CHAPTER XIX
SALLIE'S STORY
During the dark days when Marjory and Sallie were under a cloud ofsuspicion; when Henrietta was worried and unhappy about her much lovedand missing father and when Maude was again in disgrace with MissWoodruff, it was natural that this little group of warm friends shouldspend the leisure moments of the long afternoons together. And of courseCora, Jane Pool, Jean, Mabel and Bettie, always loyal, no matter whathappened, stayed with them. But, in spite of the fact that these werethe unhappiest days that these particular girls had ever spent, theywere not without some brighter moments. And Maude Wilder, you may besure, managed to provide some of the brightest.
On one of these afternoons, Maude found it necessary to explain toSallie (who slept on the upper floor and had therefore missed the fun)the cause of her present disgrace.
"Of course I ought not to have done it," said Maude. "But you know theytook us to the movies Saturday afternoon to see 'Treasure Island.'"
"Yes," said Sallie. "I had to stay home to clean the silver--Annie had asore finger."
"And you know how sad we all were over the hymns Sunday night?"
"We always are," returned Sallie.
"Well, when we were all trailing sadly up the front stairs to bed,afterwards, I had a lovely idea. I thought it would be fun to dress upjust like one of those lovely 'Treasure Island' pirates so I didit--bloomers, sash, black eyebrows, whiskers, black hat with sweepingplume and everything. I was a bold buccaneer all right, wasn't I,girls?"
"Yes," assured Cora, "she looked the part, provided you didn't examineher too closely."
"Of course, after I was all fixed up, I wanted other folks to enjoy thefun too; so I started out in this corridor. I had a lovely time. I pokedmy head in at one door after another and growled in a deep bass voice:
"'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!'
"Of course Isabelle shrieked and Augusta screamed and Lillian yelpedlike a puppy and Marjory squealed; and altogether this corridor was fullof lovely noises when I slipped out of it. I got across the square hallall right and into the North Corridor. I had a lovely time there, too.Victoria just laughed, but Gladys gasped like a fish and pretended tofaint and the Miller girls fell into each other's arms and bleated. Itwas just heavenly. And then suddenly it was all over. The bell rang for'Lights Out,' and there was I at the far end of the North Corridor. Allthat long way from my own room."
"What _did_ you do?" asked Sallie.
"Well, you know a swarthy pirate doesn't light up very well in the dark;so, knowing that I was no longer a fearsome sight, I started to sneakback to my own room. I _started_ all right, but just then Mrs. Henry'sdoor opened and Miss Woodruff came out. I'd have been all right eventhen, but as luck would have it, the hairbrush that I had thrust into mymanly belt dropped with a horrid clatter on the hardwood floor.
"But I was right near the vacant room at the end of the North Corridor.The door was open and I slipped in. And slid under the bed. And, mygoodness! You could hear my heart beat all over the place; and you knowwhat ears our dear Miss Woodruff has.
"What did she do but come into that room and sit on the very bed I wasunder and _listen_. It was awful. She sat and sat and sat and listened.And I knew that Mrs. Henry was standing just outside her own doorlistening too. I didn't dare breathe, but my heart kept right onthumping like a brass knocker on a front door. It was moonlight outside,the shade was up part way and she was sitting on the side next thewindow. Her skirt was pulled up a little way at the back so I could seeher thick ankles very plainly and a little of her fatted calf abovethem.
"Girls, I just couldn't help it. I _had_ to pinch her leg. I _had_ to doit. I know it was crazy. I know it was the very last thing I _should_have done; but my thumb and finger went right out and did it.
"She let out the grandest shriek you ever _did_ hear, and streaked outof there as if a whole regiment of pirates were at her heels. Mrs. Henryswitched on all the lights and came on a run; and all the North Corridorgirls popped out of their rooms and Miss Woodruff came back. And therewas I, a crushed and humiliated pirate, crawling out on all fours; butMiss Woodruff looked so funny that I just looked up at her and said assadly as I could: '_Nous avons les raisins blancs et noirs mais pas decerises._' And of course all the North Corridor girls roared. I knewthey would."
