Polly's First Year at Boarding School.

by Dorothy Whitehill.

CHAPTER I-THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

Seddon Hall, situated on top of one of the many hills that lined either side of the Hudson River, was a scene of hubbub and confusion. It was the 27th of September and the opening day of school. The girls who had already arrived were walking arm in arm about the grounds, in the broad a.s.sembly hall, and in the corridors, talking, laughing and discussing the summer vacation, plans for the winter, the new girls, and a variety of subjects with fine impartiality.

In the Senior reception room Mrs. Baird, princ.i.p.al of the school, and a number of the faculty were receiving and a.s.suring the mothers and guardians of the girls.

Outside the carriages from the 5:04 train were winding up the steep hill from the station. The girls were waving and calling h.e.l.los as they pa.s.sed one another, and on the broad piazza there was a quant.i.ty of suit cases, and a good deal of kissing.

Polly Pendleton, seated beside her uncle in one of the last carriages, was just the least little bit frightened. She had never seen quite so many girls nor heard quite so much laughing and talking in all her rather uneventful life.

Polly's real name was Marianna, but her heavy dark hair framed a face so bright and full of fun, and her big brown eyes had so much impishness in their depth, that to have called her by anything so long and dignified seemed absurd, and so she had been Polly all her life.

Until two months before this story opens she had lived her thirteen years in an old fashioned New England town with her aunt, Hannah Pendleton, her father's eldest sister, and quite as severe as her name.

It had been a very unexciting existence-school every morning with the village minister, and a patchwork "stint" every afternoon under the direction of Aunt Hannah.

Polly was beginning to think every day was going to be just like every other, when suddenly Aunt Hannah died and she came to New York to live with Uncle Roddy. It had been a great change to leave the old house and the village, but under Uncle Roddy's jolly companionship she soon ceased to miss any part of her old life.

After what seemed an age, the carriage finally reached the top of the hill, and Polly, holding tight to her uncle's arm, was shown into the reception-room. She was finding it harder every minute to keep down the unaccountable lump that had risen in her throat, when Mrs. Baird, catching sight of them, held out a welcoming hand.

"How do you do, Mr. Pendleton?" she asked. "And is this Marianna? My dear," she added, putting her hand on Polly's shoulder, "I hope you are going to be very happy and contented with us."

It was perhaps the fiftieth time Mrs. Baird had made that same remark that day, but Polly, looking into her kindly blue eyes, felt, as had every other new girl at Seddon Hall, the complete understanding and sympathy of the older woman, and felt, too, without knowing why, that Mrs. Baird had had her first day at boarding-school.

Louise Preston, one of the Seniors, a slender girl of seventeen, with heaps of taffy-colored hair, big blue eyes, and the sweetest and jolliest smile, caught her princ.i.p.al's beckoning nod, and coming forward, was presented. Mrs. Baird suggested that she take Polly and show her to her room.

As the two girls mounted the broad staircase, Louise linked her arm in Polly's in a big sisterly fashion, and began the conversation.

"This floor that we're coming to," she explained, "is Study Hall floor; all those doors are cla.s.srooms. This is the Bridge of Sighs," she continued, stopping before a covered pa.s.sage which led from one building to another.

"Why the Bridge of Sighs?" inquired Polly.

They were crossing it as she asked. When they reached the other side, Louise solemnly pointed to a door on the left.

"That," she explained, "is Miss Hale's room. Miss Hale is the Latin teacher, and when you know her, you'll understand why this is the Bridge of Sighs."

"Goodness! let's hurry past if she's as dreadful as all that," laughed Polly. "What's this long corridor?"

"This is the Hall of Fame or, in other words, the abode of the Senior cla.s.s," Louise told her. "Junior and Soph.o.m.ore corridors are in the other wing, and Freshman Lane, where you'll be, is just above this on the next floor. You see the cla.s.ses are named as they are in college."

"Then who are the little girls I saw downstairs?"

"Those were the younger children; we don't see much of them until they're Intermediates-that's the cla.s.s just before the Freshmen," Louise explained.

"Now we'll find your room."

When they reached the floor above, they were met with a shout of joy as the girls, who were dashing in and out of one another's rooms, caught sight of Louise.

"h.e.l.lo, Louise, how are you? Awfully glad you're back," called some one.

"Why didn't you answer my letter?"

"Don't you realize this is _Miss_ Preston, that we're a dignified Senior this year, and we mustn't be called Louise?" corrected another laughing voice.

Then, as they caught sight of Polly, they stopped short. It was Louise who broke the embarra.s.sed silence by asking:

"Does any one know where Marianna Pendleton's room is?"

At the unfamiliar sound of her real name, Polly looked so puzzled that she added:

"Your name is Marianna, isn't it?"

"Yes," a.s.sented Polly, "but I'll never get used to it. No one has ever called me anything but Polly."

"Then Polly you shall be; it suits you, and Marianna doesn't."

"How do you do? I'm Betty Thompson. Louise doesn't seem to have the manners to introduce me."

It was golden-haired, snub-nosed, freckled, little Betty, one of the most popular of the younger girls, who was speaking. Her timely impudence made every one laugh, and the ice was broken.

"I stand corrected," murmured Louise, in what was meant to be an abject voice. "I'll begin introducing you at once. This is Roberta Andrews; she's in your cla.s.s. This is Constance Wentworth; we're very proud of Connie; she plays the piano wonderfully."

"But she talks in her sleep," interrupted Betty.

Everybody laughed at this. It was an old joke that Constance, when in the Intermediate cla.s.s the year before, had frightened one of the poor new teachers almost to death by reciting Lady Macbeth's sleep walking scene, at twelve o'clock one night.

Polly liked her at once. There was something very beautiful about her firm mouth, straight nose, high cheek bones, and big, dreamy brown eyes.

"This is Angela Hollywood," Louise continued. "Don't take any stock in her name, it's deceiving."

Angela, who looked like an old-fashioned painting with her eyes as blue as the sky, her pink and white cheeks, and her soft ringlets of golden-brown hair, scowled threateningly.

"Your being a Senior," she drawled, "is all that saves you from my wrath." Then, turning to Polly, she continued: "Don't let her give you a wrong impression; you see, she's jealous. I really am quite angelic-"

"Do tell me when that is," demanded a voice from the other end of the corridor. The girls turned to look and there, standing with suit case and tennis racket in hand, dressed in a blue Peter Thompson sailor suit, her tawny-colored hair tied half way down her back with a black ribbon, her dark eyes dancing with fun, stood Lois Farwell.

Polly, standing to one side as the girls crowded around the newcomer, realized that in some way she was different from the other girls. The welcome she was receiving showed her to be a general favorite and much thought of. When in a few minutes she was shaking hands with her, she understood. Lois was evidently born to be liked.

The girls rattled on, asking a million questions at once. Louise left for the society of her own cla.s.s, and Polly went to her room to unpack her case.

In a few minutes there was a knock at her door; one of the maids had come to tell her she was wanted in the reception-room to say good-by to her uncle. As she started down the corridor she met Lois.

"Where are you going?" questioned the latter. "Anything I can do for you?"

Polly tried hard to keep back the lump in her throat as she answered: