the hall presently, and introduce you to several of the girls; but now do come down to my room and have a chat. We don’t debate before half-past eight. I am sure we shall be friends.”

“But Miss Frere said something about wishing to see me after dinner,” said Leslie. “She is one of the tutors, is she not?”

“Oh, yes, such a darling; the dearest, sweetest woman on earth. But surely you don’t want to talk over books to-night?”

“Yes, I do. I should like to settle down to my work as quickly as possible.”

“Well, of course you can speak to Miss Frere; but I don’t think she can give you much of her time, for she is to open the debate. She is our classical tutor. Are you classical, Miss Gilroy?”

“No: I came here to study literature,” replied Leslie.

“In that case you won’t have anything to do with Miss Frere. Miss Maple is the tutor who will look after you and arrange your lectures. I will just speak to Miss Frere. Oh, come with me if you like; we can both speak to her.”

Jane Heriot slipped her hand through Leslie’s arm, drew her up the room to where Miss Frere was talking to a number of students, and then touched the tutor on the arm.

“Ah, my dear,” said Miss Frere, turning to Leslie, “you would like to have a little talk with me?”

“But, please, Miss Frere,” interrupted Jane, “Miss Gilroy has just told me that she is going to study literature.”

“In that case I am not the tutor who will have to look after you,” replied Miss Frere. “Shall I introduce you to Miss Maple now, or will you wait until the morning?”

“Do wait until the morning,” said Jane. “I am dying to show you my room; and afterwards you must come to hall. You won’t, of course, take part in the debate to-night, but you can look on and find out how far you are likely to enjoy yourself amongst us.”

“With so many temptations, I think I will wait to be introduced to Miss Maple until to-morrow,” said Leslie.

“I think you are acting wisely,” said Miss Frere; “and remember, if you want anything at any time, I shall be very glad to help you. I will speak to Miss Maple about you, and she will see you after prayers to-morrow.”

Leslie and Jane Heriot left the dining hall together. Annie Colchester had long since departed.

“Ought I not to go to her?” said Leslie; “she may think it rude.”

“Rude?” cried Jane with a laugh. “Annie think it rude to be left alone? She is hard at work at her studies already. Let me tell you, you will be in luck if you get into that room at all to-night, for one of her unpleasant habits is to lock the door, then she goes to bed without thinking anything more about it. Alice Hall, her last roomfellow, was once kept out of the room all night in consequence of Annie’s behavior. Poor Alice had to share my sofa-bed, and, I assure you, it was a tight fit.”

“In that case would it not be wise for me to run up immediately and remove the key?”

Jane Heriot laughed again.