Dorothy at Oak Knowe

She waited for Dorothy to begin, and at last she did, making as light of the affair as of an ordinary playground happening.

“Why, it wasn’t anything. Really, it wasn’t, except that Gwen took such a cold and grieved so because other folks had to find where the hidden cascade was. She just got so eager with her drawing that she didn’t notice how close she got to the edge of the rock. If I had stayed awake, instead of going to sleep, I should have seen and caught her before she slipped. I can’t forgive myself for that.”

The Lady Jane shook a protesting head.

“That was no fault in you, Dorothy. Go on.”

“When I waked up, she was in the water, and she didn’t understand how to get out. She couldn’t swim, you know, but I can. So, course, I just jumped in and caught her. There was a big branch bent down low and I caught hold of that. She caught hold of me, but not both my arms, and so – so – I could pull us both out.”

Dorothy did not add that her arm had been so strained she could not yet use it without pain.

“Oh! thank God for you, my dear!” cried the mother, laying her hand upon Gwendolyn’s shoulder, who had turned toward the wall and lay with her face hidden. “And after that? Somebody said you stripped off your own jacket and wrapped it around her.”

“It wasn’t as nice as hers, but you see she was cold, and I thought she wouldn’t mind for once. I borrowed her bathrobe once and she didn’t like it, and now she’d borrowed my jacket and didn’t like that, I suppose.”

“Like it! Doubtless it helped to save her life, too, or her from pneumonia. Oh! if you hadn’t been there! If – ” sobbed the mother.

“But there wasn’t any ‘if,’ Lady Jane; ’cause if I hadn’t seen the falls and made her see them, too, she wouldn’t have been near hand. If she’d gone with the girl she wanted to, nothing at all would have happened. Some way it got mixed up so she had to walk with me and that’s all. Only once we got out of the water onto the ground, I started yelling, and I must have done it terrible loud. Else Mr. Hugh wouldn’t have heard me and followed my yells. He’d gone long past us, hunting with his gun, and he heard me and came hurrying to where the sound was. So he just put his coat around her and made her get up and walk. He had to speak to her real cross before she would, she was so dazed and mis’able. But she did at last, and he knew all those woods by heart. And the directions of them, which way was north, or south, or all ways.

“It was a right smart road he took for roughness, so that sometimes we girls stumbled and fell, but he wouldn’t stop. He kept telling us that, and saying: ‘Only a little further now!’ though it did seem to the end of the world. And by and by we came out of the woods to a level road, and after a time to a little farmhouse. Mr. Hugh made the farmer hitch up his horse mighty quick and wrap us in blankets and drove us home – fast as fast. And, that’s all. I’m sorry Gwendolyn took such a cold and I hope when she gets well she’ll forgive me for going to sleep that time. And, please, Lady Jane, may I go now? Some of the girls are waiting for me, ’cause they want me in the parade.”

“Surely, my dear: and thank you for telling me so long a story. I wanted it at first hands and I wanted Gwendolyn to hear it, too. Good night and a happy, happy evening. It’s really your own party, I hear; begged by yourself from the Bishop for your schoolmates’ pleasure. I trust the lion’s share of that pleasure may be your own.”

As Dorothy left the room, with her graceful farewell curtsey, the girl on the bed turned back toward her mother and lifted a tear-wet face.

“Why, Gwen, dearest, surely she didn’t make you nervous again, did she? She described your accident so simply and in such a matter of course way. She seemed to blame the whole matter on herself; first her discovery of the waterfall, then her falling asleep. She is a brave, unselfish girl. Hoping you ‘would forgive’ her – for saving your life!”

“Oh, mother, don’t! You can’t guess how that hurts me. ‘Forgive her’! Can she ever in this world forgive me!” And again the invalid’s face was hidden in the covers, while her body shook with sobs; that convinced Lady Jane that nobody, not even her anxious self, knew how seriously ill her daughter was.

“My child, my child, don’t grieve so! It is all past and gone. I made a mistake in forcing you to meet the companion of your disaster and hearing the story from her, but please do forget it for my sake. You are well – or soon will be; and the sooner you gain some strength, you’ll be as happy as ever.”

“I shall never be happy again – never. I want to go away from here. I never want to see Oak Knowe again!” wailed Gwendolyn with fresh tears.

