CHAPTER XVII
WHAT WAS IN REBECCA'S HEART
It was some time before Ruth could quiet the almost hysterical girl.Rebecca Frayne had held herself in check so long, and the bitterness ofher position had so festered in her mind, that now the barriers wereburst she could not control herself.
But Ruth Fielding was sympathetic. And her heart went out to this lonelyand foolish girl as it seldom had to any person in distress. She felt,too, did Ruth, as though it was partly her fault and the fault of theother freshmen that Rebecca was in this state of mind.
She was fearful that having actually forced herself upon Rebecca thatthe girl might, when she came to herself, turn against her. But atpresent Rebecca's heart was so full that it spilled over, once havingfound a confidant.
In Ruth Fielding's arms the unfortunate girl told a story that, ifsupremely silly from one standpoint, was a perfectly natural and notuncommon story.
She was a girl, born and brought up in a quiet, small town, living inthe biggest and finest house in that town, yet having suffered actualprivations all her life for the sake of keeping up appearances.
The Frayne family was supposed to be wealthy. Not as wealthy as ageneration or so before; still, the Fraynes were looked upon as theleaders in local society.
There was now only an aunt, Rebecca, a younger sister, and a brother whowas in New York struggling upward in a commission house.
"And if it were not for the little Fred can spare me and sends me twicea month, I couldn't stay here," Rebecca confessed during this long talkwith Ruth. "He's the best boy who ever lived."
"He must be," Ruth agreed. "I'd be glad to have a brother like that."
Rebecca had been hungry for books. She had always hoped to take acollege course.
"But I was ignorant of everything," she sighed.
Ruth gathered, too, that the aunt, who was at the nominal head of theFrayne household, was also ignorant. This Aunt Emmy seemed to be anempty-headed creature who thought that the most essential thing for agirl in life was to be fancifully dressed, and to attain a position insociety.
Aunt Emmy had evidently filled Rebecca's head with such notions. Thegirl had come to Ardmore with a totally wrong idea of what it meant tobe in college.
"Why! some of these girls act as waitresses," said Rebecca. "I couldn'tdo _that_ even to obtain the education I want so much. Oh! Aunt Emmywould never hear to it."
"It's a perfectly legitimate way of helping earn one's tuition," Ruthsaid.
"The Fraynes have never done such things," the other girl saidhaughtily.
And right there and then Ruth decided that Rebecca Frayne was going tohave a very hard time, indeed, at Ardmore unless she learned to lookupon life quite differently from the way she had been taught at home.
Already Ruth Fielding had seen enough at Ardmore to know that many ofthe very girls whose duties Rebecca scorned, were getting more out oftheir college life than Rebecca Frayne could possibly get unless shetook a radically different view of life and its comparative values fromthat her present standards gave her.
The girls who were waitresses, and did other work to help pay for theirtuition or for their board were busy and happy and were respected bytheir mates. In addition, they were often the best scholars in theclasses.
Rebecca was wrong in scorning those who combined domestic service withan attempt to obtain an education. But Ruth was wise enough to see thatthis feeling was inbred in Rebecca. It was useless to try to change heropinion upon it.
If Rebecca were poverty-stricken, her purse could not be replenished byany such means as these other girls found to help them over the hardplaces. In this matter of the tam-o'-shanter, for instance, it would bevery difficult to help the girl. Ruth knew better than to offer to payfor the new tam-o'-shanter the freshman could not afford to buy. To makesuch an offer would immediately close the door of the strange girl'sfriendship to Ruth. So she did not hint at such a thing. She talked on,beginning to laugh and joke with Rebecca, and finally brought her out ofher tears.
"Cheer up," Ruth said. "You are making the worst possible use of yourtime here--keeping to yourself and being so afraid of making friends.We're not all rich girls, I assure you. And the girls on this corridorare particularly nice."
"I suppose that may be. But if everywhere I go they show so plainly theydon't want me----"
"That will stop!" cried Ruth, vigorously. "If I have to go to Dr.Milroth myself, it shall be stopped. It is hazing of the crudest kind.Oh! what a prettily crocheted table-mat. It's old-fashioned, butpretty."
"Aunty does that, almost all the time," Rebecca said, with a littlelaugh. "Fred once said--in confidence, of course--that half the familyincome goes for Aunt Emmy's wool."
"Do _you_ do it, too?" Ruth asked suspiciously.
"Oh yes. I can."
"Say! could you crochet one of these tams?" cried Ruth, eagerly.
"Why--I suppose so," admitted the other girl.
"Then, why not? Do it to please the seniors and juniors. It won't hurtto bow to a custom, will it? And you only need buy a few hanks of woolat a time."
Rebecca's face flamed again; but she took the suggestion, after all,with some meekness.
"I _might_ do that," she admitted.
"All right. Then you'll be doing your part. And talk to the girls. Letthem talk to you. Come down to the dining-room for your meals again. Youknow, the housekeeper, Mrs. Ebbets, will soon be getting into troubleabout you. Somebody will talk to Dr. Milroth or to some other member ofthe upper faculty."
"I suppose so," groaned Rebecca. "They won't let poor little me alone."
"Oh, you can't expect to have your own way at school," cried Ruth,laughing. "Oh, and say!"
"Well, Miss Fielding?"
"_Do_ call me Ruth," begged the girl of the Red Mill. "It won't cost youa cent more," but she said it so good-naturedly that Rebecca had tolaugh.
"I will," said the other girl, vehemently. "You are the very nicestlittle thing!"
"Well, now that's settled," laughed Ruth, "do something for me, willyou?"
"Any--anything I can," agreed Rebecca, with some doubt.
"You know we girls on this corridor are going to have a sitting-room allto ourselves. That corner room that is empty. Everybody is going tobuy--is going to give something to help furnish the room."
"Oh, Ruth! I can't----"
"Yes you can," interrupted Ruth, quickly. "When you stop this foolisheating by yourself, you can bring over your alcohol lamp. It's just whatwe want to make tea on. Now, say you will, Rebecca!"
"I--I will. Why, yes, I can do that," Rebecca agreed.
"Goody! I'll tell the girls. And you'll be as welcome as the flowers inMay, lamp or no lamp," she cried, kissing Rebecca again and bustling outof the room.