Dorothy at Oak Knowe. Raymond Evelyn

near. To empty the kettle into the pan and to carry it to the chair beside the bed was an instant’s task. Then, seizing the upper sheet and using her teeth for scissors, she swiftly tore it into strips; and by this time the dame had regained her own presence of mind.

      Without troubling to ask who Dorothy was or how she came to be there, she now took charge of things, saying:

      “You’ll find clean towels in that chest of drawers. Fetch the doctor a pile. Shears are yon in that work-basket. You’re spry on your feet as I can’t be, but I do know how to take the clothes off this poor Robin. My, what’s this he clenches so tight in hand? One of them telegraph letters ’tis his errand to deliver. All over the countryside the laddie rode on his wheel to earn the bit money would pay his mother’s rent. Brave, bonny lad that he was!”

      Gently releasing the telegram from his fingers, Mrs. Gilpin held it up for the doctor to see.

      “For Oak Knowe. Open it, little girl, and read if it’s important.”

      She obeyed, but her voice trembled as she read. It was the belated message that announced her own coming and the hour of her arrival. It explained why she had not been met at the station, but she felt both shocked and guilty as she exclaimed:

      “Oh! it is my fault! It’s all my fault that he is killed! Just about me it happened! What shall I do – what shall I do?”

      “Stop that sort of talk and see how your dead boy stares at you! Look well, Robin, you see a real live Yankee girl!”

      CHAPTER II

      UNFORTUNATE BEGINNINGS

      Even the most cultured Lady Principals do not enjoy being roused from their slumbers, an hour after midnight, by the tooting of a motor car beneath their bedroom windows. It was annoying to have to dress again and descend to a dimly-lighted reception room to receive a new pupil who had missed a train, on the route, and misdirected her telegram. Nor was there anything prepossessing about this especial girl, whose clothes steamed with moisture and whose travel-soiled cheeks were streaked by raindrops and tears. So it was small wonder that Dorothy’s reception by Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon was decidedly cool and crisp.

      “This is really unprecedented, Miss Calvert. I cannot understand how any young lady, whose friends consider her intelligent enough to travel alone, could have made such stupid blunders, as you have. At the point where you knew you were to change trains, why did you not keep watch and inquire for direction?”

      “Well, you see there was a military parade and the soldiers looked so queer in their red uniforms and their funny little caps on the sides of their heads that – that – that I forgot. I mean the timetable told the right hour, course, but the first train was behind and so – and so – ”

      It was a very lame excuse and Dolly knew it. But it was the truth and as such she gave it.

      Miss Tross-Kingdon made no reply. Inwardly she was commenting upon Dorothy’s pronunciation of certain words, which was wholly at fault according to English custom, and realizing that here was the first fault to be corrected in her new pupil.

      Dorothy’s heart sank. Uncle Seth’s last advice to her had been:

      “Whenever you feel blue, just wave your flag of high courage and march ahead. Don’t stop to think! March, march, march – toward the better time that will surely come.”

      But that high-courage flag hung limply now and she felt she could never again wave it at all. But, fortunately, the Lady Principal now rose to terminate the interview. Touching an electric bell for the maid on night duty, she said:

      “It is very late and you are tired. Dawkins will show you to your cubicle and assist you in undressing. You may omit your bath, to-night, and are allowed an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Where are your suit case and hand bag?”

      Dorothy rose, as the lady did, but a fresh feeling of guilt made her eyes fall as she murmured:

      “I – don’t – know.”

      “Don’t know!” echoed the Lady Principal, in amazement. Then directing Dawkins to supply what was needed, she returned to her interrupted repose, while Dorothy wearily followed the stern-faced maid; being cautioned, meanwhile:

      “Do not dare to make a noise and arouse the young ladies.”

      Yet arrived at the cubicle, or small division of the great dormitory which had been assigned her, Dorothy realized that Dawkins was kinder than she looked. For presently she was being undressed, her face and hands sponged with cool water, and herself reclothed with the freshest of gowns. Then she was bodily lifted into the dainty little bed as if she were a baby.

      This unexpected gentleness touched her heart and, flinging her arms about the maid’s neck, she sobbed:

      “Oh! do be good to me! I am so desolate!”

      “Whist, child! We must no be wakin’ the troublesome girls around. And sure the lonesomeness’ll pass, like the dew afore sun, once you get a good sleep and meet up with your mates. Good night, child, and sleep well.”

      Then, since there was nobody to witness her unusual demonstration, maid Dawkins stooped and kissed the tired eyes of her new charge, and went quietly away.

      But there had been one observer of this caress. Peeping from her own compartment stood a girl whose keen eyes had noticed everything, and who felt she could scarcely wait until morning to spread the news. Creeping back to her own bed, she lay long awake, thinking the matter over. For this schoolgirl, who rejoiced in the title of the Honorable Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, had a deal of curiosity that was wholly roused now.

      “Never saw old Dawkins kiss anybody. Dawkins, of all creatures! Never knew a new girl come at this time of night – and she certainly was new. And she hadn’t any clothes, I know, because that was one of the school hampers Dawkins had. Must be somebody very poor. I wonder who! Maybe – for goodness sake! Maybe she’s some relation to old Dawk! Else why should she kiss her? Humph! I thought this was a school for young ladies, not for the poor relations of servants. There’s one thing certain, mamma will never allow me to remain where there are paupers. Never in this world. Neither would Lord Christopher let Marjorie. No, indeed. So will Miss Tross-Kingdon find out. Why! one charity pupil at Oak Knowe would ruin it! Anyhow, I mean to hurry round in the morning and warn all my set against noticing the beggar and what our set does surely goes. Mamma gets odd notions about things, sometimes, like saying I must sleep in this old dormitory instead of having a private room, and that I have silly feelings about rank. Wanted the Lady Principal to make me more democratic: but even she couldn’t wish me to sleep among paupers. Heigho! I wish it was morning! But I’ll take a nap now and that will pass the time.”

      Exhausted by the long journey she had taken, and by the startling events of the night, unconscious Dorothy slept calmly on, little dreaming of Gwendolyn’s fancies about her; nor did she wake till long after all her dormitory mates had dressed and gone below to breakfast. When she did arouse it was to wonder about this strange place in which she found herself and at an elfish-looking child perched on the foot of her little bed, staring at her with wide eyes and keen impatience, and who greeted her first movement with the exclamation:

      “Well, old sleepy-head, I thought you never would wake up! Who are you, anyway, and what makes you stay in cubicle so long after breakfast? Won’t you catch a lecture, though! I wouldn’t be in your shoes for a sovereign!”

      “Don’t believe you could be in them. You’re so small they fall off,” answered Dorothy laughing.

      “No, they wouldn’t. I tie them on. If I wanted to. Who are you? When you come? How dare you stay in bed so?”

      Dolly laughed again. She had fallen asleep convinced that she could never laugh again, so tired and homesick had she been. But now, refreshed by rest and with the sunlight streaming through the windows, the world seemed a very different place. Besides, there was something so winning about this inquisitive little maid, that the stranger’s heart was comforted that she had found a friend already.

      “Well, dearie, I suppose I dare because Miss Tross-Kingdon – ”

      “Did she say