At this a shout of derision rose, and Fannie Dimock exclaimed:

"Don't believe that, Queen Baltimore. There's scarcely a day pa.s.ses that she isn't in some sc.r.a.pe or other. Why, last term, she was in disgrace so often I really believed she wouldn't be allowed to come back."

"Oh! little things like that don't count. But--" she stopped speaking so abruptly and such an earnest expression settled on her face that a mate remarked:

"Look! There's something brewing this minute! Look out, Win, what you do! Don't mix any of us up in your schemes. I don't want any more extras so soon again;" then explained to Dorothy that "extras" were some difficult lessons any culprit was obliged to learn.

Just then came the bell for mid-day luncheon, and all the Commons except Winifred answered the summons promptly. But she lingered behind, detaining Dorothy till the others were out of hearing, and then suggested something to her which made her clap her hands in delight. For the secret thus imparted seemed the simplest thing possible and one in which, to Dolly's ignorance of Oak Knowe rules, was entirely right.

Arm in arm, the new friends entered the dining-room and Winifred marched Dorothy steadily forward to a seat at her own table, just opposite that occupied by some of the other "set," with the Honorable Gwendolyn among them. Dolly glanced across and nodded, but that t.i.tled young person returned the nod with a stare so intent and contemptuous that the color flashed to the stranger's face and her eyes fell as if she were in guilt. Yet she couldn't guess why, nor why she should be relieved when there arose a sudden diversion outside the doorway toward which everybody turned their eyes.

CHAPTER IV

THE GILPINS HAVE A PARTY

The young ladies of Oak Knowe went out for their afternoon exercise for the half hour before supper. Those who had been long at the school were allowed to roam about the s.p.a.cious grounds without a teacher, but newcomers, or those who wished to go further afield, were always attended by one.

Most of Winifred's motherless life had been pa.s.sed at Oak Knowe, even few of her vacations elsewhere. Her father was a very wealthy man, of large affairs which carried him often from the Province, to England or countries further away, so that his home was seldom opened. But to compensate his daughter for this state of things he had arranged with the authorities that her school life should be made as homelike as possible. She had her own private room with a tiny parlor and private bath adjoining. She was allowed to entertain her schoolmates there as she would have done in her father's house; always, of course, within the limits set by the faculty.

But Winifred cared little for all this unusual luxury. She rarely asked for any money "banked" with the Lady Princ.i.p.al beyond the twenty-five cents a week which any pupil might spend; and she liked the common parlor far better than her own richly furnished one.

Nothing hurt her feelings more than to have her mates refer to her wealth or to treat her differently from the poorest pupil.

But there were times when she enjoyed her privileges to the utmost, and that first day of Dorothy's life at Oak Knowe was one such. Not having been "in disgrace" for a week at least she confidently asked permission to entertain the newcomer in her rooms, "Just we two by ourselves. She's lonely and I like her. Please, Miss Tross-Kingdon."

"You'll be quiet, Winifred, and keep out of mischief?" asked the Lady Princ.i.p.al, with more gentleness than ordinary. It was natural that she should feel great interest in the girl she had almost reared and whose own power for good or ill Winifred herself could not yet comprehend.

"Ah, now, Miss Muriel, you know I will! Why, surely, I've been as good for a whole week as if I were a kindergarten Minim. You should trust me more. I read the other day that people are just what you think they are. So, whatever you want me to be, please just think I _am_ and I'll be it!" and the audacious creature actually dabbed a kiss on the Lady Princ.i.p.al's own cheek.

"Wheedler! Well, I'll try to fancy you're a saint, but I'm not so fanciful about this Dorothy Calvert. She's a pretty little thing and my Grace made friends with her at once and the Bishop says she is of good blood. That counts, of course, but she seems to me a little headstrong and very stupid. I don't yet understand how Miss Hexam came to put her into so high a Form. However, I know that she is very homesick, as all new pupils are, so you may entertain her if you wish.

A maid shall send you in a tray and you are excused from school supper; but see to it, Winifred, that you use your influence aright.

The more favored a person is in this world the more that individual should watch her own actions."

Winifred thanked the teacher and backed out of the room as if in the presence of royalty itself. This action in itself was offensive to the teacher but was one she could hardly criticise; nor did she guess that, once out of sight, the "wheedler" should first stamp her foot and exclaim:

"I'm sick to death of hearing about my 'influence' and being an 'individual.' Makes me feel like a spider, that time the German count came to visit Father and called his attention to 'that individual crawling down the wall.' He meant 'one, a solitary thing.' But I'm no 'solitary' just because Father has a little money. I often wish he hadn't a pound, especially when some of the 'Peers' try to make me believe he is at least a 'Sir'."

Then hurrying to Dorothy she danced about in delight at her success.

"Yes, she says you may come, and she's sure to send us in a fine supper. Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon never does a thing by halves, not even a lecture on 'individual influence.' Queen Baltimore, aren't you glad you're poor?"

"Neither glad nor sorry, Winifred, because I'm neither rich nor poor.

