Witch Winnie.

by Elizabeth W. Champney.

INTRODUCTION.

It is but just to explain that, while all of the characters introduced in this little story are purely imaginary, the founding of the Home of the Elder Brother was suggested by the work of some real children, younger than Madame's pupils, who gave a little fair, and, helped by charitable people, inst.i.tuted a lovely charity, the Messiah Home for Little Children, at 4 Rutherford Place, New York City. This Home still opens its doors to the children of working-women, and is helped by different circles of King's Daughters, some of whom have adopted children to clothe. It is a beautiful work, founded by children for children, and it is hoped that others all over the land will join in it, and that the work may broaden until no such dens as Rickett's Court will remain in our fair city or country.

E. W. C.

WITCH WINNIE.

CHAPTER I.

BOARDING-SCHOOL Sc.r.a.pES.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Drawing of Winnie.}]

We never had any until Witch Winnie came to room in our corner.

We had the reputation of being the best behaved set at Madame's, a little bit self-conscious too, and proud of our propriety. Perhaps this was the reason that we were nicknamed the "Amen Corner," though the girls pretended it was because the initials of our names, spelled downward, like an acrostic--

_A_delaide Armstrong, _M_illy Roseveldt, _E_mma Jane Anton, _N_ellie Smith--

formed the word _amen_. But certainly the name would not have clung to us as it did if the other girls had not recognized its fitness in our forming a sanctimonious little clique who echoed Madame's sentiments, and were real Pharisees in minding the rules about study-hours, and whispering, and having our lights out in time, and the other lesser matters of the law which the girls in the "Hornets' Nest," Witch Winnie's set, disregarded with impunity.

And verily we had our reward, for Madame trusted us, and gave us the best set of rooms in the great stone corner tower, overlooking the park, quite away from the espial of the corridor teacher. They had been intended for an infirmary, but as no one was ever sick at Madame's, she grew tired of keeping them unoccupied, and a.s.signed them to us.

Sometimes the other girls annoyed us by making calls in study-hours, and we virtuously displayed a placard on our door bearing the inscription, "Particularly Engaged." It caught Witch Winnie's eye, as she strolled along the hall, and she scribbled beneath it,

"The girls of the Amen Corner Would have us all to know That they're _engaged_, each one engaged-- Particularly so."[A]

[A] This incident is borrowed from an actual occurrence.

We hardly knew whether to be amused or vexed at this sally of Witch Winnie's. We acknowledged that it was bright, but we deplored her wildness, and had no idea how much we should love her in time to come.

After all, our reputation as model pupils had a very slender foundation.

It rested chiefly on Emma Jane's preternatural conscientiousness. The night that the cadet band serenaded our school, some of the pupils, presumably the girls in the "Hornets' Nest," threw out bouquets to the performers. Rumor said that when Madame heard of this she was greatly shocked.

"I don't see how she can punish them for it," said Adelaide; "there's nothing in the rules about not giving flowers to young men. Still, it was a dreadful thing to do, and Madame is ingenious enough to twist the rules some way, so as to 'make the punishment fit the crime.' I am glad the Amen Corner is guiltless."

Then we marched into chapel on tiptoe with excitement to see Madame wreak vengeance on the wrong-doers. Witch Winnie sat behind me, and turning, I saw that she looked pale, but resolute.

Madame rose in awful dignity, her wiry curls, which Milly said reminded her of spiral bed-springs, bristled ominously.

"Young ladies," she exclaimed, in a sharp tone of command, "you may all rise." We rose.

"If you turn to the printed rules of this inst.i.tution," she continued, "you will find under Section VII. the following paragraph--'Pupils are not allowed to disfigure the lawn by _throwing from the windows_ any bits of paper, hair, apple-parings, peanut sh.e.l.ls, or waste material _of any kind_. Sc.r.a.p-baskets are provided for the reception of such matter, and any pupil throwing _anything from her window upon the school grounds_ will be regarded as having committed a misdemeanor.'"

An impressive silence followed, in which Witch Winnie gave a sigh of relief, and whispered to Cynthia Vaughn, "We're all right; we didn't disfigure her precious lawn. The bouquets never touched the ground. I lowered them, with a string, in my sc.r.a.p-basket (just where she says we ought to have put them), and the drum-major took them out and distributed them to the other boys."

"Young ladies," Madame continued, in tones of triumph, "those of you who have not broken this rule within the past week may sit down."

We all sat down--all but Emma Jane Anton, who remained in conspicuous discomfort. Adelaide pulled her by the basque, "Sit down!" she whispered; "Madame doesn't mean you."

Emma Jane stood like a martyr while Madame regarded her through her lorgnette with astonishment depicted on every feature.

"If you committed this infringement of the rules at any time other than last evening you may sit down."