"What _did_ she do to you?" asked Sallie, when the girls' shrieks ofmirth had finally subsided. They loved Maude's tales of her own dreadfuldoings quite as well as Maude loved to tell them.
"She said I was a bad influence to you younger girls--"
"You're not," said Henrietta. "Not one of us would attempt to follow inyour wild footsteps. We wouldn't dare."
"And she said that I ought not to give way to my wicked impulses--"
"They're, not really wicked," said Jean. "At least you never do anythingsneaky and you always tell the truth."
"And," finished Maude, "I'm perfectly incorrigible and I shall nevergrow up to be a lady."
"I think you will," laughed Henrietta. "The _good_ die young, you know."
"Didn't she punish you?" asked Sallie.
"_Didn't_ she?" returned Maude. "I have to learn and recite a wholeChapter of American History. Prose, mind you. And she picked out thevery dullest chapter in the whole book."
"I'll say this for Miss Woodruff," laughed Henrietta. "Sometimes sheshows remarkable ingenuity in her punishments. That one will keep Maudeout of mischief for some time."
"I wanted dreadfully to go to that movie," confessed Sallie. "I readthat book last vacation and I loved it. But Mrs. Rhodes keeps findingmore and more things for me to do Saturdays and I just can't get throughin time to go any place."
"Tell us about your own people," pleaded Jean. "You know you alwayspromised to."
"Yes," begged Bettie, "begin way back at the very beginning and tell ushow it all happened. Perhaps our friend Mr. Black might tell us what todo in a case like that--we write to him every week you know. He mightknow how to find some of your lost people."
"I'm sure it's too late to do any good," said Sallie, soberly. "But I'lltell you about it. To begin with, I was about nine years old when mymother died. We were living then in a little bit of a town in Wisconsin.We had always moved about a great deal. You see, my father was alwaystrying new things and new places--he used to say that he was a rollingstone; and then my mother would say: 'Never mind, John, you'll roll tothe right spot some day.'
"Well, after my mother was gone, we went to Chicago and lived for alittle while in a big apartment house. The only person that we knew verywell was an old man that everybody called 'Grandpa' but he wasn't reallymy grandfather--or anybody's that I know of. He had a couple of roomsnext to ours. I think he must have done some sort of writing for aliving--copying perhaps--but I'm not very sure about that part of it.Anyway, he used to carry written papers away in an old black portfolioand come home with it empty. And when he wasn't doing that, he was bentover his desk writing. He was very absent minded--always hunting for hisspectacles when they were on top of his head and often putting histeakettle on to boil and letting it go dry. Father used to remind him toput his coat on when he was going out.
"I suppose my father found me a good deal of a nuisance daytimes.Perhaps he was more tied down than he liked to be and there were norelatives to look after me. I know that my mother's people were dead andmy father said once that _he_ had nobody in the world but me.
"Anyway, he decided to put me into a girls' school. He picked one out,bought me some clothes and a small trunk and told me that I must keep mynew things nice and clean, because, in just about a week, I was going onthe cars to a good school for little girls, where there would be lots ofgood women to take care of me while he was away at work."
Sallie's face wore a strange but very sweet expression while she wastelling her story. The girls gazed at her sympathetically and listenedintently. There was not a s
ound in the room but Sallie's gentle voice.
"The very next day," Sallie continued, "my father was taken sick. Idon't know what ailed him, but he was _very_ sick. He gave Grandpa somemoney and asked him to take me to that school when the time came andGrandpa promised to do it. Of course I didn't want to go when Father wasso sick; but Grandpa said I must be good and not worry my father, so I_had_ to go. Well, I suppose it hadn't occurred to my father to write tothat school to reserve a place for me--I know now that that is the properthing to do; but lots of parents don't seem to know about it. Severalhave turned up _here_ with an unexpected girl on opening day; but thisis a very large school and perhaps not one of the most popular ones soit doesn't make so much difference--there are always vacant rooms.
"But when Grandpa presented me at that other school--and I couldn't tellyou where it was if you offered me a million dollars--it was full andthey couldn't take me--or at least they wouldn't. They gave Grandpa quitea long list of other schools and some catalogues and we went to twoother schools before we found one that would take me."
"Was it this one?" breathed Bettie.
"Yes, this very one. But, by the time we reached this place, we had beengetting on and off trains all day. I was so sleepy that I tumbled off mychair and I guess poor old Grandpa was just about walking in his sleep.We'd had a _dreadful_ day. Somebody, I don't know who, led me off andput me to bed. That's the last I've ever seen of either my father orthat poor old Grandpa."
"But didn't you write?" queried Jean.
"Yes, indeed. So did Doctor Rhodes--not _this_ Doctor--hum--well, thisDoctor's cousin. But our letters came back from the Dead Letter Office."
"What does a dead letter look like?" demanded Mabel, with suddencuriosity.
"Just like any other kind," returned Sallie, "except that they come in aspecial envelope."
"Then," said Jean, "for anything you know to the contrary, your fatherand this grandfather person may still be living in that apartment, inChicago?"
"No," returned Sallie. "They're not. You see my tuition was paid for thefull school year. It was getting along toward the summer vacation whenDoctor Rhodes began to write to my father. Afterwards he went to thatapartment in Chicago to ask about him; but they could tell him nothingmore about him. Then Doctor Rhodes went to a number of hospitals andlearned that a John Dickinson had been discharged, after a long, longillness; and that he was still very far from strong when he left thehospital to look for work."
"The apartment people told Doctor Rhodes that poor old Grandpa had had abreakdown and had been placed in an asylum. Doctor Rhodes visited thatplace but the poor old man had forgotten all that he had ever known ofeither me or my father; and quite soon after that he died."
"Then," said Henrietta, "your father may still be living."
"Yes," returned Sallie. "But, if he were, wouldn't he hunt for me untilhe found me? There's this about it. I'm sure that he thought that he wasputting me in a place where I'd be safer and better cared for than Icould be with him."
"Did he have very much money?" asked practical Henrietta.
"I don't think he had a great deal. He used to say that he was a poorman; and the houses we lived in were always rather small and poor. Mymother, I think, had belonged to nice people. As nearly as I canremember, she spoke nicely and wouldn't let me use slang; and I _think_her father was a clergyman--I can remember an old photograph; but I'm notvery sure about that.
"And here I am now, just like poor old Abbie--a boarding school orphan,with not a relative in the world."
"No, you're _not_ like Abbie," declared Jean. "We won't _let_ you belike Abbie. You're smart enough to crawl out of your hole; but Abbienever was."
"Now," pleaded Henrietta, "tell us the secret about the Rhodes family.We're dying of curiosity about that."
"No," replied Sallie, firmly. "If I were paying my way with real money I_might_ break my promise and tell. But I don't know that I would,either; it would take a lot of courage to break a promise to DoctorRhodes. But, of course, as long as I owe him for my bread and butter, Ijust couldn't do it."
"Of course you couldn't," agreed Maude. "It wouldn't be honorable."
"That's just the way I feel about it," sighed Sallie. "And there isn'treally anything very dreadful about that secret after all."
"Except our curiosity," said Henrietta, "that's just _eating_ us."
"Pile off this bed, girls," said Cora, who had looked at her watch."It's ten minutes to dinner time and Sallie has left all your hairstanding right on end."
"Say, Sallie, ring the old bell fifty-nine seconds late," pleaded Maude."I have to change my dress and the other one buttons behind."
"I'll button it all the way downstairs," promised Cora.