“Go away? Why, darling, you have always been happier here than in any other place. At home you complain of your brothers, and you think my home rules harder than the Lady Principal’s. Besides, I’ve just settled the boys at school and with you here, I felt free to make all my plans for a winter abroad. Don’t be nonsensical. Don’t spoil everything by foolishness concerning an accident that ended so well. I don’t understand you, dearest, I certainly do not.”

Assembly Hall had been cleared for the entertainment. Most of the chairs had been removed, only a row of them being left around the walls for the benefit of the invited guests. These were the friends and patrons of the school from the near by city and from the country houses round about.

Conspicuous among these was old John Gilpin in his Sunday suit, his long beard brushed till each hair hung smooth and separate, his bald head polished till it shone, and himself the most ill at ease of all the company. Beside him sat the little widow, Robin’s mother; without whom, John had declared, he would “not stir hand nor hoof” toward any such frivolity, and the good Dame abetting him in the matter. She had said:

“No, Mrs. Locke, no more he shall. I can’t go, it’s bread-settin’ night, and with my being so unwieldy and awkward like – I’d ruther by far stay home. Robin will be all right. The dear lad’s become the very apple of my eye and I e’enamost dread his gettin’ well enough to go to work again. A bit of nonsense, like this of Dorothy’s gettin’-up, ’ll do you more good nor medicine. I’ve said my say and leave it said. If John could go in his clean smock, he’d be all right, even to face that Lady Principal that caught him cavortin’ like a silly calf. But ’twould be an obligement to me if you’d go along and keep him in countenance.”

Of course, Mrs. Locke could do no less for a neighbor who had so befriended her and Robin: so here she was, looking as much the lady in her cheap black gown as any richer woman there. Also, so absorbed she was in keeping old John from trying to “cut and run,” or doing anything else that would have mortified his wife.

The Lady Principal had herself hesitated somewhat before the cottagers were invited, fearing their presence would be offensive to more aristocratic guests, but the good Bishop had heartily endorsed Dorothy’s plea for them and she accepted his decision.

In any case, she need not have feared. For suddenly there sounded from the distance the wailing of a violin, so weird and suggestive of uncanny things, that all talking ceased and all eyes turned toward the wide entrance doors, through which the masqueraders must come. Everything within the great room had been arranged with due attention to “effect.” In its center a great “witches’ caldron” hung suspended from three poles, and a lantern hung above it, where the bobbing for apples would take place. Dishes of salt, witch-cakes of meal, jack-o’-lanterns dimly lighted, odors of brimstone, daubs of phosphorus here and there – in fact, everything that the imaginations of the maskers could conceive, or reading suggest as fit for Hallowe’en, had been prepared.

The doleful music drew nearer and nearer and as the lights in the Hall went out, leaving only the pale glimmer of the lanterns, even the most indifferent guests felt a little thrill run through their nerves. Then the doors slowly opened and there came through them a ghostly company that seemed endless. From head to foot each “ghost” was draped in white, even the extended hand which held a lighted taper was gloved in white, and the whole procession moved slowly to the dirge which the unseen musicians played.

After a circuit of the great room, they began a curious dance which, in reality, was a calisthenic movement familiar to the everyday life of these young actors, but, as now performed, seemed weird and nerve-trying even to themselves. Its effect upon others was even more powerful and upon John Gilpin, to send him into a shivering fit that alarmed Mrs. Locke.

“Why, Mr. Gilpin, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”

“Seems if – seems if – my last hour’s come! Needn’t tell me – them’s – just – just plain schoolgirls! They – they’re spooks right out the graveyard, sure as preachin’ and I wish – I hadn’t come! And there’s no end of ’em! And it means – somethin’ terr’ble! I wish – do you suppose – Ain’t there a winder some’ers nigh? Is this Hall high up? Could I – could I climb out it?”

The poor little widow was growing very nervous herself. Her companion’s positive terror was infecting her and she felt that if this were her promised “fun” she’d had quite enough of it, and would be as glad as he to desert the gathering.

Suddenly the movement changed. The slowly circling ghosts fell into step with the altered music, which, still a wailing minor, grew fast and faster, until with a crash its mad measure ended. At that instant, and before the lights were turned on, came another most peculiar sound. It was like the patter of small hoofs, the “ih-ih-ihing” of some terrified beast; and all ears were strained to listen while through those open doors came bounding and leaping, as if to escape its own self – What?

From her perch on Dr. Winston’s knees, Miss Millikins-Pillikins identified it as:

“The debbil! The debbil!”

Old John sprang to his feet and shrieked, while, as if attracted by his cry, the horrible object made straight for him and with one vicious thrust of its dreadful head knocked him down.

CHAPTER VIII

PEER AND COMMONER

The lights flashed out. The ghostly wrappings fell from the figures which had been halted by the sudden apparition that had selected poor John Gilpin as its victim, though, in knocking him down it had knocked common sense back into his head. For as he lay sprawled on the floor the thrusts of that demoniac head continued and now, instead of frightening, angered him. For there was something familiar in the action of his assailant. Recovering his breath, he sat up and seized the horns that were prodding his Sunday suit, and yelled:

“Quit that, Baal, you old rascal! Dressin’ up like the Old Boy, be ye? Well, you never could ha’ picked out a closer fit! But I’ll strip ye bare – you cantankerous old goat, you Baal!”

Away flew the mask of the evil spirit which some ingenious hand had fastened to the animal’s head, and up rose such a shout of laughter as made the great room ring. The recent “ghosts” swarmed about the pair, still in masks and costumes, and a lively chase of Baal followed.

The goat had broken away from the irate old man, as soon as might be, and John had risen stiffly to his feet. But his bashfulness was past. Also, his lameness was again forgotten, as one masquerader after another whirled about him, catching his coat skirts or his arm and laughingly daring him:

“Guess who I am!”

He didn’t even try, but entered into the fun with as great zest as any youngster present, and it must be admitted, making a greater noise than any. Around and around the great hall sped the goat, somebody having mischievously closed the doors to prevent its escape; and across and about chased the merrymakers, tossing off their masks to see and careless now who guessed their identity.

“Baal!” “Baal here!” “Who owns him? Where did he come from?” “What makes him so slippery? I wonder if he’s been greased!”

At last answered the farmer:

“I guess I could tell you who owns him, but I’d better not. I don’t want to get nobody into trouble, much as he deserves it.”

“‘He?’ Is it a ‘he’ then and not one of the girls?” demanded Winifred.

But he did not inform her, merely asking when it would be time to bob for apples.

“Because I know they’re prime. They come out Dame’s choisest bar’l. Grew on a tree she’ll let nobody touch, not even me.”

“Apples! Apples! My turn first!” cried Florita Sheraton, stooping her fat body above the “caldron” into which some of the fruit had been tossed. But she failed, of course, her frantic efforts to plant her white teeth in any one of the apples resulting only in the wetting of her paper crown and ruff, as well as the ripping of her hastily made “robe.” Then the others crowded around the great kettle, good naturedly pushing first comers aside while but a few succeeded in obtaining a prize. Old John was one of these; so gay and lively that the audience found him the most amusing feature of the entertainment.

Till finally Mrs. Locke gained courage to cross to his side and whisper something in his ear; at which he looked, abashed and with a furtive glance in the direction of the Lady Principal, he murmured:

“Right you be. I ’low I’ve forgot myself and I’m afraid she’d blush to see me so cuttin’ up again. And too, I clean forgot that bag! I’ll step-an’-fetch it right away.”

With his disappearance half the noise and nonsense ended, but more than satisfaction greeted his return, with Jack, the boot-boy, in close attendance. The latter bore in each hand a jug of freshly made sweet cider but his expression was not a happy one, and he kept a watchful eye upon the old man he followed. The latter carried two baskets; one heavy with well cracked nuts, the other as light with its heap of white popped corn. Bowing low to the Lady Principal he remarked:

“With your permission, Ma’am;” then set the articles down beside the “caldron,” clapping his hands to attract the schoolgirls’ attention and bid them gather around his “treat” to enjoy it. Then, stumbling over a fallen mask, he sternly ordered Jack:

“Get to work and clear these things up, and don’t you forget to save Baal’s, for, likely, ’twill be needed again.”

At which the boot-boy’s face turned crimson, though that might have come from stooping.

Nobody waited a second invitation to enjoy the good things that John’s thoughtfulness had provided; but, sitting on the floor around his baskets, they made him act the host in dispensing fair portions to all, a maid having quickly brought plates, nutpicks and cups for their service.

After the feast followed games and dances galore, till the hour grew late for schoolgirls, and the Bishop begged:

“Before we part, my children, please give us a little music. A song from the Minims, a bit from the Sevenths on the piano, and a violin melody from our girl from the South. For it is she, really, who is responsible for this delightful party. Now she has coaxed us into trying it once, I propose that we make Hallowe’en an annual junketing affair, and – All in favor of so doing say ‘Aye.’”