Anyway neither of us can help being just as we are, I reckon."

"Come on, though, and hurry up. 'If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,'" quoted Winifred, whose cla.s.s reading just then was "Macbeth"; and seizing the smaller girl whirled merrily down the hall.

Five minutes later, with hats and jackets on, they joined the other pupils out of doors. To Dorothy it seemed the beautiful grounds were alive with all sorts and conditions of girls, pacing rapidly up and down, "sprinting" to warm themselves against the chill of the coming evening, playing tennis for the brief half-hour, or racing one another from point to point. There were girls so many and so various, from Seventh Form young ladies to the wee little Minims, that Dolly wondered if she would ever know them all or feel herself a member of the great company.

But Winifred gave her little time to gaze about her.

"Oh! don't bother with them now. Our way is that lower gate, and it's a good bit of a distance, I hope you're a good walker."

"Pretty good, I reckon," answered Dolly falling into step with the taller girl and hurrying forward at even a swifter pace.

"But, begging your pardon, that's no way. We Canadians learn pedestrianism--whew! what a long word!--just as we learn our letters.

Begin very slowly at first. Then when your muscles are limbered, walk faster--and faster--and faster! Till it seems as if your legs swing up and down of their own accord, just like machines. It's wonderful then how little you tire and how far you can go. Slack up a bit and I'll show you."

Absorbed in this new lesson Dorothy scarcely noticed when they left Oak Knowe limits and struck out along a country lane, with hedgerows at either side; nor when having climbed a stile they set out across a plowed field, till her feet grew heavy with the soil they gathered.

"Oh! dear! What mud! Why do you walk in it, Winifred?"

"It's the shortest road. Here's a stone. Stop a bit and sc.r.a.pe it off--as I do. See?" answered the other, calmly ill.u.s.trating her advice.

"But I don't like it. My shoes will be ruined!" wailed Dolly who was always finical about "dirt."

"Humph! Haven't you another pair? But they ought to be--such flimsy-wimpsy affairs! Look at mine. A bit of mud more or less can't hurt them and it's the boot-boy's business to clean them."

The English girl held forth a good sized foot clad in a still larger shoe of calfskin, which though soiled with the clay had not absorbed much of its moisture: while the finer affairs of Dorothy's were already wet through, making her uncomfortable.

"I couldn't walk in such heavy boots. And it's raining again. It rained last night. Does it rain every day in Canada? We ought to go back. Do let's, and try this some other time. I reckon this will finish my new suit, entirely."

Winifred put her arms akimbo and stared at her new friend. Then burst into a hearty laugh over Dorothy's disgusted face.

"Ha, ha, ha! And 'I reckon,' little southerner, that you'll be a more sensible girl after you've lived up here a while. The idea of turning back because it rains! absurd! Why, it's fine, just fine! The Lady Princ.i.p.al will overhaul your fair-weather-clothes and see that you get some fit to stand anything. This homespun suit of mine couldn't get wet through if it tried! But I shan't stand here, in the middle of a plowed field, and let it try. Come on. Its the States against the Province! Who'll win?"

"I will! For old Maryland and the President!" cried Dorothy, and valiantly strode forward again.

"For our Province and the King!" shouted the Canadian; and after that neither spoke, till the long walk ended before the cottage door of old John Gilpin and his dame. There Winifred gave a smart tap to the panel and holding her hand toward Dorothy, cried:

"Quits, Queen Baltimore! We'll call it even and I'll never doubt your pluck again. But you certainly must get some decent clothes--if I have to buy them myself!"

Then the door opened and there stood old John, peering from the lamp-lighted room into the twilight without. After a second he recognized Dorothy and drew her in, exclaiming joyfully:

"Why, Dame, 'tis our little la.s.s herself! Her of the night last spent and the helping hand! Step ben, step ben, and 'tother miss with ye.

You're surely welcome as the flowers in spring."

Mrs. Gilpin came ponderously forward, a smile on her big but comely face, and silently greeted both visitors, while her more nimble husband promptly "step-an'-fetched" the best chairs in the room and placed them before the fire.

"Dry yourselves, la.s.sies, whilst I tell the Robin you've come to see him. He'll be that proud, poor laddie, to have Oak Knowe young ladies pay him that honor! and he's mending fine, mending fine, doctor says.

The mother--"

He disappeared within that inner chamber still talking and as happy now as he had seemed sorrowful when Dorothy parted from him on the night before. Then he had antic.i.p.ated nothing less than death for the boy he loved, despite the doctor's a.s.surance to the contrary. He came back leading a woman by the hand, as protectingly as if she had been a child, and introduced her as:

"The bit mother hersel'! Look at her well. Isn't she the very sight and image of Robin, the lad? And mind how she's pickin' up already.

Just one day of good victuals and Dame's cossetting and the pink's streamin' back to her cheeks. Please the good Lord they'll never get that thin again whilst I have my ox-team to haul with and the Dame's good land to till. I'll just step-an'-fetch the rocker out--"