Emma Jane remained standing.

"Then," said Madame, drawing herself up frigidly, "Miss Anton, you may explain: what was it you threw out?"

"Madame," replied Emma Jane, "the window was open--we were listening to the music--and a bat flew in; and, Madame, he would not stay in the waste-paper basket, and so, Madame, I threw him out."

Every one laughed; discipline was forgotten for the moment, until Madame rapped smartly on the desk and called for order. She complimented Emma Jane highly on her conscientiousness, but she looked provoked with her all the same, while Witch Winnie, who was stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth, nearly went into convulsions.

After the sketch which I have endeavored to give of Witch Winnie, and the position which she occupied at Madame's, I trust that we, as self-respecting pupils, will not be too severely blamed when I confess that we received, with great disfavor, Madame's announcement that Winnie was henceforth to room in the Amen Corner.

The bedrooms at Madame's boarding-school were cl.u.s.tered in little groups around study-parlors, five girls forming a family. For a long time there had been only four in our set. Emma Jane Anton, who preferred to room alone, had the little single bedroom; Adelaide and Milly were chums; while I, Nellie Smith, familiarly nicknamed Tib, had luxuriated so long in the large corner chamber that I had almost forgotten that Madame told me, at the outset, that I must hold myself in readiness to receive a room-mate at any time.

Adelaide Armstrong was the daughter of a railroad magnate. She had been brought up in the West, but, though she had traveled much, and had seen a great deal of society, her education had not been entirely neglected.

She had studied a great deal in a desultory way, and contested the head of the cla.s.s with Emma Jane Anton, who was a "regular dig," and had prepared for college in the Boston public schools.

It was really surprising how Adelaide had picked up so much. She had studied Latin with a priest in New Mexico, and had profited by two years at a lonely post on the confines of Canada, where her father had been interested in the fur trade, to become proficient in French. Strikingly handsome, a brunette with brilliant complexion and Andalusian eyes, energetic and spirited, she was popular both with her instructors and her cla.s.smates.

Milly Roseveldt was her exact contrast--a milky-complexioned little blonde, shy and sweet; she was also a trifle dull. Adelaide translated her Latin, and worked out her problems, and I wrote her compositions, while Milly rewarded us with largesses of love and confectionery, for she was the most generous as well as the most affectionate of girls. Her father, a wealthy New York banker, placed large sums of money at her disposal, and Milly deluged her friends with gifts of flowers and bonbons. It seemed very natural to me that Adelaide and Milly should be sworn friends; but my admittance into the sacred circle was a mystery to me, and to a number of aspiring girls who a.s.serted that I was n.o.body in particular, and who envied me my place in my friends' affection. My presence in the school itself was almost as great a wonder. My father was a Long Island farmer. We opened our house to city boarders during the summer, and one season Miss Sartoris, the teacher in Art at Madame's, boarded with us. I had taken drawing lessons at the Academy, and Miss Sartoris took me out sketching with her. I worked like a beaver, and was never so happy in my life. I delighted Miss Sartoris, who wakened mother's ambition by telling her that I was the most talented pupil she had ever had. More than this: we three induced good, easy-going, generous father to let me go back to the city with Miss Sartoris as a pupil at Madame's. My wardrobe was meagre, but not countrified, for I possessed a natural sense of color and a quick faculty for imitation. I had seen plenty of city people at Scup Haven, and my few dresses, I fancied, would pa.s.s muster anywhere. I was a fair scholar, and took the lead in the studio. I was not brilliant and stylish like Adelaide, or rich and pretty like Milly, but they liked me, and I liked myself the better for the consciousness that there must be something nice about me which attracted them. I believe now that it was an absence of self-consciousness and selfishness on my part, and my hearty admiration and devotion to them. Adelaide called me, playfully, "the great American Appreciator."

It was just before the theatricals given by our literary society that an incident occurred which showed me how much they really thought of me. We three were arranging the stage; I was touching up the scenery, and Milly holding the tacks for Adelaide, who was looping the drapery, when we overheard the conversation of a group of girls on the other side of the curtain.

Cynthia Vaughn was the first to speak.

"I think Adelaide Armstrong is perfectly splendid!"

"So do I," said another; and there was a chorus of confused voices exclaiming, "So stylish!" "Perfectly elegant!" "The handsomest girl in school!"

Adelaide left her work and placed her hand on the curtain, but Milly threw her arms impulsively around her. "Let us hear what they will say,"

she whispered; "when they are through we can pull the cord, and all bow thanks."

By this time other voices were chanting Milly's praises, and Adelaide turned reluctantly away, remarking, "Well, if you enjoy that sort of thing, you are welcome to it. I should not be surprised, by the way they are loading it on, if they knew we were here."