After which the “Ayes” and hand claps were so deafening, that the good man bowed his head as if before a storm. Then the room quieted and the music followed; but when it came to Dorothy’s turn she was nowhere to be seen. Girlish cries for “Queenie!” “Miss Dixie!” “Dolly! Dolly Doodles!” “Miss Calvert to the front!” failed to bring her.

“Gone to ‘step-an’-fetch’ her fiddle – or Mr. Gilpin’s, maybe!” suggested Winifred, with a mischievous glance at the old man who sat on the floor in the midst of the girls, gay now as any of them and still urging them to take “just a han’ful more” of the nuts he had been at such pains to crack for them.

But neither Dorothy nor “fiddle” appeared; and the festivities came to a close without her.

“Queer where Queenie went to!” said Florita, walking along the hall toward her dormitory, “and as queer, too, where that goat came from.”

“Seemed to be an old acquaintance of the farmer’s, didn’t it? He called it ‘Baal,’ as if that was its name; and wasn’t it too funny for words? to see him chasing after it, catching it and letting it slip away so, till Jack caught it and led it away. From the way he acted I believe he was the one who owns it and rigged it up so,” said Ernesta, beside her.

“Well, no matter. I’m so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open! But what a glorious time we’ve had; and what a mess Assembly Hall is in.”

“Who cares? We’re had the fun and now Jack and the scullery boy will have to put it in order for us. Matron’ll see to that. Good night.”

They parted, each entering her own cubicle and each wondering somewhat why Dorothy did not come to hers. Commonly she was the most prompt of all in retiring and this was long past the usual hour. Could they have seen her at that moment their surprise would have been even greater.

Long before, while the feast was at its height, the girl had quietly slipped away.

Despite the fun she had so heartily enjoyed, thoughts of the visit to Gwendolyn’s sick room, which she had made just before it, kept coming into her mind: and her thoughts running thus:

“Gwen was ill, she really was, although Lady Jane seemed to think her only whimsical. She looked so unhappy and maybe partly because she couldn’t be in this first Hallowe’en party. It was too bad. I felt as if she must come and when I said so to Winnie she just laughed and answered: ‘Serves her right. Gwendolyn has always felt herself the top of the heap, that nothing could go on just right if she didn’t boss the job. Now she’ll find out that a little “Commoner” like you can do what no “Peer” ever did. Don’t go worrying over that girl, Queen Baltimore. A lesson or two like this will do her good. She’d be as nice as anybody if it wasn’t for her wretched stuck-up-ness. Miss Muriel says it’s no harm to be proud if it’s pride of the right sort. But pride of rank – Huh! How can anybody help where they’re born or who their parents are? Don’t you be silly, too, Dorothy Calvert, and pity somebody who’d resent the pity. I never knew a girl like you. You make me provoked. Never have a really, truly good time because you happen to know of somebody else that isn’t having it. I say again: If the Honorable Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard feels bad because she isn’t in this racket I’m downright glad of it. She has spoiled lots of good times for other girls and ‘turn about’s fair play.’”

“Now, Winnie dear, your ‘bark is worse than your bite’ if I can quote maxims, too. In your heart, down deep, you’re just as sorry for poor Gwen as I am. Only you won’t admit it.”

“Well, if you think so, all right. You’re a stubborn little thing and once you take a notion into your brain nobody can take it out. ‘Where are you going, my pretty maid? I’m going a studying, sir, she said;’” and tossing an airy kiss in Dorothy’s direction, ran swiftly away.

Yet events proved that, as Winifred had argued, Dorothy’s opinion did not alter. Neither could she be sorry for anyone without trying to help them in some way.

The simple country treat of nuts, popped corn, and cider had proved enjoyable to other schoolmates – why shouldn’t it to Gwendolyn? She’d try it, anyway. So, unnoticed by those around her, Dolly heaped her own plate with the good things, placing a tumbler of cider in the middle and hurried away, or rather glided away, so gently she moved until she reached the doorway. There she ran as swiftly down the long hall toward the west wing and Gwendolyn’s room in it.

Tapping at the door Lady Jane soon opened it, but with finger on lip requesting silence. But she smiled as she recognized who stood there and at the plate of goodies Dorothy had brought. Then she gently drew her in, nodding toward the cot where her daughter seemed asleep.

She was not, however, but had been lying still, thinking of many things and among them her present visitor. She was not surprised to see her and this time was not pained. It seemed to the imaginative invalid that her own thoughts had compelled Dorothy to come, in response to them.

“I’m awake, Mamma. You needn’t keep so quiet.”

“Are you, dearest? Well, that’s good; for here has come our little maid with something tempting for your appetite. A share of the Hallowe’en treat, is it, Dorothy?”

“Yes, Lady Jane, and it’s something different from what we often have. The farmer, Mr. Gilpin, brought it for us girls and I couldn’t bear – I mean I thought Gwendolyn should have – might like, her share, even if – if I brought it. I’m sorry the plate is a cracked one, but you see there were so many needed and the maids brought what they could find handiest, I suppose. But – the glass of cider is all right. That’s from the regular table and – and it’s really very sweet and nice.”

Now that she had come poor Dorothy wished that she hadn’t. Lady Jane seemed pleased enough and had promptly turned on a stronger light which clearly showed the face of the girl on the bed. She could talk readily enough to the mother but whenever she glanced toward Gwendolyn her tongue faltered and hesitated woefully. It seemed as if the sick girl’s eyes were still hard and forbidding and their steady stare made her uncomfortable. So she did not speak to the invalid and was promptly retreating when Gwendolyn suddenly asked, yet with apparent effort:

“Mamma, will you please go away for a few minutes? I’ve – I’ve got to speak to Dorothy – alone.”

“Why, certainly, dearest, if you think you’re strong enough. But wouldn’t you better wait another day? Wouldn’t I be able to talk for you?”

“No, no. Oh! no, no. Nobody but I can – Please go – go quick!”

“‘Stand not upon the order of your going but go at once!’” quoted Lady Jane, jestingly.

But she failed to make her daughter smile and went away, warning:

“Don’t talk of that accident again to-night, girls.”

“That’s exactly what I must talk about, Mamma, but you mustn’t care.”

Lady Jane’s heart was anxious as she closed the door behind her and she would have been amazed had she heard Gwendolyn’s exclamation:

“I’ve been a wicked girl! Oh, Dorothy! I’ve been so mean to you! And all the time you show me kindness. Are you trying to ‘heap coals’ on my head?”

“‘Heap coals?’” echoed Dolly, at first not comprehending; then she laughed. “I couldn’t do that. I have none to ‘heap’ and I’d be horrid if I tried. What do you mean?”

“It began the night you came. I made up things about you in my mind and then told them to our ‘set’ for facts. I’d – I’d had trouble with the ‘set’ because they would not remember about – about keeping ourselves apart from those who hadn’t titles. I felt we ought to remember; that if our England had made ‘classes’ we ought to help her, loyally. That was the first feeling, way down deep. Then – then I don’t get liked as I want to be, because I can’t help knowing things about other girls and if they break the rules I felt I ought to tell the teachers. Somehow, even they don’t like that; for the Lady Principal about as plain as called me ‘tale-bearer.’ I hate – oh! I do hate to tell you all this! But I can’t help it. Something inside me makes me, but I’m so miserable!”

She looked the fact she stated and Dorothy’s sympathy was won, so that she begged:

“Don’t do it, then. Just get well and – and carry no more tales and you’ll be happy right away.”

“It’s easy to talk – for you, maybe. For me, I’d almost rather die than own I’ve been at fault – if it wasn’t for that horrid, sick sort of feeling inside me.”

In spite of herself the listener laughed, for Gwendolyn had laid her hands upon her stomach as if locating the seat of her misery. She asked merrily:

“Is it there we keep our consciences? I never knew before and am glad to find out.”

But Gwendolyn didn’t laugh. She was an odd sort of girl, and always desperately earnest in whatever she undertook. She had made up her mind she must confess to the “Commoner” the things she had done against her; she was sincerely sorry for them now, but she couldn’t make that confession gracefully. She caught her breath as if before a plunge into cold water and then blurted out:

“I told ‘our set’ that you were Dawkins’s niece! I said you were a disgrace to the school and one of us would have to leave it. But Mamma wouldn’t take me and I couldn’t make you go. I got mad and jealous. Everybody liked you, except the girls I’d influenced. The Bishop petted you – he never notices me. Miss Tross-Kingdon treats you almost as lovingly as she does Millikins-Pillikins. All the servants smile on you and nobody is afraid of you as everybody is of me. Dawkins, and sometimes even Mamma, accuses me of a ‘sharp tongue’ that makes enemies. But, somehow, I can’t help it. And the worst is – one can’t get back the things one has said and done, no matter how she tries. Then you went and saved my life!”